A/N: Part 1 of a 3 chapter update. Thought I could fit this into a single chapter... it ended up becoming 21 000 words (my hands hurt LMAO). I had to figure out a way to divide it sooo, here we are :) Enjoy!


"Fuck! Would you quit it?!"

Claire just narrows her eyes at him, body within close proximity to his as she holds an icepack against the swollen bump on his lip. Actually, no, scratch that - this isn't even a legit icepack; it's one she made by freezing some dish soap in a Ziplock bag. Thrifty method for a thrifty chick.

"You need to keep it on or the swelling won't go down," she responds firmly. Entrusting him with these very-simple instructions, Claire maneuvers backward on her bed and makes her way toward her kitchen counter. She returns immediately with two mugs in hand, handing him the one with a faded Boston Bruins logo on it, and takes the solid-coloured Central Perk one for herself.

Right now, it feels like someone is taking a very large mallet and driving it into Gray's skull over and over and over again. His throat burns and his vision is absolutely searing, but somehow, the simple smell of coffee hits his nostrils and almost provides a sense of relief.

"I'm not drinkin' outta this mug," he tells her, icepack still glued against his face. The other nurses the shitty-excuse-for-a-hockey-team's ceramic paraphernalia. "They suck and I refuse."

Claire slowly takes a sip out of her own mug before speaking. "And you have the audacity to call me a pain in the ass. That's interesting."

Yeah, he gets it. He's clearly just as much of a ballbuster. But she'll always be worse. Yup. 1000%

Gray just suffices a groan to try and show her that he's a-okay, even if this is the farthest thing from the truth. It's as though he took a dive into Lake Michigan's freezing temperatures, the water resembling a block of cement battering his body. "I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck."

Claire drums her nails against her own mug of cinnamon vanilla tea carefully, before taking another sip. It looks like she's been up all night, and this notion is pretty likely: her under-eyes are dark and puffy, lids swollen from a lack of sleep. She also doesn't look too happy, with him or with the world right now.

Gray immediately feels guilty.

He starts to put the icepack down, because it's way too cold for his skin, but her pissed-off eyes are watching his every minuscule moment, as if to say "don't even think about it." Reluctantly, he places the coffee mug over on her bedside table, switching which hand this make-shift icepack resides in as he brings it back to his lip. He tries to get deeper under her quilted covers for warmth.

"Since when do you have coffee in your house?" Gray finally asks, because she isn't saying much of anything. His mouth tastes like bile and straight alcohol - if he threw up, he doesn't remember it.

"I went out and got some at the supermarket for you earlier."

"What time'd you wake up then?"

Claire looks like she's about to fabricate a fake answer, but seeing as though it's no use 'cause she's such a crap-liar, hesitantly confirms his suspicions. "I haven't gone to bed yet."

Oh man, is he the worst or what? Plus, hello, he's in her bed. Where would she have slept? Next to him in this state? HA. "Fuck, Blondie. I'm really sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not fine-"

"How're you feeling, now?" she interrupts.

"… Fine."

Claire scoffs. "Oh, you are so not fine."

He just needs to start pressing her in order to fill in the details of his hollow memory. "What happened last night?"

Though this question seems to royally tick her off. "Gee, I dunno, Gray. Maybe you could tell me?"

He'd rather not go into details.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks instead. The clock on her wall reads 5:00 P.M. Goddamn. Did he really sleep for that long? The day's nearly over and she hasn't even rested at all yet. Jesus, he'd be in a shit mood too.

"No," says Claire tightly.

"You're mad at me."

"I'm not."

"Did I say anything?"

Her cheeks flame. "No."

"Did I do anything?"

"Would you just-"

"That means I did something," he muses, voice void of any humor. Shit. He must have said something stupid - that's pretty on par with his drunken, high character. Or, regular character. Take your pick.

Claire lets out an irritable sigh. "Gosh, Gray. Sometimes I can't with you. You didn't do anything." The top half of her hair has been pulled back messily with a large brown clip, revealing her seashell-like ears and the rubies he made her. He almost smiles at the sight, but figures an action like that will surely split his broken lip further.

"What happened last night?" he repeats. His memory is comprised of puzzle pieces that have been scattered and hidden, visible to everyone else but concealed in plain sight for him.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" Claire mutters, leaning her head on the wall against her bed. It looks like she's about to doze off on the spot, seated like this so uncomfortably at the edge of her mattress.

Him being the ballbuster that he is, of course, keeps going. "Well, you're definitely mad, and if you're not gonna tell me w-"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Gray!" she snaps and oh boy, she must seriously be cheesed if she's using Biblical terms while shouting at him. Regardless, she's more than likely got a right to be upset. "The bottom line is don't scare me like that!"

Claire pauses, knotting her brows together and shutting her eyes, resuming the position of her head against the wall. She frowns, clutching her tea mug in her hands while lowering it to her lap, letting out a very deep breath.

He's piecing it together slowly: drinking contest with Karen and Duke, absolutely annihilating the competition, returning home… Gramps finding his stash… Gramps finding his stash?! Fighting ensues, he takes a hit offa Basil's joint…

Stumbles into Claire's house. Like a maniac.

But then what?

"… Am I still allowed to stay here?"

Claire keeps her temple against the wall, but opens her eyes to stare at him. "Are you joking right now?"

"Is that a no?"

"Gray, like… what is the matter with you?! My gosh, of course you can still stay here. Why would I ever kick you out?"

"'Cause you're mad."

"Well, you've got a knack for making me mad." Claire tries to give him a weak smirk, but it just involves the corner of her lip twitching, so she resumes her frown. She's exhausted - he feels even more beat-up just looking at her. "I'm not mad about having you here, I'm mad that you barged in all wasted last night. You gave me a heart attack! Please, pleasedon't do that again… You really scared me. I was worried about you."

He feels major guilt. She's not even mad he stormed in, she's mad he worried her. "I'm sorry."

"Why'd you have to go and drink so much booze anyway? Don't you have a responsible limit?!"

HA.

Gray scoffs at her, bringing the icepack down tentatively so that he can fully talk. "Do you hear yourself right now?"

Claire narrows her eyes at him again, but it looks like she's seriously straining them. "Pardon me?"

"If you don't wanna always sound like such a prude-"

"This isn't me being lame and boring, Gray. It's a fact. Drinking that much isn't healthy or safe!"

Damn, she really didn't pick up on the weed at all? Before she grabbed the icepack, she asked him if he got burned by something, or sprayed by a skunk, and that's when he realized how truly sheltered she's been. He can never tell her about the drugs, or the real reason he even got kicked out. Ever. "'K, well, I don't need you to lecture me."

"Maybe I'm just hoping that for once, it'll stick, and you'll actually listen to me. 'Cause you never, ever do. For example, I say keep the icepack on your lip, you don't-"

"You mean the frozen dish soap."

"… You're such a smart ass. Keep the frozen dish soap on y-"

He can't help but smirk at her, and she just stops what she's saying to shake her head, poorly hiding a smile.

"You're an idiot, Gray. Keep it on-"

He gestures toward his mug, trying not to cringe. Instant coffee is repulsive, but it's honestly the thought that counts, and besides, right now he'll take anything. "I wanna drink this delicious instant black coffee so badly though."

She rolls her eyes. "Sorry, I don't know how you take it. I assumed black."

"What made you think that?"

"… I dunno, actually," Claire laughs.

"I take it triple triple."

"What?"

"What."

"Three milk, three sugar?"

He nods.

She laughs. "You do not."

"I do."

"Do you want any coffee with that?"

He rolls his eyes back at her, but that absolutely kills his brain, which makes him scrunch up his face, which in turn makes everything hurt again. He drops his head into her pillows, and they smell sweet like her, but he's ruining it 'cause he reeks like he soaked himself in whiskey and cognac.

He can't even fathom the fact that he's in her bed. And he assumed something happened. Yeah, right. "How the hell'd you even get me in here?"

"Well, I called Kai and thank God he came like, right away. You threw up and he helped me get you to the bathroom."

"And the favour from his drunken ass in the summer gets fully returned."

"Mmm, he mentioned something about a girl named Chelsea and covering for you to your parents," says Claire, arching her brow over at him. "FYI."

Gray scowls. "Oh, good… glad he remembers shit from the tenth grade."

She widens her eyes. "You were fifteen when all that happened?"

"Good thing he relayed the whole story to you, too." New Years Eve, circa 2000. Good times, good times.

"Thanks, Blondie… thanks for taking care of me." He realizes that in a world where no one gives a shit, two people in his life do… three if you count Ann who told him to put the liquor down yesterday evening. And that's gotta count for something.

Claire nods. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing."

She extends her pinky out uncertainly. "Please… please just promise me you won't scare me like that again."

He reluctantly takes it to cement the promise, and her fingers are so warm… warm like last night. This little fact was something that he kept to himself though, right?

"Look, about yesterday… all you gotta know is that my grandfather and I got into a bad scrap and he kicked me out." Gray rubs at his forehead, because his brain has its own heartbeat right now.

Claire chews the inside of her cheek. She seems to be gripping her mug tighter now, bare knees brought in closer to her chest. The pajama shorts that she's wearing make her seem even more pale than she actually is, with their pinstriped white and pink design. "Was it about your trade?"

Sure, let's go with that. "He just doesn't want me to end up like my dad."

Claire nods. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Sorry I threw up in your bathroom."

"And on my floor."

"Aw, jeez. And on your floor."

Claire smiles. "It'll be nice having you here."

"Really, eh?"

"Really. Now, put the icepack back on your lip. It's so swollen, Gray."

"The old man got me good." He pauses. "I got him too, though. Don't you worry."

She winces. "I'm sorry… it looks so painful. I hope you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Gray shrugs. Considering. "Not my first fight."

Claire says nothing, rubbing her arm and looking down at her lap. He doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know that she's thinking back to that night in the valley.

His face is throbbing and now his… shoulder is too? Jesus, he's falling apart, but he finds comfort in this change of topic. Even if it's still about how fucked up his life is. "I used to fight all the time, before any of this shit. I got kicked out of school for fighting."

"Really?" She takes another sip from her tea, frowning. "How come?"

"'Cause if somebody rubbed me the wrong way…" His voice trails off. Is there any good method to explaining the ways that his anger took over, how it swarmed him inside and out, made it seem like his fists had a mind of their own? How any sonuvabitch who crossed him was the unluckiest motherfucker in the world?

Gray just motions his hand in front of her face, because he can't elucidate any of that, pointing to his knuckles. "My own scars."

Claire stares at him sadly, before gradually inspecting his hand with a tilt of her head. Her index finger is tracing over the rough skin lightly, and beneath all of his callouses, he wonders if she can comprehend just how many times the cut up bits of him had to regenerate themselves back.

A swipe of something indiscernible crosses her face, but it's gone in an instant. She holds his large hand in the small palm of her own, flipping it over with a smile. "Wow. So much better than how it looked in the fall."

She's right - his infection healed up nicely, and all that he's left with is scratches that sort of blend in with the remaining rough geography of his skin. "See? I listened to you."

"For once," she clarifies.

"Yeah, yeah. For once."

Claire's contemplating her next words very carefully. He assumes that they're gonna be preachy as hell, something along the lines of encouraging him to make amends with his grandfather, until she actually speaks. "Trent's taking me to get a scar revision consultation soon. To cover them up."

"Why? They healed fully." Gray makes a face, pointing to her bare thigh that's seated all cross-legged. There's a scatter of faded marks from the urchin stings dabbled around her skin, all of them few and sporadic. She took care of it, and they don't look bad at all.

"For my back, Gray," says Claire wearily, dropping his palm. She resumes to clutching her mug in both hands. "The ones on my back… I wanted to tell you. He says that Dr. Hardy can-"

"What the hell?" Gray stares at her, really stares.

"What?"

"That's fucking stupid."

She glares. "Of course, something important to me is stupid to you." Her lack of sleep combined with his insensitive comment earn him the attitude that he just got. But seriously… what the hell.

"That's dumb as shit and you know it, Claire."

"No, it's not dumb. Why do you constantly-"

"Why do you always wanna change who you are? You're-" Take your pick in what he should say; there's a hundred things in his Rolodex of good qualities about her. But instead, he settles on the negative: "You're ridiculous."

"Oh, I'm ridiculous," Claire scoffs angrily. "That's so hilarious, Gray. You're the ridiculous one who-"

He's talking over her and it's giving him a headache, but he doesn't care. What else is new - they're fighting like usual. "At least I can accept what I am. I don't go acting different or-"

"Neither do I! I'm still me, and-"

"You're trying to change so you can-"

"If it will help me then why do you-"

"And let me guess, it was that fucker's idea, huh?"

"Y'know what just stop. Shut up and-"

"Because your goddamn mentality is 'oh, let me just-'"

"I DON'T wanna look like freakin' carnage for the rest of my life!" she screams, voice shattering and eye twitching. "Don't speak for me and don't put words in my mouth and don't assume. You don't know how it feels to wake up every morning and avoid looking at these… disgusting-"

"Would you stop saying that? You're losing your shit for no reason. They aren't bad at all."

"No, they are bad. You have no idea-"

"I saw them," he says softly. He drops the firmness in his voice, lowers it like he's telling a secret. And she looks up at him, her eyes so big and watery blue, her cheeks pinched pink and her lips parted like she has nothing or everything to say back in response. They have yet to discuss that night, those few minutes in the closet; neither of them have brought it up since... for obvious reasons. Even though it's the only thing constantly running through his mind. "… You know I did. They're not bad at all."

Claire just looks down, swallowing. Her blush is as profuse and apparent as ever. "Yeah, I know you did," she whispers.

There's a knock at her door.

She shakes her head. "That's, um, probably Trent."

"Fuckin' lovely," he mutters.

Claire still doesn't meet his eyes. "Do you mind… I'm sorry, do you mind just getting out of my bed, please? I... um, I don't want… him-"

His face flushes. "Yeah, sure. I got it."

Gray clamours up, head throbbing, grabbing the Boruins mug and seating himself at her messy kitchen table. There's an empty plate on it, a book from the library, and some things of sugar, cream, and milk inside of the instant coffee packaging she left out. Claire just self-consciously throws on a sweater, running to answer the door as he tears open the sugar and milk, pouring it into his mug.

"Look who came running out of your barn!" Trent exclaims, pointing to Maggie, who's latched herself onto the hemline of his pants. She's gnawing at the fabric, growling and snarling as she tugs it between her teeth. "I really, really think she'd be better off as an outdoor dog, considering she was having such fun with-"

"She's a house dog, I just let her play in there with the chickens sometimes." Claire cuts him off like she doesn't wanna hear it, or like he's given her this speech before.

Trent simply peers at her in her pajamas, his eyes immediately darting to Gray.

And of course, the smug bastard in him – the one he's fully comprised of – cheers' his mug up to that motherfucker.

"Claire," Trent replies tightly. "What… what's going on here?"

"Nice to see ya, Doc," says Gray, before muttering a not so discreet, "asshole." And the cherry on top: Maggie gives Trent another growl, before scampering over to the sound of Gray's voice, jumping in his lap and licking his hand happily.

Trent turns to her, his eye twitching. "I'm waiting."

She tries to keep her tone as cool as she can, like levelled butter in a recipe. It sounds like she's practiced rehearsing this for her boyfriend over and over again. "So, Gray's grandfather… kicked him out last night. They got into this huge fight and he's staying here now."

Dead silence.

Trent lets out a humorless laugh. "This is a fuckin' joke, right?"

"Pardon me?"

"Not a joke," says Gray, taking another sip of coffee. Should he add a fourth packet of milk? Would that be bad? This stuff only has the faintest semblance to coffee. "Can assure you that. You stupid sack of sh-"

Claire's head whips around to glare at him.

At least she's looking at me now.

Trent's face has gone fully red. "Get in your bathroom now, Claire. I need to speak with you. In private."

And she opens her mouth to say something, before snapping it shut, once-brave shoulders lowering and following suit.

Trent storms past him and she follows, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. He reaches for the handle to her bathroom door once she's inside with him, hatred shooting out from his eyes as he slams it shut. Maggie tries to follow her owner, but the door closes on her little snout, leading her to whimper and scratch at the wood.

Gray shoots up from his seat, feeling the hangover immensely. But what fucking right does this prick have to speak to her like this? He darts over to the bathroom door, knowing that Claire would kill him if she caught him eavesdropping, but simultaneously choosing not to care. He lifts Maggie in the crook of his arm to stop her from crying so that he can hear better. His ear is pressed against the door, listening in on their muffled voices.

"You let that fucking trash in your house?"

"Seriously, stop it, Trent. Just stop it. Don't speak that way about my friend."

"Your friend. Is that what you call this? You just shamelessly spread your legs for your friends?"

"Excuse me?!" Claire shrieks. He can just picture her face, all flushed and embarrassed. His own cheeks burn too at the very thought. As if that's the case. "Why would you ever say that?! Y'know, you're being such a jerk right now. His grandfather and him got into a bad scrap. Like, bad bad. He hit him, and here you are, just-"

"Should've hit him harder."

He hears her bitterly laugh. "And you call yourself a doctor. What kind of a doctor would say th-"

Something slams against the wall, followed by Claire's immediate gasp. Gray's hand hovers on the doorknob as Maggie growls low. She would be so pissed at him if he stormed in like this, but right now, he doesn't really give a crap.

"Don't you fucking talk about my profession when you don't even have a damn sliver of the education and training I've had. You know nothing, absolutely nothing, alright? You hear me, Claire?"

Jesus, what a cock.

"I said 'you hear me?'"

Nothing.

Did he fucking hurt her?!

"Cl-"

"Yeah… yeah. I hear you." Her voice returns, still levelled but sounding so much smaller.

"Good. Cancel this right now. I mean it, he can find somewhere else to go. This isn't happening, I won't allow it."

"… No."

"No?"

No? he thinks. Maggie hops out of his arms, resuming her growling on the floor.

"No. You do not pay my water bill," she snaps. "You do not pay my electrical bill. You do not pay my gas bill. You do not pay for anything regarding this house, so what makes you think that you have ANY right to delegate who I can and cannot allow in my own home?!"

"I-"

"No, just shut your mouth and listen. If you love me, why do you talk to me that way?! Why do you treat me like I'm some cheap slut? I've literally never done anything, and you-"

"But-"

"I said stop! Gray is my friend. I care about him and he has nowhere else to go and I would never, ever turn my back on a friend. Ever, and I don't care what you say. I would do this for Karen, I would do this for Kai, I would do this for anybody I care about. And I'm doing it for Gray. So don't you dare get it twisted like that, and don't you dare speak to me like that either. Because if you loved me-"

Her voice breaks, and there is a slight pause of heavy breathing, before the knob turns and the doctor busts out. Gray backs away from the door to avoid it hitting him as Claire remains in her bathroom. Trent darts over to him and shoves a frantic finger in his face.

"She's mine. Mine. You got th-"

Gray grabs it and twists it back hard without even thinking. His vision is searing.

And he is going to fucking end this sorry prick.

Gray releases his finger to grab the collar of his shirt, to which Trent looks down in a panic, making a noise that cannot escape his throat. "If you ever-"

Trent swats his hand away and cusses his threat out as Maggie barks up at him. He dusts himself off and storms out her front door. Gray is quite pleased with himself, like yeah, he'd have rather gotten a hit in, but he's made it perfectly clear that he isn't fucking around.

There's soft whimpering coming from Claire's bathroom, her door mostly ajar. He knocks on it with the corner of his still-sore knuckle, fully opening it with hesitation.

She looks up and tries to furiously wipe at her eyes, scrunching them in so he can't see how red or wet they are. On her floor is a dented bar of hand soap, the plastic dish it usually rests in sprawled about. Nothing is broken or anything.

But it may as well be.

Is this all his fault? It would be within character of him; he causes problems anywhere he goes.

She has herself seated on her bathroom counter, and for a moment, he forgets that she is only eighteen, with an older boyfriend who cannot possibly love her in the ways that she thinks he does. She seems so small right now, and it just takes him back, reminds him of the way he used to look when he was six, propped up on his kitchen island so his mom could bandage his knees after stumbling outside. And here Claire is, slumped over in the same kind of way, like her whole relationship is one big trip and fall.

"He shouldn't be speaking to you like that," Gray says, standing still in her doorway. "He shouldn't talk to you like-"

"Gray, please."

"I'm serious, Claire. I swear to G-"

She just buries her head in her hands, crying harder.

And Jesus, why is he lecturing her?! He's so insensitive sometimes. After all she does for him, after all she does for everyone, she deserves so much more - and he's just as bad as that dick if he continues on like this.

"Blondie," Gray murmurs, going over to her quickly and crouching on her level. "Hey… look at me, huh?"

Claire just sniffles, rubbing her eyes and nose, before looking up at him, her cheeks streaked with the track marks of her tears. "You're welcomed here," she says, voice hoarse. "You always are. If you ever feel like you have nowhere else to go, you're always welcomed here. Please know that."

He doesn't answer. He wants to apologize for getting her yelled at, but how fucked up is that?! This is Trent's fault.

"I just," she continues, a sob escaping her throat as the tears continue to fall again.

He reaches his hand out, through the limited space between them, thumb brushing away her tears. Her skin is so smooth against the roughness of his own, but he's trying, he's really trying to be gentle here.

Claire looks up at him in surprise, a stray tear slipping past her lower eyelashes like she's staring through a ghost.

… Is it that shocking when I'm not being an asshole?

But her face still softens at his touch. He doesn't imagine that it does - it really does.

"… Blondie."

She's staring at him, her cheeks red and her lips so full and Jesus, what he wouldn't give to kiss her right now. Honest to fucking God, he wants her.

"Yeah?" Claire whispers.

Lord does he want her.

The tapping sound outside of her bathroom window almost makes them both jump. Their eyes dart to the pane fearfully, but it is none other than Kai on the other side.

He mouths a sheepish "sorry" to him.

Fuck's sake.


"I cockblocked, didn't I?"

"No."

"Sorry, man."

"You didn't. It's fine."

Kai takes a swig of his hot chocolate, like he's pondering on whether or not to believe this. "Nah, it's not fine," he decides. "I didn't… I was just coming by to make sure you were still alive."

"Unfortunately."

"Yo, don't say that shit. I'm actually sorry." He pauses, absently running his fingers through his curls as he thinks. "You still shoulda kissed her, y'know."

Popuri scowls beside him. She huddles into the sweater that Kai draped over her, trying to get warm. The inn feels freezing tonight because Doug is too cheap to turn on the heat, similar to the way his own dad used to be back in their home. Even though he's showered and all clean now, Gray's got no problem trekking outside to find some wood to throw in their fireplace. "How can you expect him to be a homewrecker?"

"The guy's a fuckin' creep, babe. This ain't good news. Claire needs to leave him, which she will do once Gray here turns up the charm. It'll be like Will and Grace."

Karen takes a seat at their table, clutching an iced tea. She's wearing a mini skirt and a cut-off top, clearly unperturbed by the below zero temperatures. She's the one who goes around claiming that an icy bitch never gets cold. Alrighty then. "Um, I'm sorry, how exactly is it gonna be like Will and Grace?"

"I dunno." Kai shrugs. "Like, I just hear the name of the show. Aren't they a couple livin' together or something?"

Popuri sighs. "No, it's about a gay lawyer and his interior designer best friend. And I think they only live together for like, a little bit."

"Ah."

"Oh, Kai," mumbles Karen. She takes a very dramatic sip from her iced tea. "Having you back… like it's just so great to have you back. I don't even have to make fun of you, this shit's just writing itself."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay then, it'll be like Three's Company? Minus… uh, the third-?"

"You keep naming platonic shows!"

"Look, bottom line is that Claire loves Trent and she won't leave him," says Popuri with a wave of her hand. "She writes me letters about how she's truly, madly, deeply in love." As if she's forgotten that Gray's sitting right there, she grimaces. "Ugh, sorry, Gray."

He takes another sip of his hot chocolate. He wishes it were spiked; Ann made a Kahlua version last year or something, and Jesus, it was good. But she won't serve him anything of the sort right now. Like he's got some kind of a problem and he needs to be limited. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"Where're you sleeping?" asks Karen, nosy as ever.

"Her couch, obviously."

"I put him in her bed last night though." Kai winks. "Thought it would be enticing."

"Nice going. How's that sexy?" groans Karen. "She probably had to triple wash her sheets."

She did.

"Plus, I'm with Popuri on this one. No-go on the homewrecking thing, seriously. Don't be a piece of shit."

Ann's ears perk up as she overhears the conversation while collecting some used napkins at another table. She's on shift for the next four hours, newly coordinating her work schedule with Cliff's now that he's employed at the winery. "How is this homewrecking?!" she demands. "It's called being honest with yourself, and owing it to others to be honest with them. Plus, homewrecking is like, Angelina getting all up in Brad and Jen's relationship. So not the same."

"Homewrecking," Karen clarifies with another exaggerated sip of iced tea.

"Figures you think you know the clear-cut definition," says Ann. She sighs. "Y'know, Gray, I'm sure we could find room for you here."

"And face your dad?" He scoffs. "Pfft, not happening. I feel like if I'm here, I'll get drunk more, and then who knows what'll slip."

Ann rolls her eyes. "Then don't drink."

Yeah, not happening. But it's not like he can just stumble home wasted anymore, because he's in Claire's home now. So, as much as he'd love to drink, he really can't.

Plus, he pinky promised or whatever.

Kai frowns. "My question is like, where're you gonna jerk off?"

Gray stares at him.

"Yeah, you're asking the real questions here," snorts Ann sarcastically.

"Can you handle living with a woman?" Karen asks, almost wincing. "Being the caveman that you are?"

"It's dangerous territory," Kai adds. "But that's cool, man. We're from Chicago - danger capital of the world."

"You grew up in Bridgeport, which was literally ranked as one of its safest neighborhoods," says Popuri with a squint. "Remember, I checked those crime statistics when we got there, 'cause I was all afraid given the way you make it seem?"

"Like I said, writing themselves." Karen grins.

Gray decides to change the subject, because everyone at the table here's making his goddamn headache return.

"Did I say or do anything last night?" he asks Kai.

"Ah, yeah." He makes a face like he's about to give him some terminal diagnosis, motioning him over to an empty table that's farther away. Popuri aches her brow at the dramatics, whispering something to Ann and Karen.

"Yo, thank God for you throwing up, 'cause it sure as hell shut you up. Like, you passed out, but when you woke back up, you kept telling Claire that she looked so pretty, and I mean, she was in a robe… so yeah. And you would not for the life of you stop staring at her tits. She kept having to fix herself, 'cause… damn man, like I really didn't notice what a rack she had, but you sure did-"

Gray sheepishly waves his hand away. His anxiety is playing that very image on loop, and he's mortified. "I get it."

"Like, if her tits were the honey, and you were the bees-"

"Thanks, Kai."

"Like, a mom at a Costco Christmas sale-"

"Alright, that's just wrong-"

"Like a-"

"Okay, thank you, Kai!" says Popuri, voice elevated. "You are literally so loud and we can hear you."

Jesus, he's gotta live this down. City Gray would never - City Gray would be a lot smoother than that.

But as much as he'd love to harp on this and let the embarrassment consume him, something else is on his mind. Because something manifested itself at Claire's today. Or something was there, something imperceptible. Call it what you will: tension, a spark, whatever, but he's not going to deny any of that.

Not even for a second.

These living arrangements are sure gonna be interesting.

He gets to Claire's later on that night, only to find her with damp hair, curled up like a little c, exhausted and passed out on the corner of her bed. The rest of her sheets are still being washed because third time's a charm, but she didn't even have the energy to pull up a pillow out for herself.

Her house phone is ringing, and he sees from the very-new caller ID feature that it's the clinic. It rings up until her voicemail, the machine informing her that she's now got five unopened messages.

Ha.

Gray doesn't know where she keeps her extra blankets, so he grabs the velvety one she set aside for him, draping it over her body. It's literally the least he can do. Maggie wags her tail at him and he pets her gently, before she snuggles herself against the warmth of her owner.

"Night, Blondie," Gray mumbles, shutting off her lights.


Given that she's in the worst of moods after her fight with Trent, Claire doesn't anticipate to have the dream. Because if she's going to be dreaming about her boyfriend, or the faceless man that she's attributed to being her boyfriend, she would do it when they're not pissed at each other.

But she did have it. It was just so wonderful, so beautiful, so warm-

And she wakes up to the warmth of a blanket that she did not grab for herself melted over her.

Claire shivers, but her face is all heated. She cranes her head to find Gray passed out on her couch, Maggie on the floor between them, wagging her tail over at her.

Claire clutches the fabric closer to her skin as she feels her blush grow, listening to the sound of her heart pounding faster and faster.

Honestly, what is going on here?


Trent's managed to do it: he's managed to talk his way out of this one, convince Claire that he really does love her and that he's terribly sorry. That he'll change.

He'll change. The irony of it all almost makes him chuckle.

And even though the little bitch put up a good fight, he still managed. He showed up at her door, secretly poured contact solution into his eyes to make it look like he'd been crying, fabricated a story about being cheated on by a whore, even lied and said that there was relentless abuse in his past.

And Claire forgave him. She didn't at first, she was pissed to hell, but he forced her to listen, and upon seeing him "cry", started weeping, telling him that she just wanted to feel loved.

Too good.

He needs to go back home for a bit; he's prolonging it as much as he can, but he's running low on funds and he can't have his bank empty, not with all that he's got planned. He won't even risk his parents mailing the money to him, not with the sum that he needs, or with all that direct deposit information and bank-telling bullshit he'd have to go through. No, he'll stick with cash. While he's at it, he'll figure out his paycheck situation that's being handled by his parents in Dallas... everything just has to be kept in accordance to the plan.

She's going to help his success, act as a part of the key to him getting everything back. She's just making it so damn difficult along the way. She puts up a fight and she hasn't even given up anything to him, but he realizes that he'll be driving her farther away, and eventually onto that blacksmith's dick if he doesn't keep his temper down.

Maybe she already has betrayed him; maybe she's a straight-up sociopath who lies like it's nobody's business. Maybe she's just like him.

But no, not his virginal Claire.

Still, he's doubtful. After all, Elli lied to him, and look where it got her.

He knows how to check if Claire's not being honest. And he's just so good at convincing - this will be a cinch.

He's kissing her hard right now, and it's almost interrupted by something she's got in the oven that's beeping (even though he told her that neither of them needed to be eating at the moment). Claire tries to break away from him to get up, but he pushes her back down, hands grabbing and pulling up her loose off-the-shoulder top. She lets out a gasp, and he's left with sheer disappointment when he sees another layer of tank top underneath.

"You've got such an hourglass," he murmurs, running his hands along the contours of her curves. He stops them below her waist. "Lord, I love you, darling."

"Trent," Claire says softly. He tugs at the bottom hemline of her tank as he slowly tries to peel it off, but she brushes his hand away, looking down and biting her lip. Their faces are so close, noses touching and the heat of her cheeks radiating off of his own.

He pauses; the true test. "Claire, something's been brought to my attention."

Her shoulders slump in relief, and she seems grateful for the change in subject matter. "Mhm?" Rising from the floor to go over to her kitchen, she grabs some oven mitts, leaving him with her mutt.

He gets up too, to avoid all the snarling.

"You're a bit over the age of eighteen."

"Ya-huh."

"And you still haven't gone for your vaginal sweep. I was rifling through your file the other day and I forgot to mention it."

She turns to him, frowning. "My what?"

"Your file."

"No… um, what's a vaginal sweep?"

"It's a screening for cancers, infections, HPV… and you still haven't done it yet. That's irresponsible."

Claire chews the inside of her cheek, slipping the mitts on. She opens the squeaky door to her oven, hands lifting her tray of heated cookies. "No… no I haven't. I thought… a Pap test is when you're twenty-three, or sexually active-"

"You've got the dates wrong. It's eighteen or over. Waiting until twenty-three is just plain negligent." He peers at her, leaning back on her counter and frowning. The dog has seemingly come out of nowhere, growling up at him when he puts his foot out, much to his annoyance.

"Oh," says Claire stupidly. She looks nervous as hell. "Well, can Elli do it?"

"Claire," he responds tightly. "Elli is just a nurse. How many times must I remind you of this? I will do it. Do you not feel comfortable around me?"

Claire stammers, "I just-"

"I'm your boyfriend."

"Okay, duh, I know you are."

"Don't 'duh' me. I feel comfortable with you. Don't you feel the same?"

"Yes, of course. But-"

"And it's just an exam. Strictly professional, Claire. I'll pretend like I'm not your boyfriend."

She nods. "I'll see. It's just… I haven't even considered that yet. They told us to prolong it as much as we could at the convent, for um, reasons-"

"Well, your mother died young. It would be wise."

"… Yes, but not of cancer, Trent. From the car accident. Remember?"

"I remember. But what I'm saying is, we have no access to her medical files, and we have no idea if there's a precancerous gene that runs in your family." He slips her oven mitts off, clutching her hands in feigned distress. "I worry all the time for your wellbeing, Claire. You need to promise me, for the sake of your health, that you'll let me do it when I return."

"Yes, but-"

"'Yes but' nothing. If you don't, it tells me that you don't care about anything your life. And that includes me."

Okay, that one was a stretch but he really doesn't give a shit right now.

Claire widens her eyes. "Of course I care about you. I love you," she tells him frantically, wrapping her arms around his neck in a warm embrace.

"This is private, though. These tests are private," he mumbles, buried in the crook of her arm. "I'd advise that you keep this to yourself. I can even medicate you during it, if it's what'd you like."

Claire pulls backward, slowly nodding. "Okay, I… I wanna be safe."

And he smiles, lowering his hands back down to her waist, kissing her as he immediately tugs the hemline of her tank top once more-

And the goddamn punk busts in.

Claire pushes him off immediately, adjusting her top and crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. She fiddles with the end of her ponytail.

"Did you bake?" Gray asks her. His tone is genuinely curious, until he smugly looks over at him and it's not fair, it's not fucking fair. Nothing about this roadblock is.

"Yeah," Claire replies, trying to catch her breath.

"I could smell it from outside."

"Yeah," says Claire again. Trent glares at her before she continues on. "They're three ingredient peanut-free cookies. I made them with the Wow Butter."

When he found the Wow Butter in her pantry, she said it was because Gray was allergic to peanut butter, and she had to find a compromise for her toast in the morning.

Fucking bullshit.

"Nice," says Gray, grabbing two. He eyes him. "Thanks, eh."

Impeding little shit.

"So, as I was saying, my love," Trent continues, even though he wasn't saying anything.

Gray turns on the sink loudly, grabbing a plate. Claire arches her brow over at him, to which he says a very unapologetic, "Sorry."

"If we're going to book it, then-"

He clatters his plate loudly in the sink. "Ah, fuck. It chipped."

"It's fine, they're super old," Claire tells him. "Anyway-"

"Well, I-"

"Blondie, where do the spoons go?"

She gives him a look which tells him that he knows exactly where the spoons go.

He pulls out the drawer and rattles them loudly anyway.

Cockblocking little fuck.

Gray gives him a very smug grin.


"Hey, Kare, can I ask you a question?"

"'Not ecofriendly? It could be a sign that he'll trash your relationship too!'" Karen reads, looking up from her magazine. She's supposed to be manning the cash register at checkout, but she's kicked her feet back, completely absorbed in a Cosmopolitan. "Hmm, how would you describe Trent's environmental footprint?"

"Uh-"

Karen waves her hand, pushing her magazine down. The cover issue has Naomi Campbell on the front, beautiful as always, giving a sultry and seductive look. Under her reads: MIND-BLOWING ORGASMS — GO FROM 'NOW' TO 'WOW', SOLO OR PARTNERED! Claire's never actually picked up an issue of Cosmo, since entertainment magazines like that were totally banned from her convent back home. She'd skim through them at the grocery store, but never actually brought herself to be able to check one out; besides, the most that she retained from them was that juice cleanses weren't all that bad, and that a writers' go-to adjective for sexual pleasure was the word 'explosive'. Oookay.

Not like she'd know.

"What's your question, kid?"

"Ummm, how old were you when you did your first… Pap smear test thing?" Claire feels the need to hide her face, even though it's literally just Karen (and old man Barley, wandering the feminine product aisle as he searches for the saltine crackers). She places her package of dry spaghetti and olive oil on the counter, looking away sheepishly.

"Oh," says Karen, scanning the items absentmindedly. "I was sixteen."

Claire stares at her. "Really?"

"Yeah. Cervical cancer runs on my mom's side, so I had to. And ohmigod, Claire. It was sooo awkward! I was like, shivering and cold, and then Dr. Hardy's phone rang during it – Dear Lord."

"Kayla, can you point to me where the crackers are?" Barley asks. "They're my favourite things to have in the morning. Well, all the time, really."

"Kayla?" Karen sighs. "I keep bringing him to the dry food section, and he always manages to find his way back to the aisle that literally everyone hates being in."

"Don't worry." Claire feels loads better. She hands Karen the five dollars that she owes, taking her groceries. "You helped lots. Thank you!"