Before he met Squirrel, Crow would never have acted like this now. Sat across from her in this admittedly excessively Hawaiian themed pancake house, Crow knows there was a time when he would have cringed if he'd even seen a stranger make the faces she makes when she takes a bite.

Her pancakes are fluffy and stacked high, drizzled in golden citrus juice, glittering slices of mango and banana piled like soldiers around the soft, brown base. Each time the dripping slice of pancake enters her mouth, she flushes and shimmers with a high moan of delight. There aren't many people in the restraint, but those that are can't help but turn their heads a little, curious bemusement on their faces. If Squirrel noticed, she didn't pay it any mind. Crow, at first, would ignore the stares by fixing himself to his own basic stack of blueberry pancakes, but after a while he realised that his friend wasn't going to stop.

So he just smiled, resigned himself to his fate, and tried to enjoy the obvious relish she would erupt with.

At least she was enjoying herself.

Still… "Squirrel, while I'm sure the chef's glad you enjoy the food. I really don't want the waiter to throw us out."

Squirrel's eyes glitter as she sips her orange juice through a crazy straw. "Oh, am I embarrassing you?"

"You always do." Crow closes his eyes as he drinks his coffee. He should have gone for the espresso.

Squirrel hastily cuts and chewed another slice, swallowing it with an audible sigh of pleasure. "Then you'll be used to it by now." She wipes a drop of juice from her grinning lips. "What's the matter, are yours not exquisite enough for your palette, monsieur Crow?" She teases.

Crow shrugs, he'd let Squirrel pick the place to eat and she'd practically frog-marched him here. He won't complain though. Even for plain old blueberry pancakes, these ones were soft and sweet in a way that he could only call delicious. "They'll do."

Squirrel huffs, "I suppose that's the best I can hope for."

He knows she isn't angry. She'd almost been angry when they were both insisting on paying for the meal themselves earlier, offering back and forth like a kid's game of tug and war, but they had just settled on paying for their own breakfasts. Crow was just realising now how stupid it was to argue over something like that.

But hey, that was just what they did.

Truthfully, he'd been trying to cheer her up. He still didn't know if she was upset over her brief encounter with Bramble that morning. She'd insisted she wasn't, but Crow couldn't be sure. She hadn't screamed at the guy or anything, but she was undeniably pissed off with him, if the way she blew him off was anything to say about it. Crow couldn't blame her though. Even if the guy had apologised, that didn't mean that Squirrel had to forgive him just like that. She clearly cared about him, and she probably still does, but after all he'd heard, there was a lot to make up for.

But then again… It really wasn't much of his business.

He stirs a spoonful of milk into his coffee. Whether she forgave the guy or not was up to her. It wasn't really his place to get involved.

Though the thought of that idiot getting another chance does make Crow want to sneer.

He drinks again, wanting the bitterness to overcome his senses.

"What's that face for?" Crow aligns his sight with hers. The concern in her eyes doesn't match her tone. Squirrel often did that. If she asked if you were alright, it would come out like she was accusing you of something. There's just that flash in her eyes that makes Crow jump. But her heart is clearly in the right place.

Crow coughs, setting his cup down. "Nothing. Just a little hard to swallow."

"Doesn't surprise me." Squirrel loosens back again, her shoulders relaxing against her seat. She shoots the coffee a disgusted glare. "I don't get how you could drink that stuff. It tastes like boiled dirt to me."

"You know what boiled dirt tastes like?"

"I always felt it on my tongue whenever I had to talk to you when we first met."

"Oh really? And do tell, is that taste still there now?"

Squirrel purses her lips, eats a juice drizzled slice of mango and grins again. "I can't tell. Maybe this stuff is just that good it hides the taste. Speaking of which." She wordlessly raises her hand, waving over the waiter who nods at her request for a refill of juice. It comes back in half a minute, with a new swirly straw to boot.

Crow shakes his head, humorously. It's just what he does now. She's predictable, but in a way that's just a pleasure to see. Being with her was like being caught in a constant morning sunshine. Bright, energetic, and practically ordering you to engross yourself in its rays, because it knew it was for your own good.

It had been swelling at first, perhaps uncomfortable at how much she was around him, never letting up, never giving him a real chance to breathe. But when he'd tried to hide from her, from everything. He couldn't deny it was much worse. She was a lot, but if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't have mustered the guts to give Feather the goodbye she deserved, he wouldn't have even had real friends in the first place. He would have been alone.

So, if being with her meant a little embarrassment, her knife edge remarks, and a multitude of sugary, over the top moments that didn't mesh with him at all. That was fine.

Because after a while, he enjoyed all of it.

Loved it all really.

"So, what are we doing when we get to your place then?" Squirrel asks, not so suddenly, but sudden enough to snap him out of his trance.

"Um…" A heat is rising on his neck. "What do you want to do?"

She shrugs, "Guess the same as we usually do. Anything really." She chuckles, "You said you had a snooker table, right?" Mischief fills her face. "You want to put some money on that table?"

Crow stares, perplexed. "Have you even played snooker before?"

She's already downed half her glass when she answers, "Nope!" Her lips smack, "But I'm not too worried about you."

Crow smirks back. He may like this girl tremendously, but he wasn't going to pass on some free money. "Okay. You're funeral."

"And you're not invited." She's picking away at her fruit again, the sweet juice stimulating her tongue. "How long did you say your mom would be out for, again?"

"She probably won't be back until the evening." Crow says, finishing off his pancakes. He sighs, letting his full stomach settle. "Tell me if you want to go home before then and I'll drop you off."

"Noted. What's she doing anyway? It's not a work day for the teachers."

"She's trying to set up a trip for the track team."

Squirrel lights up with interest. "Oh? Where? Abroad?"

Crow snorts, "With the school's budget, not friggin' likely. No, it's just going to be the local museum." Crow's glance fades down to his food, his mouth thinning. "You know, to see the exhibit we saw recently."

The exhibit he was certain she hated.

"Oh cool!" Squirrel pipes, flashing him an excited grin. "I bet they'll think it's awesome." She lets out a breath of a laugh. "Guess I ruined it for you a little by taking you there. Hindsight is everything, am I right? Sorry."

Crow instinctively tries to respond, but the usual frenzy in her voice takes him by surprise. She sounded genuinely excited. "Uh…no… She, uh, my mom, only heard about it because of me, and I heard about it because of you."

She leans back smugly, "Oh, so it's my fault then." She cracks her knuckles with the dramatic swing of an actor's heart. "Well then, tell your teammates I expect some thank you flowers from each and every one of them!"

Crow blinks, still trying to tell if she's being serious. "I'll pass it on."

"You better. If I liked that place, they'll all love it. I bet you at least three of them will start kissing the display cases!" She bursts out with a tight pulse of glee.

"You liked it there?" He asks it on impulse, like he was taking in a fact he couldn't comprehend.

Squirrel's laughter stops. When she faces him, her eyes have narrowed, but purely out of some confused worry. "Of course, I did. I wouldn't have taken you there if I didn't think I would."

"I guess I just didn't think you were into that kind of stuff."

She wrinkles her nose, finding something on Crow's face that makes her smile. "I'm not usually, but that doesn't mean I can't find it interesting from time to time." She scoffs, "I'm not that closed-minded Crow."

He's relieved and humiliated. His hand massages the back of his neck while he does his best to keep a straight face. She continues, twirling her fork in the air until its pointed at him. "I mean, it wasn't no NMM or anything, but who knew some dirty sneakers could actually be cool."

"NMM?"

"National Media Museum." Squirrel sighs, sitting back and crossing her arms. "I know I mentioned it to you before. You need to pay attention."

"Oh please?" Crow challenges stubbornly, "I bet you can't remember five of the sports exhibits."

She names all thirteen while she cuts off another slice of pancake.

Crow doesn't speak. She takes that with a triumphant smirk as she swallows down a well-earnt treat. It's really because he knows then that whether she was telling the truth about liking the museum or not, she truly paid attention. And that's more than can be said for other people.

Squirrel seems to notice his silence. Her face shifts as she wipes her mouth again. "I told you." She says, "I liked it there. I don't see why you'd be surprised by something so stupid."

"Yeah." Crow says eventually. She sounds just like his mother, scalding but gentle and completely matter of fact. Maybe it's the coffee settling in, but his stomach is dancing again, jerking as words he's held back but long to be free finally escape. "I guess I just didn't want to ruin this."

The sound of dropped metal clatters, vibrating across the table towards him, the meaning of his words rippling over their plates and onto the pair of them. Crow's hands feel stiff. It's too late to take that back, no matter how uncool it sounded. When he looked up hesitantly, he saw Squirrel staring at him, not in the cutting way they did when he messed things up before. No. This time, they were… honest with abrupt shock. Slowly a gentle flush came to her cheeks and feeling it she covered her face with the napkin again.

Crow waited, wondering if those words were what truly ruined everything.

"Idiot." The voice behind the napkin scolded. It was in disbelief more than anger. She dropped the napkin again, the flush fading a little as she narrowed a disappointed glance at him. "What could you actually do to ruin anything?"

The question feels like a flick to his forehead. He sits back a little, his neck burning. He instinctively tried to respond, but his mouth refused his commands. All that came out was a soft moan. "Uhh…"

"Seriously, Crow." Her hands go flat on the table, one finger tapping indignantly. "When we first met, we hated each other and you made that very clear. You wanted to get rid of me, and you never could. What makes you think that I'd leave you now, when you are literally my best friend?"

The way she says it is like she's trying to make him feel like an idiot. But the reassurance is smothering. It's the first time she's called him her best friend, and the way that makes his head spin is undeniable.

She stares at him.

Cutting.

A little infuriated.

But honest.

A hapless, stupid smile edges on his lips as he turns away facing a blank wall. "When you put it like that…" He trails off, sniggering softly.

"It's the only way I'd put it." The flush comes back. She doesn't hide it this time. "If you piss me off, you'll know, because you'll be neck deep in the ground." She flashes a quick glare before looking back at her plate, her reddening cheeks giving her away.

"Damn, if that's the case I'm shocked it hasn't happened yet."

Squirrel snorts, "Yeah, well unlike you, I've got thick skin." Her eyes dart up with a sneer, "But you've got a thicker skull."

He laughs and before they know it, they're smiling at each other.

Crow has a deep sense of pride, so the fact this girl can destroy him at any time should be beyond reprieve for his spine.

But maybe that was the kind of friend he needed. One who could take the worst of him, shrug it off, and give back a taste of his own medicine. Sure, on the scoreboard, she was way ahead of him. But who was to say it wasn't a fun game all the while.

Even when he's beaten in the banter, even when she can make his worst worries the inventions of a foolish, lovestruck fool, he's happy. It feels so odd to say, but he's happy. He's happy just being with her, being her best friend.

And he's happy because, even if she wouldn't dare admit it, she's happy with him.

…

He does think for a bit that she'll be bored at his place. Honestly, he would be as well. Most days are made up of his phone, his laptop, reading or homework under his roof. But as soon as she's stepped in, it doesn't take a minute before she's fussing over the turntable in his living room. He can only laugh as she flicks through every vinyl record that rests in the box labelled as his.

"Let me guess." She grins at him before she starts looking. She picks up the first record and Crow blushes when he sees what it is. She displays it at him, her half-lid eyes quivering with tease. "MCR at the very front? Oh, this is going to be a perfect collection of 2000's emo, isn't it?"
He snatches The Black Parade away from her. "Okay, first of all, this is a masterpiece. Second, I was going through a phase."

The second point only confirms her suspicions. "Was?" Her eyes dip up and down.

"Don't act like it never happened to you." He says, setting the record back. "Or do you just live off a diet of Jessie J and Little Mix?"

"Firstly, there's nothing wrong with liking either of them. But more importantly, I'd rather listen to my parents sing than listen to that." She begins scrolling through the records, her eyes glittering with more and more amusement with every flick. Soon enough, Crow can only slide onto his couch as her opinion on each of his discs becomes clear.

Radiohead – must be where he absorbs his self-importance.

Green Day – more misses than hits she believes.

Slipknot – she actually likes them. Crow stews on that for a while.

Jimmy Eat World – she's never heard of them but apparently the name is all she needs to know. Crow wonders which is the worst insult.

KISS – She gives him a long look… A really, really long look.

"If I find face paint in your room, I'm pretending we've never met."

"Are you done offending my tastes yet?" Crow mutters, he's scrolling through his phone while he waits. "Sorry, I didn't realise I needed to stock up on Bieber or Sheeran."

"Not into either, but whatever pal." She says, still scrolling through. "Guess it's true what they say, you really can tell what a person is like based on their music."

"Do people actually say that?" He asks flatly.

"Probably."

He supposes it's true. She's a drama kid through and through with the amount of musical numbers he hears her hum every hour.

"Wait. Hold the phone!" Crow looks back as she stands up, holding a record out, as if admiring it. Crow can't see what it is until she turns to him, her face bright behind her ginger locks. "I gotta say, bird-boy, I'm impressed!"

He looks back at his phone, smirking. Of course, she'd like that one. She'd been raving about the musical production of it for months now. "Oh, so I do have taste then?"

"More like common sense." Her fingers trace over the ridges of the album, like an archaeologist removing dust from a treasure. "I never took you for a Morrissette fan, though."

"What can I say, it's a classic. Wouldn't be a music fan if I didn't have a copy."

He hears her laugh again. "Do you know how pretentious that sounds?"

"You say pretentious. I call it having a brain."

"Either way, you need a kick up the ass." Crow's about to retort when he hears the familiar scratch send soundwaves around the room. "Or a little unwinding." As the first instrumental of Jagged Little Pill fills the room, she's rushed across the couch, blowing hair out of her eyes, right in front of him. She stands there, hands on her hips, expectant.

Crow rolls his head back until its buried in the cushion like a shield. He turns away, refusing to let the heat in his cheeks sway him. "Not a chance."

"Come on!" Squirrel pipes, her body has already begun to shift to the music. Feet leading her from side to side as her arms swing to the rhythm. "Have some fun!"

"I don't dance." He says, chuckling as he watches her pout. As much as he likes her, that did not change the fact that Crow. Did. Not. Dance. Never had. Never would.

She continued to, moving but never leaving the spot in front of her. Her eyes don't break from his, if anything they're more determined. "Not until today. Get up, Crow. We gotta celebrate the fact you actually like good music!"

"I've known that for a while, I don't need to celebrate it."

She's began to lip-sync the words now. They reverberate all around them, the track practically joining in with the girl in the invitation for Crow to humiliate himself.

"Oh, come on! It won't kill you."

"Neither will running around the block naked. Doesn't mean you should do it?"

"I expect you know that from experience."

He laughs out loud, "Oh, put a sock in-" Without warning, there are two tight grasps on his wrists and before Crow can blink he's being pulled up and away from the safety of his couch. The music is pulsing louder and faster as it builds along the road that Squirrel has dragged him towards. A pressing irritation, doubled by embarrassment, clutches his stomach.

"Squirrel! I'm not going to-" He loses his breath as she pulls him forwards and backwards to the beat. He's forced to match her rhythm or else they're both going down together. He grimaces, looking to where her hands still hold his arms. She's loosened her grip just a little, but she's not letting him go.

Her soft hands are firm in their hold.

The blood racing to his head is a different kind of embarrassment. He needs to get away before things turn bad. He stiffens up, prepared to firmly tell her no. But the sight of her cuts him off. Her hair falls in perfect waves over her shoulders, sparking like fire in the rumble of the music. The room isn't dark, an afternoon sun gleams through the window, but to Crow the only light flutters on her like a disco ball. Her eyes gleam like summer hills, and her skin is smooth and peachy, intoxicating. Even under her thick coat (that suits her perfectly) he can see the graceful way her body moves, pulling him along like he was trapped in some gravitational field. She radiates the aura of not giving a single crap how she looks as long as she enjoys it and is having fun.

But also, in the faintest looks she gives him, he sees how much she wants him to have fun as well.

And he remembers, how it's fun to be with her.

It's so much more when she looks at him like that.

And whether that's the push he needs, or rather he couldn't escape if he wanted to, he begins to let her guide him.

It comes in waves, short against the tide, he isn't a dancer and they both know that. But she doesn't care. She helps him move, clutches his shoulder when they feel they should take a step to the beat. Smoothly, her hands leave his wrists until only one is touching him – linked with his own hand. He has his freedom now, but her help is still there. Evaluating the tempo like an essay, he begins to ease up, his feet finding the right places, his shoulders and head bobbing along with hers. The warmth of her hand clutches on as they swirl to their makeshift tornado.

Then her hand does leave his. But by that point, he's learnt enough to last on his own.

They dance side by side, each in their own clumsy, alluring ways, unable to kill the grins on their faces. They begin to mouth the same verses, sharing the electricity of the song, blood and sweat pumping through them as they don't stop for a breath.

Crow is by no means a good dancer.

But, looking closely at her, neither is she.

She just looks so much better because of the confidence, the belief, the want, that fuels all of her.

All she needs is to want to be there.

He thinks he can do that much.

The climax of the song sends her into exhilaration, she's twisting and turning, their laughter has become a brand new verse almost. Crow watches her curl and uncurl, feeding off of drums and guitars and the strong will of 'give me what you got' lyrics. He thinks he can watch her like this all day.

But, because its her, she has to have a stumble at some point.

It isn't a bad one to be fair, she twists and her shoe slides on the carpet, she doesn't even have time to cry out before she clatters backwards, arms whirling.

Right onto Crow.

The collision only winds him a little, but it brings him down, thankfully right onto the couch. No one is hurt, but once the music has left their bloodstreams, they realise where they are. Squirrel, legs draped over Crow's knees, the back of her head creased under his chin, her back hot and flat against his body.

His heart is thundering and he knows that she will feel it, he also knows it isn't just because they've been dancing.

They both move at the same time to get away from the situation, causing their feet to tangle, and when Squirrel rushes up, she catches Crow's foot, and falls back down on his lap. This time her head falls back against his cheek. He's almost ashamed when he can't help but notice how sweet she smells. That keeps him still, letting Squirrel stand up without a problem.

Neither says anything. He sits guiltily. She smooths herself down, her back to him. He imagines disgust as thick as a forest on her face.

Desperate to salvage what he can, he fills himself with apologetic air.

"I'm sorry."

Their voices join as one.

He looks up. She looks back. Only then does Crow see the panic on her expression. Her usually pale cheeks are practically crimson with shame. Apology glistens in her eyes. Her hands are linked together like a caught schoolchild's.

They're both equally stunned by the other's apology. It keeps them silent.

There's something thick in the air that both are too afraid to confront. They look away and then back at each other in brief flashes, but whenever their eyes meet the twist in Crow's stomach comes back. He remembers her scent and the warmth of her back. His head dips, mortified and regretful.

"Um." Her voice is small, but it feels loud. The music has stopped, their fall slipping the needle from the record. Crow meets her, red-faced and tight-lipped, standing up like he's about to bow like he was following the Japanese custom. Squirrel rubs her arm, coughing as she straightens her coat over her shoulders. Her cheeky grin is strained. "I told you you'd do fine."

They both laugh as jaggedly as each other.

The silence came back.

Squirrel took control again. "So, uh, should we try out your snooker table?"

She isn't one to ask like that. That isn't her confidence. He feels like this is important somehow. But with the burning all over his body, he just nods his head and leads the way, out of the room that suddenly feels like it could choke him.

…

The basement is where they keep the snooker table, alongside some basic gym equipment his mother uses every other day and that Crow uses once in a while. Running was better for him.

There was a small amount of relief, at least, that once Squirrel had gotten her hands on the cue she seemed to forget the regrettable incident that had occurred minutes ago. The air in the basement was cold, but it had been colder before Squirrel lit up the room with a snappy comment for Crow to get his wallet ready. The familiar safety of normal was all that kept Crow in the slightest shade of calm.

But the moment is still sharp in his mind. Without warning he'll get a warmth on his chest or the fiery scent that makes him need to wet his lips.

He's almost thankful when she accidentally slams the back of the cue into his stomach the first time she tries.

She's pretty forceful too.

She'd apologised profusely, helping him up while he coughed and held back the urge to puke, and while technically it was his fault for not paying attention, he just accepted it and drew back (before he could get lost in how close she was again) and sat back to watch her, while he smoothened the pain in his torso.

He didn't really get the time though. Her technique, if it could be called that, was quick, blunt, and extremely terrible. It had taken her three attempts to even hit the white ball, and when she did it had shot past the pack of balls, rebounded off the side of the table and clumsily struck the side of one of the outermost balls. Needless to say, she hadn't potted anything. Heck, the balls had hardly moved except for the white which had narrowly missed being potted itself.

In the pathetic silence, Squirrel straightened up to save whatever pride she could, holding the cue out like a real sportswoman to her opponent. The twitch of her eye gave it away though.

She knew she was in for a bad time.

He almost feels bad for it, but Crow doesn't hold back. Even with the throbbing remnants of stomach pain, he lines up the shot well, impressively potting a ball in his first and second attempt, on the third the ball barely hangs on the lip of the hole. He was good and he knew it. And most of all, he really hated losing.

"Unlucky." Crow can hear Squirrel grinding her teeth as she says it.

He keeps himself from rubbing it in, handing her the cue. She begins to drill the chalk on the end of it desperately. "Wish you some better luck this time." He smirks faintly.

She laughs humourlessly, "Careful. Or I'll aim for the face next."

She'd probably do just as well if she did. Once again, her shot smashes past her target and bundles hopelessly away from the balls.

It's the wince on her face that encourages Crow to intervene.

He doesn't want to lose.

But this… this would be like kicking a puppy… with mange. He prefers an actual challenge.

At least if she did okay she might be able to take it easier.

"Don't rush your shot." Crow says once he's at her side. "The ball isn't going anywhere."

"I'm not rushing!" She protests.

"Oh?" He checks, "So what would be rushing then? Just hitting the ball like you've got a baseball bat?"

It's probably too poor a moment to tease her. She growls and looks away, shoving the cue back into his arms. "Whatever. Your turn, bird-boy."

"Squirrel, come on. Let me help."

"I don't want your help."

His hands twitch. "And I never wanted to dance, so what?"

She huffs again, but behind the red forest of her hair, Crow can detect the faintest falter that leaks vulnerability. Squirrel's pride is more delicate than any part of her could ever be. Crow knows he has to be careful.

But maybe he can use it to his advantage.

It was risky.

But if he knew her, it would work.

Okay, that thought made the risks even greater.

He needed to stop thinking.

"Fine." Crow sighs with a low moroseness. "I guess you forfeit then."

"Huh?" Squirrel whirls on him, a spark of fire in her eyes. "What are you talking about? It's your turn!"

"Well, you don't want my help. And I'm not going to being some torture expert. So, I guess there isn't really a point."

"The hell does- That doesn't make any sense! Play the damn round."

"No, I don't think I will."

She looks furious. "Then you're the one who forfeits, idiot!"

"I'm two balls ahead, I think that means I win."

She freezes. Stutters. Even Crow is landlocked is his bizarre logic, but he can see Squirrel beginning to boil. She hates losing just as much as him. He just needed to make it an unfair loss.

"I-You… This is… Are you being serious, right now?" She shouts, stamping her foot in anger.

He shrugs, his casualness making her snarl. "Of course. Now, let's get to the topic of my winnings."

Her hands tighten into fists.

"I don't think we agreed on anything, but should we say… twenty dollars."

His hands burn as the cue is tugged out of his hands. She holds it close like it's a stuffed animal. She hotly blows a whisper of hair out of her eyes. "Like hell." She mumbles.

He's probably a jerk for how the flustered, annoyed look on her face makes him feel, but what can he do? Her hair has been shaken out of place and frazzle on her shoulders like firework sparks, and her pout only makes the smoothness of her lips shine.

"Well?" She demands after he's been lost for too long. She traipses over to the table, tapping the cue against her boot impatiently. "I don't think you're gonna be much use just standing there."

"W-Whatever." He stammers, back in control again. He sets the white ball in the middle and gives her the go ahead. "Wait!" He has to be quick as he sees her about to shoot off again without the time to aim.

"What?" She looks over her shoulder as if she's offended by his voice.

He sighs. He expects toddlers are easier to deal with. "Like I said, you don't need to rush it. Make sure you're aiming at the ball correctly."

"As long as I hit the ball it should move forward!"

Crow's eye twitches, "That is insanely wrong."

Squirrel glares.

He takes a step towards her so he's at her side. "Aim again." She does and Crow buckles down so his face is at her level. His hand steadies the cue before her arm can push ahead. "Take your time." He knows she likes to rush things, but this was something that needed planning if she didn't want to look like an idiot.

He sees the corner of her eye burn on him, but she doesn't move. He begins to explain, guiding her arm and explaining the different ways she could hit it. Side. Bottom. Top. Middle. He helps her absorb every effect, gently moving her cue arm for her so she can get the right spot.

She resists at first, but with the first few practice shots that end successfully, her growling softens, and there's an understanding twinkle in her eye. Crow brightens when she repeats his instructions, always the quick study that she is.

He helps her adjust her posture too, carefully hinting when to straighten her back or adjust her lean on the table. She picks up on that quickly as well, and the clumsy posture soon looks graceful with the right words said.

More than anything, with a mind full of the right instructions, she looks relaxed.

And when Crow takes his hands away, letting her do it herself, all he needs to do is tell her to take a breath before she hits the ball.

She does, focused, a deep, smooth breath. Then her arm thrusts ahead, the cue pushing the ball with a satisfying clack. The ball keeps on her route until it hits the side of a red ball, her intended target, forcing it away into the corner hole of the table.

There's an indescribable smile on both of their faces.

Crow turns to his friend with a proud, know it all, grin. "There ya go!"

He anticipates a snappy, 'I could do it all along' comeback. But she turns, the dim basement light somehow illuminating the twinkling of her happiness. Her brows are two fiery streams above the overjoyed emeralds. Her cheeks illuminate with a pleased flush. This close to her, she looks as if she's been wreathed in some celestial glow.

In half a second, she's returned from being his best friend, to the girl he likes.

That was all it took.

It's also how long it takes to realise that he's perhaps a little too close. Their noses could almost touch from this distance. That's probably why the fragrance of her hair is so bright once again.

He shuffles away in hidden panic. He's risking far too much, far too often. He couldn't make it weird now. Not when-

"Hey."

Crow snaps his head back, fearing the scandalised scowl.

She's grinning up at him, "We going to finish that game or what?"

Crow leaps for the safety rope. He whispers a thanks to whatever star or God has saved him this time.

They start the game all over again; it's only fair. And while Squirrel does remarkably well considering how she'd started, Crow still wins. He wasn't that kind after all. But she doesn't shrink in humiliation from before, she's actually smiling a little, like she's enjoyed herself.

"Nice try." Crow teases.

Squirrel taps his shoulder with the cue, "You have to admit, I had you on the ropes for a while."

"Wrong sport."

"Same analogy, Crow-brain." Squirrel sets the cue back on the table, one hand on her hip. "Even when you win, you're a real stick in the mud."

"And you've still got a big mouth when you've lost." In case he's offended her, he adds, "Not bad for a beginner, though."

Squirrel groans, "Ugh, that's just a sugary way of saying I lost."

She's got him there. He laughs. "Yeah, well…"

An accusatory finger prods him in the chest. "For all I know, you've used performance drugs! Cheater!" Her eyes quiver with mirth.

Now he's really bellowing with laughter. "For snooker? Squirrel, that's a new level of stupid, even for you."

"Well, you'd know the levels, wouldn't you?"

"I've watched you long enough."

She meets his smirk with his own. She whistles out an exaggeratedly exasperated groan, "So? What do I owe you then?"

He could ask for any amount and Squirrel would probably pay it. Even if she hated losing, she still had some sense of honour. He knows that from the congratulatory emails he's seen her send to the winners of the film or script contests she's lost. She was dignified if nothing else.

They never settled on what their wager was.

10 dollars?

30 dollars?

A kiss on the cheek?

He muzzles his thoughts again, steadying his beating heart. "How about we say lunch is on you?"

Whatever answer she expected, her widening eyes make it clear she didn't think it would be that. She gazes up at her friend until her gape twists into a soft smile. "Can I pick what we order?"

Crow rolls his eyes, but her smile is contagious. "Sure."

"Okay!" She snaps her hands together. "Then Pizza's on me!"

…

Two hours later, there's an empty pizza box laid despondently on the floor besides Crow's bed. It had come half an hour into the movie they'd stuck on. Crow doesn't have the kind of collection that Squirrel does, but he does have Netflix and that seems to be good enough.

Squirrel lies on her belly, arms crossed under her chin, snide comments coming out now and again which criticise the load of crap they've been watching for the past hour. Crow lays on his back at the head of his bed, watching her with a smirk. They hadn't been able to find anything themselves, so they'd let the chance of shuffle play decide their fate. Apparently it was not a merciful God as it had stuck them with some melodramatic romance film that had the kind of synopsis that made regular audiences shudder at its obvious foreshadowing of clichés.

Usually, Crow would have shut it off after the first ten minutes.

But he'd misjudged the real entertainment. Squirrel tore everything apart. The amateur actors, the script Crow was certain he could have written better, and the wannabe choir music that pretty much screamed 'THIS IS THE MOMENT WHERE YOU'RE MEANT TO CRY'. None of it was safe from the silver tongue of the ginger girl.

And by God was it funny to see.

He didn't even think he knew the character's names from how many times Squirrel had found a reason to scold the film, but it was a piece of shit from what he'd seen so he didn't really care.

"Oh, so we're doing this now." Squirrel says with sarcastic enthusiasm as the woman on the screen touched her teary reflection in the mirror. "Oh my word, what has she discovered? Could it be what shit heap she signed up for?"

"I don't think she's sober enough for that." Crow added.

Squirrel laughs, carrying on as a terrible impression of confidence filled the actresses face. "Oh and the winner is…" She rolls her hands around like she's spinning a camera, just as the actress stormed onto the rain fill streets. "Build up for last minute character development. Ding! Ding! Ding!" She let out a groan as she covered her face, like she was embarrassed to even watch this crap.

Crow shakes his head along, he's equally shocked at how poor this is. "I think I finally understand why those film nerds on reddit complain about the death of cinema so much!"

"I hope so! I'm one of them!"

Crow chuckles, relaxing on his back. "What a shock."

"Honestly." Squirrel rolls onto her back, lifting her head slightly so Crow can see her disgusted pout. "Do Netflix just greenlight anything? Where's my movie deal if this stuff can get released?" She's only half-joking.

He can't help but agree. Even if it wasn't some Oscar worthy masterpiece, Squirrel's movie was infinitely better than this. "No idea. You ever think of submitting something to these guys?"

Squirrel looks shocked by his honest response. She frowns. "Like I could do that. You need to prove yourself first in the field before you could do that."

He scoffs, pointing to his TV. "And what did these guys prove? That they could visualise jangling keys in a kid's face."

Squirrel snorts, but when her head hits his duvet, she doesn't look in the joking mood. Her hands fold over her stomach. "Believe it or not, even the producers of stuff like this have worked on actual movies."

"But so have you?" He protests, edging down the bed.

"Student films don't count." She says simply. She doesn't sound sad, just casual. Accepting. "In my case, they might like it more if I could actually win a contest first."

Her face hasn't moved to the side, but Crow can understand where she's looking. He grimaces. He thought there'd been a reason she'd taken such an interest in the track medals and trophies that adorn a shelf on his wall.

He wished he'd had the sense to cover them up. Squirrel probably wouldn't want him too, but he understood how jealousy and expectations could hurt the heart.

It was true there was a difference between gold and bronze, but that didn't mean she had anything to be ashamed of. Not to him anyway. But by all accounts, that was probably something she had heard before.

He just needed to tell her what he believed and hope for the best.

"You will." Crow sits next to where her feet lay, flicking her ankle playfully.

"You sound pretty sure." She responds, not moving, her voice in between nonchalant and hopeful.

"I wonder why?" He leans forward a little so he can see her face. He smiles at her impishly. "The amount of contests you've entered in the past week is unnatural, Squirrel. You'll pretty much steal first place sooner or later."

She frowns as the mocking words he uses, but smirks as his tone becomes prevalent. "I never say you as an idealist."

"I'm not. I'm realistic."

He can't take back the hidden tang to those words even if he wants to. By the time he does, her face has already undergone a flush of pink. His follows suit. There is no silence this time thanks to the melodramatic music of the film and that gives Crow an idea to shut it down.

"Well, you'd be able to write a better romance than this garbage at least." He looks away with an attempt of an arrogant smirk. He doesn't dare meet her expression until the heat on his face has died down.

When she speaks up, it sounds natural enough. "I don't really like romance."

Crow is more surprised than he cares to admit at that statement. She's moved a little to fold her hands behind her head. He looks to her face and sees it has returned to its normal tint of peach. "Oh?"

She looks up, one brow raised. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

Crow is a master at hiding the impression of fear, but he's certain that Squirrel has caught it in the pathetic, weak attempt of a cool smile he gave her. He doesn't really understand himself why he's so surprised. Squirrel, as far as he knew, had never had a boyfriend.

She had liked (does like?) someone though.

He attempted a safer press of curiosity, "I dunno. I just thought you were into every genre. You being the geek and all."

Instead of biting at the joke, her eyes remained solid, and strangely… a little sad. The fear was building in Crow's heart now. Her head hit the duvet again. "Not romance."

Crow sat still, thinking this would be the perfect moment to shut this down before it got ugly. Of course, he ignored those thoughts. "How come?"

"Because the most popular ones are fake as hell."

"What?"

"Think of the most popular romances and just count how many of them are about two people confessing in the rain, going through some bullshit misunderstanding that wastes a load of time, candlelight or moonlight, one of them dying at the end, some boring love triangle, or sweating the whole time about some person they've never even talked to."

Crow thinks on that for a moment, and while he wasn't huge on the whole romance genre, he understood what she meant. "Okay. So?"

"So that isn't what I'm interested in. We've all seen it and we all know it's not real in the slightest."

"Then why don't you write one that you'd want to see. That's what you've always said inspired your other stuff."

She looked at the wall again, "What I want to see would just bore people?"

"Bore them? What's that mean?" He couldn't imagine one boring thing about this girl.

Surprisingly, there's a small flush that comes over Squirrel's cheeks. Her mouth is iced closed. Over the course of a second though, they clicked open as Squirrel sat up. "I don't think romance should be that dramatic." She said softly, her legs crossing on the bed. "If I was going to write one, it would just be about two people… just hanging out."

There's something… new in that. Unexpected but somehow fitting. When he really thinks about it Squirrel doesn't look like the kind of girl who'd be swayed by moonlight confessions or glittery love letters. Still, to hear her admit something like that makes Crow's head spin a little.

"So, just like friends then?"

Squirrel blushes a little more, and her hands curl together. "Yeah. I mean, isn't that what romance should be about? Spending time with someone you trust. Someone who…" Her breath quivers for the lightest moment. "You know will be there for you when you need them."

The sound of the terrible movie isn't that loud anymore. Crow just sat there, looking at the friend avoiding his gaze, thinking on her words. When he really thought about it, he supposed she had a point. Her perspective was really how it had been for him anyway. Before and now.

But then he's think about her. And he's unsettled by the meaning. It rakes on his throat and makes his ears pound. He feels sick for no reason but he feels like he deserves it.

"Is that how it was for you with Bramble?"

The guilt sticks in before he's even finished. There is no god reason why he should ask that. In reality, he probably deserves a punch in the mouth after that. He's broken through the thin ice and he thinks he has no reason to complain if she were to storm out there and then.

What he gets is a tired, really tired, sigh. "Not really."

He can't do anything but look up blankly at that. She's frozen, her lips in a thin line. She stares at him solid, and maybe a little cold.

She shrugs. "When I liked him, it was more that I wasn't really talking to any other guy, and I guess I got caught up in the idea that he was actually being nice to me, even though we'd never even hung out outside of our tutor sessions." She chuckles a little, the smile warming her face. "Pretty stupid thing to get hung up about, right?"

Crow didn't think so. But to be fair, he wasn't thinking about the plausibility of many of the hints in her revelation. All he heard was one that pounded again and again.

'Liked.'

A past-tense confirmation.

There wasn't as much relief in Crow's chest as he would have believed. More than anything he felt like a complete idiot. That he had his own stupid things he had gotten hung up over. His laugh comes out like a whisper. "I wouldn't say so."

Squirrel smiles, honestly, at that. She looks perfect.

"I mean, you saw me when I heard Feather was moving. I can act like an idiot too."

There's a sweetness to Squirrel's laugh this time. "Yeah! I guess that's true." Her smile fades, she tucks her hair behind her shoulders. One of her fingers twirls around a strand of ginger. Contemplating. Her legs go over the side of her bed so that they're now sat side by side. "Do you still like her now?"

Crow winces a little at that. He remembers how much he loved Feather vividly, it sometimes strikes like a sudden guilt. But it doesn't stop the truth from being apparent. "Not really. I mean, I'd have to be an idiot to do that now. She isn't here anymore."

"She could still come back." Squirrel says, still under the illusion.

"It doesn't really matter." Crow admits. The noise of the TV is becoming annoying so he turns it off. He lays back a little, supporting himself on his hands. He questions whether he's actually ready to be this truthful. But he's already come so far that he doesn't know how exactly he can stop.

Squirrel doesn't respond, and when he looks her way, she's staring down at her feet. As if she's thinking just as much as him.

A ridiculous thought comes to Crow then. A stupid, self-indulgent, on the verge of suicidal, thought. He waited a small moment to become light-headed enough to bring it to action. "Squirrel, I have to admit, until now I thought you still liked Bramble."

She looks his way and all that happens is her lips thin a little more, her eyes sink down to her feet again. "Well, at least you think I'm that generous." She jokes.

She could be even more generous.

"Sorry."

"It's not a big deal."

"Thanks. So, uh, please don't punch me for asking this, but… we've hung out every day ever since Feather left. So… was there any chance that… at one time, you thought about…" He hasn't struggled like this in a while. He's never been the kind of person to put his heart on the line like this. He didn't even know if he had that kind of strength.

But like many times before, she gives him some help.

"Sometimes."

It's quiet. Deathly quiet. For at least a minute after that. Crow is staring at his feet while Squirrel continues to twirl her ginger strands. There is a deep feeling of idiocy overcoming the boy, not even the slightest kind of relief. He's expected so much, worried so often… and it was all null and void. He couldn't help but rub his face, feeling like a loser.

"Oh, come on!" Squirrel snaps, smacking the nape of his neck. "Don't be so dramatic. It's not that important! It's just something I… considered from time to time, you're not that special, bird-boy."

He has to laugh. That's slightly more uplifting, knowing that he had never made her worry like he did. He was more emotional than he cared to admit. But not her. She had her ups and downs certainly, but she always just got on and past the stupid stuff.

However…

"Is now one of those times?" He says it like a joke. They both know better.

Her hand leaves her hair, falling on the bed. It's centimetres from his own. He doesn't take the chance. Not until he's sure.

"Are you sure you couldn't write one of those shitty romances?" Is all she says.

Crow smiles, and within a beat of his heart, he's laughing again. He isn't entirely sure why, but he does. His face is buried in his hands, making noises that toe the line between crying and laughter.

"Honestly?" He mumbles out.

"I wouldn't lie about this."

Crow nods, thinking suddenly about so many things: how he felt about Feather, the way he and Squirrel met, the point their hate transformed, how long he liked someone who actually thought about him the same way. He's never known the last point before. He doesn't need to, and can't, describe how it feels.

Squirrel shifts beside him, and Crow can feel the warmth of her side next to him. They lock their eyes, and Crow can see so much. There's that ever-present playful glint, but under, buried in the beautiful green, is a small flicker of hope.

A hope he can recognise.

His hands leave his face, curling on his knees. "So, romance would be pretty much be like hanging out for you?"

Squirrel shrugs, but her blush is undeniable. "Pretty much."

"Okay." Crow lets this sink in, absorbs it into his muscles and organs, and this stimulates the courage he needs. "In that case, Squirrel, do you want to… try it out?" He still can't bring himself to acknowledge it like that. He considers asking again in the way where he's more obvious, but Squirrel's eyes are already meeting his, full of satisfaction and something indescribable, her cheeks are already bursting with happy embarrassment, and her smile is already the brightest he's ever seen.

Crow softly smiles back. Of course. She knew him well enough to know what he meant. She didn't want obvious, she wanted real.

And what he feels for her is as real as anything.

"Why not?" She decides, impatient excitement warming them both. Crow feels nauseated and exhilarated at the same time, his heart thunders in a steady, content rhythm. He's never been one to ever let a person affect him like this, but she wasn't some person.

She's always been important.

He feels helpless in her presence, regardless of what's been said. Even when he smiles at her, it feels like he's fighting to keep it normal. But she just laughs – tender – and the room doesn't seem so heavy.

The awkwardness of their confession finally seems to rest on Crow's shoulders. He rubs hair out of his eyes as he swallows hard. "Alright…"

"Alright." Squirrel echoes, nodding along, her own cheeks darkening.

"So… uh, you said you want this to pretty much be like us hanging out right?" He could deal with that. He felt comfortable doing that with her. He didn't need anything special just because something drastic had changed.

Squirrel looks at him for a moment, speaking slowly. "I suppose." Then her mouth shifts and she's grinning wildly. "With some slight changes of course."

Crow turns to her. "Like?" Is what he would have asked if he hadn't felt her hands gently grasp his face, pulling him close as she softly planted her lips over his. Crow can barely register the feeling as she pulls away, breathing, but keeping her hands on his cheeks.

Her embarrassed smile makes him laugh, despite his tremendous degree of shock. "Sounds good." He says, unable to break his eyes from hers.

As he laughs along, he begins to take in the real softness of her hands, there's something crackling like electricity over his lips, and there's a rush still crawling over his spine. When he's this close, he catches the fragrance of her beautiful, ginger locks again. And soon, he has a hand tangled inside, massaging into the soft hair.

He leads her forward this time, and when they kiss, they don't break away so soon. They take in everything, the sparks the contact creates, the beat of their hearts that vibrate across their bodies. He feels her hand dig into his neck, fingertips shooting fireworks over his skin.

They're clumsy, inexperienced, but equal, and that is what makes it dizzying.

When they break this time, there is no distance between them. Her head has nestled onto his shoulder and his into her cheek. It feels then like they are unafraid of anything, safe inside the fire that burns along the intertwining of their hands.

"Would it be too much of a cliché if I told you I love you?" Crow asks.

Squirrel scoffs, "Undoubtedly." She moves her face until her lips find his cheek. "Besides, you don't need to remind me."

…

When Squirrel returns home that night, it's just past 5pm. Her family are joined at the dinner table, Moth included. They all smile at her when she passes them.

"Hey sweetheart!" Sandstorm pipes, "You have a good day!"

"Yeah, it was great, thanks!" Squirrel grins at her mother, but instead of sitting down she's heading for the stairs.

Firestar looks up, quizzical amusement on his face. "Woah woah there, kiddo! What's the rush? We left you some dinner to heat up."

Squirrel stops, glancing back at him with a thankful smile. There's a curious redness to her cheeks. "I already ate at Crow's, Dad. Thanks though, I'll save it for tomorrow."

Her father shrugs, "Sure, that's fine. Did you guys get up to much then?"

Squirrel silently stares at them before an innocent smile paints her face. "Not really. We got breakfast, listened to music, watched TV, just the usual really."

"Oh well, at least you had a good time." Her mother beams, waving her hand to let her know she can be excused.

Squirrel nods with a grin, stepping out of the door. The moment of normal lasted only for a second as the girl's head pops through the doorway. "Oh, how silly, something else did happen."

Firestar took a sip of his beer. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's my boyfriend now." She grins as the whole room goes silent. "Well, see ya!"

The sound of her racing up the stair carry's on alongside a cheerful wave of laughter.

As for her parents, Sandstorm sits blinking in the direction of the door, pupils dilated, processing the words that had been said. Firestar coughs again and again, spluttering for control as his face whips from the door to his wife. He tries to say something, only for it to come out in a series of hacks and gasps.

Leaf just eats her food, not even looking at her grinning girlfriend.

"Told you so!" Moth sings.

"I never bet on anything."

…

I know I said that ILYL would be next, but life has not been fun recently and I felt more like writing fluff rather than angst. So that's how it is. I hope you enjoy it regardless.