I wrote this little one-shot today because I just needed to write something. Call it therapy. Forgive the mistakes, of which I am certain there are more than a few.

Pairing: E/B

Rating: T

Summary: "You want this one instead?" This one declared its wearer "Waxed and triple-vaxxed" in bold, neon pink letters.

"Absolutely not."

Press Play

"Absolutely not."

Alice's face fell, as did the purple "Kiss me, I'm boostered" t-shirt she'd been holding against her chest. "Why not?" Almost instantly her smile reappeared, and she snatched another shirt from the bed beside her, letting it unfurl and hang against her torso. "You want this one instead?"

This one declared its wearer "Waxed and triple-vaxxed" in bold, neon pink letters.

"Absolutely not."

Letting this shirt fall to join the first on the bed, Alice plopped herself down next to them and turned pleading eyes in Bella's direction. "Pleeeeeeease, Bella? Pretty please. I promised Jasper we'd go."

"You don't even need me there. It's your boyfriend's party."

"It's my possibly-boyfriend's party, and he's a possibly-boyfriend I have never actually seen in person, and plus." She pauses, casting a (somewhat judgmental, in Bella's opinion) glance at the towering skyline of paperbacks spanning the entire width of Bella's wide dresser draped (rather artfully, also in Bella's opinion) with a collection of knitwear items in varying degrees of identifiable. "I feel it's important that you get out."

"Al. I appreciate the concern. I do. But I don't want to go out. I definitely don't want to go out to what is presumably a matchmaking party right after we've all emerged blinking, slightly heavier, mildly crazy-eyed, and dusted in sourdough yeast or god knows what after two years of not doing this very thing. No. Thank you."

"One drink." Alice held up a single, red-tipped index finger to illustrate the point. "One singular, solitary drink in the company of some other human beings who are all vaccinated and all rapid-testing and also not at all willing to jeopardize the opening of their play by playing fast and loose with this stupid virus. If you want to leave after the one drink, I will absolutely leave with you."

"You will not."

Alice smirked. "Okay. Fine. I will absolutely help you get your coat on and wave at you as you make your way to the elevator."

"Ugh."

The teasing vanishes from Alice's face, eclipsed by gentle concern. Bella immediately wants the teasing back. "You have to get back out into the world sometime, Bell. We all do."

"I know that."

Alice rolls her eyes. "I know you know that, but I also know you wish it wasn't actually true."

Bella cannot argue that very accurate truth: spending the better part of two years in relative social isolation had not been all that difficult for a person who chooses solitude as a general matter of practice. In any other universe in which it wasn't also partnered with an awful, heartbreaking, infuriating and unbearable amount of struggle and sickness and loss, she could have appreciated the slowdown.

"Fine," she says finally, glaring at the discarded t-shirts on her quilt. "But there is no way I am wearing either of those shirts."

"Spoilsport," Alice mutters, but grins, bouncing up off her roommate's bed to throw her arms around said roommate's neck. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I do have one that says, 'Rapid test and chill.'"

"Alice."

Her friend-slash-roommate laughs, disappearing out of her room and up the hallway, presumably to call her "possibly-boyfriend" with the good news.

. . .

"I miss my pajama pants," Bella grumbles, standing at the curb bundled in her winter coat, carefully cradling a bottle of scotch between her mittened hands and her chest. Spring is allegedly on its way, but as with seemingly everything else recently, it's evidently been delayed.

"Well, plaid flannel has its merits, but your ass looks phenomenal in those jeans," Alice replies, head on a swivel as she awaits a break in traffic.

"I don't think my jeans hold a candle to…" Bella awkwardly attempts to gesture at Alice's lower half without letting the bottle slip from her grasp to smash on the sidewalk. "That."

Alice runs a gloved hand over the black-sequined miniskirt that glimmers in the headlamps of passing cars. "I don't even give a shit if it's too much. I haven't had an excuse in two years, and I am using it. Here's hoping Jasper is the type to find it charming. Come on."

She hooks a hand through Bella's elbow, other hand gripping the neck of a bottle of champagne, and drags her across the street and up to the door of a rather nondescript building. "Hard pressed to imagine a guy who wouldn't find it appealing," Bella assures her, the cold nearly stealing her breath.

The press of a buzzer, a buzz of admission, and they're climbing the four flights of stairs to the address Alice had plugged into her phone mere hours earlier. Bella can feel the familiar doubts and second-guessing beginning to stir in her mind and in her stomach, and she forces herself to take deep, measured breaths within the little pocket of her mask.

The door is waiting open when they reach it, and on the other side is a man with what can only be described as a mop of blond curls, a t-shirt that Alice clearly ordered for him, and a mask with a comically large pair of red lips printed on the front.

"Well, hi," he says, flat-out staring at Alice.

"Well, hi," she returns coolly, but she's very nearly vibrating in her heels, and Bella feels a sweep of affection for her.

After a moment, he shakes his head slightly. "My apologies, you must be Bella."

"Hi, Jasper. Thanks for inviting me."

"Well, thanks for comin'. We went back 'n' forth on this whole thing, but it just…felt like we needed a win, y'know? I've got all the people I trust the most here tonight, and now the one person I wanted here the most, so." He shrugs, once again gazing at Alice, besottedness not even remotely obscured by the fabric covering his face. "Hi."

"Hi," she says softly, all traces of bossy, headstrong, cool customer Alice vanished.

"Sorry. C'mon in," Jasper says, swinging the door open and gesturing for them to enter. There are…not that many people, really. Fewer than 20, and more than half of them are wearing masks, and Bella feels…not nearly as paranoid and uncomfortable as she'd expected to feel.

Jasper makes them both a drink, directing them to a small table with a Sharpie and some nametags. Bella grimaces, but upon closer inspection, notices that the stickers say "Hello, I'm Reading," and she laughs, leaning in to dutifully scribble Titus Andronicus on one and stick it to her sweater. The three of them retreat to a corner, chatting amiably about the unbearably cold weather, the party, and Jasper's play, which is set to open in a week.

It's nice, and nice is more than she expected. After a while, though, the inevitable third-wheel feeling sets in. She has no interest in trying to drum up conversation with a stranger at a party – wouldn't have even before she became wary of close proximity to random people – and as she's casting about she realizes the windows at the back of the room are sliding doors which must lead, she guesses, to a balcony of some sort.

"I need a breather," Bella murmurs into Alice's ear, and her friend immediately swings a concerned look in her direction. All teasing about sending her to the elevator aside, Alice is a good friend – the very best kind of friend, and Bella knows that if Alice has any sense that she's freaking out, she'll torpedo her own first-official-date-night and leave with her right this second.

"I'm good. Just…a little overheated. I'll be right back."

"If you're not, I'm coming to find you in, like, five minutes."

"Deal," Bella replies, even as she nudges her friend with an elbow to redirect her focus back to Jasper, who is gazing at her with an adoring half-smile and duly wearing the baby blue "Rapid test 'n' chill" t-shirt Alice no doubt ordered for him. As a test, Bella is sure, of whether this Jasper person can handle the zany, energetic, slightly mad wonder that is Alice.

Hiding a smile behind the fabric of her own mask, she slips through the glass double doors at the back of the living room.

Stepping out onto the balcony, Bella pulls her mask to beneath her chin and takes a deep breath of frigid February air. The muted noise of the party is just audible through the glass, as is the less muted noise of the city streets below, and for a fleeting second she wonders if there's a fire escape she could use to…well, escape.

But no, nothing has been that bad. Jasper seems nice, and the party is so low-key as to be just her speed, in a more normal time. All in all, she's glad she came. It feels like a little baby step back toward…well, not normal. But maybe…something like it.

There's the vacuum suck-slide sound of the glass door opening behind her, and almost immediately she steps to one side to give whomever is following her a wide berth and tugs her mask back up over her nose and mouth. She glances back in case it's Alice, but the figure who steps out from the low hum of the party is tall and male and decidedly not wearing a ridiculous t-shirt or a black sequined miniskirt, but rather a puffer jacket and a knitted hat and a dark mask over his nose and mouth. Virtually the only things visible are his eyes; once upon a time, a strange masked man happening upon her on a deserted balcony would have scared the shit out of her. Now, she just appreciates that he's covered his face.

"Oh," the man says when he registers her, pausing in the doorway, half in and half out. "Sorry." Hovering over the threshold between indoors and out, he glances back inside before looking at her again. "I can–"

"No," Bella says, tingling with embarrassment and awkwardness and uncertainty and the nagging discomfort that has accompanied the entire evening. And, frankly, every excursion from her house since two Marches ago. "No, it's fine. Plenty of room." She gestures idiotically at the otherwise empty balcony, the small bistro table and pair of chairs stacked against the building's brick wall in deference to winter wind and weather the only other things on it.

"Okay. Thanks." He steps fully outside, sliding the door closed behind him, and then buries his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans as he moves farther out onto the balcony, nearing the railing but keeping a respectful distance between them. "Just…needed some air."

"Yeah," she agrees, staring at the city lights beneath and before them. "It's a little…" She trails off, uncertain. It's not that bad, really. Not nearly as overwhelming as pre-pandemic parties had been, or as overwhelming as it would have been with more people and fewer cautious measures in place.

"Weird?"

Yes. Yes, exactly. "Yeah," she says gratefully, still gazing at the maze of city streets reaching away from them and toward them and around them like a maze. "Weird."

"I can't see your sticker," he says after a moment, and she glances down to see that her hair has hidden it from view.

"Oh." She sweeps her hair aside, and half-turns so that she's facing him. He squints slightly, and then straightens. "Well, how about that." He half-unzips his coat, and Bella can read his sticker from where she's standing.

Romeo & Juliet.

A laugh trips from her lips before she realizes it's coming.

"Wow." She arches a skeptical brow. "For real, or because it felt appropriate?"

He laughs. "For real. I needed the catharsis of idealistic romance."

"Fair enough. I needed the catharsis of horrific violence."

"Fair enough," he echoes, and she can tell by the eyes above his mask that he's smiling, and suddenly, those very eyes narrow and he leans forward ever so slightly.

"Wait. Bella?"

She falters, frowns. "Yes?"

He unhooks his mask from one ear and a small, pleased smile is curling one side of his mouth, the tiny point of a single canine peeking out from between cold-pinked lips. "Hi."

"Holy shit. I mean– sorry. Wow. Hi."

A single eyebrow arches in amusement, and the smile widens. "Edward."

Bella rolls her eyes. "I remember your name, Edward."

"Oh, good. For a moment I was worried I was forgettable."

"Absolutely not." It's only a half-lie; she very nearly had forgotten. How handsome he was, for a start. How tall, too. But also, she'd forgotten how caught up she'd been, how hopeful, how genuinely interested in a way she hadn't been for quite some time before him.

Then it was March of 2020, and everything nonessential had been shoved aside, including the tall, sweet, mind-bogglingly handsome guy she'd met in a bookshop and subsequently had a handful of dinners, a movie, and one seriously, blood-heatingly, spine-tinglingly good kiss with.

"Whoa. This is…"

"Random?" she guesses.

"Terrific," he finishes, and she smiles, exhaling softly into her mask in something like pleasure. "So. How have you been?"

She stares at him, utterly at a loss, before they both burst out laughing. It feels so good, to laugh at something that isn't a TV show or a meme or a truly epic baking failure. She's been so absurdly grateful for Alice over the past two years – for her friendship, her reassurance, her constant company – but it feels so good to laugh with someone who isn't Alice. "The most ridiculous question ever?" he asks after a moment, when the shared laughter has quieted.

"No," she says, because it isn't. It's a very, very valid question. It's just that it's really hard to know what the appropriate answer is. The combination of rusty social skills, and feeling completely rubbed raw by the past two years, like she's lost a layer of skin and all her nerves are bared to the world…it makes it hard to know what a normal response would even be, now.

Not to mention he's not a stranger, not quite – she can still remember the spearmint sweetness of his mouth, the warm feel of his fingers lacing with hers as he walked her home – but he almost feels like one with all the time that's passed.

Is the small talk answer ("Not too bad, thanks, and you?") the right one? Or is something a little more honest ("I've been okay, thanks. Hanging in there. Luckier than a lot of people, which makes me feel guilty when I struggle with the tough parts of the past two years, because it could have been so much worse, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel exhausted and scared and confused and disappointed and, and, and…") the way to go with someone she'd genuinely liked two years ago, when she'd just been another young, single thirtysomething just trying to figure out if she was doing the whole life thing right?

"I've been…surviving." It feels honest, at least. She's been surviving. On a basic, safety level, but in a bigger, existential way, too. The past two years have felt like survival. Just getting through it. Hoping to make it through to the other side, wherever and whenever and whatever that was going to be.

"Yeah," he says after a minute, blowing out a breath. "Yeah, that about covers it, doesn't it?"

"You too?"

He nods. "Me too." She remembers, suddenly and with no small amount of horror, that he's a doctor, of all things.

"Oh. God. You– hospital?"

"Yeah." He shakes his head. "Still there." That seems to be all he wants to say on the subject, and she remembers with a pang how earnest he'd been, describing his desire to help people, to be there when they were having perhaps the worst day of their lives, and being the one who could help.

She knows what the past two years have done to her once-optimistic view of humanity; she can only imagine the beating his might have taken. "I'm sorry," she says, simply because she can think of nothing else to say.

"I'm sorry we never got that Shakespeare in the Park date," he replies, and he's smiling again.

"Me too," she says, momentarily reliving the thrill she'd felt when he suggested it, knowing the Delacorte didn't even start having performances until summer. The implication that he expected to still be interested months later had been its own boost.

"I had a lot of things planned in 2020, but I think missing out on that date with you might be one of the biggest regrets I have."

She's thankful that the mask hides her blush. "What else was on the list?"

He rocks back on his heels, and gazes up at the night sky. "Well, let's see. I was supposed to go to Vegas with a few of my buddies for a bachelor party in April. In June my first niece was born; I didn't get to meet her until her first birthday. In July I was scheduled to fly home for my parents' wedding anniversary celebration, but that got canceled. And I was supposed to run the marathon in November which was, obviously, canceled."

"Wow. I beat out all of that? I mean, not the marathon, that sounds absolutely horrific, but the other stuff?"

"You did," he says, eyes twinkling but earnest. "You were quite…something."

"I was looking forward to it, too," she says honestly. Now, standing on a freezing balcony six feet away from him, she can remember how much she'd genuinely liked him. If things had been different and she'd never heard from him after that last date they did have – the one where he'd turned suddenly shy on the sidewalk outside her building, then ducked his head, halting just short of her lips in question before gently kissing her – she'd have agonized over it for months. But as it was, it felt like she just…forgot. Between worrying about Charlie as the cases in Washington grew, and worrying about herself as New York became the epicenter of it all, the incredibly cute guy she'd met and kissed and really, really liked just…became an afterthought. A nonessential thing she couldn't afford to be sad about, given everything else that was going on.

"I'm sorry I never called you again," Edward says finally, moving his hands from his jean pockets to his jacket pockets. "I really, really wanted to. I actually was genuinely sure I would. I thought it would be a crazy couple of weeks, and then I'd call you and apologize for having been out of touch, and you'd be sweet and understanding because you are sweet and if ever there was a legitimate excuse for not calling a girl you like, it's gotta be a global pandemic, right? But then…it wasn't a few weeks. And it was awful, for a long time. And I just…buried myself in it, I guess. And I didn't have time or energy for anything else, for a while there. And by the time it was even remotely calm again, so long had passed that it seemed like we'd just…missed each other."

Bella tries to imagine what it would have been like if he had called her, especially in the beginning, when she was a nervous wreck about everything, only leaving the apartment when absolutely necessary, her and Alice taking turns doing so and showering the minute they got home. Bleaching groceries. Hand sanitizing until their knuckles cracked and bled. Sitting in front of her computer for hours a day, trying to connect with her students, their tiny faces all degrees of bored, sad, confused, tired, mischievous, lonely. The worst were the ones who never logged on. The ones she'd already worried about when she did see them every day.

And he spent his working hours in a hospital.

She'd have been no comfort to him, she suspects.

"Probably for the best," she says after a moment, and he watches her face for a minute before nodding.

"Right. Yeah. Probably."

They lapse into silence – comfortable or awkward, she can't quite tell – until he clears his throat. "So," he says finally. "Why are you standing on a balcony in the freezing cold?"

She glances at him, and then tips her head back over her shoulder, in the direction of the apartment. "I needed space," she says quietly. "It felt like…going against my instincts. Being in a room with more than a couple other people."

He nods. "Yeah. I almost didn't come. But Jasper was…pretty insistent."

"Alice, too. I…haven't really left my apartment much. Haven't really socialized in two years. Not like this, anyway." Looking through the glass, she can see Alice standing with Jasper, heads ducked close together, eyes laughing above their masks. "I'm supposed to be a wingwoman of sorts, but she seems to be piloting just fine solo."

Edward follows her gaze, and his eyebrows lift, disappearing beneath the band of his hat. "Wait. The girl Jasper's been obsessing over for months. The fashion influencer girl. That's your Alice?"

"Yes. Wait, hang on. How do you know Jasper?"

Edward grins. "He's my brother. Well, stepbrother. But really…brother."

"Holy shit."

"The stars align," he muses, and she grins.

"So you're a doctor who likes Shakespeare, and he's a theater director who…what? Is a paramedic on the side?"

"Oh, god, no. Blood makes him squeamish. He's just a theater nerd, through and through. Who has been going on nonstop about your roommate for months."

Bella shakes her head. "I feel like I'm in a weird parallel universe thing, which would be really jarring if not for the fact that it's felt like that for ages."

He laughs, and she remembers, suddenly, how much she'd liked his laugh. A low rumble of a chuckle that sounded warm, somehow. Suddenly, absurdly, she has a flashed imagining of herself in the ring of his arms, ear pressed to his chest, hearing the rumble from within. "I know what you mean."

They once again fall into silence, and even though her eyes are starting to water in the cold, she doesn't actually want to go back inside and, for the first time since she stepped out of her pajama pants and into her jeans a few short hours ago, she doesn't even want to go home. She just wants to stay here, on this barren balcony above a noisy city, talking with the cute boy who could have been so much more, had their fledgling romance not been one more casualty of something so much bigger than anything else.

"Well, I'm really glad you did come," he says finally.

"I'm glad you did."

"Normally, this would be the part where I'd ask for your number, you know."

"Oh, really."

"Really. I'd say something terribly charming and then mention a restaurant I'd just read a glowing review of, and then I'd casually ask if you'd care to check it out with me. It would be terrifically smooth."

"In that case, I'm sorry to be missing it."

"But the thing is," he continues, "I still have your number. And I'm not really comfortable eating in restaurants yet and it's too fucking cold to eat outside, and I can tell by the way you're standing on a balcony at a party that you wouldn't be comfortable either, even though I actually did just hear about a place that apparently does a terrific coconut chicken curry."

In the face of that deluge of honesty, all she can find to say is, "I really like curry."

He grins. "I remember. You told me."

Immediately, she feels something in her chest cut loose. It's the stupidest thing – she knows she likes curry, but him saying it like that – it feels like he's giving her back a piece of herself from before she became pandemic Bella. This new version of herself, who gets nervous whenever someone stands too close. The one who still wears a mask, even (and especially) when it isn't required. The one who still won't take the subway or call an Uber or fly home to Washington to see her dad. Just in case.

That memory, of the girl caught up in the flirty throes of the first few dates, offering up tidbits about herself like breadcrumbs – it feels like a hazy, remembered version of herself. One she'd like to find her way back to, but knows she can't, quite. She can't be pre-pandemic Bella again.

And she isn't post-pandemic Bella yet. But she really, really wants to be.

"Do they…" She swallows against the tightening in her throat.

"Do they what?" His voice is impossibly gentle. It hits her like a blow, the sense memory of how much she'd wanted this to be something. It feels like another level of freedom, letting herself remember how she'd wanted it. Letting herself realize that she wants it still.

"Do they…do takeout?"

The expression that steals across his face – a pleased mix of surprise and hope – is a near thing for the one she feels swoop through her stomach.

"Yeah," he says, and she sees his throat jump as he swallows. "Yes. They do takeout. I mean…I assume. They must do takeout." He says it as though he will make it so, if it isn't already.

Needing a reprieve from the sudden gravity of the moment, she gestures once again toward the doors, and what lies beyond them. "I get the feeling Alice is going to want our apartment to herself sometime in the hopefully-near future."

Edward laughs. "You're probably not wrong." His face sobers slightly, and he stares at her for a few silent moments. "I forgot how pretty you are."

She laughs. "You can't even see my face."

"I can see enough of it. And I remember it."

She realizes, belatedly, that his mask is still dangling from one ear. All this time, she's been greedily if surreptitiously drinking in the sight of him, and she'd forgotten that his mask was hanging from one ear, brushing against his jaw as he spoke. He's still a good distance away from her, and she's reaching up for her own before she's really allowed herself to dither.

"You don't have to take it off. Really. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, or–"

"I don't," she says, thrilled beyond belief to realize the truth of it.

He reaches up, pulling his mask off his ear and folding it gently over itself before sliding it into his coat pocket. "I've been vaccinated and boostered and PCR tested and rapid tested and I haven't been anywhere without a mask on in months. And I've basically been in my apartment for a week without seeing a soul."

"Same," she replies, as the mask comes away from her face. "To just about all of that, with the exception of seeing Alice."

He grins. "Is it just me, or did that feel like some weird, new version of the safe sex talk?"

"When we get there, it'll be old hat."

Surprised delight floods his face, and his eyebrows jump as his grin widens. "When?"

"What?" She's blushing, but she's also exhilarated, and a heady recklessness washes over her. She wants to kiss him. Again. Just this side of ten minutes ago she didn't want to stand near anyone, and now she wants to press her mouth against his and see if he tastes like spearmint or something else. She wants to explore, see what's the same and what's different, and she wants to let him explore her, too, and rediscover herself along with him.

She won't, tonight. She knows she won't. But she wants to, and for a moment she can imagine being on the other side of this huge, horrible thing they've been living through.

She takes the very tiniest of steps closer to him, nearly tiny enough to have just been a shifting of her weight.

"They're…doing As You Like It," he says softly. "In the park. This summer."

"That's one of my favorites."

He beams. "Mine too." His sneakers scuffle against the concrete as he, too, shifts his weight. "Can I take you?"

"Yes."

Because maybe this is what courage feels like, in the afterward. Being bold enough to make plans, even if they might not happen. Being brave enough to hope they just might.

Hang in there, everyone. Take care of yourself. xo