WHEN REAGAN ARRIVED at Kurt and Dave's apartment, she was exhausted by her own emotions. Her arms were heavy, hanging from the steering wheel as she stared tiredly at the Pear Street residence. For once, she didn't feel the flurry of usual energy that kindled her mood when she went to see Dave. In fact, she felt rather put off that evening.

If she could have had it her way, she would have erased Tommy from her mind permanently. It would have been easier to forget him, to put his memory in some deep, dark filing cabinet within her brain where he wouldn't be brought up again. But it would never be that easy.

Not only did Reagan work alongside Tommy, with his dad being her boss, but they indisputably had a history together. She liked him. He was a great friend and as she'd told herself from the beginning, she never wanted to hurt him.

She thought that maybe Dave had turned her into a real softie. The old her, the person who she was before Dave Grohl, might have rolled her eyes and sent the mere consideration of Tommy's feelings away. But as she gnawed on her lower lip, sitting in the seat of her car, she decided that wasn't at all true. Dave had not changed her nor had he changed the way she felt about her friends. And Tommy really had been a friend.

Had been, she repeated to herself. It was a shitty thing to think about.

Eventually, Reagan pulled herself out of her Honda and walked listlessly up the porch steps to the front door. She raised her fist to knock, but the door flew open and revealed Dave, standing in front of her with a big smile on his face.

Despite her sullenness, Reagan found it impossible not to smile when Dave did. His quality of happiness was the infectious kind and she didn't think she would ever be able to avoid it when it swooped her into its grip.

"Hi," Dave said. There it was again — his soft, kind voice that mesmerized her like a dream. He was totally equipped with an artillery of characteristics specially designed to make Reagan melt into a helpless, jean-clad puddle.

"Hey," she replied gently.

Dave's smile faltered slightly when he caught the tone of her voice. "Everything okay?"

She contemplated telling Dave why she seemed so crestfallen. She supposed that she could have scolded him for pushing her into the predicament with Tommy, but the timing didn't feel right. He'd just gotten back from Nirvana's gig overseas and she had missed him. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil their reunion.

"Everything is good," she assured him, mustering up a bigger smile.

"Okay," Dave said, taking her hand. "As long as you're happy."

He pulled her inside the apartment, which to Reagan's immediate disorientation, was dark. The only light came from an array of lit candles, their flames casting dancing shadows on the wall.

"Are you preparing to sacrifice me?" Reagan asked, looking around the living room and dropping her bag to the floor.

"That's really not my style," Dave said evenly, though a silly grin was still present on his face.

Reagan did a double take and noticed that he was dressed nicer than normal, or at least nicer by Dave's usual standard. His t-shirt had no holes in it and the jeans he wore were free of tears.

"Oh, so there's been a power outage then?" she inquired, tucking her hands into her back pockets.

Reagan moved closer to one of the candles and inspected the decorative pictures on the outside of its glass casing. They were the kind of cheap candles available at any convenience store, the ones covered in biblical images meant for prayer. The one she looked at bore a picture of Mary, the mother of Jesus, except someone had inked bloody tears falling from her eyes with red pen.

Reagan knew exactly who had done it — Kurt was obsessed with anything relating to theology.

"No power outage, either. Can't you just appreciate the setup? I suffered a ton of burns from getting all those candles lit with my lighter," Dave frowned. He examined his thumb as if to prove his point.

"Alright, it's appreciated then," Reagan said. She peered past Dave's shoulder and into the kitchen. Kurt's small round dinner table was neatly covered in plates, silverware and of course, another candle. She looked incredulously at Dave.

"What?" Dave asked. He seemed suddenly embarrassed, burying his hands in his jean pockets and looking everywhere but into Reagan's eyes.

"What is this supposed to be?"

"Well," Dave said defensively. "You've never let me take you on an actual date. So I had to bring the date here."

A flood of feeling filled Reagan's chest as she glanced around, re-examining Dave's efforts. She couldn't believe that he had done all of it for her. She wasn't sure if anyone had ever done something so kind in her honor, not even her family members.

"But where's Kurt?" she wondered. It was hard to imagine Kurt giving up free reign of the living room for the special event.

"He's out, actually. He didn't say where he was going but, I uh, seized the opportunity, I guess."

Dave led Reagan into the small kitchen, pulling out her chair. She guffawed and he glared at her in response.

"Just sit," he commanded.

"You old romantic," she fake-swooned, taking her place obediently at the table. She was shocked to see that the kitchen had even been cleaned, swept free of the usual mess that gave it its eclectic character. There was not a dirty dish nor corn dog stick in sight.

Dave grabbed their plates and hurried to the stove, where he ladled spaghetti and meatballs out of a giant pot. When he returned with their meal, Reagan inhaled the smell, impressed by how appealing it was to her appetite.

"You made this?" she asked, gesturing to the spaghetti.

"Well, yeah. I told you I can cook. We can't all be like Kurt, living off mac n' cheese and pizza rolls."

Even though Dave's jest could have been formulated as a jab at Kurt, Reagan heard no trace of bitterness in his voice. Dave spoke lovingly of his lead singer and guitarist, similarly to the way he might speak of a brother. She admired how close they had become.

"I can't believe you did this for me," Reagan said. She took one last sweeping glance of the apartment, still trying to process that it was all meant for her. Whatever impression she had made on Dave was far from what she thought it to be. While Reagan saw herself as an admittedly hard piece of work, she was beginning to understand that Dave's idea of her was quite different.

"Like I said. You won't let me take you out, so this is the best I could do."

"I'm sorry about that. About me saying no to the dates."

"It's okay."

Dave sat down, lifting his silverware readily. Reagan did the same and then, they began to eat. Reagan's eyes widened as she swallowed her first bite.

"This is amazing," she commended, licking her lips free of pasta sauce.

"I was hoping it would be. It's my mom's recipe. I called her and wrote it down," Dave explained, sounding relieved to hear her approval.

"Your mom, huh?" Reagan said. She tried to picture Dave's mother. He'd told plenty of stories about her, but she'd yet to find out what she even looked like. "Did you tell her about . . . this?"

Dave suddenly coughed into his napkin. "Would you be mad if I did?"

"No. I wouldn't be mad."

Reagan sat up a little straighter in her chair. If Dave had told her several days prior that he'd told his mother about her, she might have ripped his head off. But things were different now that was sure of her feelings. She didn't necessarily know how healthy relationships worked, but she figured that getting the parents involved was an integral part.

With that being said, she still had no intentions of making Richard and Kimberly aware of Dave anytime soon. That ordeal was simply a beast she was not willing to slay yet.

"I can't believe it," Reagan murmured, still caught up in her own dubiety.

"You keep saying that like you don't deserve this," Dave inserted. He had knit his eyebrows together and put his fork down, interested in Reagan's refusal to accept that he'd gone out of his way to impress her.

"Well yeah, you're right, I don't deserve it," Reagan admitted. "I've been awful to you."

"Awful to me?" Dave laughed. "How have you been awful to me?"

Reagan looked down into her lap. "I don't let you take me on dates. I come over here, expecting us to just . . . you know. You told your mom about me, but I can't even imagine telling my parents about you."

"Reagan. That's crazy. None of that matters to me. All I care about is you being here, with me. That's what matters most."

"I've been really distant with you," Reagan said in a small voice. It was strange to admit her shortcomings out loud, but she knew Dave deserved to hear them.

"And that's okay. I want you to feel things on your own time. I don't want to rush you or something like that. I know that I'm just a guy in a band who you got together with in a bar."

"That's not all you are," Reagan objected. She hated the sound of Dave's viewpoint.

Dave smiled, as if he had hoped to hear her say that. He reached into his pocket and produced a blue velvet jewelry box, tiny enough to sit in the middle of his palm.

Reagan took one look at the box and gasped, nearly toppling out of her chair and onto the hard linoleum floor. She may have loved Dave, but she was in no way ready for marriage.

"It's not what you think it is," Dave said quickly, seeing the way she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. He slid the box across the table. "I'll even let you open it yourself to make it less weird."

Reagan looked at the jewelry box skeptically and then back at Dave.

"You promise it's not a diamond ring?"

Dave laughed. "I promise I'm not trying to marry you. Just open it. It's your surprise."

As Reagan took the box in her hands, she thought about how she was probably the only woman in the world to fear being gifted a diamond engagement ring. Normally, this awareness would have made her chuckle, but she was already on her seat's edge waiting to unveil Dave's gift.

"You shouldn't have gotten me anything," she said chidingly, stalking the moment that she flipped open the little blue box's lid. Her fingers toyed at the edge of the velvet opening.

"Reagan, open the fucking box right now."

She obeyed, popping open the lid and looking inside. Nestled in a bed of silk was a heart-shaped locket made of smooth gold. It was plain with no embellishments on its polished facet, but as it caught the light of the candle, it glimmered.

"Dave, this is —,"

He interrupted her, jumping out of his seat to kneel down where she sat. He took the box in his hand and removed the locket, undoing the clasp.

"I don't know if you're a jewelry wearing girl," Dave said, tripping over his words. "But Krist and I went window shopping in London and I saw it. I thought it would look good on you. And you can even put a little picture on the inside."

Reagan pulled her hair to one side, allowing Dave to place the locket around her neck. She felt his fingers graze her skin as he struggled with the clasp, finally snagging it into place. She touched her hand to her chest where the locket laid, cool to the touch.

When Reagan turned her head to look at him, he was right there, close enough to kiss her. She could feel
her heart pounding in anticipation. This was it. This would be the moment in which she finally told Dave how she felt.

It was finally time for her to put her inhibitions aside and make herself happy.

"Dave," she whispered.

He cut her off before she could continue, catching her hand in his own and curling his fingers softly around her knuckles. There was an earnest glow in his eyes, like he was about to plead with her over something important.

"Listen to me for one second, Reagan. Before you say anything. I know how you feel about relationships."

Reagan rounded her lips, ready to speak, but he silenced her once more with a raise of his hand in the air. He continued.

"At first, I thought you just didn't like me that much. Which I guess would have been the reasonable answer. But you kept coming back. And I realized that you weren't going to buy in to the whole steady relationship business, and for awhile I thought I could cope with that. But every time I'm around you . . . I just feel something more. I want to ignore it, trust me, I do, just because I know it will make you happy."

Dave swallowed and stared past her at the wall, collecting himself. Reagan felt her assuredness deflate. She'd had no idea that he had felt that way. Sure, she'd assumed that he had feelings, but knowing that he'd struggled against them made her feel a white-hot searing of guilt. Maybe she had been too distant with him after all.

"I'm sorry for springing this on you," Dave murmured. "I think you thought that while I was away in England, that I'd lose these feelings for you. But I didn't. Honestly, being away only made me miss you more. And don't try to say that we haven't known each other long enough because to me, that hasn't mattered. I feel like I've known you forever. And I love you, Reagan. I really do love you."

His voice faltered on the last part, crumpling under the weight of his profession. He slumped forward, giving Reagan the impression that he had just released a great pressure from his shoulders. It occurred to her that Dave had not spent his time away overseas pampering himself in travel, enjoying Britain while focusing mainly on his new gig with Nirvana.

He had been thinking about her the whole time.

Reagan heaved a great breath, feeling as if she had just slipped feet first into a warm bath. That was the initial thing she thought of in regard to the slow burn spreading like wildfire throughout her body, lapping its way through her veins and thawing her out like a cold block of ice. She'd never been in love, nor did she know what it was like to be in love, but she was almost positive that she was feeling it then.

Despite that pleasant sensation, she couldn't help but to imagine that the whole thing seemed rather silly too. When she looked at Dave, balancing himself on a bended knee in front of her, she would have never pictured him to be the sort of guy who could confidently identify feelings like love. With his long hair, drummer's body and goofy grin, his exterior, no matter how undeniably handsome, reminded her of the deceitful guys she had come to know in bands all throughout town.

They had all always had one thing on their minds, and that was getting laid after every night's performance. She knew because they had tried it with her time and time again from the moment she'd first stepped into her first underground punk show.

She even categorized Tommy into this group of clueless boys who were oblivious to love. As sincere as Tommy could be, Reagan inherently knew that her friend and once fling knew nothing about what actual love felt like. All he knew was the gratification of earning her attention.

But Dave wasn't like anyone else. He was unique in every sense of the word and he constantly surprised her daily, always proving to her that he was special. He would have denied it if she ever told him so, but Dave was different. He was the best kind of different that existed.

"Dave," Reagan began, relieved to feel her regained confidence surging from within.

"Don't be upset," he interjected. "I don't want to upset you. But you have to know. I can't just not tell you how I feel."

"Dave," Reagan repeated, this time with a snip of impatience. He wasn't listening to her.

"If you don't feel the same way, that's fine. So far, you're reacting better than I expected. I mean I thought you were going to punch me in the face as soon as I told --"

She'd had enough. Suddenly, Reagan clapped her hand over Dave's sputtering mouth, forcing him into silence. She almost laughed at his widened eyes, but it was a serious moment, and she wanted him to believe what she was about to say.

"Dave," Reagan said, saying his name for what felt like the umpteenth time. She leaned closer in, her eyes shining. "Shut up. I love you too."

Her hand fell from his mouth and she sat back, allowing him to soak up what she'd confessed. He blinked several times, looking up at her slowly. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as she watched him.

"You do?"

"Yes. I should have said it sooner. It would have saved you a whole lot of breath."

A sly grin formed on Dave's face as he sprang upright, dropping his head down so that he could kiss Reagan. She cupped her hand around his neck, holding him there a little longer so as to solidify her point to him. She did love him and there wasn't a doubt in her mind about it. The revelation was even a shock for her.

His hands caressed the sides of her face, guiding a path down her jaw and neck before hesitating at her chest. Carefully, he picked up the locket and turned it over between his fingertips. She felt the movement of the chain around her neck and imagined herself putting a picture of Dave inside of the locket. Or maybe, she wouldn't -- she would put a picture of Krist just to tick him off and then get a laugh out of him afterwards.

"You're the first person in the world to say 'shut up' before admitting that you love someone," he whispered in her ear. "That's not exactly normal, is it?"

She smiled and slid her arms around his shoulders, clasping her hands behind his head and locking him in her embrace. They had the rest of the night ahead of them, or at least until Kurt came home, and she wanted to enjoy it.

"I don't want to be normal. I want to be us," she said simply.

She closed her eyes and went to kiss him again.