[a/n: hi guys! a late early update (late bc it's been 2 weeks, but early bc i prefer updating on a friday haha). this is unedited, and it was written in a span of, well, 2 weeks, so the writing might be a little inconsistent and weird and choppy but yeah sorry hahahaha i have no excuse except i'm putting off editing until the story's completed (okay, fine, i'm also feeling lazy). anyway, enjoy and once again, sorry if it feels kind of dragging.

oh, right. i've decided to enter this to the watty awards this year. it would be my first time joining, so i actually have no idea what to do other than, you know, put that wattys tag, but all support would be greatly appreciated :)

sam xo]

* * *

Chapter 26

"So tell me," Austin said, setting down the paper cup filled to the brim with cheap, watery convenience store coffee on top of the mini table by the chips aisle, "why do you take your coffee black?"

I slid my gaze to his as he folded himself into the cramped seat across mine. On one hand, he held a steaming cup in his other hand, and the paper bag with the garlic croissants sat between us atop the table.

Instead of answering, I folded my hands over my chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "Why do you?"

"Well," he began, "My dad always drank his coffee black. I didn't even know other people put milk and sugar on theirs until I was in high school."

I snorted, feeling a dull ache at the irony triggered by this little piece of information. He gave me a curious glance, to which I replied with an indifferent shrug. "I happen to drink black coffee for the exact opposite reason." Drawing my cup closer to me, I stared at the black liquid in the paper cup. "My dad drinks his coffee with lots of milk and sugar, so when he left, I pretty much swore it off too."

Back then, I used to love the way he prepared his coffee. It had always smelled rich and sweet, and back when I was a kid, he would leave the last few sips of his morning cup so that I could finish it.

"Don't tell your Mom," he would tell me, his eyes twinkling with a kind of mild mischief, as though he was telling me that this was our own little secret and I needed to guard it as though my life depended on it.

But that was the thing about me and my dad. He made me feel like I was his partner in crime, and I truly believed I was before I finally realized that I wasn't his partner at all: I was one of the victims.

"Eventually, I ended up acquiring a taste for it," I told Austin now, wrapping my fingers around the slightly warm cup so that I can take a sip. "Now, I can't take it any other way."

"Strange, isn't it?" he said. "I mean, how there always seem to be really, really important stories behind the little things that don't really seem to matter now. Like, your dad leaving—that's some really, really major shit, and you drinking black coffee? It's, I don't know, surprising to know that even something as little as a drink can easily reflect something so big."

I hadn't really thought about it that way, but now that he'd laid it out on the table, I was beginning to realize just how many of my idiosyncrasies had stemmed from my hatred for Dad.

Almost as though he could read my mind, Austin drew his gaze to mine, and, with a careful pause, he said, "He's also the reason why you don't believe in love, isn't he?"

For a moment, I hesitated, but eventually I let out a sigh. "It's not that I don't believe in it, really."

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, prompting me to continue.

"I mean, I do think people love does exist, but if it does, then it's not this big, magical fireworks display that people make it out to be."

"Then what is it?"

I blinked, my eyes darting to his to check if he was merely making fun of me. There was a slight glint of amusement in his eyes, but he seemed genuinely interested to hear me out.

So I said, "It's just... I don't know. Psychology, maybe."

"Psychology," he echoed with a nod. "I'm listening."

"I mean, why do people get together, anyway?" I asked him, leaning forward as the arguments began to form in my head. "Because being single is associated to loneliness? Because having a partner makes them feel happy? I mean, isn't it all just a social construct? We associate happiness and loneliness with 'love' simply because we are programmed that way."

"Programmed by whom?"

"By society," I replied, my voice picking up almost uncharacteristically. "I mean, it's kind of like money. If it was never invented, then it never would have existed."

I could see the hint of a smile forming on his lips. "So you think love is an invention."

"I know that love is an invention, but we built it up so much to something almost divine that people think it is divine. I mean, come on." Lifting my shoulders in a slight shrug, I said, "It's not like we really need it, if you think about it, and the only reason people think they do need it is simply because they think they do.

"It's not magic, or destiny or whatever, and I certainly don't think that there's some kind of divine force that brings two people together simply because they're predestined to meet. Whatever attraction or affection arises when two strangers meet depends on a lot of other shit."

"So you don't think a divine force brought the two of us together?"

My thoughts stumbled to a clumsy stop, my cheeks heating up as my eyes darted to his.

He laughed, tipping his head back before shaking it. "You should see the look on your face."

"I'm sorry," I said, unable to keep my face from scrunching up into a scowl. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"I don't know, Red," he replied, bringing his coffee to his half-smiling lips. "You tell me."

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to see past the amused expression on his face. "Are you flirting with me?"

"I can't help it, Red." His voice took on a melodramatic flair as he grabbed one of my hands to clasp it in both of his. "I think it's... it's magic. Or destiny. Or whatever. A divine force!"

Unamused, I snatched my hand back and crossed my arms over my chest, giving him an flat stare. "Very funny."

Dropping the act, he flashed me an easy grin instead. "But seriously, though," he said, "I actually kind of agree with you."

"On which part?"

"The whole love is just an invention thing," he replied. "And that it's only psychological. I mean, even that notion of staying together for a long time pretty much boils down to a sense of obligation, or a selfish need to avoid loneliness and find security."

"Even the whole 'love is being happy when your partner is happy' thing," I jumped in. "You try to please your partner so he or she can be happy, yes, but you do it because it makes you happy."

"Maybe we're all really just in love with ourselves," he said. "In some twisted, indirect way, and we just turn to other people so they can project that love back to us, and we can project theirs back to them."

"So it's not that we love them because we love them," I concluded, "but we love them because that's the only way they can love us back."

"Exactly!" he piped in, eyes bright and lively.

Then I began to realize things I hadn't realized in the hype of the moment. We were both leaning over the table, closer to each other, and his animated eyes were fixed on me, a grin frozen on his face.

It took a beat, then two, before I leaned back, taking my elbows off the table so abruptly I nearly clocked my coffee off it. I looked away, suddenly too aware of him and the fact that our knees were brushing together every now and then in the small space under the table.

He cleared his throat, and when I snuck a glance at him, I realized he looked just as flustered as I felt, with him rubbing the back of his neck, eyes determined not to meet mine. When they did, he looked away just as I did.

"Well," he said, his voice sounding a little off in the awkwardness that hung between us. "That was unexpected."

"Unexpected?"

"We agreed on something," he told me, this time flashing me a quick, albeit sheepish, grin. "If that's not progress, I don't know what is."

"Who would have thought?" I said, but progress towards what, exactly, I had no idea.

* * *

A tall, lanky guy in sweats entered the convenience store, sporting a bedhead as he headed straight towards the energy drinks, and he was oblivious, I was sure, that the moment he walked in, a guy in the back let out a groan while the girl sitting across him leered with a triumphant grin.

"Damn it," Austin muttered, giving me a sour look.

"Well?" I said.

By then, the croissants were gone, save for the little crumbs that littered the table, and our coffees had gone cold, but the two of us still hadn't left.

After our discussion about love (as ridiculous as that sounded), the two of us had somehow moved to playing a little game. "You do realize," he had told me, "that we've basically told each other our deepest, darkest secrets, but we haven't even talked about the basic stuff."

So we decided to do just that, taking advantage of our location. People were constantly going in and out of the convenience store, and so we decided to bet on the next person to go in. If it was a guy, he would have to tell me an embarrassing story of himself; if it was a girl, I'd be the one talking about myself. If it were both, then the two of us would have to do it.

Unfortunately for him, this was the third time that a male customer had come stalking in, and no girls had dropped by so far.

He'd already told me about the time he'd fallen first-face in a punch bowl at an uncle's wedding when he was fourteen, as well as the time Peter framed him in one of their camping trips when he was much younger, spilling a bottle of water all over his pants so everyone would think he'd went himself in his tent.

Now, I gave him an expectant look, eager to get another glimpse of the him that existed beyond this night.

He, however, didn't look as enthusiastic.

"What," he said, "is it with guys and convenience stores?"

I shrugged, enjoying his obvious discomfort. "You decided the game."

As I'd expected, this only made him sulk even more. But he took a deep breath and began to speak anyway.

"When I was eight," he said, "my dad decided to repair this really old car, and he paid me if I helped out. I didn't really do much. Mostly, I just kept him company and handed him the tools and stuff. I always ended up with grease smeared across my forehead or something, but hey, it was my first paid job."

"Okay," I said, unable to stop myself from imagining a younger him with a streak of black on his forehead, almost as much as I was unable to stop myself from smiling.

"Anyway. By the time summer ended, I felt like I was the richest boy in the world. This was the time when I hadn't yet noticed that I had a crush on Mia, and there was this other girl who lived down the block that I was head over heels for.

"One day, I got this really crazy idea, and I biked to her house and rang the doorbell. Her father answered, but hey, I was eight, and I bravely asked if I could see her. I remember him yelling, 'Lea, a boy's asking for you!'

"Of course, pretty much all her relatives came out to see who it was. She and I were eight years old, for fuck's sake, and when she came out, so did her mom, her three older brothers, and her grandfather, but guess what I said?"

"What?"

"Well," he said, shaking his head as a fond smile spread across his face. "I asked her to marry me."

"What the fuck?" I said, unable to keep my laughter down. "You. Asked a girl. To marry you."

"I had twenty bucks in my pocket," he argued. "At eight years old, that's, like, a million dollars."

"Twenty bucks."

"I thought we could live off that!" he protested. "Hell, I thought I could buy us a house with that."

"Oh, Austin."

"Hey, don't underestimate the value of twenty bucks."

"How can I ever?" I said, biting my lower lip to keep myself from laughing, but right at that moment, the door swung open, and in came a girl clad in a hoodie and leggings, and Austin let out a triumphant "Finally!"

My heart dropped to my stomach.

Austin turned to me with a grin so wide it almost seemed too dazzling to look at.

It disoriented me for a moment, like it almost had a dizzying effect on me, and I needed a moment pull myself together.

Clearing my throat, I began with, "Two years ago, Tori's grandfather had his eightieth birthday. There was this big, grand party at their house, and of course, I was invited."

It seemed inevitable for me to bring up Tori's name, to be honest, because every important or interesting experience I'd ever had always seemed to involve her. Talking about her wasn't easy, but I'd given up on trying to rack my brain to find something worth telling that didn't involve her in some way.

"Later into the night, I headed towards one of the comfort rooms so I could pee, and, well...." I trailed off, mentally cringing as I thought back to that moment. "I happened to walk in on Tori's grandfather while he was taking a dump."

"Seriously?"

"He didn't lock the door!"

"So you saw him," he said, looking like he was trying his best not to laugh. "All eighty years of him."

"It could have happened to anyone, but no, it happened to me," I complained. "Me, the girl who always goes there to visit. God, since then, I couldn't even look him in the eye."

"After something like that, I don't think anyone would."

"Well," I said, "at least that's one less thing to worry about now."

I meant to say it in a lighthearted manner, but Austin's gaze softened, and if that was any indication, then it must have been obvious that I was simply forcing myself to joke about it. I could feel him studying me closely, so I just dropped my gaze to my lap.

"So," he said, his voice quiet and careful, "what are you planning to do with, you know, you and her?"

I'd seen the question coming. In fact, I'd been expecting it the moment he showed up at the park, but now that he'd flung it at me, I realized I still hadn't found an answer.

Two hours had passed since our argument. The distraction Austin readily offered me proved useful in redirecting my anger until it was almost completely gone, but now that that was gone, all that was left was this dull, hollow ache in my chest.

I was all too aware of Austin's gaze on me, and when I finally lifted my eyes to meet his, I felt my throat constrict.

"I don't know," I finally said, my hands playing at the hem of my Go Cougars!! shirt. "Maybe we're better off this way. She'll be leaving soon anyway."

The expression on his face remained unchanged. He didn't say anything for a long time, almost as though he was weighing my words in his head.

He shifted, just slightly, then, "Do you really want to leave it at that?"

It was a question that had been nagging at me the moment I walked away from her, but I'd been dutifully ignoring it for the same reason I'd been trying not to think of Tori: I wasn't sure how I wanted to proceed.

Ten years of friendship seemed too much to throw away in just a single night, but now it had become clear that little cracks existed beneath the smooth surface of what I thought was a stable friendship, and that was enough to make me wonder just how indispensable all those experiences we shared really were.

And if they weren't worth as much as I'd thought they were, then leaving it at that last conversation only seemed appropriate, so I lifted my eyes to Austin's and, with as much determination as I could muster, I said, "It's better this way."

I half-expected him to argue, but he said nothing. Somehow, though, that only seemed to make it worse.

He was looking at me like he could see right through me; like he knew even I wasn't a hundred percent sure that I was making the right decision, and something about the fact that he wasn't calling me on it that made me feel more self-conscious of my thought process.

I waited, and waited, but he merely looked at me with an unreadable expression on his face. The seconds wore on and finally, I stood up, no longer able to take his scrutinizing gaze in silence.

"We should probably get going," I said. "It's nearly four anyway."

Finally, he dropped his gaze, and I felt myself relax a little. He pushed himself up to his feet, and while I could tell that he was still somewhat reluctant to drop the previous topic, he heaved a sigh and gave me a slight nod.

"Right," he said, flashing me a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's go."

* * *

And, really, when I walked out of that convenience store two steps ahead of Austin, I had absolutely every intention of heading home. We'd reached the end of this little adventure—an adventure that should have been finished hours ago—and I didn't have any plans of extending the night even further.

It was time to go home, and that should have been just that.

But it was quickly becoming clear to me that these kinds of things were hardly ever as simple as they should have been because not more than fifteen minutes later, I found myself climbing into Georgina once again—something I didn't think I'd have to do again the moment we found Tori—and before I knew it, I was already telling my subconscious mind to shut the fuck up and stop asking me why I was still here.

"And that," Austin was saying, "is the clutch. Remember to press down on it whenever you shift gears."

"This one?" I asked, placing a foot over the pedal.

Austin leaned over to check, craning his neck to look over my shoulder. He gave a slight nod of approval, then he leaned back and flashed me a quick grin. "Now, onto the gear stick. See that little double H diagram there? Memorize it."

I wasn't supposed to be here, not anymore, but somehow we ended up here. It started off as a joke—a comment that seemed to have been meant to end the night with a good, lighthearted note.

"I guess this is farewell, G," I had said, placing a hand on Georgina's hood. "A shame I'd never get the privilege to take you out on a drive."

"I'll teach you!" Austin blurted out, and the next thing I knew, we were suddenly back where our little adventure began, except this time, I was the one behind the wheel, carefully studying the gear shift as he had told me to do.

It wasn't really that difficult to burn into memory, but I took a few seconds longer than necessary to make sure I got it right before placing my right hand over the stick, wrapping my fingers gingerly around it to get used to its feel in my hands. Then, I looked up at Austin expectantly, eagerly waiting for his next instruction.

"Driving a stick shift isn't really all that different once you get used to it," he assured me, then he proceeded to tell me more about the whole clutch thing and how it works when you're shifting gears. "The key," he said, "is to press and release the pedals lowly and simultaneously."

"How," I said, "can people even watch the road when they're too busy doing all this other... stuff?"

"It's not that hard," he said, looking more amused than anything.

"It is."

"Look, it's easy," he said. "I'll help you through it."

"No."

"Come on," he insisted. "Let's practice. Pretend the engine is turned on, and we're driving on an empty stretch of road."

For a moment, I just looked at him, but he responded with an equally flat look. Gritting my teeth together, I gave up and straightened in my seat, placing one hand at ten o'clock and the other on the stick. I put my left foot on the clutch and my right foot on the gas, trying to get a feel of both pedals.

"All right," he said. "Pretend we're going into a first gear. Remember the clutch and everything."

"This is ridiculous," I said, letting out a deep breath, but just as I was about to remove my hand from the stick, he stopped me by putting his over mine.

"It's not," he said, looking completely unaffected about the fact that our hands were touching. "I'll help. Focus on the footwork first."

I held my breath, all my senses suddenly attuned to him and him alone, and even as he began to move our hands together as he demonstrated the proper gear shifts, all I could focus on was the tingling sensation creeping from where my skin met his towards the rest of my body.

"First gear," he began as he guided me through the motion, bringing our hands to the left, then up. He was leaning over, just slightly, to make sure I was moving my feet right, and his proximity didn't do much to help with my concentration. "See? Easy peasy."

"That's because I don't have to worry about running over some old lady or something," I argued, turning to give him a slight glare.

I regretted doing so as soon as I did.

He, too, was looking at me, directing a bright grin towards my direction. Our faces must have been inches apart, but it felt as though they were only mere centimeters short of touching. The smile slid off his face, almost as though he, too, was starting to notice the charged space between us, growing aware of our joined hands and the lack of space within the cramped car.

A beat passed—two, three—but neither of us moved.

It was like we were suspended in the moment, hanging uncertainly off the edge of something I refused to acknowledge, not now and not ever, but then I was leaning back, breaking eye contact as I turned back to the street stretching out before us.

He startled, removing his hand from mine as though my skin had burned him.

Clearing this throat, he ducked his head low and placed a hand on the back of his neck. "Well, that's about it!" he said, his voice way too cheerful in the charged silence. "Practice going through all the gears. Get used to the motion and, uh, you'll be ready in no time."

"Okay," I said.

But truth be told, I wasn't sure if I'd ever be ready.