Gray doesn't have the heart to spy on her. He saw how upset she was when he merely peered out of his window on the night that she had her re-do date with Trent. And there's really no benefit to making her mad again or repeating the same mistake twice. Plus, Claire mad is unsettling. It's like seeing his high school teachers outside of their classroom and in a supermarket, wearing casual clothes.

No, what was supposed to be his espionage of eavesdropping merely turns in to him angrily pacing Mineral Town in an attempt to sober up further. When he returns to the inn, he finds a lone Doug wiping down the countertop, the lights dimmed. "Just What I Needed" by The Cars is playing on his little radio, an isolated melody that accompanies the squeaking sound of the cleaning supplies against the bar.

"I think that this belongs to your date," says Doug, gesturing toward one of the bar stools. Claire's navy blue sweater or shawl or whatever the hell it is has been neatly placed on it. When Gray lifts it, it feels impossibly heavy in his hands, like it represents all of the baggage that he carries around in life… or something. But it smells like it should; the sweet, caramel scent of her intoxicating his nostrils. He massages his temples with one hand in an attempt to clear up his hazy mind.

"Sorry," Doug says apologetically when Gray's hand still rests on his forehead. He reaches beside him to turn the radio knob down, effectively lowering the music. "Just couldn't stand those modern hits of today, y'know?"

Gray shrugs. The music is the last reason for his headache. "It's alright. I like The Cars." He pauses, scanning through his unclear brain to recall some of the rock and roll trivia that his stupid father used to ingrain in him. "Aren't they from Boston?"

Doug beams at him. "Sure are. Wait, you're not from there, are you?"

"Nope," says Gray. "My 'date' is."

Doug nods in agreement, leaning his arm against the coffee machine that everyone in town pitched in for as a gift for his fiftieth last year. "You don't like that doctor she's around, do you?"

A string of hate-filled sentences directed towards that POS crawl their way up Gray's throat, but he just swallows them back. "Where's Kai and Popuri?" he asks instead.

"They're upstairs in his room; looked like he was getting himself lucky tonight!"

Gray hopes –no– he prays that he won't have to hear about the baseball metaphors of sex again. Please, God, Jesus, whoever's up there, anything but that. He's drunk enough to let anything slip in front of Doug. "How 'bout Ann and Cliff?"

"Oh, they went to go and talk about something." Doug gestures toward the door to his daughter's room, as if Gray didn't already know its location. He can practically picture the sounds of bedsprings. Why Doug doesn't think that those two are doing the exact same thing as Kai and Popuri is beyond him.

"If Kai asks, and only if Kai asks, then I'm going by Claire's," he says distractedly, clutching her knitted-thing. It's cold against his fingers, lacking the warmth of her translucent skin against it. "To give this to her."

"You been thinking about going there anyway, before I even gave you that," Doug says, handing him a shot of espresso with a piece of toast bread over the bar counter. Gray is so lost that he didn't even hear the grinding noise of the coffee machine being churned, or the sound of Doug opening the loaf's packaging. "It's plain to see. Only now you got a good excuse to go." He tosses him a wink as Gray absently downs his espresso back, the caffeine jolting his nerves awake almost immediately.

He takes a bite of the bread, proceeding to leave, when a sex-scream erupts from a room upstairs. Doug just cranks his radio up about twenty notches louder with a "well-what're-you-gonna-do?" sort of shrug.

At least he won't have to hear the bedsprings, or the loud vocals anymore.


"Did you enjoy your evening?" Trent asks, giving Claire's hand a squeeze. His fingers are frosty against her own, like he just naturally possesses this characteristic to being a doctor. She wonders if his hands were once warm, and the second upon receiving his MD degree, suddenly turned icy.

"Yes," she singsongs, smiling up at him. "Karen and Rick looked so happy."

His steps are light in comparison to her heels clacking against the pavement. "Do I make you happy, Claire?"

She looks up at him, going on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek. "Obviously you do!" She pauses, then squeezes his hand back innocently. "I just want to make you happy."

She's so new at relationships, like a newborn opening their grey eyes for the first time; like a baby giraffe learning how to walk. Claire just hopes that she's doing this one right.

"You do?" Although dark and usually unreadable, there is a glimmer in Trent's eyes.

Was there a full moon for just boys that I'm not aware of? She tilts her head, then laughs. "Um, of course?"

Her boyfriend looks like he's been waiting to hear these words for his entire life. He's accomplished a methodical yet exuberant pep in his step as he walks eagerly next to her, his grip on her hand tighter. Claire stares at him questioningly as they stand outside of her farmhouse.

"What are you doing?" she asks, when Trent starts loosening up the backs of his loafers. How many drinks did he and Gray share at the bar together when she was off on the dance floor?

"Can I come in?" he asks, a little too fervently.

Claire's come to know that look in his eyes all too well. She isn't exactly in the mood for a full-on makeout session right now, but she also doesn't want to be rude and turn him away from her, either. In her mind, allowing this will prevent an unnecessary fight.

"Sure," she replies with a shrug. Trent just smiles, tousling her hair.

When they walk into her farmhouse, she doesn't even have a chance to bother with the lights. In pitch blackness, Maggie barks as Trent presses himself instantly against her, his mouth insistent on her own. "Claire... God, Claire, I just want to give you what you want."

A good night's sleep? "Ha, do you now?" she manages to say between kisses, her eyes shut tight.

His tongue prods against hers as he moans into her. Her eyes fly open; she's never heard him this vocal before.

"I promise that I'm going to do my best to make you come," Trent says, his hands winding their way around her.

Claire just blanks.

Come? Come where? Where are they going?

"Trent, what are you talking about?" she asks, genuinely confused. Her question is dodged through the muffled sound of his intense kisses. To her surprise, Trent lifts her, throwing her back against the couch. As her head hits the armrest, she lets out a painful groan, to which Trent confuses as her being seductive.

"I know that you just want me to feel good, too," he says, hovering over her. She stares up at him with wide eyes, rubbing the back of her head, her body sprawled under him. "The way that I do for you." And then his hands find their way under the hemline of her dress, crawling up her thighs. Claire jerks her face away, letting out a gasp that evidently breaks their kiss.

THIS IS WHAT HE MEANT?

"O-o-oh," she stammers, pushing his hand away. Instinctively, she crosses her legs and sits up, fidgeting in her seat while feeling rather stupid. She isn't a child; she should have known that something like this was en route. Plus, she's seen American Pie, The Notebook, and Titanic. Why am I so clueless?!

Trent looks like a deflated helium balloon that's been popped. He retreats himself back on her lumpy couch, shoulders slumping as if he's carrying the weight of her refusal on his shoulders. "You said… I thought this is what you wanted. I thought… that you wanted to make me happy."

"I-I didn't know that you meant in the physical sense of the word!" she exclaims, folding her hands in her lap. She looks down at them to avoid his blatantly disappointed expression, cheeks scorching with shame. "Trent, I just-"

"Is this a bad night?" he asks. Her face burns further.

"This is a very bad night. Actually, that really wouldn't be good… for any night." Come back if we're married.

She did not just think that, did she?

His voice is almost pleading. "Just tell me what it is."

He takes note at her bleak expression. She wishes that she had her shawl to disappear beneath. Where even is it? "Trent, I cant," she says, chewing on her cheek. "I'm sorry that you got the impression that I ever wanted to." They should have just ended their night at the door. It would have saved her from the embarrassment and Catholic guilt that she's experiencing right about now. Can't they just stick to talking? She much prefers that.

Not that she doesn't like kissing him, but it feels like overindulgence; like a tummy-ache right after having too many sweets.

Trent knits his brow, the way that he does when he's trying to figure out those Sodoku puzzles that he does for fun. Math cannot possibly be fun. Hard pass... no thanks.

"Are you on your menstrual cycle? Is that why?"

Claire widens her eyes. "Um, I am, actually."

Trent nods, as if he gets it, as if he gets everything, but she feels like he isn't really listening to the overall severity in her words. "I could tell. You seemed rather bloated and slightly temperamental today."

"Oh," Claire says, because what else is there to say? She knew that the fabric and colour of the bridesmaid dress was unforgiving, and hearing this come out of her boyfriend's blunt mouth makes her desperately wish that she wore her Spanx. But she honestly didn't think that she was acting moody today. Emotional, sure, but not moody; she just loves weddings. "Thanks."

"Sorry, didn't mean to be so direct," Trent says, annoyance sprinkled over his words. "Claire, do you know what epididymal hypertension is?"

This better not be another medical lecture. She has to tell him now, or she's never going to get around to it.

"Trent, listen," Claire says. "I-"

"Because it's really not comfortable, at all."

She throws him a glare, continuing on as if he never interrupted her. Maybe she is being bitchy because of her period, but she doesn't care right now. "That's not the only reason that I can't, though. You see-"

"Colloquially known as blue balls, and if you aren't familiar with that, then-"

"I made a promise that I cannot break," she says loudly, speaking over his voice. What is he even going on about? Something blue? Blue balls?

But Trent shoots up from the couch, running a hand through his thick hair. "Is it me, Claire? Is that it?!"

She hasn't heard him yell like this. His normally calm demeanor has been packed up, thrown into a lock, and she really hopes to God that he hasn't lost the damn key.

"No, Trent. My gosh, this really isn't about you right now!"

"So it's not me." He isn't asking; he's breathing a sigh of relief, taking back his seat next to her.

Claire sighs, having moved on to chewing her bottom lip now. She refuses to make eye contact with him. Sooner or later, it has to come out. "You don't understand, we really can't."

Trent's hand reaches to grab her face, squeezing her cheeks like a fish so that she is meeting his gaze. He stares at her darkly. "I don't understand? I don't understand? Claire, I'm a doctor. It's my job to understand."

And he brings his lips to hers, letting go of her face to stroke her wrist, as if he fears that she could break at any minute. Her heart is racing. What's going on? Did she just mess everything up by upsetting him royally?

"I get it," Trent says, kissing her long and hard again, reaching down to squeeze her hand like he did outside on the walk home. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I let the alcohol speak for me, and got way too ahead of myself there. Sometimes, I just forget…" He lets his voice trail off as slow relief washes over her. "I'm sorry for snapping."

When he presses his lips against her deeply, his tongue no longer prods, his hands no longer roam. Maybe he does get it. She feels her grasp on what they have together slowly returning, as though it never left her fingers.

"Claire?"

"Mmm?" she hums, her face still locked against his. Trent leans back on her couch, his fingers stretching across the scars that creep along her back. Claire would like to believe that they are their own separate entity, but the feel of someone touching them reminds her that they are all too real.

"What happened?" he asks, tracing each one with his middle finger. He isn't looking at them, though; he's merely feeling for the grooves of her skin, in between what she'd like to believe is her, and what she'd like to forget is her.

"Car accident that my mom and I were in, remember?" She says it so softly that she wonders if he's even heard her. Claire pulls her face away, staring at him through the moonlight, saying this next part a bit louder. "Trent, she's why I can't."

He nods. "They must have sewn in a lot of stitches, didn't they?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Of course I heard you. Did you hear me?"

Claire sucks up a breath. "Yeah, I guess so." Then: "Don't tell me, I already heard it from one doctor that the hospital butchered them up pretty bad. That's why the scars look so jagged now."

What did Gray say when he saw them, again? That they didn't look bad, just looked like they hurt. They don't hurt; it's the reminder of them that's painful.

"I can help you get rid of them, Claire," says Trent, soothingly stroking each graft. She has shifted her gaze from a spot on the floor to the placidity of his face. "It's called a scar revision procedure. It's relatively new, but an effective form of plastic surgery nonetheless. We can consult my mentor, Dr. Hardy, for that."

Claire stares at him, really stares, as if she's expecting Trent to jump out and shout, SIKE! "You mean that? You really do?" Her voice is edged with hopefulness. Is this real? Is her boyfriend, or this Hardy, her saviour?

Trent kisses her deeply, rising to collect his coat once again. "I know how self-conscious you must be about them. But don't worry." He smiles. "We can fix that."

Claire throws her arms around him gratefully, bouncing on her heels. "Oh wow, thank you, thank you!"

"Anything for you," Trent says, his black swoopy hair falling into his eyes. She raises her fingers to comb through it, beaming at him. "When's your birthday, Claire?"

"In a couple of weeks. Well, more like the last week of the summer. Why?"

"I just need to start planning is all," he says with a wink, before slipping on his shoes and walking out her door.

This is a refreshing way to end her evening. Because he's promising to stay in her life; he's swearing to be there.

Claire isn't going to let some unfair promise make her lose Trent. Boys wanted… that kind of stuff way more than girls ever did, right? Didn't every movie ever teach her that? She should have expected that he'd get so hot and heavy, so lost in the moment. But he realized his mistake and apologized to help ease her nerves. Besides, would any boy ever be willing to wait so long for just that? For something that she still doesn't even understand all of the hype around?

She can't lose her boyfriend over that... over something so out of her control. Even though, at the end of the day, it should be only in her control. Claire hopes that she's made this clear to him.

Having a boyfriend is such a foreign feeling, such a nice feeling. It's just overall wonderful to be wanted like this. No one's ever wanted her before.

The clock above her kitchen reads 1:00 AM, but Claire can't sleep now. She's all wired, all loopy. There is another sloppy knock at her door, and Maggie begins barking again. She wonders what Trent must have forgotten.


Kai messed up bad. Bad bad. No, worse than bad. Royally. How could he ever be so stupid? How could he be so drunk that he forgot to obtain any form of protection?! Although it's his responsibility, how could the two of them do something so risky without even realizing it? Popuri isn't even on birth control! How drunk are they?!

Someone is playing 80's music outside their door, old rock songs radiating throughout the whole inn. It feels like it's gotten louder now, or maybe Kai's hangover is already beginning.

But his girlfriend's eyes are no longer glassy anymore; they're aware. Fully. Aware. She is breathing heavily, pushing him away from her, shrieking.

He tries to console Popuri's crying, tries to stroke her skin, tries to press his lips against her pink hair so that she can feel his presence next to her, so that she knows that he's here. Kai feels like the biggest piece of crap on the planet when she reacts as though his kiss is on fire.

"You… didn't have... I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!"

He swears a million times under his breath. "I-I'm so freakin' sorry. I forgot, I-"

Kai knows instantly who to run to. Hasn't his friend been in these shoes plenty of times before?


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sup homies. In the previous chapter, I changed it so that Kai asks Gray for something, but he doesn't remember what he was ever gonna ask him. Felt like it made more sense with what is to come.

NOT SINCE ONE TREE HILL IN 2006 HAVE I SEEN THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING SAFE DESCRIBED IN A TEEN DRAMA SERIES. *Arthur fist meme*

Alrighty I'm done peaceeee