On Monday morning, Gypsy is running through re-caps of log books and computers and room keys and check-ins.

She's going through the ins and outs of working the desk, since Demi, the girl Gypsy meets with the bright smile and loud laugh and dyed hair, has to take summer classes at UNLV and is only free during weekends and weeknights. Sissie explains more and Gypsy listens, and then like that Gypsy is left alone because her grandmother has picked Bubba up from the floor and has waltzed from Charming's lobby into the dining room for the continental breakfast Ed has just finished in what Gypsy now calls, 'Katy's Kitchen.'

By the time Gypsy has finished the cereal and milk and cranberry juice that Ed brings her, she's all of 900% done.

There are more than a few hours until it's even noon when Gypsy decides that she no longer cares to work at the desk.

It's not like she doesn't like it...it's that working the front desk in the lobby of a motel right off The Strip does not make for a very exciting day.

For starters, it's a motel.

Even on Charming's best, most lucrative days, the place might see three families check in, or a newly married couple and/or a traveling magician on his way to or from the show that'll finally bring him his big break. But traffic like this typically flows in on weekends; it's Monday.

Gypsy does nothing all day but watch Katy come in from work and watch Sam leave for it. She's checked emails on the computer and does some online shopping for concert tickets and pretends to fill out some college applications without sounding too cliché-all before it's even one.

It's nearly two, now, and Gypsy is playing the games on her phone after another 'good-bye' from Harry-who's leaving, too.

"Take me with you," she moans as he bites into a banana.

Harry laughs through his nose. "To the courthouse?" He laughs again, chocolate hair falling over his brows. "Okay. Cheers, Gypsy."

"The courthouse?" Gypsy is excited, now. "Sounds interesting," she nods, and Harry can't help but notice the very appealing gleam in her eye.

Harry shakes his head. "I'm just getting the, y'know," he motions with his banana, "the-the papers, today, yeah?"

He bites banana from his lip and smiles again. "Tomorrow, though," he nods. "Tomorrow, I'm yours."

Harry notices the way Gypsy's smile falls, and if he weren't already running late and if he hadn't already promised Niall that they'd meet for a pint at a casino bar, he would have pried for more and asked over another bite of fruit exactly why this beautiful girl did not seem thrilled by the prospect of accompanying him. Harry can't help that he cares, but he does.

"Okay," Gypsy says as Harry drums free fingers on the desk and heads in the direction of the door. Gypsy does not have the heart to tell him that she'll probably be working tomorrow and unfortunately will not free to be 'his' like he's suggested in saying that he's free to be 'hers.'

But, Gypsy raises her lips after they fall and smiles again, bidding him farewell. "See you, Harry," and he smiles and nods and wonders, as he exits cool air and meets the heat, what it is that's just so very something about this Gypsy.

By three, Gypsy has music playing.

By four, she's wondering why time is moving backwards.

By five, she's more than thrilled to smell the onions and garlic in the tomato sauce Ed is whipping up in the room over.

At this point, Gypsy has music playing through the computer speakers as addicting games run simultaneously. She's delivering milk under a deadline when she remembers two things-the first: that she has not yet received her list from Ash, and the second: that she has not yet responded to Luke.

Hey, Gyps. If you get a chance, could you text Cal? Could you do it for me?

My Chemical Romance goes off and Fall Out Boy comes on, causing Gypsy to turn the music louder while debating whether or not she can actually execute her best friend's request and text her ex-boyfriend.

We're making out inside crashed cars

We're sleeping through all our memories

I used to waste my time dreaming of being alive

(now I only waste it dreaming of you).

For starters, she's wondering why.

Why does Luke want her to text him? Is there something wrong? She'd like to know. Is Calum okay? Is Luke okay...or does he just think he's Cupid?

Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness

'Cause all of our moves make up for the silence

And oh, the way your makeup stains my pillowcase

Like I'll never be the same-

Gypsy balls her hands at the idea. It's definitely not a far stretch for Luke to believe he can mend a broken relationship-especially between her and Cal.

Is he trying to play match-maker and get them back together, because if he is, Gypsy thinks, there's no way in H-E-double-hockey-sticks that one text of a "Hey, Cal. What's up, buddy ol' pal?" is going to make any difference in their relationship.

You only hold me up like this

Cause you don't know who I really am

I used to waste my time on

Waste my time on

Waste my time dreaming of being alive (now I only waste it dreaming of you)-

Gypsy tells herself that there is absolutely no way that Cal even wants anything to do with her anymore, so she's ready and prepared to give up on this whole 'texting' thing and abort this mission, jump ship and pull the plug on Luke's idea before it's even been attempted.

Not to mention, she's definitely not prepared for Ashton's list. She's just not.

But Gypsy's thoughts change as "Of All the Gin Joints in All of the World" goes off and "Always" comes on.

I've been here before a few times

And I'm quite aware we're dying-

Gypsy loves Blink 182.

And your hands they shake with goodbyes-

Gypsy loves this song.

And I'll take you back if you'd have me-

She almost turns it off.

So here I am, I'm trying

So here I am are you ready-

Instead, she turns it louder.

She lets the music filter through the speakers and into her brain because of the memories.

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you

Always

Kiss you, taste you all night

Always-

There are memories associated with this song, this "Always" song that kept Gypsy half-way sane after the break-up. There are memories packaged with this song in her 'Favorites' playlist that she had played on an endless loop once things were over between the best-friend turned boyfriend who she first believed she could love.

This song still does things to her, she realizes as she places her face in her arms against the desk. It still stirs up lingering emotions but Gypsy can at least listen to "Always."

What Gypsy cannot do, is listen to "I Must Be Dreaming."

What Gypsy cannot do, is listen to anything having to do with The Maine.

Gypsy decides to put "Always" on Repeat and she decides to do something else, too. She decides to fulfill Luke's request because it's this song-this "Always" song-that causes Gypsy to pull out her phone, and she scrolls through her contact list until she pauses at the one that still, damn it, makes her heart clinch.

It is barely ten minutes after five when Justin walks in on a girl at a desk who does not notice that he's even in the lobby because she's swaying to some punk-rock song that's loud enough to be heard from Canada. Justin's in a shitty mood and he knows it, but at the sight of this girl at the desk who has got eyes that seem glassy in the reflection of the computer screen, he starts to feel...different. Not worse, not exactly better, just-different.

She does not see him, and he wonders if he should just say 'fuck it' and disobey his mom and get the hell out of there because really, what's new at this point and on top of that, this girl looks like she's about to cry.

Justin does not know what to do with a crying stranger.

He takes a step backwards towards the door and realizes that it's barely twelve minutes after five and he should probably kill some time before he heads back to the room, but that's when his heel catches on the table at the door and he sends old magazines tumbling to the floor.

"Oh!" There's fumbling and the music is turned lower, "Can I help you?"

Shit.

"Uh..." Justin fumbles with the magazines and pulls his hood over his head and places his aviators back over his eyes. He really should've smoked before he came in here. "Yeah," he says slowly, because really? Really did he really just look like an idiot in front of this chick?

He definitely should have smoked.

"Can I do something for you?"

Gypsy watches curiously as this boy walks to the desk and leans his elbows on the wood.

"I-uh, I need some towels," he says.

Gypsy regards him curiously and recognizes him immediately from her first night at dinner. She cocks her head and blinks. "Please?"

Justin looks around the lobby for hidden cameras because the fuck-? "What the hell do you-"

"Please," Gypsy repeats. "You'd like some towels," she says, "I have towels for you. The proper way to ask is, 'I need some towels, please.' I've met your mother," she grins. "I'm sure you've got better manners than that."

Justin scowls. "Last time I checked, America was a free country."

"Last time I checked," Gypsy replies, "you didn't have any towels."

Justin is momentarily stunned. This girl is giggling softly while he's at a loss for words, and words come easily-almost too easily-for him. He's a charmer, his mom says, and right now he's wondering what the deal really is with this girl at the desk although to be truthful, Gypsy is bored and fed up with her life and this douche-baggish-looking-boy with tattoos seems to be a perfect distraction. Sure, she could have just given him the towels, but what fun would that be?

Besides, she's got time to kill and it's barely twenty minutes after five. Gypsy is trying to stretch her encounter with Pattie's son as close as she can until six. Six is good. Six is dinnertime.

But Justin does not know this.

He thinks it's him. He thinks this girl is unaffected by the charm he drips as naturally as sap from sycamore trees-Oh, he thinks, it's time to turn on the charisma his mother says he couldn't have possibly gotten from her. That charisma, Justin refers to as swag.

Justin very obviously likes 'swag' better.

He leans toward her, "Look, baby-"

"Nope," Gypsy shakes her head, "Wrong. Try again."

"What?" Justin shrugs. He's smirking now, "I thought girls liked being called 'baby,' baby."

Gypsy leans back in her chair and folds her arms. "Not when my name is Gypsy."

"Gypsy?" Justin's eyebrows raise above the rim of his sunglasses. He bites the corner of his lip. "Sexy."

"It's a nickname," Gypsy deflects.

"Doesn't make it any less hot," and Justin is smirking even more despite Gypsy's rolling eyes because he notices the pink in her cheeks. "So how about we try this again," he begins, "You're Gypsy," he watches as she nods, "I'm Justin-"

"Justin? Really?"

Justin's smile falters. "Yes, really," he replies. He cocks an eyebrow. "You look surprised."

She nods.

The fuck-? This girl's name is Gypsy and she can't believe his name is Justin?

"Why do you look surprised?"

Gypsy shrugs, rising from her chair at the desk. "I just wouldn't peg you as a 'Justin.' You look more like a-" she squints, "a Kevin; or wait! No! Like, maybe a Keith or..." she taps her chin, "or a Kenneth."

Justin does not know what to make of this.

Justin doesn't quite know what to make of Gypsy.

"You're weird as fuck," he decides.

"Wow, thanks, Kenny."

"I thought we'd established that my name is Justin."

"It seems as though I've come to like Kenny better for you, Justin."

Justin purses his lips and furrows his brows and Gypsy notices.

"What?" She asks, because this is just too fun and it's nearly thirty five minutes after five.

She pokes out her lip. "What's got you pouting?"

"Nothing," Justin shrugs. "It's just that girls who look like you, typically don't act like-"

"Hmm?" Gypsy asks, turning to unlock the cabinet behind her before she completely forgets that this boy needs towels, and Justin is momentarily silenced as his eyes trace the ascent of Gypsy's white crop top above the waistline of her polka-dotted red shorts as she stands on the tiptoes of her only pair of Keds and reaches above her head for the white towels Justin has already forgotten that his mother has sent him to retrieve.

"Uh-"

Gypsy whips her head over her shoulder and Justin's eyes snap from the skin exposed on her back to the brown eyes awaiting his response. "You were saying, Kenny?"

And that seems to snap Justin from his trance. "You look like one of those girls from a dream," he says, composure regained.

Gypsy snorts, catching Justin off guard again. "I'm sure you meant to say 'nightmare,' instead."

"See, you look like you'd be all pink and smiles and flirty but-"

Gypsy hugs the towels to her chest. "But?"

"You act like-"

"Like?"

"Like," Justin once again, is at a loss for words, "Like the kind of girl who..."

"Who-?" Gypsy shakes her head, "Don't leave me hanging here, Kenneth."

"Like," Justin looks around because he doesn't know what to say and he's ready to take his towels and lay the fuck down in the silence of his bedroom. "Like, what the hell's this song?" Justin asks, motioning with his hooded head towards the computer, where "Always" has been playing since he first stepped into the lobby. "It's all punk and rock and you look like you'd be all pop and r&b."

"It's Blink 182," Gypsy replies softly, "and I love this song."

Justin watches as she fiddles with a loose strand of towel. "What's your favorite band?" He asks softly, and for a moment he wishes that he could take the words back and ask for the towels, instead.

Gypsy lifts her eyes and peers at him through the stray strands of hair falling to her nose. "You really care?" She asks.

"I asked, didn't I?"

Gypsy lets out a laugh, her head resting on her shoulder. "That doesn't mean you care, Ken."

"My name is Justin," he pauses, "Gypsy."

Gypsy stares at Justin with hard eyes that Justin thinks are both scary and enchanting set deeply in the caramel-colored face of this freaky yet smokin' hot girl. There's a beat of silence and then, "All Time Low," she says.

"All Time what?"

"All Time Low," Gypsy grins. "That's my favorite band," she shrugs, "since you cared enough to ask."

Justin points to the computer as Gypsy pushes him the towels. "Yeah," he says, "I'd never peg you as an 'All Time Low' kind of girl."

Gypsy's shoulder lifts again. "You don't know me."

"That a challenge?"

"I'm sure you've got better things to do than figure me out," Gypsy replies, seeing that half the time she can barely figure herself out, let alone others-and besides, she got into this conversation for a fun distraction, not for a mama's boy with tattoos to become her psychiatrist. That is not what she signed up for.

"I'll be the judge of that," Justin replies, finally sticking the towels beneath his arm.

"Maybe you should take my word for it."

Justin shrugs, backpedalling toward the door because he can't believe that it's nearly fifty minutes after five and at this point, he's hungry enough to actually join his mom for dinner. "Now, where's the fun in that?" He asks.

"In this case, 'fun' is a relative definition."

Justin pauses, biting his lip because he almost laughs. Almost. "You're fucked up-" he says, instead.

"Don't I know it."

"-but so am I," he continues, and there's more truth to his words than Gypsy realizes. "I'd say we were made for each other. I'd say we were like, a match made in fucked-up heaven."

"Where is fucked-up heaven, exactly?"

Justin actually laughs, now. It's short and soft and sticks to his throat. "Shut up, smart-ass."

"In case you didn't know, my DNA is like, 90% sarcasm."

"Perfect," he nods. "Since you're a fucked-up angel in my fucked-up heaven."

Gypsy rolls her eyes. "Who made you the fucked-up god?"

"Gods get that privilege," he shrugs since his mom would probably kill him hearing him blaspheme heaven like this. "Whatever I say goes."

Gypsy's eyebrows hit her hairline. "Whatever you say goes?"

"Whatever I say goes" Justin grins, "And I say we were practically made for each other-angels hook up with god all the time."

"Well, it's just too bad I don't believe in that shit."

"God sex?"

"No, idiot," she sighs, "Being made for someone. That, eHarmony, find your soulmate shit. That doesn't exist."

"Right," Justin nods, "because that song you love, that one by that band I've already forgotten," he points to the computer, "is all about hate and not about second chances and forgiveness and perfect matches and true love. Right, Gypsy," he nods, and he winks because he can tell by the look on her face that she's in shock, "Right."

"How did-"

And Justin is more than pleased because finally, finally he is not the one at a loss for words.

Justin flashes his pointer and middle finger on his left hand, pushing the door with his right. "Peace, Gypsy," he says. "See you 'round this fucked-up motel."

And it is when Justin leaves at exactly six that Gypsy receives her fucked-up list from her fucked-up best friend named Ashton.

-~*~-

Yay! Updated finally! Honestly, this chapter took me forever and I don't really know why...I was trying to set up the weirdness that is Justin and Gypsy's relationship so yeah...comment and vote because I'm super excited to hear your thoughts on that.

Guys, I've got to say I can't believe this already has nearly 600 reads. That's like, kind of a big deal for me so I'm super glad you're all enjoying the story! Like, thank you so much. Like...wow. Like...yeah.

El eaux el. Vomment! I hope you guys are having a wonderful summer!

exohex<3