"She slapped you?"

Dr. Pierce looked a little bit surprised, or at least as close to it as she ever got. Rasmus nodded. The smell of coconut milk was still stuck in his nose even though he'd taken a thirty-minute shower after Cora dumped that cursed, pink dragon goo on him this morning. He hadn't expected to show up to his weekly therapy session with such an eventful day to fill Dr. Pierce in on, but for once, he supposed it was for the best that he was here.

He felt like shit.

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Terrible."

Dr. Pierce scribbled something down on her notepad. He didn't have the energy in him today to be creeped out by her koi fish paintings, but he did notice that the faint trickling sound of her little tabletop fountain made him need to pee. He nearly sighed out loud at the fact that fate would never allow him to be comfortable when he was here.

She jumped straight to the deep stuff—after all, they only had forty-five minutes. "Did you think about your dad?"

"Yeah. Of course I did."

"Does Cora know anything about him?"

"Hell, no. You think she'd hit me if she did?"

"You tell me."

Rasmus gnawed at the corner of his lip, annoyed at his own question. Cora was uptight. Cora snapped at him whenever she got the chance. Cora brought up all the minor things she didn't like about him, like the way he believed there was no bad breakfast food. But was she so evil that she would have used that against him? All over a snarky comment he'd made about her ex-boyfriend?

"No," he decided. "She wouldn't."

Dr. Pierce slowly nodded her acknowledgment of him while she jotted down another note, then set the pen aside and returned her focus back up to him. She looked like a parent or teacher who was about to tell you that she wasn't mad at you, just disappointed.

"Alright, Rasmus, now we have to talk about you." Weren't they already doing that? She tapped a finger on her notebook. "I don't condone hitting people, obviously, but let's take a look at this from her perspective. If someone were to say something like that about me and my former partner—Simon, you said his name was?—I would probably be upset, too. Were you trying to make her angry?"

Guilt had already been tugging at him like a stone strapped around his neck. Rasmus had been thinking about it ever since it happened and yet he still didn't have an answer for why the hell he'd let those words come out of his mouth. He was supposed to be acting like her friend.

"No. I got caught up in an awkward moment, that's all."

"That seems like a big reaction for an awkward moment."

He did sigh out loud now, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I don't know what to say. If this is a very roundabout way of telling me that I fucked up, I already know that."

"I don't care if you fucked up," she said simply. He startled at how nonchalantly she handed his curse words back to him. "We all mess up. It's human nature. What I want to get to the root of is why you said that to her."

"I was annoyed that she seemed to be making a big deal out of nothing," he replied. "There were a couple of teenagers who had come to see our show and probably thought we were on a date or something. It sucked all around and I guess I just freaked out."

Dr. Pierce let out a thoughtful "hmm." He rolled his eyes when she wasn't looking.

"Let me ask you this, Rasmus," she said carefully, like she knew she was walking on eggshells. That wasn't reassuring. "Are you jealous of Simon?"

Rasmus didn't know what he'd been expecting her to ask, but it definitely wasn't that. His eyes narrowed.

"...Why the hell would I be jealous of Simon?"

Simon Prescott was Cora's first everything.

He was her first real friend, so no one was surprised that the two of them were still practically joined at the hip by the time they were going to high school. It wasn't until their sophomore year that everything took an unexpected turn.

It started with her asking her crush, Blake Thompson, to the homecoming dance. He said no. He already had a date. That was what he told her, at least, but as Cora dejectedly walked to class, she had a feeling he'd just been trying to let her down gently.

She managed to keep her cool for the entire school day until she could get away from everyone else and vent to Simon. They sat perched on the edge of his bed, one of their usual chatting spots, and he gave her his utmost attention as always.

"I'm gonna be the only one in the drama club who doesn't have a date," she mumbled, staring down at the floor. The other girls already made fun of her for other things as it was. How was she going to handle this on top of it? If they found it she hadn't even kissed a boy yet, she was over.

"I can go with you, Corrie."

"I know, thanks," she sighed. She had assumed he would make the offer, and it wasn't that she didn't want to go with him, but– "They'll all know it's not a real date, though."

When she glanced over at him, he shrugged. "Then we make it a real date."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, but Cora straightened her posture and eyed him warily. "What?"

"You and me. One date," he proposed. "It doesn't have to be a big deal."

But it felt like a big deal. Cora just ogled at him, wondering if something else had temporarily possessed his body, but he looked just like the Simon she'd always known. All soft features except for his bright eyes, which were such a light blue that they were nearly silver.

"But-" she stammered. "We don't– I mean, a date? It's not like we're like that- we haven't even kissed-"

And that was when he did the most shocking thing she'd ever seen him do. In one swift motion, Simon leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers. Cora was so startled that she kept her lips clamped shut for embarrassingly long, but once she kissed him back, she found that his were as soft as they'd always looked. He tasted like the cherry candy they'd been munching on downstairs, the same taste that lingered on her own tongue.

"There," he said a little breathlessly when he pulled back, a spot of pale pink forming on each cheek. "Now we have."

They would go on to date for nearly a year.

She didn't plan on it being more than one date. He didn't, either. But when they were leaving that homecoming dance, when they were alone and in the dark except for the pale light of the moon above them, Cora had kissed him. She'd realized over the course of the night that she didn't need a Blake Thompson when she'd always had something good right in front of her.

It then took her that whole year to realize that it was always just going to be good, never great. It was no fault of Simon's or her own. It just was.

She loved him. She always had; she always would. And it wasn't that she didn't physically desire him, either. She melted when he touched her. But for some reason, those two things—the emotional and the physical—never seemed to click together in the way they were supposed to. They felt oddly separate from one another, robbing her of that spark, that magic she was supposed to feel when she found the person she was meant to spend her whole life with.

It came to an end at the end of summer. The last week before their junior year of high school started, they were curled up in his bed together. His fingers were lightly trailing along her shoulder, grazing over the strap of her tank top.

"Simon?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Is this...are we working?"

His fair eyebrows furrowed in concern; then the realization struck. His expression slackened. "Cora, I love you."

"I know," she whispered, trepidation bubbling up further and further in her chest. "I love you, too, and I'm not going to stop. But...is this right?" she gestured to the narrow space between their bodies. "Do we really love each other like this?"

Simon was silent for a long moment, which was the answer both of them needed.

"I guess not," he finally admitted in a small voice.

Cora leaned over to kiss him one last time. He responded how she needed him to, not resisting it but not attempting to deepen it, either. And when she was done, she brushed some strands of hair out of her eyes so she could see him clearly.

"You're not getting rid of me this easily, okay?" she whispered.

He gave her the slightest nod. "Okay," he whispered back.

"I...I think I could probably leave for now," she comprehended. "But...if we're feeling okay, can I try to see you tomorrow?"

With the smallest smile, he echoed her. "Tomorrow."

It felt terrible in that moment, as she climbed out of his bed and scrambled to put her outer layers of clothing back on. It felt terrible as she walked back to her own bedroom, where she cried for the rest of the day over how much she had wanted him to be the one. But when she awoke the next morning, still puffy-eyed and alone in her sheets, she felt like she had made the right choice.

And when she rolled over to grab her phone, she had a text from Simon.

Are you okay?

Cora is typing...

I think so. Are you?

Simon is typing...

Yeah, I think so.

Things were a little bit awkward between them for a couple of weeks, but they slowly found their way back to being the Corrie and Simon they'd been before—or as close as they could be to it now.

Later, he would thank her for breaking up with him. He never would have been brave enough to do it. He would have married her, had children with her, spent his whole life trying to be in love with her sooner than he would have found the guts to break up with her. She had always been the braver one, and she didn't mind that. She didn't mind being the heartbreaker this one time, because soon enough it didn't feel like heartbreak at all. They would have been happy together, but they both deserved better.

Later, she would thank him for being bold enough to kiss her that day she got rejected by Blake Thompson. She never regretted the choices they made, the things they did. She got to experience all her firsts with someone she knew was safe, someone she already loved and would still love her when they weren't together anymore. She'd never have to look back on those memories with bitterness because some jerk decided to take advantage of her, manipulate her, crush her.

A lot of girls weren't so lucky. She'd always be grateful to Simon.

Cora was going to have to talk to Rasmus. If she didn't, she was going to rip his head off instead.

He had succeeded at making her feel absolutely horrible. She'd taken a very roundabout way home to make sure she could avoid him and then cried her eyes out once she was finally alone in her room. And yet she was a little embarrassed for wasting a perfectly good Starbucks drink on him. He didn't know what he was talking about—he didn't know the slightest thing about her and Simon. He didn't deserve these tears that she was weeping onto her pillow.

By the next morning, she knew that she was going to have to carry out a mature conversation with him before they went onstage that night. Otherwise, she'd end up slapping him again in front of 1,500 people.

They were going to talk and they were going to do it on her terms. She wasn't going to seek him out away from work—yesterday had proven how terrible of an idea that was. She was going to wait until they were at the theater, where their colleagues were nearby and they couldn't let it escalate into anything impolite.

She arrived at the theater a good bit earlier than necessary, hoping he might miraculously have the instinct to do the same. If nothing else, it gave her more time to think through what to say.

A small card sitting on her vanity when she arrived at her dressing room further complicated things. Cora didn't know who would be sending her a card, but her heart skipped a beat when she saw that it was addressed from The American Theatre Wing. She opened up the envelope as carefully as possible, examining its contents carefully.

Miss Cora Kline,

Since 1947, the Tony Awards have been held each year to celebrate excellence in theatre. It is our pleasure to invite you to the 75th Annual Tony Awards on behalf of the company of Best Play nominee Illicit Affairs. The ceremony will be held at Radio City Music Hall on the sixth day of June, 2021 at eight o'clock p.m.

Please be advised that due to limited seating capacity in the venue, we can unfortunately only offer plus-one invitations to those individuals who are nominated to receive an award. More details regarding dress code and seat assignments are to follow at a later date.

Sincerely,

The American Theatre Wing

Cora was grinning at the slip of cardstock in her hands. Going to the Tonys was any theatre lover's dream. All of the industry's brightest minds and most astounding talent would be gathered together in one room for the evening and she'd get to see them all in person. But if she couldn't bring a plus one, that meant her "date" would have to be—

She groaned. All roads led back to Rasmus North, she supposed.

She reluctantly trudged down the hall to his dressing room and gave the door a quick knock, unsure if she really anticipated that he would answer.

But his voice called, "Come in."

The hinges creaked as she eased the door open and slipped inside, carefully shutting it behind her. Rasmus froze in his chair as soon as he saw her—he must have been expecting Gideon.

"Hi," he said warily.

Cora stayed where she was, near the door. She didn't need him thinking she was going to slap him again and getting defensive. And he was already tense enough as it was, looking like his body might snap if she tried to nudge it into a different position.

She liked that she'd finally intimidated him enough to scare him. It was well past time he got a taste of his own medicine.

"Hi. You're an asshole, you know that?"

"I know." A sigh slid out from between his lips, his shoulders slumping. Did he actually look regretful? Or was he acting? "Look, what I said about you and Prescott-"

"He has a first name, you know." Cora crossed her arms. "His name is Simon."

"What I said about you and Simon was out of line. I shouldn't have done that."

She blinked. Was it really going to be that easy? It wasn't exactly an apology, but it was probably as close to one as she was going to get from him.

"I guess slapping you was kinda out of line, too," she grumbled, leaning her back against the door.

One of his eyebrows quirked up. "No regrets about the drink?"

"I regret that I didn't get to finish it," she said frankly. "But no, you kinda deserved that."

She thought she heard him mutter fair enough, but it was a little too faint for her to know for certain. Her gaze drifted to his hands, which were holding an envelope much like the one that had been left in her own dressing room.

"I got one of those, too," she told him. "No plus-ones."

"No plus-ones."

"So..." God, this was painful. "I guess it makes sense for us to, y'know...go together?"

Ten years down the line and she still didn't like showing up to parties without a date.

The edges of his mouth curved into a smirk. "Only if you promise not to dump your drink on me."

"Only if you promise not to slut shame me," she deadpanned.

Rasmus nearly flinched as she said it, like he didn't think he deserved such an accusation (he totally did), but she was pleased when he just clenched his jaw and nodded instead of defending his actions.

"Deal."