"You said you wanted to remember something."

His hands strop tracing her bare skin for a second. He looks at her. "What?"

"The other night," Mary Jane says sheepishly, hooking her leg around his body to pull him closer. She feels delirious. Sleepy, but delirious. "What did you want to remember?"

He props himself up on his elbow and counters, "What did you want to forget?"

Mary Jane narrows her eyes. "Fine, consider me backed off."

He laughs and tucks a loose strand of hair beneath her ear. "Your hair is orange. Did you dye it?"

"It's strawberry blonde," she corrects automatically, rolling her eyes. "And no, it's natural. You have a thing for gingers?"

"Maybe," he teases, but there's an unreadable expression that crosses his face as he disentangles himself from Mary Jane's body to sit up. "Have a history with one or two."

"Oh, really?"

He bends down to kiss her lips and doesn't answer. "It was a joke."

Mary Jane snorts. "Yeah, right. You're a typical fuckboy. You look like one, too."

He only laughs again. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "What time are your roommates coming back?"

She reaches over the desk beside her bed and checks her phone. It's nine in the morning. "Andy's coming back before her shift at one. Sabina's probably shitfaced somewhere and won't be back until who knows when—she doesn't have any classes today. You can stay for a little longer. It's too early."

He pulls on his jeans. "I have class in two hours. I still have to run to my apartment to shower and change."

The surprise in Mary Jane's voice is evident when she asks, "You study here? At Pendleton?"

He looks back at her from his shoulder. "No. I'm a student somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Go on a date with me and I'll tell you."

Mary Jane considers it for a moment. "I don't go on dates with people I hook up with."

He clicks his tongue and stands. "That's too bad."

Mary Jane watches him take his shirt from the floor. His eyes browse through her desk, and his fingers brush the spine of a novel sitting near her laptop. "The Rise at Sixth Street. It's good."

Mary Jane sits up. The blanket falls on her lap. "It is. Thomas Simmons is one of my favorite authors."

"Yeah, we fuckboys read too," he says with a smirk at her indignant look, and places his palms on the wooden table. He leans forward and focuses on the wall above her desk.

He's looking at the flyer on the wall—the one pinned next to a polaroid picture of her, Andy, and Sabina.

Station Twelve. Mary Jane smiles. "Have you been?"

"Ages ago," is his curt reply, still staring at it.

Mary Jane clears her throat. "You know, I have a friend who loved that restaurant. Um, I'm looking for him, actually."

He looks at her for a moment, a moment too long, and then turns back around.

There's nothing wrong with talking about him, right? Mary Jane hugs her knees to her chest. "We're not in touch anymore," she continues. "We lost contact about two years ago."

There's some sort of silence that's killing the room. "And?"

"There's been no progress," Mary Jane admits. "And there's only one thing I know about him—his name is Seth."

The boy doesn't move an inch. "I know him."

Mary Jane blinks. "What?"

He twists around to face her, and there's a small laugh that escapes his lips. "I know him. He was close with the owner of the store. He was always leaving for Worthington."

Mary Jane's breathing picks up as she lurches forward, not even caring that she's naked, and grabs his wrist with wide eyes. "What? Seriously? So he's—he's alive? How do you know him?"

He picks up the jacket hanging from the back of Mary Jane's chair and drapes it around her shoulders. He's wearing a teasing smile, but it looks different. "Why are you interested in Seth?"

Mary Jane blinks. "What?"

"Why are you looking for him?"

"I—I asked you questions first!"

"I'm the one who has the answers to what you want," he drawls, slipping on his shoes. "I really don't care, but I'm curious. What's your story, MJ Chaucer?"

"How do you know my name?" she snaps, flustered. There a million words wanting to fall from her mouth, and she doesn't know what to focus on—the fact that he's leaving isn't making things any better, either. "I don't—"

He leans over and flicks her forehead. There's a genuine grin on his face now. "Should've known. The redhead Chaucer heir was said to be studying at Pendleton. Business management, is it?"

Mary Jane doesn't know what to say.

It's true—he should have known if he lived around the area. Mary Jane isn't a Chaucer for nothing. They're meant to be recognized. They're meant to be talked about. For a second, Mary Jane thought Seth might've talked about her to this man. Guess not.

"Let's go on a date sometime, MJ," he says again, grabbing his phone and wallet and keys. He doesn't even bother fixing his hair.

"Will you tell me about Seth if I agree?"

Another teasing smile. It's dangerous—how handsome he is. "I'll text you."

"Wait!" Mary Jane shouts, just as he's about to leave. "What's your name?"

A pause. Then, "Adrian. It's Adrian."