I apologize times a million zillion.

If you all hate me, I understand. I'm sure I lost a ton of viewers, it's been too long. I actually was cleaning out my computer and stumbled across my next chapter, edited it a bit, and updated. I'm truly sorry.

I don't own anything related to Lemonade Mouth.

She couldn't see it, of course, but it was always nice to hear it. The way the rain bounced off the outside of her walls made her miss the outdoors even more. She sighs to herself when her hands brushed each item of clothing. All she could find in the hell hole she called a closet was filled with her Broadway costumes, tee-shirts, shorts, sweatpants, mismatched socks, and a sundress that was not in season.

It wasn't like she had a choice to pack up her whole wardrobe. In fact, the police officer was waiting in the other room when she had been packing. Explaining to her to hurry, and that she wasn't going to be there too long. It'd be a week of two tops, they convinced. So, she threw as little amount of clothes, including her Broadway costumes just in case she wanted to rehearse in front of the mirror, as possible, and hoped she was released before too long.

She tugged her shorts over her waist, hugging herself sluggishly, and sneaked into Wen's room. He'd been in the kitchen that afternoon, telling her not to exit her room unless she felt the erg to get sick, to shower, or to use the restroom. Ruffling through his collections of tee- shirts, she concludes to one that was a plain, fading grey.

Olivia sneaks back into her room. Curling her hair, she constantly tugs on the tee. It touched comfortably, but, what if he didn't like it? What if it was too much? She stands, and tells herself to return it. But as the door swings open, Wen's fist is lightly balled, a flower was in his hand, and an almost anxious expression was worn.

She smiles lightly when facing him, and takes a sudden step back. "Hey."

He eyes her, "going somewhere?" he asks, bringing his fist down to his side.

She flushes, "er… I was… um, just going," she huffs and drops her head, "hi."

He smirks, "hi. Is that my shirt?"

She nods, tugging it once more, "I hope you don't mind. It's just, I didn't really pack for a date so…"

"I like it."

She raises a brow, "you do?"

He shrugs, "Sure. You look comfortable. Oh," he suddenly looks very clumsy and awkward. He hands the flower to her with a tight grin, "here."

She takes it, "thanks."

Its then she notes it had been the flower beside the sink, it had been fake of course, but it was the thought that counted, right?

He nods, "shall we?"

She blinks, "sure."

Lemonade Mouth

Olivia:

For a moment, we're simply staring.

His slightly smirked mouth makes me smirk myself.

I look away and break the relaxed silence with: "So this is what tall people see?"

Hands resting comfortably, yet a bit awkwardly on my hips, I surveyed the kitchen from where I stood on a chair pressed up alongside the counter.

Wen smirks, "I can get it myself, you know." he says with a hint of chuckle underneath his breath.

I had mounted up there to look for the fudge brownie mix and tub of vanilla frosting. Wen insisted we make desert after the meal he prepared (which, I must admit, was delicious). Currently I was standing about a foot and a half higher than usual, gawking around and witnessing things I hadn't observed before at my short height.

And those belongings were creating me to feel additionally miserable than I already was. Everything was dusty. The top of the refrigerator, the bookcases adjoining living room, the television, and the coffee table was all top coated with dust. And I just chanced to be one of those individuals who were bound to unpolluted whatever they saw that was untidy. Frequently, that was a decent thing. However, all I wanted was newly baked fudge brownies saturated with vanilla frosting and ice cream. Distresses like mine just couldn't be cured any other way.

"Did you find it?"

I glance down at him and shrug, coming down from the elevated height, "Unless you want vanilla frosting with dust? Then no."

He nodded, "it's fine," he pushed the chair back by the bar stool.

"Thank you."

"What?"

"Thank you," I repeat.

He blinks, "for what?" he half chuckles, under anxiety, or simply because the thought of me thanking someone was typically funny, I couldn't tell.

"Everything: the meal, this night, this date." I shrug, "It was sweet."

He shrugs, "I'm a sweet guy."

I nod, "you really are."

He grins, "So…"

"So?"

"Goodnight?"

I blink and nod a tad wretched, "yeah… 'night."

He awkwardly scratched the back of his head and walks towards his room, shutting the door softly. With a sigh, I begin my hopeless journey to my room, only to halt when Wen's door suddenly unbolts while my hand gripping the nob, Wen emerges.

"I'm sorry. I usually don't kiss on the first date but-" he cuts himself off by placing his breath on mine. His hand cupping my check, while the other pressed the back of my neck, pushing my head forward a bit more.

I blink, and gasp.

It was so sudden. Everything happened too quickly. His body rushing out the room, to him pushing my hair back and gripping my neck tightly with a soft touch. His lips caressing my so gratefully, yet it was hard and hungry, as if he hadn't eaten anything for months. As if he had never kissed a girl and years and his hormones finally said, "enough" and all he needed was a pair of sweet lips and he was set.

But it was different. There was something that was between our lips. It wasn't just lust; it was something we both needed for a while. It was sweet, yet it was rough. It happened quickly, yet dragged on so long I couldn't breathe, but I didn't pull away. I couldn't, I didn't want to.

Debating to kiss back, I do so, and regret nothing when his tongue caresses my bottom lip and I allow.

Then why did everything feel so wrong? Why was I so uncomfortable in his arms? Why was my mind screeching at me to stop, and why did I have the sudden urge to pull away?

He tugs away from my lips too quickly for me to protest.

He sighs, and backs away, red faced. "Um… Night, Olivia."

I nod, "night."

And with that, his door shut. And I stood there for about five minutes just staring at his entrance, my eyes outlining the doorframe, then scanning to the nob. Waiting for it to open again, waiting for him to kiss me without apologizing, to tell me he had fun and would like to do it again.

Hearing his bedside lamp click, and the light from under his door turning black, I swallow the lump that was forming in my throat from the begging to the date, until this moment, and turn towards my door. Giving one last once over behind my shoulder at his door, sigh, and enter my room.

I can't feel like this.

It was a wonderful date, what more could I ask for? What more did I want? I wasn't sure, but I wanted it. My mind racking my emotions with pain of… something. What was it, lust? Passion? Did I have a crush?

How could I not? Not seeing a decent looking man in months will allow my hormones to race. But I can't do that to Wen. He's far too sweet for my pleasure. I can't use him.

He did after all kiss me.

But he was sweet about it.

Yet he apologized.

But he was sweet about it.

It was too hasty…

But he was so damn sweet about it…

The pros triumphed the cons, and I found myself thinking of ways on how to get him back. I smirked to myself, I couldn't help it.

Let the games begin, Wendell.