She hasn't ever experienced a hangover before, so naturally, Claire assumes that she's dying when she awakens the next morning. It's like Thomas is the one hovering a hammer over her head. Maggie barks as her eyes weakly open, licking her cheek and tickling her face with her soft fur. She stuffs her face in her pillows with a groan, mindlessly reaching for the blinds to block the sunshine out. Her elbow knocks over a cup on her nightstand, its contents sloshing out onto the floor.

Claire frowns, cocking her head as Maggie laps up the spilt water on the floor. She doesn't remember waking up to get herself a drink.

Oh man. She does remember Gray in her house last night, though. And she remembers making a total fool out of herself.

Claire still doesn't know why she lied to him in the first place. Well, technically it wasn't a lie. He asked her if she liked sex, and she said that it was fine. Sex is fine. There isn't anything wrong with sex. She does think it's fine; better than fine even! It's just that she's never done it, nor is she allowed to do it.

She can't.

But, maybe she should have been more forthcoming. There isn't anything wrong with being a virgin, so what's making her so embarrassed?

The reason why I have to be one.

With a sigh, Claire walks into her bathroom. After unclasping her overalls, she shimmies her way out of the rough denim. Her thumbs then unclasp the buttons of her red-checkered shirt, peeling it off of her arms.

How many girls has Gray undressed?

Why did she just think that?!

Her chest aches. The fact that she slept in her bra baffles her, because she's never done that one before. As Claire unhooks it, the garment falls to the floor, underwire no longer tight on her skin. When she catches her reflection in the mirror next to her shower, she does her best to carefully avoid looking at the ugly marking on her lower stomach. This is hopelessly impossible, though.

Her surgical scar looks especially swollen today. Its jagged, ugly mark runs sideways, from under her left breast behind the small of her back. If she turns around, she'll have to look at it snake its way under her shoulder blade, which she'd rather not do. She'll just face forward and pretend as though it doesn't exist. She stares at the faded out red seatbelt scar on her trapezius. Prescribed cream managed to heal that, but it would take a miracle to fix the rest of her jagged torso.

Claire's skin in general is so pale and sensitive, that even the motion of taking her clothes off results in a painful scarlet look to it. Her shoulders are slumped, from years of horrendous posture. Her breasts are teardrop shaped, perky at the top, but heavy and full near the bottom. Growing up, she was shamed by the Catholic congregation that she lived in for their bigger size, especially in comparison to her petite body. One of the nuns had even suggested a breast reduction in front of all the other girls, causing Claire to bury her face in her hands, mortified. As if she could handle another surgery. It was as though her being larger-chested was some sort of sin.

Growing up there made everything feel like a sin. Even her being left-handed apparently translated to something biblically superstitious in Latin.

Her arms are way too scrawny, her hips too wide, her legs too short, and her stomach nowhere near flat enough. Claire's used to picking herself apart in the mirror when she's clad in nothing but her plain-looking underwear. When she removes them slowly, she wonders if she'll have learned to undress in a semi-sexy manner by the time her wedding night rolls around.

She could criticize herself all day: a scarred-up, scrappy little nobody. With a sigh, Claire hops in her shower, letting the steaming water envelop her.


"Get up," says Saibara, flicking the light switch to Gray's room on. When the brightness hits his eyes, he groans, yanking his pillow over his head. He would rather not see any form of light in this lifetime.

Ann jolts up, instinctively covering herself with Gray's comforter. Her face burns with shame when she meets his grandfather's eyes. After nudging Gray with her elbow frantically, he reluctantly lifts himself up.

Saibara shakes his head. "Aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," he remarks.

Ann has buried her face in her hands. "Saibara, I-"

"Does your father know you're here, Ann?"

She shakes her head, muttering, "Damn it."

Gray slowly rises, thanking Christ that he put on a pair of boxers before he fell asleep last night. He stares blankly at Saibara, feeling unsteady. "I'll give you some privacy to change," he mumbles to Ann, reaching for a pair of pants from his drawer. She looks up at him with a thankful expression as he and his grandfather exit the room, shutting the door.

"What the hell are you doing, Grayson?" Saibara asks harshly, hand on his forehead like he's going to faint. What a drama queen.

Gray maneuvers his way into the pair of flannel pajama bottoms that he grabbed, still feeling wobbly. "Leave me alone, Gramps."

"That's Doug's daughter!" he exclaims in disbelief. Like I don't already know that.

Gray ignores him as he makes his way over to the coffee machine, readying a cup for himself and Ann. His patience is already wearing very thin.

"You know this ain't your house, right?" Saibara continues. "My son comes to me, saying he needs to get help, I agree to take in my only grandson and mentor him, and-"

Gray's had enough. He slams his mug against the countertop angrily, the coffee inside splashing against his hand. It burns his skin, but he can hardly feel it in this state. Plus, it's not as bad as when he accidentally seared it while welding a couple of weeks ago. "Holy shit," he snaps. "What do you want, old man?"

Saibara glares. "Some respect. This ain't Chicago anymore, kid. You can't just do as you please." He crosses his arms firmly. "You got responsibilities now, and a job, and you're gonna end up like your father if you-"

"Don't compare me to him," Gray says sharply. "Don't you ever." He shoots him a glare before chugging back his coffee. It's piping hot, but he needs it right now. This is the worst hangover that he's had in a long time. He steadies himself by counting the marmalade tiles that soar across their kitchen backsplash, releasing his breath.

A knock persists at the door.

"Don't answer that," says Gray. God forbid it's Doug. His grandfather narrows his eyes at him.

"It's a Monday, and Mineral Blacksmith is open," he responds. Gray just leans against the fridge, scowling as Saibara rushes to get the door. Stubborn old-

"Hi, Saibara," he hears a tired voice say. No. No no no no NO.

"You don't need to knock, Claire," Saibara says curtly, welcoming her in. "Our customers usually just open the door."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't wanna bother you guys."

"No bother at all."

She follows Saibara into the kitchen, leaving Gray to forget any and all of his words. It's like the air has been removed from the room. "Boy, you look like death," she says with a laugh. Holding out a bar of Hershey's milk chocolate, she extends it to him with a small, flushed smile, looking away so that she doesn't stare at his bare torso.

"I'll leave you to it," Saibara murmurs, before making his way out back. "You should probably go put a shirt on, though."

Jerkoff.

"This is for you. I bought it at Karen's family store this morning, and jeez, she looked surprised to see me alive!" Claire offers it to him expectantly, but he's internally panicking. "I, uh... I dunno, I figured everyone likes chocolate." Although Gray loves chocolate, and it's a bonus that this one is peanut free for his stupid allergy, his stomach churns at the very sight of her holding the candy bar. "But, um, I wanted to thank you for helping me out last night."

Gray stares at her. "You need to leave."

She frowns. "I'm sorry if you're mad, or if I said anything to like, make you mad. It's just, I appreciate it. It was really nice of you, and…"

Her damp hair has been pulled back into two neat braids, face void of any makeup. She looks cute like this, all barefaced and natural. Gray rubs the stubble on his face in attempt to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do right now. "I mean it," he starts, not wanting to snap at her. Claire's face twists in confusion. "Please just go-"

Ann exits Gray's room silently with her head down, holding the oversized white t-shirt in her arms. She wears the same outfit that she wore to the inn the previous night, hair spilling down her head in tawny waves. She shuts the door, staring at Claire in front of her.

The room is filled with an uncomfortable, painful silence for a while. Gray swears that the seconds are ticking by like minutes. Claire slowly lifts her gaze to him, eyes flashing. "So, I was wrong about you."

Gray combs his fingers through his mop of bedhead. "Don't," he tells her, embarrassment edged in his voice.

Her cheeks flame. "Don't what? That is all you care about, huh?"

Ann stands in the hallway, motionless, like she can't believe what she's hearing. He didn't think that Claire's voice was capable of getting this harsh. It's raised and it's angry and he really doesn't need to entertain her right now. I don't owe her eff all of an explanation.

"You don't know jack shit," Gray snaps. He leans back against the fridge, in attempt to pretend like he doesn't give a damn about this whole thing. The coldness of the furniture is freezing on his naked back. "So, don't pretend like you do."

Claire is stunned, as if no one's ever spoken to her like this before. She swallows, before regaining somewhat of a full composure. "Oh, really?" Sarcasm drips from her words. "I tell you that I won't have sex with you, you say that 'didn't even cross your mind', but then you go and get someone who will?"

Gray's temper is boiling. "That's very bold of you to assume that I'd even want to fuck some inexperienced, bratty prude." His words are nastier than hers, like a verbal slap across the face. Ann is visibly horrified.

"Gray, stop it!" she interjects, stepping forward to Claire with pleading eyes. "Please, Claire, this is my fault."

It's like she hasn't even heard Ann, though. Her face is painted with blatant hurt, squinting like she's trying to comprehend what's in front of her. "I thought you said that Mary lied."

"She did," Gray says.

"Did she though? Because like, here you are, and..." Claire chews on the inside of her cheek, inhaling a deep breath before shaking her head in disbelief. "Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"

"Yeah, I really don't owe you nothing, sweetie. And last I checked," Gray adds, jamming his hands in his pockets. "You weren't exactly honest either."

If possible, Claire's face turns redder. "You said that you weren't like that."

He walks over to her closely. She's at least a whole foot shorter than him, so she has to raise her chin to look up at him with glaring eyes. "Like I said, I don't owe you shit," he says callously. "I don't owe anything to some prissy little virgin."

"Gray!" Ann admonishes, before Claire furiously shoves the chocolate at him. He hardly even moves as he watches her angrily dart out his front door, slamming it behind her.


"Daddy, it's nothing," Ann tells her father, rubbing the sleep from her eyes for the fortieth time this morning. She can't even bring herself to look at him.

"Nothing?" Doug's starting to get choked up. Ann can't help but hang her head in shame as they stand outside of the inn. "I was worried sick about you! I checked your room this morning and you weren't there! Cliff said that he hadn't seen you since you left after midnight!"

Ann digs her hands into the pocket of her pants, kicking at a stone. After reaming Gray out due to the fiasco she'd witnessed (and slightly took part of), she quickly ran home, hoping to slip back into her room without her father noticing. It was still early enough, but her plan failed miserably. "I'm sorry," she apologizes.

Doug's face is knotted in anger. "Ann, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What were you thinking, just disappearing like that without letting me know?" He crosses his arms firmly. "I'm not about to lose you-"

"Oh, Jesus-"

"Like I lost your mother."

"Dad!" Tears spring to her eyes. She can't believe that he's reaming her out in the open, or that she's crying in public, or that he's pulling the "mom" card. Mary's father, Basil, passes by them on his usual Monday morning stroll, pretending as though he isn't eavesdropping, but Ann ignores him. "I told you I was sorry. You won't lose me, I promise."

Her father is on a hysterical roll, though. "Where the hell were you?!"

Having really, really, really drunk sex. With the town blacksmith. Apprentice blacksmith. No biggie. Ann isn't prepared to answer his question; she hasn't even thought of an excuse to tell her father. Plus, doesn't her father regularly converse with Gray's grandfather? Is it seriously time to 'fess up?

"Doug, I'm so sorry!" Claire calls, sheepishly rushing over to the two of them. Her footsteps are loud and frantic on the paved sidewalk. "We should have called, I know, but Ann stayed the night at my place."

Doug raises his eyebrows at Ann in confirmation. She tries to mask her dumbfounded expression. Uhhh...?

"Why?" her father demands.

Claire's face flushes. "I had… a bit too much to drink last night. Ann was the only responsible one, so she offered to walk me home, and she stayed the night."

Yeah right. Ann was the most wasted one.

Doug frowns. "Well, two girls walking alone at night isn't safe. Why couldn't you just stay at a room here?"

Claire clearly hasn't planned for this next portion of her story. She begins sputtering. "Umm, well-"

"Claire has responsibilities at home, Daddy," Ann says, cutting in. Responsibilities? Really? It's generic as hell, but hopefully it'll spark some kind of elaborate excuse.

Claire quickly nods in validation. "Yeah, for real! I've got a dog that I just couldn't leave alone," she confirms. Alright, there we go.

"Ah-huh. Cute thing, Daddy. It's not used to sleeping all by its lonesome at night."

"Plus, I've like, never drank before, so I was sorta freaked out. And... I just asked Ann to sleepover." Claire looks at Ann expectantly, giving her a small smile. "Thank you so much again."

Why is she doing this? Isn't Claire upset with her?

Well, she's mad at Gray. I mean duh, he's totally the worst, but wouldn't that make her mad at me too? And doesn't Claire think that she's trashy after the stunt she pulled? It's confusing the shit out of her.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Ann says, when her father still has his lips pressed together. She pulls him into a hug. "I promise I'll let you know next time."

The harsh lines on Doug's face soften. "Just... be careful, girls. I know that nothing ever happens around here, but let's try to keep it that way." He releases Ann with a shake of his head, making his way inside.

She heaves a sigh of relief, turning to Claire with a thankful grin. "Come. I totally owe you for saving my sorry ass." Ann motions toward the inn's front doors with a wink. "I'll make you some breakfast: a real hangover cure."

"Look, I owe you an apology," Claire blurts out, furrowing her brow in guilt. Ann is taken aback. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad for... um, being with him last night. If it sounded like I was shaming you, then I'm so, so sorry. I was getting angry at him without thinking about how my words would affect you. And I shouldn't have like... invalidated what you guys have going. And, also-"

"My God, girl, don't sweat it!" Ann takes Claire's hand appreciatively. "You're totally overthinking things. I'm not mad at you at all. I thought you'd be mad at me, for... uh, well-"

"I'm mad at him for being a jerk."

She leads her inside, not disagreeing with that statement at all. "Let me just try and explain the entire situation to you."


"You have to understand Gray," Ann tells Claire gently. She sets two plates down on their table by the window, looking as though she is choosing her words very carefully.

Claire looks down at the over-easy eggs in front of her. For someone with a hangover, Ann whipped them up pretty fast. She can't even get them looking this good on a regular day; doing them sunny side up has just always been the easier alternative. Her fork pokes into the yellow centre, contents of yolk dribbling out everywhere. They're still runny, exactly the way that she likes them. "Well, I don't," says Claire tightly.

"I know, I know," sighs Ann. She cuts into her own neat, light brown omelet, but doesn't appear to be very hungry. "He's a complex guy."

"I hope you don't think that I… look, I mean, if you're with him-"

Ann raises her hands in protest. "Claire, I swear to God that I am not."

"I mean, it's totally okay if you are, obviously."

Ann shakes her head. "Gray and I… what we do is really just for fun."

Claire can't even imagine a world where she hasn't been taught to be terrified of sex, much less, consider it to be something "fun". She takes another bite of her eggs, swallowing before speaking. "Last night, I was a total mess too," she confides, thinking back to Mary's words: "Is this your next one?" "I asked him if Mary was lying, and he said that she was."

"She was," Ann assures. She stops to prod at her omelet some more. It's folded to perfection, and she's just about destroying it with her utensil. "I mean... I guess there's some truth to it, if I'm being honest. It was a really casual thing that him and me had going, but I told him last week that I wasn't down to do it anymore, and he agreed." She looks up from her plate with earnest eyes. "But, Claire, I was the one who went to him last night, 'cause I wanted it one last time. I dunno if you get it."

She's right; Claire doesn't get it. How great can sex be, if she's been told that it's a mortal sin outside of marriage? And since mortal sins cause bouts of anguish... apparently, does sex just not feel good until the wedding night? Aren't the first couple of times supposed to hurt like a you-know what anyway, meaning that it won't even be great until some time later?

Or, maybe they just drilled all of this in her head back at the convent to scare her.

It's obviously good regardless of the circumstances if everyone's doing it. Claire raises her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, 'cause you're a virgin," Ann says, slowly. "And that's fine! It's not even a big deal. I mean, it's your choice, but..."

Pfft, choice. "Maybe I don't get it," she mumbles. "I grew up in a super... judgemental environment, and I try my best not to be like that. None of this was my business, and I'm sorry for inserting myself." Claire sighs deeply. "Gray's right, he doesn't owe me any kind of explanation. But, I dunno why I felt so... icky. I guess I just believed that he really didn't care about that stuff."

"Well, he's a guy, and guys tend to think with the wrong head," Ann laughs. "But, he's not pushy or anything like that. Yesterday was all on me." She exhales, staring out the window in front of her, before finally saying: "I know his words were hurtful, but he didn't mean what he said. I know he didn't; I promise. He's not a bad guy at all."

"Are you joking?"

"Gray comes across as a real dick, I know. But he's a good friend, and honestly, a good person. I mean it. You wouldn't believe the bullshit he's gone through."

He's not the only one who's been through hell. Claire narrows her eyes. "Everybody's going through something. That's no excuse to be a jackass."

"Trust me, I know, and I tell him that all the time. But I swear to God, underneath that rough exterior, he's got a heart."

Claire dubiously takes the last bite of her eggs. "I'll believe that when I see it."


Gray cannot believe what he's hearing. "You agree with her?" he snaps.

Ann frowns. "She totally bailed me out, and I got her side of the story. I understand where you both are coming from."

Gray scoffs. He rolls up his sleeves and drops his welding tools on the workbench, rubbing at the sweat on his forehead. If there's one thing that he loves more than work, it's being bothered at work. "I'm not that bad a guy. I brought her home last night, and she's friggin' bawling, 'cause she thought I was gonna want to…" He stops himself. The image of what he's about to say sounds so wrong to even think of. Claire looked paranoid -no, terrified- yesterday. "Oh, and let me remind you that you came on to me."

"I know," Ann says.

He's just bitching at this point. "And she's pretty cocky for thinking that I would even want her."

Ann makes a face. "Oh, please, Gray. I saw the way that you were looking at her last night. Don't be stupid. Claire's super pretty and nice." Nice? Her temper clearly rivals his own. "And you obviously find her attractive."

"So?" Shit. He just glares. "I mean, I don't even know her. She's such a friggin' goody-goody. And what makes you even think that?"

Ann just shrugs. "Like I said, it was just pretty obvious to me. I have eyes, y'know."

How obvious could it have been? It wasn't like he was drunkenly staring or flirting with her all night... right?

"Plus," she continues. "Not that I support this statement, but I thought that guys are into virgins."

Gray scowls at her ridiculously idiotic comment. "I wouldn't know, I don't even think that I've been anyone's first time." From what he'd gathered, the seven girls in total that he'd done it with had all had sex before. A virgin from being with virgins. That sounded like the world's most confusing oxymoron. Nothing felt different. None of them pulled him aside before the act, asking him to go easy on them, or to be extra careful, or anything cinematic like that. They seemed to have experience, and it was a good time all around.

But, he doesn't get why something intangible like virginity get fetishized; it's kind of unsettling in his opinion, to base sexual preference over whether a chick's done it before. Besides, don't you have to go super slow and gentle for a girl's first time? He likes it when things are a little less vanilla in the bedroom, if he's being real.

"So, you don't like her?" Ann asks.

Gray feels a migraine coming on. Women just don't give it a rest, do they? "Jesus Christ, Ann, I didn't want to sleep with her because I don't take advantage of girls. And she was friggin' petrified. And I wasn't even thinking that. And I felt like a huge asshole for no reason."

"Well," Ann says. "You were a huge asshole this morning." Gray just rolls his eyes at her, but even that motion hurts his head. She's not wrong, though; he said some seriously messed up shit to Claire earlier. "Look, I think that you like her, and that you were being a gentleman... you know, up until like, two hours ago."

Gray denies none of this; he just blinks at her. "What would you like me to do?" he asks, without any tone of sincerity in his voice.

"Did you know that she lost her mom, too, Gray?" Ann pauses, frowning. "Like you and me?"

Gray stares silently at his work station in front of him, images of his late mother flashing before his eyes, like a slideshow of pure pain. Her looking so happy in her wedding photos, dressed in white and smiling next to his screw-up father, her hugging him on his sixth birthday, beside his superhero cake, her with an IV in her arm, a horseshoe-shaped scar embedded into the left side of her shaved scalp.

"You guys are very similar," Ann finally says, when Gray doesn't answer.

"We aren't," he mutters.

She touches his arm, her skin cool to the touch. "Believe me," she says softly. "You are."


A/N: My cousin is left-handed, and when going to Sunday school growing up, was forced to write with his right hand because using the opposite hand is only something that the devil does (the Latin translation for left is "sinistram," aka sinister, aka satanic/ evil). Hmm alrighty then, let's just force ppl to be ambidextrous out of fear lolz. But I think that following a religion is a really nice way to practice your faith and exercise your beliefs! Just not when you grow up living in fear of sinning and feeling bad for everything that you do, or for things that you can't even control :/