Hello people. Long time no write. So, how have you all been? I've been…good. Sort of. Anyways, I apologize for the long wait. I'll try not to do it again.

This little chapter is dedicated to the mysterious person who wrote me twice telling me to get my ass in gear. It's also dedicated to Shine, Alira, Karasu, and Razorblade, just because they're so great. And last but not least, it's dedicated to Neon. Heh heh. I love bathing.

Love you all platonically.

And now the story…



"This is a really great picture," Brandy says appreciatively, holding the artwork out in front of her. "Jack's very talented."

"I know," I reply, smiling proudly, and taking back the picture. "He worked all weekend on it."

"You sound like you drew it," she says, laughing.

"I'm just proud of Jack," I reply, shrugging. "So, what's left?"

"The author's biography," she says, looking down at the checklist. "We're almost done with it. One of us just has to type it up."

"I'll do that," I offer, rising from my place on Brandy's bedroom floor. "You did most of the work on it so it's only fair."

"All right," she replies, standing and stretching. "We're finally done," she continues, gathering her stuff.

"A week early, too," I reply, gathering my own things.

"This calls for a celebration," she announces, putting her things on her desk.

"How do you suggest we celebrate?" I ask, shoving my things into my backpack.

"Ice cream," she replies, smiling happily as she heads toward the door. "You want some?" she asks as I follow her out into the hall. 

"Sure. Why not?" I say, unable to keep a smile off my face at her cheerful enthusiasm.

"Great!" she replies, bounding down the stairs. "We have chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Which will it be?"

"Vanilla," I answer after a moment of thought, following her into the kitchen.

"Vanilla it is," she says, opening the freezer. "Just have a seat."

"Do you need any help?" I ask, not wanting to seem impolite.

"No, that's okay," she replies, taking two bowls from a cabinet.

I sit down at the kitchen table, watching her as she moves around the kitchen. A few moments later she places a spoon and a bowl full of ice cream in front of me before taking a seat in the chair beside me with her own bowl and spoon.

"Thanks," I say, picking up my spoon.

"So, what are you doing this weekend?" she asks curiously before I can take a bite.

"Nothing much really. I was just going to stay in with Jack," I reply, placing a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth.

She grimaces slightly, looking down at her ice cream unhappily.

"Something wrong?" I ask, concerned.

"Oh, uh, no" she replies quickly. "Ice cream headache," she explains, laughing.

"Oh," I say, confused.

'She hasn't taken a bite, yet.'

Ice cream fumes?


Fuck you.

"Do you want to come over here this weekend?" Brandy asks, stirring her ice cream. "I was planning on catching up on some TV shows I missed."

'Say no!'

"Sure. What TV shows?" I ask curiously.

"Charmed mostly. Maybe some Smallville," she replies. "Do you watch those?"

"I saw Charmed once. Never seen Smallville," I say, eating another spoonful of ice cream.

"That's okay. I can explain the shows to you when we watch them," she replies cheerfully.


'I have a bad feeling about this.'

Keep it to yourself.



I glance up from the TV when I hear the front door open.

"Evan?" I call hopefully.

"Yeah?" he replies questioningly, entering the living room.

"I was just wondering who came in," I say casually, turning back to the TV.

"And the hopeful tone in your voice had nothing to do with me?" he asks teasingly, stopping to stand by the couch where I lay.

"Course not," I reply, smirking. "Why would it?"

"Maybe because you didn't want it to be me," he says thoughtfully, looking down at me curiously.

"Maybe," I reply, shrugging.

"Or maybe," he continues, moving to straddle my waist, "you wanted it to be me."

"Possibly," I reply, placing my hands on his hips.

"Which was it?" he whispers, leaning forward until his lips are a few inches from mine.

"I wanted it to be…" I pause dramatically, bringing my face closer to his, "Nic Lea." I murmur against his lips.

He pulls his head back, "Who?" he asks, laughing.

"Doesn't matter. Kiss me," I reply, tugging on his shirt.

"No," he says, resisting my tugging, "not until you tell me who Nic Lea is." He tries, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile.

I whimper pitifully, still trying to pull him back, "Kiss me," I whine.

"Who's Nic Lea?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at me stubbornly.

"He's an actor," I reply, giving up. "Now will you kiss me?"

"That depends," he says, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands on my chest, "Is he better looking than me?"

"What would you do if I said, yes?" I ask, pulling on his arms to get him closer.

"I'd become insane with jealousy, lock myself in my room, and then withhold sex for weeks like the girly-man that I am," he replies with dignity, not resisting this time.

"Oh, well, no then," I say, and then kiss his laughing mouth.


Hopefully I'll have more soon.

                -- A.H.