I knew we had come to Miles' place the moment I set foot in the living room and was greeted by a spotless eight-piece drum kit, apparently his equivalent of having a piano as a centerpiece. I remembered it a second time when the sudden banging of his drumsticks accompanied my unsuccessful quest for spirits in the kitchen.

With a deep sigh and another can of beer in my hand, both signifying defeat, I returned to the living room where Violet waved me over to the couch, now sitting in Harry's spot.

"Hey." I sat next to her, pointedly avoiding looking across the room to the balcony, and pointedly focused on Miles. "What's going on?"

"I asked him to play because I couldn't think of anything better," she said, the sour answer matching her tone coming as a surprise. "And I had to get out of sitting next to Scott without making it obvious."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed, expression as pained as the sound she made. "You were right. The Scotty Doesn't Know thing was... a bad idea."

"To say the least," I agreed with a nod.

"I don't know why I thought it'd be funny. I guess I found it funny, you know, what are the chances of meeting someone named Scott who was cheated on by someone named Fiona? You know?"

"I know."

Violet shook her head, my agreeing meaningless after the damage had already been done. "He hasn't said a word since then. He just said 'no worries' when I apologized, but that was it. I ruined his life."

"I highly doubt that," I said, genuinely, but looking over at Scott and finding him looking at Violet across the room, then quickly lowering his gaze when he saw me looking, was making me question my conviction. Maybe 'ruined his life' was a bit of a stretch, but shit, what if everyone thought I'd brought a tone-deaf jackass to this party?

Voicing it to her would've caused another avalanche in her head, so naturally, I said nothing.

"If anyone guesses the next song, they get a prize from me."

I leaned closer to Violet, eyes on what was visible of Miles behind his mountain of a drum kit. "Hey, at least you haven't ruined Miles' life yet. You still have a chance there."

"God, shut up."

My soft laughter was soon cut off when he started playing again and I actually recognized the beat; I thought about it for a second, adding some guitars to his playing in my head, before turning toward Violet who was already leaning her head closer to me. "Can't lie, though, he's pretty good with-"

"You Could Be Mine."

"...Huh?"

"That's the song!" I whisper-yelled. "Guns N' Roses! Say it, you'll get a prize!"

"Wh- wha-"

"Do it!"

She turned in his direction, flicking her long hair over both of our shoulders in the process. "You Could Be Mine!"

I couldn't help the proud grin on my face when four heads spun to look at her, accompanied by a couple of 'ahhh's from people who had known of the song and a whine from Christina about how she 'knew it but didn't wanna say it.'

Paying no mind to any of it, Miles finished the drum solo with a ceremonious bang against the cymbals, spinning a drumstick in his hand with such obnoxious mastery that I almost wanted to call him out on it, before pointing the same drumstick at Violet. "You get to get me another beer."

Violet's eye-roll proved she was a better person than I was, as he would have definitely gotten something chucked at him had he said that shit to me. Despite the disappointing outcome that made even some of his friends groan, Violet shuffled to get up, bringing her mouth to my ear before standing to her feet. "If this is karma for the Scott thing, I'll take it."

If we looked at it that way, I couldn't disagree either. "Fair enough."

The misfortune in Miles' apartment was that one had to pass by the balcony door on the way to the kitchen so, naturally, while my eyes followed Violet, they came to a stop at the glass door that stood open, a couple of figures visible through the door frame, and-

Oh, hell no.

Despite the itch on the inside of my skull that desperately wanted to fix the shitshow I'd created (mostly) by myself, I was relieved that Harry was still out on the balcony with a couple of friends when I returned to the couch. I didn't need a sober mind to know that I was currently incapable of answering any question—I didn't need a sober mind to know that having a sober mind would not have helped in any capacity either.

But Harry sometimes made disastrous choices that had no problem bursting their way through any speaker's block I might have had. "What the fuck are you doing?" The music lowered my raised voice to a medium volume.

Leaned over the railing, Harry glanced over his shoulder, the relaxed expression not changing as he saw me at the door frame that led to the balcony. "What's it look like?"

"Really?" I deadpanned, arms crossed over my chest; I assessed the cigarette between his fingers and the saucer-turned-ashtray beside him, the smoke that still lingered even from the doorway, the passive-aggressive look in his eyes that annoyed me as much as the same look in my eyes would annoy him. I hated the thought that this probably wouldn't have happened had I just talked to him, but I hated the sight of him smoking more. "The night before your therapy? The night before the end of this round of chemo?"

"Want a drag?"

My lips were pulled in a thin line as I watched him, very obviously not in the mood for joking after I made him angry, or disappointed, or whatever emotion led to the cigarette in his hand. Logan and Diana, the other two smokers on the balcony, looked at each other and telepathically came to an agreement to leave the scene, and I moved just a bit to the side to let them in but didn't dare join Harry outside.

"I want you to put that out and come inside." The eye contact did nothing to soften his hard expression. "Please."

"You ran away from me, why can't I hide from you for a second?"

"Fine, but do it without smoking!"

The fact that this had nothing to do with his hiding from me was proven as he took an extremely slow drag, the end of the cigarette burning a bright orange longer than necessary, all the while looking me in the eye with that same cold look. I did that to him. The look he was giving me, that was my own doing. My own inability to share my baggage with him. When it came to deliberately, intentionally opening the door in my head, the lock proved to be indestructible.

So instead of doing the thing that made the most sense, telling him I'd finally talk to him which, not only the action but the idea of it itself, gave me a dizzy spell, I took a deep breath and thought about a shortcut. "Do your friends know about the bicycle thing?"

The way his hand paused mid-air and his lungs paused mid-smoke exhale was enough for me to turn to the others in the room. "You guys know about the bicycle thing?"

"Evie." His voice was warning, but I paid no mind to it as the first couple of confused eyes looked at me.

"Anyone know about Harry's bicycle thing?"

"Oh, yeah," Violet laughed at the same moment that she opened Miles' beer for him; he shook his head at her questioningly as he took the can from her, but she only said, "It's a great story. Evie tells it the best."

"Evelyn."

"It was a warm June night," I began, with the objective of dragging out the story as much as possible. I had no intention of embarrassing Harry in front of his friends or, God forbid, sharing the reason he ended up in the ER that night; just to give him a light case of anxiety so he would stop being a dumbass. "And I was bringing my roommate dinner during her late-night shift in the ER. It was the chicken strips meal from Victoria's."

"God bless."

"Evie, I swear to God."

Ignoring both Violet and Harry's interjections, I continued, "I was about to leave the building, but then I thought... I caught something out of the corner of my eye." I turned to look at a pale and infinitely more pissed-off Harry. "Lo and behold, it was the love of my life, sitting there with-"

Three steps would be an exaggeration. Two seconds would also be an exaggeration. Just as the first hints of a triumphant smile began playing on my lips as he finally launched himself inside, cigarette abandoned, Harry wiped it off of my face by putting two hasty hands on either side of my head and smashing his lips into mine in an uncoordinated mess of flesh and teeth.

His head was tilted to the side, and when he found his balance his hands went to my shoulders, pulling me against him, our fronts flush against each other. He did an excellent job of cupping my cheek and forcing my mouth open with his tongue so no one would question why I stood there, still as a statue, while my husband kissed me, something he presumably did every day.

I couldn't breathe.

"That's okay, we'll find out anyway," a male voice said in a flat tone, but my tinnitus made everything sound muffled. "The same way we found out about that kink. You can't keep shit from anyone."

While a few people laughed and resumed talking, Harry's hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer once again before he wrapped one arm around my upper back and, I had no idea how, dipped me back; in a flash of panic, my hands reached out to hold onto him, one behind his neck and the other clutching a fistful of his shirt, and my leg jerked up to search for support around his hip. The hand on my waist traveled down my leg, right until he tucked it behind my knee, creating a beautiful scene of a young couple sharing a passionate kiss.

Except I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. My ears were ringing and my lungs were shrinking and my stomach was taking a nosedive off of a cliff into deep, dark, turbulent waters. I couldn't breathe.

When he finally planted me onto my feet, there was still an arm around my waist, keeping me firmly pressed against him, and his other hand found my cheek again. He released my lips with a wet pop but they were still lightly touching as he brushed his nose against mine, giving me a purposeful look with just a whisper of a smile. "Shut up about the bicycle thing already."

"Violet, can you finish the story?"

"I'm trying not to get kissed by Harry, thanks."

More laughter around the room, including Harry, whose icy stare had finally melted away into a warm gaze directed at me, eyes crinkly, mouth spread as wide as possible to show off his grin.

My chest hurt from the lack of air. My brain was cutting off all functions from the rest of my body, from my hands that were still cemented into fists as they held onto his shirt, to the fog in front of my eyes that made everything look like I was barely getting any reception through TV static.

Before I could shut down completely, I forced my white knuckles to let go of his shirt and stepped back; turning around to make sure everyone saw my face, I managed an eye roll and a nonchalant shrug. "Fine, I won't tell your stupid story."

People seemed to buy my feigned coolness. Maybe even Violet did. As his hand slipped from my waist he tried taking my hand, but I was quicker to get out of the room and head toward the bathroom.

If I was going to finish having this panic attack, I was going to do it alone.

○○○

A year of therapy. Countless breathing exercises and memorized mantras. All obliterated by a single kiss.

I washed my face for the fourth time, feeling that I wouldn't be breaking into another hyperventilating fit that would lead to another sweating fit all over again. I searched the cabinets for a deodorant, granting myself forgiveness for using another person's stuff—I had to eliminate all evidence that I was in this bathroom, fighting for my life.

Unbelievable.

I wasn't even angry at Harry for kissing me—we both knew we'd been dancing around that line for a while. I was angry at myself that, when the line finally got crossed, I ended up having a fucking panic attack over it. 

It wasn't like I was expecting myself to be fully healed when something finally happened. I doubted I would ever be the same person I was three years ago, but what I didn't doubt was that one day, preferably with this amazing man I'd met, I'd be able to carry on with my life and stop hitting the snooze button on any kind of progress that wasn't school-related. I knew deep down that I wanted something with Harry, ex-girlfriend's engagement ring and all other trivial stuff aside.

But I wasn't ready. And the tears were once again welling up in my eyes at the mere thought. At the mere fact, rock-solid fact, undeniable after how I'd spiraled during our first kiss. Years had gone by, and suddenly I was back right where I'd started.

Regardless, I picked myself up, took a few deep breaths to calm down, and exited the bathroom. I just needed to keep it together while I got out of this place and found a bar that would temporarily solve all of my problems.

"Hey."

"Shit!" I jumped at the voice, and winced again at Harry's tall frame next to the bathroom door, stood in a shadow in the dark hallway. "Shit, man, you could've killed me."

"You okay?" He ignored my fright. "You've been in there a long time. I was about to knock."

"Yeah, uh..." Think, think, think. "M-my friend called me. She's sick and I told her I'd be in the neighborhood tonight, so... she needs me to pick something up from the pharmacy."

Harry blinked at me. I blinked at him.

"So I need to get going, actually."

"Hold on," he said as he grabbed my elbow and spun me around as I tried walking around him; in this different spot, the tabletop light from the living room cast an orange glow to his face, bringing out his furrowed brows and worried look. "You look..."

His frown only got deeper. Pale? Bad? Like you've seen a hundred of your past and future lives before you could get ahold of your brain?

"A bit out of it."

I could take that. "Yeah, three beers will do that to a girl," I said with an unnatural laugh, pulling my arm out of his hold and snatching my jacket before he could stop me again. "So, uh, tell Miles I'm sorry I had to leave so early and-"

"Hey." He shook his head as he interrupted me. "Hey, look, I'm sorry if that wasn't something that you wanted. It... seemed like a good idea at the moment." His face went sour. "But then again, so did the ring. Evie, I'm sorry. Don't leave because of this."

My mouth hung open but the words stuck to replaying themselves in my head. No! and Are you kidding me? and I've wanted you to do that since you told me you felt safe in my apartment after the incident with Cece. But nothing came out. Oh, I so wasn't ready.

"Hey!" Violet broke my gaze from his blue eyes as she hurried over to stand right in front of me, practically as close as Harry just a while ago; her hands were on my arms and she was giving me the identical worried, frowning look. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I was just telling Harry I had to go."

"Why?"

"Allison is sick and asked me to get her some medicine." I watched Violet's unchanging expression. "Allison, remember? We went to a party at her place? She lives a block from here."

Thankfully, none of that was a lie. Allison, one of my three close friends, truly did live a ten-minute walk from here and we truly had gone to her place a while ago. She just didn't need jack shit from me presently, as she had gone home to South Dakota for the weekend.

"Want me to go with you?"

I could take her question either way. She believed me but didn't want me to go alone. She didn't believe me and knew I'd talk to her if no one else was around. I chose the former. "No! No, come on, you stay, have fun. I'll see you at home. I probably won't be long."

That wasn't a lie either, considering I had low alcohol tolerance and was already three beers deep into the night. The quest for spirits would be short and sweet.