It was a wonder that Everleigh ever thought that a Beatles shirt would be even a remote substitution to having Maverick nearby.

            Holding his hand while they walked through London was a comfort Everleigh never thought she could've gotten used to; and the fact she had so quickly was almost worrisome. Maverick had this kind of boyish charm about him in that every six steps he found something new to take photos of and Everleigh couldn't even be annoyed when he looked so excited each time he stopped walking.

            That time they stopped was because Maverick had spotted a phonebooth. ("I didn't know these actually existed! Meadowlark, get in!") (Never should've put the Superman shirt on.)

            "You know," Everleigh said, picking up the phone and pressing it to her ear like Maverick had mimed to her for his photo. "I know it's your thing, but we might actually be late for our dinner reservations if you keep taking photos. They won't be as forgiving as I am."

            "Oh, because you're so forgiving," Maverick said teasingly as he crouched down to get another angle for the photo of Everleigh in the photobooth. She fought the urge to push his knee with her foot and make him lose his balance.

            "Where are we even going?"

            "That's a great question," Maverick said.

            "Does that mean you don't know?"

            "That means it's for me to know—" Maverick rose from his crouch and tucked his phone into his pocket. (She didn't know why when they were likely going to stop again in another ten steps.) "And you to find out."

            "Serial killer," Everleigh sang as she hung up the phone.

            Maverick squeezed her hand as he pulled her forward to walk beside him. "If I'm a serial killer, you're Princess fucking Diana."

            "I love Princess Diana," Everleigh said. Truthfully. She was someone Everleigh wanted to be like in nursing; always caring and letting people know they aren't alone. Diana had made her feel less alone the nights she sat with her knees on the bathroom tile, leaned over a toilet. If someone that high in the world's view could speak about it openly, maybe Everleigh could tell Maverick. "There's a memorial walk not far from here if you wanted to go. Goes almost all the way to the Eye."

            They were pretty close to Buckingham Palace, but they were closer to the Princess of Wales memorial walk. (Everleigh didn't know if Maverick had planned their night out that meticulously, but now he had, in fact, been to Carnaby Street.) It was a pretty walk. Made its way through St. James Park and over to where Parliament was. Spat them out mostly near Big Ben.

            "I... I don't meant to discredit Princess Diana," Maverick said, genuinely looking a little awkward. "But I promise, we're almost at the restaurant."

            Everleigh and Maverick walked hand in hand through the street as Maverick led the way—somehow he had to have memorized the map to London. (He did claim he had an eidetic memory, that probably played a role.) She mostly knew where they were in relation to the more touristy areas, but she hadn't the faintest where he was leading them.

            One particular crosswalk made her wish she did.

            Sure, the crosswalk light had chimed on. But the idea of crossing right away meant Everleigh had to trust that the entire population of England knew how to drive.

            Maverick, on the other hand, clearly had complete faith that red light meant don't drive. Maybe he also didn't look in the proper direction, since he'd been spending that much time in North America.

            Everleigh pulled the back of his shirt to keep him from walking out in front of a car that turned left a little too quickly around the corner to try and beat the oncoming traffic. She stared at him questioningly, Maverick looked like he'd seen a ghost.

            Maverick stared at her with wide eyes. "Um. Thank you."

            "Careful." Her voice was quiet. Everleigh spent a few too many seconds examining Maverick—making sure nothing had actually hit him or harmed him. Nurse Meadowlark was jumping out. Her hands on his biceps as her eyes scanned him.

            "I didn't..." Maverick reached his hand up to adjust his hearing aid.

            Everleigh's eyebrows knit together.

            "Nope. Stop." Maverick held a hand up in front of her face so he couldn't see her. "Don't look at me like that."

            "You couldn't hear the car?"

            "I don't want to talk about it."

            "I—" Everleigh winced. "Okay."

            Maverick kept his hand up. "Promise me when I drop this hand you're not going to be looking at me like I'm a sick puppy or something."

            Everleigh swallowed hard. Tried her best to keep her expression neutral. She was certain there was still too much concern shining in her eyes for Maverick's liking, but he was going to have to deal with it.

            "Please, Everleigh?"

            Maverick had always called her Everleigh. Never Leigh. Never Eve, like that one random guy she'd met during her first degree. Never Everleigh Jane, only for when people were mad at her. He had always used her full first name. All three syllables, never one to stray from what her birth certificate stated.

            Never had it sounded to fucking pleading. Desperate. Never had Everleigh left his tongue and it sounded like his world crumbled around him and he was using those syllables trying to keep the foundation from breaking. Even the night they had first kissed, he hadn't said her name so helplessly.

            "Okay." Everleigh took a deep breath and tried to keep herself from asking him 200 questions. "Okay. I promise."

            "Do you promise you're actually going to talk to me tonight and not sign instead?"

            "I—" Everleigh nodded. "Sure. Promise."

            Maverick dropped his hand but still wouldn't meet her glance. "Thank you."

            "I am here if you... if you do want to talk about it," Everleigh said. "At some point."

            Maverick looked up from the spot on the sidewalk he'd decided was better than looking at Everleigh. He took her hand in his again. "It's up here."

            "We don't—"

            "Everleigh." Maverick squeezed her hand. Pleading.

            Everleigh pressed the button on the crosswalk again. They'd missed the light.

            Maverick took a deep breath in that Everleigh wasn't sure was meant to be as loud as it was. Panicked nerves dissolved into expelled carbon dioxide that disappeared into the thick June air. She might've had longer legs than him, but she stayed a stride behind him, making sure he couldn't see her stare at him. Too much concern. Breaking her fucking promise moments after she'd given it to him.

            She had to pull herself together before they got to the restaurant. Maverick wouldn't enjoy a night of her looking at him like he was breakable and she wouldn't enjoy a night where she'd upset him. The idea of ignoring it was something Everleigh hated. Nurses didn't ignore things; they helped aid the wound. Everleigh wasn't sure she had it in her to accept that this was something she couldn't heal.

            "Ah," Maverick said, eventually. (Everleigh wished he didn't sound so relieved.) (She fought everything in her wanting to tell him that he didn't have to be okay with this.) "There we go."

            Everleigh looked up.

            Good God, she was in love with Kingston Maverick.

            "Please tell me you haven't been here a thousand times before."

            "I didn't even know this place existed."

            A little farther up the street was a restaurant front painted black and more than stood out against the contrast of the brick walls surrounding it. Red neon lights on the awning that read out The Final Grill, underneath was small white lettering that read London's first horror bar.     

            "I need to spend more time in London," Everleigh muttered.

            Maverick squeezed her hand. "I know the outside is super cool, but we could, you know, go inside and eat."

            Everleigh's brain needed to shut up.

            Everleigh's brain needed to shut up.

            Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.

            "Everleigh?"

            "Mhmm. Let's. Please. Sure."

            "Are you okay?"

            Everleigh walked forward.

            "Everleigh—"

            "I'm fine."

            "Like I'm fine or are you actually fine?"

            "I'm fine." Everleigh tugged his hand.

            Maverick got the message. He even held the door open for her and talked to the host at the podium. They were definitely dressed as Patrick Bateman. (Everleigh wasn't sure she would ever be used to the fact that Maverick was recognized the moment they stepped in the door.) (A conversation after a photo with Patrick Bateman where they promised Maverick they'd post it "later" was entirely too disconnected from the reality Everleigh was used to.)

            As they were led to the table, Everleigh looked around—not entirely ignorant to the fact that Maverick was no longer holding her hand. That could be nerves. Maybe she'd let go of his hand and hadn't realized it. Everleigh needed to stop overthinking things.

            The brick walls were covered in horror memorabilia in a way that was cooler than it was campy; from Michael Meyers' mask to Candyman's hook. Everleigh was almost embarrassed she recognized all of it. An entire feature wall, from what she could tell from being far from it, had black and white photos from corner to corner that were famous screencaps from horror movies throughout history. Each server that passed was dressed as a different horror or thriller character. The music was low enough to let patrons talk without having to yell, but loud enough to identify that the speakers were playing the Jaws theme. How Everleigh didn't know this place existed was honestly a crime. This was everything.

            Patrick Bateman handed them menus after Everleigh and Maverick sat across from one another. They placed a themed cocktail menu between the two of them. "Billy will be your killer for the night, but can I get you started on some drinks?"

            "Water, please?" The request came easier than breathing. Water was zero calories and would make her feel a little fuller and—

            She needed to stop believing that Maverick would give two shits what she decided to eat or drink that night. Some part of her knew that; the other part of her was screaming a little too loud for rationality to win.

            "Water's good, thank you," Maverick said, nodding.

            The moment Patrick Bateman walked away, Maverick's attention was back on Everleigh.

            "What's wrong?"

            "Nothing."

            "Everleigh."

            "Nothing."

            "Please?"

            "Nope." Everleigh shook her head. Tried not to let her gaze wander to the small candle that was lit beside the napkin dispenser.

            "Are you sure?"

            "Yup." The candle was a little too close to the napkins. Fuck, she'd looked.

            "Whatever's bugging you—"

            Everleigh practically slammed her hand on the napkin dispenser and moved it to the other end of the table. "That was bugging me. It's okay now."

            Maverick stared at her for a moment; no more hiding behind the guise that it was just the potential fire hazard bothering her. Was it even a fire hazard when the candle was surrounded by glass? Everleigh let her eyes trail to where a couple was being served by Nina Sayers, fully transformed into the Black Swan.

            "Have you seen Black Swan?"

            Maverick followed where her eyes had trailed, almost fully turning around in his seat. "The ballerina?"

            "Yes."

            "No."

            "It's good."

            "I think I recognize the dress."

            "Tutu."

            "Tutu. Whatever. Impressive they can serve with the circumference without knocking anything over." Maverick turned back to face Everleigh. Probably realizing they were staring at the server with no real reason to do so. Especially when Everleigh had the DVD at home.

            "Probably used to it."

            "Who's that one?" Maverick nodded toward one of the other servers and Everleigh ventured a look.

            "Candyman."

            "Any good?"

            "Really good. One came out last year," Everleigh said, "Great work."

            "Is that one from Us?" Maverick and her had watched that one a couple nights before.

            "I'm so proud of you," Everleigh said.

            Maverick grinned. "Slow learning is still learning."

            Everleigh decided against mentioning that he still couldn't get through a movie without jumping. She was starting to enjoy the small giggles that would erupt from him each time he flinched. (Though, most of the giggles happened because Everleigh had started putting a pillow on Maverick's lap to sleep on after long days and when he jumped, he woke her up.) (Usually followed by a thousand I'm so sorry's that weren't convincing when he was laughing; the forehead kisses were nice, though.)

            "Well, hey there, you two," their server slid up to the side of the table, placing their waters in front of them. Good God, she had to be hallucinating. Curtain bangs, blood-stained shirt, just the right glint in their eye. It was a little unnerving how much they looked like Skeet Ulrich. They'd even put on an American accent for it. "I'm Billy, I'll be your server. We've got Woodsboro Wings on special today, 50p each. Cocktail of the day is—" They licked their finger and smirked. "Corn Syrup."

            "Corn Syrup?" Maverick asked.

            Billy shrugged, broke character for a moment. Only a moment. "Fireball, Crown Royal, soda water, grenadine. Tastes like apples and cinnamon."

            Maverick nodded. "Ah. Sure. I'll try that."

            "And for the lady?"

            "I'm good with just the water, thanks."

            "Do we need a little longer with the menus?" Billy asked. "Or are we dying to eat?"

            Maverick stole a small glance at Everleigh before looking back at Billy. "Couple minutes would be great."

            "Sweet," Billy said with a wicked grin. "I'll be right back."

            They stalked away after winking at both Everleigh and Maverick.

            "Okay," Everleigh said, "I love it here."

            Maverick smiled. "I can't believe we got Billy Loomis."

            "You didn't plan that?"

            "Happy accident."

            Everleigh smiled. "What an accident."

            "Everleigh?"

            "Yes?"

            "Stop making googly eyes at Billy Loomis."

            "You stop making googly eyes at Billy Loomis."

*

Look. Ordering food was terrible. Everleigh was ready to fucking cry and unable to voice why burger options were terrifying and Haddonfield slasher hash sounded fantastic, but potatoes. When she'd finally decided on just saying she'd eat the same thing Maverick ordered—he seemed to think it was sweet, not the embarrassing inability to make a decision it actually was—she wasn't expecting the burger to be so large. Maybe it wasn't even that big, maybe Everleigh was just more fucked in the head than she ever thought possible.

            It wasn't a shock that a couple bites into their meal had Everleigh excusing herself to the bathroom. Not to throw up—mainly because Maverick might notice she tasted like vomit—mostly to, maybe, panic in private. Maybe being the operative word because they were in a pub and maybe there would be privacy and maybe there would be some drunk woman ready to tell her she's amazing. Pub bathrooms were wild cards.

            The wild card she hadn't expected: a wall to wall to wall collage of Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body. There was no inch of the loo, spare the sink and stall doors, not covered in screencaps from that movie. Great movie. But unsettling when Everleigh thought she was going to have a panic attack trying to eat dinner.

            Granted, that panic still happened. In a stupid fucking bathroom with Jennifer Check staring at her like she was the next victim. Everleigh gripped the sink counter like it was her final lifeline. It was something to say that Everleigh had training on how to help individuals with eating disorders but couldn't be bothered to help herself. That she read the statistics on death and how bulimia affected the brain yet somehow eating a burger still wanted to make her cry in a public washroom. The Halloween theme was not helping her brain any.

            Everleigh forced herself to take a couple deep breaths before she looked at herself in the mirror. "If you fuckin' cry, he'll know. Because he's your Kingston and he knows everything. And then you'll have to explain that you're a self-conscious twat in the middle of a fuckin' pub, and does anyone want to do that? No. Because it's stupid."

            Everleigh would be immortal if a year was added to her life every time she overthought something or talked down to herself.

            "Sweetie." Wonderful, Everleigh wasn't alone. She definitely should've checked for the sound of pissing before shitting down her own throat.

            "Em. Yes?"

            "Sorry, did you say his name was Kingston?"

            "Yes."

            "And he's your..."

            "Boyfriend."

            "Right. Your boyfriend. And you need to tell him this... thing," the other woman said. "And you haven't because..."

            "Because it's shite," Everleigh said. Biting back the urge to request the other woman leave her to her own misery.

            "Sure. It's shite. But that's life," she said. "Life is shite and the reason we have boyfriends in the world is to share that shite with so it's less shite. Any man who makes life more shite isn't worth your time." A flush. The door opened, Grace Le Domas walked out. Bloody wedding dress, yellow Converse. God. She even looked like Samara Weaving. She washed her hands. "But giving that you're in a loo, ready to fuckin' cry, I'd say Kingston makes life less shite."

            "He does." Everleigh sniffled. She was going to pretend she hadn't started crying. Quickly wiped her cheek.

            "Good. Then you go out there—" Grace wiped her hands with a paper towel and tossed it in the bin. Everleigh normally would've swatted a random girl's hands off her shoulders, but they were surprisingly comforting. "—you have a great dinner with your Kingston. Do not give a damn what that shitty little brain of yours says when you look like a million quid. Mkay?"

            "Sure."

            "No, sweetie, I need you to actually believe it." Grace Le Domas had definitely been drinking Fireball in the stall. Everleigh could smell it now that the other woman was close. "You're a fuckin' killer and Kingston WhateverHisLastNameIs is lucky to have you—" Her finger tapped Everleigh's nose. "—no matter what you're being told by the Boogeyman in your skull."

            There was something to say that drunk women in the pub bathroom were better than any therapist Everleigh had ever tried to see before giving up on.

            "Thank you."

            "The final girls are on for shift change in ten. If you need any of us, you just whistle us down, honey, okay?"

            "Sure."

            "Stay gorgeous, babes."

            "You too."

            "We love you."

            "Love you too?"

            "Let's take a picture, babes. Put that winning smile on."

            Everleigh pulled her phone out quickly. If nothing else, to get Grace Le Domas away from her before Maverick came looking for her to make sure she hadn't drowned in the toilet bowl or climbed out the back window. She opened the camera and smiled for a picture, Grace throwing up a peace sign beside her. The photo was cute, sure, but that was likely the weirdest bathroom experience she'd ever had. And she'd accidentally walked in on a couple joining the mile high club.

            At the very least, she could show Maverick the wallpaper. She wasn't sure if he'd seen Jennifer's Body.

            On her way back to the table, Everleigh took a couple deep breaths. Hoped she the few tears hadn't streaked the small amount of foundation she'd used before they left her flat.

            Sliding back into the booth, Maverick gave her a small smile. "You okay?"

            "It's great in there," Everleigh said. Talking straight out of her ass as she showed him a photo of her and Grace in the washroom. "Jennifer's all over the wall."

            "Jennifer's Body?" Maverick was humouring her and Everleigh wanted to kiss him for it. He even let it pass that she'd taken a random photo with some random woman in the washroom. "I think I've actually seen that one."

            "Thoughts on it?"

            "It was good. But I like Juno better."

            God, he even knew Diablo Cody. Crikey.

            "I don't think I've seen Juno."

            "You haven't seen Juno?" Maverick asked. "Christ, Everleigh, we need to get you in on the good shit."

            Everleigh smiled. "We can watch it when we're home if you want."

            It was embarrassing how easily home rolled off her tongue when Maverick was involved.

            "I was thinking Scream 3," Maverick said. He waved his hand around, motioning to the building they sat in before tossing a fry in his mouth. "Especially after this."

            "Double feature?" Everleigh said. "One for you, and one for me?"

            "Deal." Maverick took a long sip from his second Corn Syrup of the night. "God damn it." He pressed his napkin to his mouth and stood up from his seat. "Now I want to know what's in the men's. I'll be back."

            Everleigh raised her cup of water to salute him. "Famous last words."

            Maverick wrinkled his nose at her and laughed. "I'm bisexual and biracial. I'm making it to the end of the movie. You're the one who has to look out."

            "Got me there." Everleigh laughed.

            Maverick took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Be right back."

            Everleigh laughed, slid her hand from his, and, promptly, flipped him off. Maverick grinned and blew her a kiss that turned into him flipping her off in return.

            "Enjoy your loo trip."

            "Oh, I will."

            It didn't take long for a text to vibrate Everleigh's phone.

            Everleigh. Another text. Everleigh. Another text. Everleigh I'm crying why is Bruce Campbell in here—

            YOU GOT ASH FROM EVIL DEAD? LMAO

            Maverick sent a photo that very much looked like he was imitating Grace in Everleigh's photo. Peace sign, pursed lips. She barely breathed before she saved it and made it the wallpaper on her home screen. Lock screen was still the same—her and Maverick in bed while he wrinkled her nose at him—but Maverick standing in that stupid bathroom making a stupid face was going to raise her spirits until the end of time, she was certain of it.

            Maverick sat down in front of her after a moment passed; . "Okay, Meadowlark. Dukes up. Who do you think's in the gender neutral washroom?"

            "Chucky's kid," Everleigh said. "Glen."

            "Reasons?"

            "Genderfluidity."

            Maverick raised his eyebrows. "Incredible. Okay."

            "Who do you think it is?"

            Maverick shook his head. "I bow to the queen. Your answer is all I need."

            "I'm sure you could go check."

            "If it is that stupid doll's kid," Maverick said, "I don't want to see it. Chucky's terrifying to look at, I don't like the idea of a doll ejaculati—"

            "Kingston, I'm trying to eat." That wasn't true. Everleigh had maybe eaten six fries and four bites of her burger. But talking about that was not going to make her want to eat any more.

            "I'm sorry."

            "You should be."

            "Fine."

            "Now, please." Maverick picked his burger up. "We have to finish because I'm already thinking about dessert and I don't want to sound like a—"

            "Please don't finish that sentence. You can have dessert any time you want."

            Maverick needed to stop looking at her like he knew something was wrong. Everleigh needed him to be perfectly dim and think that everything was fine. She was ready to beg.

            "... Sorry," Maverick said. Still looking at her like he wasn't sure who was staring back at him.

            "It's okay," Everleigh said.

            "Is it?"

            Everleigh nodded. "Mhmm."

            "You're sure?"

            "I'm sure."

            "Would you tell me if you weren't sure?"

            Everleigh was sure that she wasn't sure. That was a form of certainty, right? (Grace should've really considered being a therapist instead of a cosplaying waitress.) (All she could hear was that she could talk about this with Maverick later.) "I... yeah."

            Maverick was a fucking saint. All he gave her was a nod and an "okay," before tossing a fry into his mouth and pretending like she wasn't worrying him.

            Everleigh took a deep breath.

*

The air left Everleigh's lungs when there were too many cameras outside The Final Grill. She held onto Maverick's hand like he was a human stress ball; fingers likely purpled from her vice. Maverick didn't squeeze; he grimaced. Pulled her along like he had at the MARS concert but with even more of a purpose. Everleigh swayed with each step; maybe she shouldn't have had the last of Maverick's drink and then ordered multiple of her own.

            "Maverick!"

            "Over here!"

            "Are you the same woman from New York?"

            (Everleigh realized dyeing her hair was either her best decision or her worst decision.) (She didn't get to think that through because Maverick's sharp whistle pulled her from her brain.)

            "Is this what it looks like?"

            "Mav, is this the woman from your Instagram post?"

            "Do we have a label yet?"

            (Maverick's hand on Everleigh's waist guided her into the taxi he'd hailed.)

            "Everleigh?"

             Maverick pulled the door shut as Everleigh's eyes widened at recognition of her own name coming from someone who wasn't Maverick. He took her hands in his. Told the driver her address without even a breath escaping. Everleigh must've looked like she'd seen a ghost, because Maverick had never held her quite like that before. (She wished her brain hadn't trailed to Rhylan—what had Maverick said about her and the paparazzi? Was he holding Everleigh because she looked like she needed it or was he holding her because that's what he would do with Rhylan when she was upset by being noticed?)

            She wasn't sure if it made her insane or entirely sane that she couldn't even cry—it was just a total numbness that came over her. First a dinner where she ate almost everything and drank maybe a little too much, then they knew her name. They knew her fucking name. Come whatever fucking turn around time there was, Everleigh's name was going to be in print. For whoever read gossip articles. Her name was there.

            Maverick had an arm wrapped over her shoulders and his other hand on the far side of her cheek; lips pressed to her temple. Barely muttering, "I'm sorry." Hardly uttering, "We'll be home soon." Everleigh nearly collapsed into him when she distinctly heard, "You're exactly who I need you to be right now."

            The ride home was a blur. Everleigh wanted nothing to do with the world outside Maverick's arms. She spent most of the ride trying to find the words that meant the same thing as it's not you, it's me without meaning a breakup. How in the hell was she meant to say that she was panicking because cameras meant photos and photos of her made her want to lose the meal he'd just bought for her? It wasn't that she hadn't expected photos of them together at some point; it was that she hadn't considered what the hell she was going to do when it happened and she never thought it would ever be after a dinner. When there was too much worry going through her head all at once about what her stomach looked like after eating.

            After paying for the cab, Maverick walked her to the door of her flat like they were an old married couple and had lived there for years together. It was incredible how easily he fit in; there were clothes in Everleigh's closet, groceries in the fridge. Hell, he even liked the side of the bed that Everleigh hated. Kingston Maverick was a glove that fit perfectly into Everleigh's palm.

            "I don't know what I can do to make this better," Maverick said when the door was locked and closed. He double checked. (Every time.) (This time seemed more personal.)

            Everleigh took a deep breath. "It's okay."

            "You keep saying everything's okay and it's really not."

            "I'm trying to be okay with it, Kingston."

            "We're ignoring you looked like you'd been crying when you came back from the washroom, then?" Maverick asked. "Before British media was outside?"

            Everleigh turned to look at him. "You saw that?"

            "Everleigh," Maverick said. "I don't think you realize that people care about you."

            Everleigh didn't want to look him in the eye. The only reason she would was to let the suns around his pupils burn her alive. "It's fine."

            "It doesn't have to be."

            "It's fine."

            "Everleigh—"

            "Please stop."

            "If something was wrong..."  Maverick knew her too well. "How could I help?"

            "I'm embarrassed to admit what usually happens when I'm hypothetically upset."

            "You... I mean, wait—" Maverick stumbled. He was trying hard. Maverick always tried hard. "I am not hypothetically dating you, but hypothetically, if you were upset, you could tell me because I'm... your...s. Yours. I'm yours. And you can tell me whatever you want."

            Everleigh managed to lift her jaw enough to pass over Maverick's face, decide she hated the look he was giving her, and then continue looking upwards until she stared at the ceiling instead. "You... I mean, you've... scheduled things when I've been sad. For me."

            "You really must be feeling like shit if you can't bring yourself to say the word sex."

            Everleigh groaned. "Because it's stupid to ask that of you when you had your privacy invaded too."

            "I have my privacy invaded all the time."

            "That's not a good thing, Kingston."

            "It's just... It's a thing," Maverick said. "I'm used to it."

            Everleigh crossed her arms. "Not good."

            "It doesn't have to be good, it has to be accepted—" Maverick interrupted himself. "And I mean the paparazzi thing, not the sex thing. That should be good, and, you know, enjoyable—"

            "Oh my God." Somehow, he was making this worse. And all he was trying to do was flirt with her.

            "I—um—" Maverick cleared his throat. "Scream 2 is better than Scream?"

            Everleigh looked away from the ceiling and down at Maverick.

            "And, um—" Maverick hadn't done this in a while, had he? "—Billy Loomis?"

            "Kingston—"

            "I'm trying my best here, Everleigh."

            "You don't have to try," Everleigh said. "You're you. You just have to... to exist. For fuck's sake."

            Christ almighty. What a statement.

            "You—um—I—okay," Maverick stumbled.

            "Okay."

            "Okay."

            "Okay."

            "Does that mean... we're—"

            "Yup. If that's cool."

            "It's cool."

            "Cool."

            "Condoms here or do I have to run and get some—"

            "Nightstand."

            Maverick nodded. "Okay."

            "Nice." Everleigh raised her hand and Maverick high-fived her. "Let's fuckin' go."

*

Everleigh never should've fallen as hard as she did for Kingston Maverick. It wasn't that the sex was bad—quite the opposite, even for as nutty as the lead up had been—it was the aftermath. It was Everleigh staying awake in bed listening to Maverick's soft breathing beside her wondering if he hated what he saw. It was trailing her fingertips along Maverick's cheek while he slept, hoping he didn't decide in the morning he was going to leave when he saw pictures of her on whatever British fucking tabloids published about them.

            She was going to puke. Although she'd been doing so well, she was going to vomit at the thought and out of fear of too many things at once. It didn't take much to slide Maverick's arm off her stomach. Gently. He hardly skipped a breath.

            Everleigh still tried her best to be quiet as she walked out of the room and padded across the living room to the washroom. The routine was second nature. Close the door, turn the tap on, maybe hopefully feel better about herself when she was done vomiting but probably wouldn't despite the effort. She considered not puking her dinner. A small part of her wished she didn't hate herself enough to spend time in bed doing something normal. Like sleeping. Next to her boyfriend who'd likely lose his shit at her for hating herself so fucking much.

            God, she needed to talk to him. That morning she was going to sit him down and talk to him. That morning. She had to promise herself. The ache in her stomach was something that might mean she could tell him over breakfast. That might've been worse. Or better. Or... something. Everleigh had a vomit headache.

            A deep breath in between sticking her fingers down her throat. What if he looked at her like she was crazy? Maybe she was. The fist that hadn't been in her mouth gripped the bottom of Maverick's t-shirt she'd stolen to sleep in.

            A knock at the door. "Everleigh?"

            Everleigh's eyes widened. He had taken his hearing aids off before falling asleep, she'd seen him do it. There was a trinket dish she'd bought during one of her first trips to New Delhi that Maverick had taken hostage pretty much the moment he'd made himself at home in her flat. That's where his hearing aids had been when Everleigh left the room. "Hmm?"

            "Are you okay?"

            "Yeah." Everleigh ignored the tears streaking down her cheeks from the force of the vomit.

            "'Cause... It sounded like you were puking."

            No. No, no. This was supposed to be a conversation for after she forced herself to go to sleep and told her anxieties to fuck off. It wasn't for the same night that Maverick couldn't hear a car. No.

            "I know you have, like, I don't know, a number five on the sides, but do you need someone to hold your bangs?" Maverick's voice was too calm to not be panicking.

            "No," Everleigh croaked. She slapped at the tears on her face.

            Silence replied for a moment before Maverick could form words. "Are you crying?"

            Everleigh stayed quiet.

            "May I come in?"

            "I... um..." Everleigh ran her thumbs under her eyes. Forced herself to take another deep breath. "Wait. You remember that thing you said earlier?"

            "What thing?"

            "The—the sick puppy thing."

            "I—oh." Maverick stayed quiet for another couple seconds. "I promise."

            "Yes, you can come in."

            The doorknob turning had never been scarier. Christ almighty.

            It took about two and a half seconds for Maverick to scan everything going on and come to the conclusion that Everleigh had chickened out on telling him herself. It was about a second and a half after that where Maverick joined her on the bathroom floor. Everleigh immediately popped up from her seat; knees likely a bright pink from how long she'd been kneeled in front of the toilet. She washed her hands quickly and brushed her teeth as quick.

            Maverick stayed quiet until she joined him back on the floor.

            He pursed his lips for a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

            "I... we don't have to talk about this."

            "Sure we do."

            Everleigh stared at the tiled floor. "I don't know where you want me to start."

            "Wherever you want." Maverick leaned his head against hers, voice soft. His nose dragged along her ear as a reminder of how close he was to her. Thighs pressed together. "I'm right here."

            "You heard the vomiting?" Everleigh asked. Unable to wrap her head around it.

            "You think people can't hear that?"

            "No one's ever checked..."

            Maverick's eyebrows knit together as he pulled his head away from hers. "Everleigh..."

            Everleigh half-heartedly shoved a hand in his face. "Thought I specifically said don't look at me like that."

            "I'm sorry." Maverick gently took her hand in his and held it.

            "I, um..." Everleigh shook her head. Words failed when it came to admitting she had a problem. Especially to Maverick. His hand squeezed hers gently. A gentle push that she could keep going and he'd be right there. "I don't know how long it's been since I..." Everleigh's voice broke. "Actually liked myself. And... and I don't mean liked myself as in, like, I wish I were in love with myself. I'd be so happy if this was just regular old hatred but it's not."

            "Everleigh..." Maverick leaned his head back against the bathroom wall. On the hand that wasn't holding hers, his fingers tapped together like a telegraph. 

            "You don't have to stay here—"

            "What you're not gonna do is kick me out of here." Maverick broke his promise with the look he gave her, but she didn't have it in her to correct him. She wasn't sure he could. "I just need a second..."

            "Okay."

            "Can I ask..." Maverick looked like he was arguing with himself. "Um, Vegas?"

            Everleigh's stomach dropped. He wasn't talking about the MARS concert; he was talking about the aftermath. "Um. I was nervous. About dinner. With you. So I... So I didn't eat for a little while..."

            "How long is a little while?" Maverick's thumb trailed across her cheek; trying it's best to make things better but still leaving the remnants of streaked tears behind.

            Everleigh swallowed the lump in her throat. "Few days."

            Maverick winced. "That why there's never any groceries here?"

            Everleigh nodded.

            Maverick stayed quiet but it never felt like he'd drifted away. His eyes still looked like they were focused on the bathroom tile, brain moving a million miles an hour with nowhere to go in her tiny bathroom. When he spoke again, it was soft. Like he was afraid to break her. "What can I do to help?"

            "There's not a lot, Kingston."

            "We can just sit here then. That's okay."

            Everleigh reached a hand up and gently wiped the tear that fell down Maverick's cheek.

            He let out a weak laugh. "Sorry."

            "You did prewarn me you cried when other people cried."

            "That wouldn't be why I'm crying this time, Everleigh," Maverick said. "But sure."

            Everleigh's lip trembled.

            "Okay, it will be if you cry harder." Maverick's eyes searched hers.

            Everleigh managed a small laugh. "I'm sorry."

            "Can I please say," Maverick started, "that you can tell me these things? I probably can't fix them but... burden sharing, or... whatever."

            Everleigh's poet.

            She leaned her head on his shoulder; knees bent and curled up against his thighs. "Sometimes..." God, being vulnerable was hard, huh? "I get scared that this is everything I'll ever be. Um. That I'll never be able to—" Everleigh nearly choked on her tears. Maverick held her hand a little tighter. "—live properly. With this shit nagging at the back of my head."

            Never would Everleigh have thought a kiss to her temple would've been so God damn comforting, but there she sat, wrong again.

            "I think there's always something to be scared of," Maverick said. "Gotta find a way to live despite it."

            Oh, Everleigh was so fucking stupid. Talking about fear when the car incident had happened earlier. Fuck her. Maverick should've left when Everleigh had given him the opportunity to, she didn't deserve his patience.

            "When I was a kid I had this fear," Maverick continued. A hint of a smile in his voice but Everleigh couldn't make herself look up from the floor in front of them. "That a skunk would spray me and my mom would have to go buy an ass ton of tomato juice for me to bathe in."

            Everleigh snorted out a laugh. Not the heart to heart she expected, but she appreciated it.

            "And I thought I'd outgrow it," Maverick said. "But now I don't have a bathtub in my apartment, Everleigh. What am I supposed to do if I get sprayed by a skunk? I can't put tomato juice in the hot water tank. That'll stink."

            Everleigh laughed. Which never felt right when there were still tears falling from her eyes. Maverick laughed with her. Put a hand on the far side of her cheek and pressed a kiss to her other cheek.

            "Thank you," Everleigh said. Softly. Probably a little too soft.

            "Next time," Maverick said, "Wake me up, okay?"

            Everleigh pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder. Not a promise. But she'd try.

            "You know," Everleigh said, "tomato juice doesn't actually work against skunk spray, right?"

            Maverick laughed. "Well, shit, Everleigh. What am I supposed to do now?"