Reminiscing was Lennon's best friend and worst enemy. It gave him brittle hope, the kind that dissolves between his fingers and draws him towards photography.

It was January when Lennon first moved into his new apartment, journeying down the hallway in a hazy cloud and collecting dust on the pad of his fingers. He made it his own, scavenging for second-hand furniture and bringing home tiny cactus pots from the market.

It was a time when Lennon chased after solitude, so caught up in this idea that all he needed was himself, that independence was the key to his current sorrows. But as days became repetitive and silence took over his living space, he developed a habit of humming tunes. Because the truth was—

He was so fucking lonely.

He had someone who made every day mean something, and now her room was vacant.

Lennon couldn't recall how many nights he lay on the floor of that empty bedroom, reciting speeches and pondering over whether or not he should call her.

Hey, I miss you.

Hey, I left you the bigger room in case you come back.

Hey, I hope your mom's new job is going smoothly. And that your new home is treating you well. And that you know I didn't mean the things I said when we fought.

Hey, my parents keep asking about you. What do I tell them? You know they love you.

Hey, do you still love me?

But gradually as the months dragged on, his motivation diminished. He still sent her mental notes but concluded that it was best not to make a sound.

Hey, I know you're allergic but it shouldn't matter since you're not here anyway. I adopted a cat. Well, I actually found it in a building, right outside the elevator from the dance studio my photography class was working with. No one claimed him, so we went to the vet, and then I took Socks home. Yes, I named it Socks. It was the first thing I saw when I scanned my room for a name.

Socks made Lennon significantly less lonely. And the cat may not have the ability to talk, but Lennon liked to think that it listened to his rants without judgment, that Socks enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed its.

So eighteen-year-old Lennon started to get his life together, finally mustering up the courage and acceptance to change her room into his studio. Signed up for every photography class he could find and found a decent-pay job as a bartender.

So here he was, serving drinks in an apron that was a little too loose around the waist, under the hazy noise of glass clinking and animated chatter.

Why did she call? he kept wondering, Why? His hands tightened around the shaker. What if it's an emergency? I've waited so long for this, so why am I so hesitant?

"Lenny!"

Only one godforsaken person called him that.

Cal was clothed in a denim jacket patched with ironed-on stickers ranging from the peace sign to THICK THIGHS MAKE MY DICK RISE. It was the first time Lennon was seeing him with his new buzzcut in person.

It's been a while since he had shown up.

He pounced towards Lennon, leaning his entire upper body onto the counter with his phone clutched in his hands.

"Good afternoon to you too," the chestnut boy greeted, furrowing his brows at him with a smile, "Salty dog, the usual?"

"No actually, I'm not here to drink," Cal dismissed.

Lennon blinked away his surprise, putting the shaker away.

"Okay, so, I'm trying to get my life together. Yes, finally. I need you to convince me to make a call."

"A call?" the chestnut boy echoed, glancing around in case any other customer needed his assistance before giving Cal his full attention, "For what?"

"Eye exam appointment. I need glasses, remember?"

Lennon pulled a face. "You need me to convince you to make a call to the optometrist?" He tutted at himself. "First I need to convince myself to call my ex back," he finished sarcastically.

Cal reached across and grabbed his wrist. "Great!" he exclaimed, ignoring the face of pure bafflement Lennon was making, "We can both hit call at the same time as... emotional support!"

"No!" the chestnut boy cried incredulously.

"C'mon!"

"Why do you need emotional support to make an appointment for glasses?" the boy hissed in response, tugging at his grip.

"Because!" Cal paused. "Cause I've been avoiding it for months and I've finally decided today is the day that I do it." There was a hopeful note at the end of his statement that struck a chord.

Lennon peeled his fingers off his wrist and patted his hand. "O-kay," he said slowly, clearly still confused, "Then go ahead and do it. I'm... here for you?"

"Where's your phone?" the blonde asked, tone accusing, "We're doing this together." He raised an eyebrow. "Is your ex the dude you talked about last time we were baking at my place?"

Lennon stared. "Oh. No."

Cal didn't seem convinced. "Come out back," he said, "We can do this together."

"Cal I'm literally working right now. They're gonna fire me for randomly walking out."

"I'll write a nice yelp review about how great of a barista you are."

The chestnut boy continued to stare at him, unimpressed.

"It'll take less than five minutes, Lenny."

Lennon sighed exaggeratedly. "Give me a second." He hid behind the bar to ask for a bathroom break. "Fine," he said when he reappeared, "Five minutes."

There was always someone out smoking in the ally, so frankly, Lennon questioned Cal's choice of scenery. Deciding that leaning against a wall of chewed gum wouldn't be a good move, the boy stood in place and watched Cal fumble with his phone.

"You too," the blonde prompted, nudging Lennon's shoulder.

With obvious hesitancy, Lennon pulled out his own phone and stared at Precious' contact number. "I don't think—"

"Am I questioning why you'd want to call your ex of all people? Yes, absolutely. But." Cal grabbed his shoulder firmly. "There's not enough time in life to worry about right timing," he recited like a commander to a soldier, "remember?"

"Easy for you to say."

"Nope." The blonde shook his shoulder, offering a half laugh, half grimace. "Not at all. But you pulled that shit out of me over baking, and I'd be a hypocrite not to live by it." He looked up at the sky, sandwiched between two buildings. "I'm never gonna be ready so I might as well do it now."

"Ready for what?" Lennon asked.

Cal ignored him. "On three."

"What?"

"One."

Lennon frowned down at his phone, wondering why this was beginning to feel like the Olympics rather than a simple call to an old friend.

"Two."

Oh he is going to regret this, isn't he?

"Three."

He pressed call.

Ring.

Lennon flinched, eyes leaving his friend as the rings echoed hauntingly into his ears.

Ring.

He stuffed his other hand in his pocket, composing himself as best he could.

Ring.

Cal had begun making his appointment, his confident personality faltering with every stutter.

Lennon held out as best he can, nerves dancing along his skin until he snapped, ending the call impulsively and groaning into his sweaty palm. I can't do this.

Soon after, Cal was done with his appointment, polishing up with thank yous. "Phew!" he exclaimed, facing the chestnut boy, "I did it."

"Yeah," the boy responded weakly, "Congrats."

Cal studied him closely, his thick frame towering over the boy. "What? Didn't go well?"

Lennon nodded and shrugged for good measure. "Didn't pick up."

The blonde propped his arms up in an expression of oh well. "Maybe that was for the best. You know, exes and all."

"Maybe," the boy repeated quietly.

"Hey Lenny," Cal said, seizing his shoulders again. If it were any other person, Lennon would've been intimidated. "Thanks for making me take baby steps."

A quick look of pride adorned Lennon's face, lit up with surprise. "Oh. Uh, you're welcome?"

"Now if you excuse me, I am going to start baking again," he declared, storming out of the alleyway.

"Have fun," Lennon chuckled nervously, sending him off and mauling over how full of ups and downs Cal could be.

"I will!"

Left alone, the chestnut boy wetted his lips and reflected on his actions, the aftershocks of it still present in his heaving chest. Go back to work, he told himself. It was done and gone. He'll beat himself over it later—

His phone vibrated.

Lennon's heart dropped through the ground, holding the device up to his face and fearing the worst.

Precious.

His instincts took over, mind going blank as he answered the call and pressed the phone against his burning red ear.

"Hello," he managed, losing momentum halfway through the word. He drew a gasp of air into his lungs.

A silence that lasted every second too long followed. And then came her voice.

"Hey, Lennon."