KEANE

          Like episode four before it, the filming of episode five of Spirit Files is quite uneventful.

          It's just a church, most of which has been renovated (and yes, I made sure to look deeply into it this time, so it's not a repeat of Hollow Manor) since its first haunting reports. Same as episode four, it's a bit of a breather as it involves meeker, calmer ghosts, but it feels a bit tame and boring to me—except the scenery is prettier than, say, the manor, Stellarville, or even the library.

          Not that there was anything wrong with the library per se. After the Boulevard, it's, without a doubt, the most aesthetically pleasing location we've investigated, but nothing will ever come close to the church. Even Paige is mesmerized by the stained glass windows, standing impossibly tall and imposing, and we both have a hard time focusing on what we came here to do with how distractingly beautiful the figures are.

          The same could be said about Paige herself, capturing my attention far more than the windows, but I'm lucky she's not paying that much attention to me. She can't catch me staring and admiring the way she looks in this building, illuminated by the colored glass whenever the light hits just right, and I'm an absolute goner.

          To make up for the lack of Paige-centric investigations in episode three, I let her take the reins in this one, mostly so she can walk around the church and be mean to the ghosts all she wants.

          She's been quieter than usual following Thanksgiving, even when compared to her much more shut off attitude from the past few months, so I figure she could use some time to herself without me pressing her for more details. During the joint investigation, she barely tries to antagonize the ghosts we (well, I) attempt to contact, which is one of the first signs that something is up; although I wish she'd open up to me, I know better than to hold on to hope about that. She'll talk to me when and if she wants to.

          I can't blame her for being stressed. Thanksgiving dinner with her family is always one of the least fun holidays for her and now even more so than usual with Andy being gone and her parents awkwardly trying to act like everything is going back to normal. As if that wasn't enough, that Friendsgiving dinner at Mona's could have ended up a lot worse than it did, but I'm not blaming her for not having had any fun. I, too, would have snapped.

          Although Rhett apologized for calling her a spoiled brat, both to her and to me, as though I needed to hear it, I know she'll be holding a grudge for months on end. She wouldn't skip the wedding out of respect for Brie, but I won't be surprised if she's asked to speak and delivers a mean-spirited comment halfway through. He's scared of her a bit, I think, but that's understandable.

          I'm not, despite knowing she's all bark and all bite, but I also know better than to mess with her—especially when it comes to Andy. So, I let her take it out on both Rhett and the ghosts after I walk out of the church. I'll inevitably hear back from Rhett in case anything happens between them (I can picture her typing out a lengthy, furious message to send him and run it by me) and her conversations with the ghosts will be caught on audio and film. It'll be a-okay.

          Besides, now there's something exciting about knowing we'll be splitting up.

          Since episode three, we've gotten used to leaving small messages to each other whenever we're alone, knowing the other will hear them in post. It started with episode two, the one we constantly find ourselves going back to, with her hoping we'd find something mostly for my sake.

          The fact that she doesn't believe in a single thing we're investigating and still holds out hope for the existence of captured evidence fills me up with so much warmth I have to physically stop myself from kissing her every time I think about it. She might not want to admit it to me directly, but she cares about the success of the project and about me and my happiness, even if it means having her own convictions disproved.

          Most of our messages to each other end up not being a part of the final version of the episode, but they're there, either as inside jokes or mere encouragement. We do most of the editing together and we often see the other's reaction to these messages; there's something extra meaningful and heartwarming about seeing her smile when she gets to that part of the footage.

          I can't see my own face when it happens to me, but I can imagine I look like a cheeky idiot. I've caught her glancing at me from the corner of her eye as she watches my reaction and I'm certain she has gotten a glimpse of me attempting to do the same thing, so we're at an equal playing field. It finally feels normal—a fun kind of normal.

          Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I don't care; I'm choosing to enjoy it as long as it lasts.

          I get my individual investigation out of the way first, mostly relying on my trust spirit box and the EMF meter. Although I don't get conclusive results, I get some EMF spikes, with the lights going all the way up to red, but that's not the most exciting part about tonight.

          I feel so stupid, eager to make my way back to Paige, and have to remind myself this is a purely professional relationship. If I make any sudden moves, if I overstep, then everything will be ruined. I want to believe I can read her quite well, even after the distance she forced between us; the gap isn't as wide anymore and, if she lets me, I can reach out an arm across it. If she lets me, I can touch her, I can hold her.

          Once she leaves for her investigation, I record more footage, audio and video, usable and unusable. It's very much a filler episode, calmer than the first three, and the spirit box has yet to manage to offend either of us. I call this a success on that front, albeit I wish there had been more activity. Maybe she'll find something.

          I hope.

          "I'm just hoping Paige has a good time in there," I tell the camera in front of me. "Even if she proves her point and doesn't find any evidence—which I wouldn't be too thrilled about, but I digress—I'm more concerned about this being a chill episode for her. Everything has been working out well so far tonight; she seems at ease, relaxed, and there's no spirit box with her. No ghost can be mean to her. She'll probably scare them all off.

          "She'll kill me for saying this, but I'll take my chances and go with my gut. Paige is far from being an architecture geek and I have to admit I know far less about it than she does, but she has always liked churches and cathedrals, that kind of stuff. Must be the stained glass. Like, I don't get it, but I can appreciate beautiful art when it's right in front of me. For example, I can appreciate Paige even when she's not around."

          I feel my cheeks grow hot just by saying these stupid words. She'll either be furious at me for putting her on the spot like this or be too flustered to acknowledge it, but the beauty of post is that not everything we record has to make it to the final product.

          Thankfully. I'd die if Professor O'Riley heard me say this and saw me look like a lovesick idiot on camera, especially because we'd have to talk about it; it's awkward enough being truthful about it in front of Paige. I don't need a grown, responsible adult to call me out on this.

          "Whatever it is about these buildings, there's something inherently creepy about them to me, but, at the same time, it's appealing to her," I continue. "It's the furthest she'll go when it comes to admitting ghosts are real and, at this point, I'll take it. I used to joke that she likes churches this much because it's showing how badly she wants to get married someday"—my lips curve into an involuntary smile before I can stop myself—"which, looking back, is an incredibly insensitive thing to say to someone, let alone your best friend. She would roll her eyes at me, change the subject. Like, I want her to get married if that's something she wants to do, even if she doesn't date now, but it's none of my business and . . . anyway, I'm rambling. All of this to say I hope she finds what she's looking for. Whatever that might be."

          I don't know why, but a wave of irritation washes over me.

          I'm not a possessive kind of guy. Every relationship I've ever been in was filled with mutual respect and a healthy understanding of boundaries, even though they've always been cut short—mostly for the same reason ever since I started college. It was always because I wasn't as invested as I should be, always reaching out for something I couldn't have.

          I shouldn't care about the possibility of Paige ending up with someone else. If that's what she wants, then I want her to get everything she has ever wanted, even if it's not me. Even if it rots and burns my insides to think about her dating someone else—especially because I know her well enough to know that's not the happiness she's chasing after. It's short-term relief.

          I shouldn't be bothered by this as much as I am. It's a possibility I came up with on my own, unprompted, and there's nothing going on between us that can justify this sort of reaction. She's been with other guys, I've been with other girls, we've been each other's wingwoman and wingman.

          It doesn't change the fact that everything repeatedly feels like second best. I get what I want—we both do—but it's never exactly what I want.

          There has to be a line somewhere. I fear we've crossed it—several times, at that—but we never fully commit to it. It's always too close for comfort, scary enough to make us back away, and I've lost count of the missed opportunities.

          What do either of us know about healthy, stable relationships, anyway? Just look at her parents' marriage, divorce, and rekindling of their relationship. Just look at my own parents' failed marriage, years of passive-aggression under the roof, and way-too-late divorce.

          Then, as I watch Paige skip down the steps of the church and announce we're all good to go to film the on-site outro, I realize I don't fucking care about that line anymore.

          I care about her and all these bottled up feelings for her; I care about wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me to crash my lips against hers. I care about finding out how that feels like, what she tastes like, how she'll kiss me back.

          I'm not a strong man. Not when it comes to Paige de Haan.

          Once the outro is done and we collect our equipment, I catch a glimpse of what she's wearing and my heart legitimately stops beating.

          She's wearing a letterman jacket. It's not Andy's.

          It's mine.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

          I know Jeff is absolutely over me bringing up Paige.

          I can definitely see the irony in this. After months of pleading with him to get him to stop nagging me about how he thinks she's the worst human being on the planet, part of me suspects he finds some twisted pleasure in seeing me grovel and suffer over her.

          I don't think it's funny, personally, but Jeff has a unique sense of humor. It can often rub people the wrong way (I'd be lying if I said I've never wanted to punch him in the jaw), but, this time, he proves once again he's on my side.

          When I tell him I'm scared I've never fallen out of love with Paige and I fear I've walked into a brick wall, as nothing I do can save me, he listens, doesn't interrupt, and doesn't even roll his eyes.

          He leans back on his chair, sitting across from me, elbows set on the table, and laces his fingers in front of his mouth. His matcha latte is still hot and I can't look at it too often, scared to be transfixed by the waves of steam swirling out of his cup.

          "I know you probably think I'm being ridiculous and blowing everything out of proportion," I admit, "but I don't know what to do and I can't talk to anyone else about this. Usually, I'd talk to her."

          He knits his brows together. "What's so wrong about talking to me?"

          "Dude, no offense, but you're not a feelings kind of guy."

          "And she is?"

          He got me there.

          "Well, no, but she's not nearly as tactless as you."

          "You can get really catty sometimes, did you know that?" I chuckle, breaking off a piece of my almond croissant. Paige loves these; it's terrifying how even just a stupid pastry can completely switch up my train of thought. "I'm not saying I'm good at this; I'm just pointing out you can't expect a sentimental heart to heart conversation from her. Not right now."

          "And you know this how, exactly? Last time I checked, the two of you weren't really cozying up to each other and gossiping. The world is healing."

          "Jealous?"

          "Do I look jealous to you?"

          He scoffs. "Honestly? Yes."

          He's my best friend. I shouldn't be feeling any type of way about this and I have no claim over Paige, so she can go and hook up with him if that's what she wants to do. However, my blood is fucking boiling at the thought.

          Although I want them to patch things up with each other, both for their sake and mine, there's a side of me that sometimes worries I might be causing more harm than good. I fear I might drive them further apart and ruin their chances of reconciling . . . or push them towards each other in a way I didn't account for.

          "No," I lie. "I didn't even know you two were on friendly terms."

          "We're not. If it makes you happier to know this, we didn't talk much. It was when you two went to Stellarville and she called me, all freaked out and shit. I was mostly there for damage prevention; of course you were the first thing I asked about. My sweet baby." He leans across the table to pinch my cheek. "I apologized again. She said it was fine, it was cool, but I can tell it's not. She was only saying that so I wouldn't hang up the phone; not that I would hang up the phone when she was seconds away from crying hysterically, but . . . yeah. You get my point. Even if she hates me, I don't hate her. We've been friends for three years. Were. It doesn't just fade away."

          "Yeah. Tell me about it."

          "Don't get me wrong, I still think you're being ridiculous by following her around like a lovelorn puppy and waiting for her to give you the time of day, but I kind of get it." Jeff sighs, looking out of the window. "I miss her, man. I really do."

          I know he does.

          All this time, I've known his anger and resentment towards her are ways to mask his actual feelings—he's hurt that they've stopped talking and drifted apart, and lashed out. Although he regrets it—and I'm hoping Paige herself knows that—it only helped widen the gap between them, not doing him any favors or redeeming him in her eyes.

          Besides that, he didn't exactly do anything wrong; Paige wanted space, wanted distance, and she's grieving. To her, isolating herself was the one way she found to cope with losing Andy, to varying degrees of success, and neither of us went about it like she wanted us to. Jeff argued with her, culminating in the biggest argument of their friendship and its subsequent dissolution, whereas I hovered, far enough to give her space, but still too close. When she pushed me away, I refused to budge, over and over, and I nearly lost her over it.

          I thought I was doing the right thing. Perhaps I was; if I decide to be optimistic about it and we manage to patch things up, she'll be grateful we never fully fell out of touch, even if it's just through O'Riley's influence. Now, I have to be even more careful than I used to be, especially with all these feelings resurfacing.

          "I miss her, too," I admit. This isn't how I expected this conversation to go; all I was looking for was some advice regarding my romantic feelings for her, but it ended up digging the knife even deeper into his back. "I just don't know what to do."

          He shifts in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. "If anyone asks about this, I'll deny everything."

          "Please tell me you don't have feelings for her."

          "Dude, no. What the fuck? Is that all you can think about?"

          "Do I need to remind you of how pathetic you were up until last year, chasing after her?"

          "I was being nice to my bestie."

          "She's not your bestie."

          "Not anymore, she isn't. You are." He blows me a kiss. "I think you should be honest with her, take that leap of faith. I think you'll regret not doing it; even if it doesn't work out, at least it's out there and you don't get to beat yourself up for keeping it to yourself. What if it works out and you've been missing out on your dream girl just because you were too scared of loving her?"

          When he says stuff like this, when he gets to be this perceptive, he's Scott, not Jeff.

          I'm used to him acting like he doesn't read much into things, usually delegating that task to me, so it always catches me by surprise when he turns the tables and I'm on the receiving end of it.

          Deep down, I know he's right. I know I have to talk to Paige, even though she'd rather chew on glass than have an honest conversation about feelings, and there will never be an ideal time to do it. I need to rip off the bandage, get it done and over with; if we were different people, I'd be more cautious, think things through a lot more.

          However, we're not. We're still us. We're still complicated.

          "I'm sorry for dumping this on you," I mutter. "I know you have a complicated week coming up; you don't need me and my Paige drama."

          "It's fine. I think I need the distraction."

          His parents are finally coming to Bennington to watch him play for the first time since he was made captain. They're musicians, having just finished their world tour; even though he rarely ever complains, I always see him searching for them in the stands. Even my parents have been more present than his, which shatters me.

          They're happy for him. We know that. They don't have to show up to prove it and they have a valid reason to only be coming here now, but I can tell it bothers him. At least he has the team, he has me, but it's just not the same.

          "Hey, I'm here for you, man," I remind him. He nods, jaw clenched. "Whatever you need, let me know."

          "Get your stuff with Paige sorted out. Preferably before the year ends. Keep me posted, though." He steals the last bite of my croissant. "Keep me entertained."

✦⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆✦

sometimes jeff deserves rights (book 3???)