News flash: hidden giggles and piercing lies

There was a loud thumping above her as Alex blinked open her eyes. The clocked showed a blurry set of numbers that she could barely make out. She blinks one time, two times and by the third she groans raising from the soft couch she had fallen asleep with two hours before. One hand was brought lazily to rub at those still sleepy eyes, before they finally got focused enough to spot the number five followed by another five and a four.

5:54 AM. She almost cries, thinking of the remaining hour she has to spend getting ready for work. She hates mornings as a flower hates dry land.  With lazy movements she pulls away the warm blanket, whimpering when it’s replaced with the cool air of the living room. She tip toes her way towards the bathroom and closes the door a bit too harsh, her body jumping at the sound. Mornings are horrible.

It takes her almost fifteen minutes to arrange the curls into a decent bun, refusing arduously to use any gel or hair spray, which almost makes her scream in frustration when a bang or two would stick out stubbornly. The muscles in her arms began to sting when she finally decides that better than this it won’t get, so she jumps in the shower.


Routine – for some people, is suffocating, boring, yet for some is safety and peace. Alex Granger is one of those latter, who adores the comfort of her apartment and her daily routine which begins at the same hours, takes a certain amount of time to spend and finishes with a cup of tea and a good book in hand. You could probably blame it on her father. After her mother’s death, he somehow lost his sanity and decided traveling around the world, moving from house to house, changing places after his moods; and for Alex, well; she had the unfortunate luck to go with the flow, change schools every year, sometimes even twice, without being able to make any friends, since she knew too well that at one point she will abandon them. She could never settle once and say: this is where I will live forever. Growing, she began understanding her father more and more and when he passed away, when she was just turning twenty one, it was as if she felt free. It was a horrible thing to feel, but it was as if the knot in her throat died and she could breathe again. The relationship with her father was something passive. They never talked, her never advised her, she never asked for any advice. They were just two bodies, following routine. She would come from school, cook, go to bed. He would come from work, eat, go to his office. No bonding time, no laughs, no questions; a very plain childhood. Alex never loved her father, she didn’t know how to. She barely met her mother; at 5 years old what could you talk with your mother about, or do for that matter; all in one she didn't have any feelings for her parents.


But now? Now she was content. Anne was her twin sister, despite the looks; lots in common, funny as hell, and she just adored her. And she had to meet with her in about five minutes.


Mornings are definitely something that should be forbidden in this world. She throws a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, her sneakers, a hoodie and she is out the door in less than a minute.


“Holy shit!” she exclaims as soon as the winter’s air hits every nerve of her body. A hand almost slaps her on the forehead before she can stumble on the slippery stairs and face plant herself in the snowy pavement. November was a pain in the ass and New York turned out to be a bitch in winter. She preferred autumn, preferably without any wind, just the good old plain cold.

She eventually regains her posture, mumbles something under her breath at the person who stopped her from embarrassment while her hands fumble with her backpack in the never ending search of her phone.

Another gush of cold wind and she could see herself freezing on the spot. Jacket, mittens, scarf and apparently the phone.

“Seriously.” She slaps four of her fingers on the forehead before she turns on heels and runs in the house. Anne would definitely kill her, if not the wind and the cold would freeze her to death.

Once she opens the door she can hear the melodious tone of her phone ringing desperately in her bedroom. With big steps she reaches the bed stand and checks the dialer. Anne. She cringes. Deciding not to answer she grabs her scarf and mittens from the drawer, the jacket from the hanger, her backpack, the phone – because she won’t forget it a second time and leaves the house, pulling the door after her a bit too strong  and she runs down the stairs, because same road is bad luck; they say.


“I am coming now, like in two minutes now!” she shouts in the phone at Anne who probably makes faces at Alex from the other line. She knows her too well.

Just as soon as she turns around the corner, which is like five minutes from her house she spots Anne checking and rechecking her watch.

“Hey!” she waves as soon as Anne turns around. “I am so sorry.” She shuts up as her trembling hands hugs herself for extra heat.
The only good thing is that they were right in front of the building where they worked.

A thick pair of eyebrows come together in what Anne hopes is a disproving look but suspects it comes off more fond than anything. “You have some nerve.” She says matter-of-factly and shoves a steaming hot Americano in her friends trembling hands. Her fingers curl almost instantly around the warm carton cup of ebony go-juice before it is slurped with an unceremoniously greedy gulp. It’s the only way to wake Alex up on cold mornings, and it only took her a few weeks of knowing her to figure out that the secret to her everlasting sunshine like self was in fact coffee; and when she first met her, all those years ago, Anne wondered for a brief moment if the bitter nectar was indeed al that was fueling the hyperactive ball of energy. As it turns out, the secret recipe to a happy Alex also included cookies and sometimes pizza.

“Come on you ice cube, before Miranda skins us of our couture.” She says coldly, with a dripping dose of sarcasm and the candor of someone who has looked into the gaping maw of hell and smirked in its wake. This, she has found, is what happens when you work for ‘Flash’ and the titanic rule with which Miranda Priesly - its editor in chief – man’s her ship. You evolve, you adapt, you learn to put your ego aside and let your skin grow thicker – and if you’re very very smart, and very very lucky then perhaps your head won’t be on her chopping block.

Anne Brines has been working for the fashion magazine ‘Flash’ for the better part of the decade. It is where she began this wonderland adventure into journalism as a wide eyed and bushy tailed college grad with a valedictorian diploma under her belt and a sky high ego. She wanted to work for the New Yorker, she wanted to go pro, she wanted a lot of things … past tense , and 6 months of job hunting and a pile of bills that insisted on stacking up much to her ever-growing hatred kind of twisted her hand. That’s how she ended up at Flash. A nobody. A Graduate with a thick portfolio that ultimately had the retail value of regurgitated shit. So she took a job as Miranda’s assistant, she learned to change her comfort for stile, to smile when she wanted to shout, and to sharpen her words to cut like a blade.
It was hell. But she will always look back at it fondly, because after a year of it … she survived and moved up in the ranks as a bonefied field journalist. The stories weren’t cutting edge, or groundbreaking, but she got to write and at the end of the day that was a close to her dream as she could possibly get.

Her hands tightened around her own cup of overly sugary monstrosity while her heels clicked to a halt in front of the towering gates of tartarus that they called “Flash”. Today Miranda was supposed to preapprove next month issue and personally go over the story columns – which meant a personal one-on-one with her lead writers, photographers, and fashion designers. This was a monthly event, and a day marked in everyone’s calendar under red for danger. Today everyone avoided Miranda and her 15th floor office, and tried to stay out of her teams’ way. Today, most of Flash would stay incognito and pretend they were invisible. Most of Flash was lucky enough to get to pretend they were invisible anyway, because being part of Miranda’s inner circle meant being part of the monthly one-on-one micromanaging meeting. For most this simply meant that they would have to sit there quietly for 3 hours while Miranda redid their work for them, for Anne however this meant a tedious back and forth in a weirdly cathartic song and dance both her and Miranda perfected over the years – because Anna wasn’t afraid of her, and Miranda while stubborn to admit actually admired that about her.

Anne smirked, the end of the month was always a fun little time to play in.

There was that smirk she grew to know over the years; the smirk that said challenge accepted, every single end of the month and Alex could not keep the eye roll from happening. As soon as she approached the main entrance the door slid open by its own accord, a gush of warm current melting her freezing face instantly. She let out a delighted sigh before her still gloved hands loosened the scarf that was almost glued to her neck.

The first thing Alex noticed as she walked towards the elevator was that the grand hall was filled with people; whispering people more specific. Which was odd, because – ok, yes, it might had been the end of the month and everyone knew what that meant, but regarding the last three years she had been working in this magazine, this could probably top all the other times easily.

“Um did we miss something?” she leans towards Anne, glancing upwards with big eyes and she was met with a flashy grin before her face turns its usual, unreadable, self. The fact that Anne was about two feet taller than her made the shiver that ran down her spine even stronger and Alex somehow, was found praying this day would just pass faster.

Alex wasn’t afraid of Miranda, per say. Mostly she was afraid of failure, of disappointing someone. When she took the job as an assistant photographer she never thought she would end up working as a part of Miranda’s team. Everyone had said she had talent and she should go for it; she had disagreed more than she could ever keep count until Anne got tired of it and she recommended Alex to Miranda.

There was a heated fight that night when Anne had mentioned a meeting with Miranda the following morning. She would pace around her apartment pulling at her hair in frustration, complaining she didn’t have the right equipment for it, because her old Nikon was not good enough for professional pictures, let alone be used as an interview for one of the most known magazines in America AND in front of the most terrifying woman on the world (according to her own research). Anne had said any camera is good as long as she would let go of her fears and just be confident and use her talent.

To her own surprise she just did that. That morning she went there with her portfolio in hand and her camera in the other. Somehow she managed to impress Miranda and the following morning she had a job in Flash.

Three years later she is still working with Anne, her long life partner in everything possible, a full bag of the best photography equipment and, last but not least, she was part of Miranda’s team. She smiles despite the tension filling the air and Alex feels relaxed and confident as the door from the elevator closes.

She looks at Anne who just stares straight ahead before letting her eyes travel over her body. She looks impeccable, she has the posture of a leader and she just radiates confidence. This just makes Alex sigh and wonder how come someone like Anne still sticks up with someone like her when she could have so many other people worth her time. But then again she smiles and thinks that she had proven her loyalty on a daily basis and her unconditional love. Alex was Anne’s best friend, they were there for each other, they could talk about everything and anything and they knew the darkest secrets about each other. Anne was the only one that came to her in high school and talked, despite her constant repulse towards the girl. Right before she moved they exchanged addresses and kept in touch until she arrived back in New York.

“What do you say we grab lunch at Murphy’s later?” she asks as the doors opens, both stepping out. “I want to go take care of some things and help Nadia with her research before you get to meet with Miranda.” Her hands fumble with her scarf, finally untying it from around her neck.


The 15th floor looks gloomy, people deep in their cubicles, tying nervously at the computers, tension feeling the air that it could be cut through with a knife and Alex wants to scream. Her head drops down, chin touching the hoodie just barely. She brings her hand up and just waved for Anne to go, mumbling something about forgetting the lunch.

“See you later.” She brings her head up and gives Anne an apologetic smile as she makes her way towards her own cubicle which for some reason it’s filled with files of different colors, each of them filled with pictures. She groans and decides she is done helping people.


“Does anyone know the definition of ‘help’?” she shouts, glancing around to see basically nothing. Of course no one gives a crap.

“’Helping” again?” a young boy comes rolling on his chair, his curly dark hair sticking in every way, but God it looks perfect!

“How do you look so good while you are so-?” she waves in his direction.

“I’m not sure if I should feel offended or complimented.” He frowns, but smiles despite it. “Need any help?” he points his chin towards the stack of rainbow files.

“Ah no. That would be completely ironic since I am supposed to help those that has these files here!” she raises her voice high enough for everyone in 10 feet radius to hear.

“Wow really?”

“Jay please go.” She points towards his cubicle her mouth still formed into an o. Jay brings his hands up and slides slowly back, as slowly as possible that only makes Alex laugh and shake her head.
She eventually starts working. November sucks big time.

There’s a tension in the air, thick and stale. It’s different from any other times she’s come in at the end of a month. That tension never felt quite so suffocation, quite so claustrophobic. The office drones buzz around her- the fear vivid in their eyes – something is wrong; and as she steps out of the elevator, for a second she considers the possibility that there might not be enough air to go around for all of them. Her eyes scan the hallways and for a moment she could almost swear she sees it all in action; the poison that seeps through the walls, through the ground- it seeps through the wires and through the keyboards. It taints everything it touches. Everyone in here is poisoned, and she dares a glance at her own hands and her breath stutters in her throat; it poisoned her too – whatever it is, it’s thick darkness tainted her fingers somewhere … somehow.

Between this realization, and the world spinning out of control around her she distantly realizes that she’s having a panic attack . The fist in ten years, and the irony is so familiar to her that she wants to choke on a laugh alone. Her fingers grip into fists, and somehow she wills herself to keep it together – to count her breath, to not show any weakness – she thinks it might work because the people around her only seem to nod a distracted ‘good morning’.
But in the end, all it takes is just one foot forward. The sound of her thin stiletto heel against the cold and sterile marble floor echoes in her panic so loud that in the span of a second the world snaps out of slow motion and erupts into life around her.

“I’ll see you in a couple.” She says sternly over her shoulder as she steps away from the elevator doors, each step carrying her with a bit more confidence … a bit more control. She nods her greetings to everyone around her, a quirk to her lips at the look of utter fear that gets shot back at her when she walks into her department. She might only have been a journalist but she was still the only one who went head to head with Miranda, and the only one who Miranda trusted with her editorials.

Anne Brinnes, the small fish with the big pull in the bigg pond. It was both a frightening and powerful place to find yourself in. And if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, there were times when she wondered if it was realistically worth it.
Time like now.

“She’s been screaming for you all morning.” Emily, Miranda’s first assistant says mid stride as her too tall and probably very uncomfortable heels clanked towards her desk. She is exaggerating, of course. Miranda never has to scream to get her way – her tone was always even, always mild, but with an edge to it that managed to have people terrified to an inch of their life while she barely spoke above a whisper. It was power that did it, she thinkst absently while rolling her shoulder free of her laptop bag and set her precious life giving coffee on a safe and clear spot on her minimalistically kept desk.

“Is she now?” she murmurs drily, setting her coat and scarf on the rack by her office door before turning to face the exasperated looking girl for the first time since she spoke. She is a curious looking thing, far too thin, far too posh, far too opinionated to be in a position that your opinion had no particular value. She has so much potential, and Anne had had her eyes on her from the moment Miranda hired Emily to replace her.
“You know what I mean, Anne.” Emily says, her British accent making the entire sentence sound far too formal and far too stern. “There was a crease on her forehead, Anne; and that can only mean one thing and if this is that then-“ a single raised hand stopped the hyperventilating drabble mid-sentence, while Anne rubs the small of her nose with her other – trying and failing to hide her own headache at the onslaught of panic that was being thrown her way.

“Chill.” It’s all she says, and grabs her binder and phone and began walking towards the door. “It’s the book, somebody fucked it up – either that or she saw the numbers from last night and she’s going to volunteer heads for the chopping block.” She says without bothering to check if the girl was diligently following her – the tale-tale clank of her heels behind her being confirmation enough “You’re safe, sweetheart, you know it and I know it. Now for the love of all-mighty Prada … chill the fuck out.”

“Right.” Emily says behind her, already pulling her notepad and pen out “What do you need me to do?” Anne smirks, this is why she wanted Emily for herself.

“You wanted to see me.” It wasn’t a question, it didn’t need to be. She knew she was being summoned, and Miranda’s time was far too precious to be wasted on pleasantries.

“Indeed.” The woman behind a slick looking desk says, silver head bowed over a spreadsheet of designs and color pallets that no doubt had to be selected by the end of the day. “You’ve seen the numbers.” She said rather than ask – a sign of mutual respect from both parties. They were both kept in the loop, and expected each other to be on the same page. Anne nods then, taking a seat without it being offered and the silver haired woman behind the desk tries and fails to hide a smile behind a color pallet sample. “Thoughts?”

“A few.” She admits “But none that could be mentioned in mixed company.” This time Miranda smiles fully “Have you spoken to Patrick?”

“I have.”

“And, I take you did not find any problems with his department if you have called me in at 7:30 on a Wednesday morning.” Miranda nods, leaning back on her chair as she removed her glasses with what could only be described a singular elegant swipe.

“The problem is not our fashion spreads.” She admits with a nod that Anne has classified as her “good news- bad news” nod number 5.

“Well I should hope so.” Anne smirks “That would kind of suck considering our field of business and all.” That earns her a surprised choke of a laugh out of her boss.
“We need to expand our exposés.” She finally says, after she gains a bit more composure from the unexpected show of emotions – and Anne thinks that the scientists that programmed her must get at the very least a pat on the back for managing to make a robot feel amusement. She manages to keep the small little smirk off her lips long enough to get over the inappropriate little joke that just ran a marathon through her far too vivid imagination.

“That would be implying we actually do anything akin to an exposé that doesn’t revolve around a fashion designer or rundown model.” She says, legs crossing and shoulders relaxing against the plush chair.

“Touché.” Miranda says, a calculated smile silently stretching her lips.

“So what do you propose, oh fearless leader of mine ?”

“We change our approach.” Miranda says and Anne freezes.

“I’m not going to like where this is going, am I ?”

“No.” the silver haired woman admits, and finally locks her steel blue eyes over her “You are my eyes and ears on the field, every single time … this is how it has always been and how it will-“

“No!” Anne stands, far too abruptly to be seen as anything other than panic, and the chair screeches against the hard wood floor distastefully. “Miranda, this is not some idiotic little gable.” She pleads “I gave up the New Yorker, I gave up the BBC, Al Jazeera… everything.”

“I know-“

“For you!” Her voice peaks, and she regrets it for a second before she realizes what is at stake. A deep breath later and she think that maybe this time her voice will come out more in control and less like a panicked toddler “I gave it all up because I believed in you. We agreed to a certain kind of approach to my editorials – I stay away from fashion and celebrities, I approach the humanitarian and news pieces – as little as they are. You promised me this, Miranda. You promised me I could keep my a professional tone to my portfolio if and when I chose to leave.”

“I have.” The woman says coldly “But, it was just that.” And just like that all the fight leaves her; Miranda Presley played her “We had no binding agreement. No verbal contract that could be held accountable against any valid court.” And Anne just … nods. Distantly she hears the words, registers them but her mind focuses on one thing – it’s over. Her career, the thing she fought for, has held on too with tooth and nail is being ripped open right from beneath her feet. Sure, Flash was a fashion magazine, but some of the best writer started here; some of the most acclaimed and celebrated of them took flight from Miranda’s employment – the only thing they had in common? None of them wrote the fashion pieces, they all took under the ‘serious’ stories. That was the only thing that she hung on to.

“You …” she tries to put into words the unstoppable river of biter venom she wants to unleash on her. Horrible things she thought of but never spoke out lout, but nothing comes out … just silence.

“Anne, you are my best writer - your participation in this is imperative to the magazine .” Miranda says, clearing her throat and moving past the awkwardness with the same cold approach that characterizes her in every aspect of her life “Your new assignment is to do a piece on one of the most popular bands of this season.”

“I could quit.” Anne says, eyes unfocused and distant, fixed on a point just above Miranda’s shoulder. She’s here, but not really, and she distantly realizes how utterly weak she looks now.

“You could, but you will never find work in this town again. And your dream? That pathetic little dream of writing your ‘serious’ stories? That dream will be burned and buried – I can promise you that.” The silver headed woman says and Anne just nods. “You will interview CHAINED. They’re this year’s mayfly band “ she says with a wave of a hand that says just how little she cares of this very fact. “You’ll follow them for a week. Find a way to work with them with their manager.”

“Why them?” she asks dumbly “Why this band over my career ?”and Miranda smirks.

“They are notoriously private. We will be the first to get them on record.”

“So profit.” She says, a sudden hardening in her eyes that makes Miranda’s own eyes widen in recognition before a hard smile stretches her lips. “You chose money, over me.” She says rather than ask, and in that instant it seems like the atmosphere around them changes and hardens inexplicably. There’s an edge to the topic placed on the table – and both of them know what the other stands to lose if this doesn’t go just right. Anne isn’t stupid, she can see an olive branch when one is given to her – Miranda would have never shown her cards so easily if she didn’t at the very least want to leave things amicably between them, out of respect and professional courtesy she gave Anne the right information she needed to gain an advantage in this. To make it feel like a negotiation rather than an undertaking.

“I want Alexandra Granger as my photographer.” She says bluntly and Miranda just nods.

“Good, then –“

“I’m not done.” She cuts in and stands sharply “Unlimited travel and expenses funds – if you’re about to bleed my professional career dry, I will bleed your funds dry.” She says, before she turns to walk towards the door, and that makes Miranda chuckle “Oh, and Miranda ?” she says over her shoulder, stopping in the doorway “I want Emily.”

“So let me get this clear.” Alex pursed her lips into a thin line, a finger tapping on her chin in thought. “Miranda wants you to completely do a one eighty and interview a completely known band but in the same time not so freaking open to the media – how exactly?” one eye was small comparing to the other one as she finished her babbling that, if possible, she looked like a psychopath.

When Anne’s shadow loomed over her cubicle, Alex somehow managed to let a squeal slip her mouth, which she immediately excused it as a reason to her deep concentration. But what almost made her cringe in fear was that terrifying smirk that was plastered over her friend’s lips.

Alex had been eager to find out how the famous One-on-one with Miranda went, but Anne, being the silent child she had always been, kept that mouth shut until they finally reached the cafeteria. She hated secrets – no, she hates secrets AND surprises, because by the time Anne finished filling in the latest news, Alex’s mouth was hanging and rolling on the floor few meters away from their table. There were faces made, frowns deepening and drawing eyebrows together, eyes widening as if the whole earth had spilled its darkest secrets and suddenly the world wasn’t making sense, right in front of her. It was a view deemed of a good laugh and probably with a good sarcastic comments aligned to a bunch of the most hilarious scenes ever until everything was settled under the shadow of a single word – confusion.


Alex knew how much those two pages of non-entertainment news meant to Anne; she also knew that Miranda knew what meant to her ex-assistant and yet there they were.

The nod comes slowly, perhaps even a little unsecure but confident altogether if it was possible. Leave it for Brines to be the riddled piece here.
“Oh god and you accepted.” That was not a question. That was a statement and there it was, the Devil Smirk as she named it few years ago.

“With few conditions here and there.” Anne replied, the smirk settling into a warm smile that blended well to her features. Alex drops back on the chair a bit too strong, the legs screeching on the floor slightly, both sipping their coffees in silence.

If Alex looked at it from a different point of view, it may had not been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that they had to interview a band that, perhaps, had no background to even remotely start an approach. There was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that maybe this was something they needed in both their experience. Call it excitement but, as far as she was concerned, she looked forward to it. A bit of challenge she thinks, smiling behind the cup.
In all honesty Alex Granger was just a photographer. She never wrote, nor had her own heading; simply a very talented photographer that reporters seemed to choose her first for their interviews or shootings. She was known in Flash for being Miranda’s personal photographer in every photo shooting she had. It was a blessing, yes, but being part of an actual interview with famous people made her feel more important than just a photographer. Also, being part of Anne’s team sort of made her smug, because one thing is to be a complete scene shooting person, with no questions to address no one, and other is to actually be able to write or at least come up with your own ideas that were taken in consideration.


Yes, she indeed looked forward to.


Anne on the other side, looked thoughtful, eyes staring straight at nothing in particular that almost made Alex want to follow the gaze. She sighs.

“I guess we don’t have a choice. Might as well get started.” She placed the cup on the table, elbows on each side of it and palms supporting her chin. “From where?”

“We will figure out.” Anne muttered in her own cup. “Besides we have a meeting with Allison tonight.” She smiles.

“She came back from Portugal?” her face shines at the news, excited to meet their high school friend. “Oh right, Lydia said she wants us so go grab a drink.” She remembered the call she had two weeks ago with another good high school friends of theirs and too that as a queue to bring it up. Alex stares at Anne’s face knowingly.

“Tonight?” she questions, eyes still gleaming fully green under her eyelashes. When the nod came a fist was thrown in the air, earning a small tch from Anne at her childish antics.

Anne loved challenges. To go up against impossible odds, to smirk smugly against the gaping maw of an unending task and realize you can conquer your very own Kraken. It was the thing that drove her, that made her who she was down to a modicum of an atom. But to claim this was a challenge felt like a terrible ironic understatement.

Chained, the band, was made of five very unique individuals. On paper they seemed as different from one another as you could possibly get, and every time she dared cast a glance at their ‘personal profiles’ (as their fansites ventured to name them even though it was simply a blatant display of hero worship) she struggled with the urge to silently rub the small of her nose. But one thing that these self-entitled little sirens seemed to have in common – other than the adoration of millions and millions of hormonal teenage girls- was their incessant desire to keep as far away from the media as they possibly could.

It was, in a word … Infuriating.

How in the name of everything unholy did this small town bang heading nowhere managed to gain this much fame and notoriety without actually participating in any PR event was beyond comprehension. But here they were, the spitting image of defiance staring Anne right in the eyes – dangling their fame, money, and her very own career in front of her face. Distantly she realizes that perhaps hating your own subject of interview is not entirely in the spirit of neutrality that a journalist is supposed to uphold – but fuck that, Anne hated these assholes.

“I wonder how much shit I could get into if I somehow manage to make them all come off as potential drug addicts? – I mean, silently pointing that they could be … not that they are.” She asks no one in particular though she knows without looking that her entire team has stopped to stare at her dumbfounded.

“Kidding.” She says, finally looking up and taking into account the horrified looks she was getting. “But not like anyone could blame me for thinking it.”

“Yes we could!” one of the smaller interns pipes up, and Anne decides that no one that small should have a voice that high pitched – the girl could get by as irritating based on visual stimulation alone, for fucks sakes she didn’t need compelling data to win that fucking argument.

“Don’t you dare touch Stiles, he is an angel sent from-“ Anne frowns,

“What the fuck is a Stiles?” it’s a genuine question, and she finds herself slightly offended by the wide set pairs of eyes that gape her way. Fucking teenypop band groupies.

“Him!” highpitched-hoe says – and yes, she has taken it upon herself to calling her own intern that, and she fails to hide a snigger while the tiny girl points an accusing finger over the picture of an Abercrombie & Fitch wannabe. Anne sighed.

“Of course that’s his name.” she murmurs and runs a tiered hand through her hair. “Ok, look – as far as I know the only thing that is stopping us from getting this interview, and subsequently me ruining my reputation, is the fact that this clad clown of douchebags have an aversion to the spotlight. So, while I appreciate the fucking loyalty – and believe you me I do, hey who knows maybe one day you’ll show yours truly that much dedication – how about we stow our shit and actually do our fucking job before the end of the week deadline. And kids, by deadline I do actually mean ‘dead line’, as in if we miss this, if we flunk this, you and every little dream you might have had of making it into this industry will fly out that fucking window so fucking fast you will get whiplash from the mere thought of it happening.” She takes a deep breath, pleasant smile stretching her lips minutely before she adds in a sickeningly sweet voice “Are we all on the same page them?” when all she is met with are silent nods and terrified little eyes she nods herself .

“Good.” She says, standing suddenly and grabbing her coat as she walks towards the door “Come on Alex, we have a dinner date and a lot of drinking to do.”

Indeed there would be a lot of drinking tonight, Alex decides as she steps out of her friend’s mini only to be greeted with a line of horny teenagers. Her throat growls unconsciously, earning a look from Anne who she shrugs it in return but not before she notices her displeasure clearly shown on her face. It matches hers and she thanks heavens the feeling was shared.

Because let’s face it; a bunch of almost thirty years old women squeezed in this adolescent filled, crazed bar, that was overfilled on a Wednesday night and on top smelled like smoke and alcohol from a mile away, was certainly not what Alex was imagining a friend reunion after months of completely ignoring each other due to their tight schedule.

She felt overdressed, and old, and perhaps very out of nowadays fashion, because when her eyes falls on a pair of girls, there was literally nothing left for imagination. It would not make one difference if they just wore their underwear. Her hand rose unwillingly to brush her nose in disgust. Jail bait was all written on them.

“If she thinks I will accept sitting in this lame excuse of a bar where brats rubs against each other then she obviously doesn’t know us that much as she presumes.” Alex folds her arms around her chest, annoyed in a way that seems to make Anne chuckle. “What?” she frowns at her friend.
Lydia had been in their group for a better part of the high school, together with Allison. The girl was smart, beautiful and had this odd sense of humor that could simply not go unnoticed. Lydia was a very strict person and, as Anne, cared about her looks more than anyone else from the group, so when she called and explain the address and how to get there she made it clear that it had a dress code.

What dress code? Where? In this junkies heaven? No way Jose. She better have a good justification for this because, she’ll be dammed if she will let it slip her mouth this time.


Just as a queue a car parked right behind theirs and two girls jumped out of the care and literally ran towards them with the biggest smiles ever. Except that Alex was not smiling.

“Lydia seriously? We meet after seven months and you bring us here?” a hand points at the door of the bar where, if possible, the line grew even longer and thicker.

The red head drops the smile into a deep frown right before she settles her typical eyebrow up, hands on her hips stance.

“You think I’m stupid? Pff…seriously, you’d think after all these years you’d know me better curl ball.” Her mouth pulls into a thin line as she imitates Alex’s posture.

There’s a buzzing behind her eyes , it hums dully and settles beneath her ribs like a dying spark of electricity. This place is too loud, she thinks distractedly just as her lips settle on the rim of an overly grimy glass. The music is too high, the base if too deep, and distantly she wonders what sort of choices could possibly lead a mid-twenties-something college grad to hang out in a bar who’s clientele should probably be carted before served.

“It’s too stuffy in here” he murmurs into her glass, already feeling a headache from the smoke filled atmosphere. She wonders dully if perhaps building a club in a basement dive is some sort of new-age fetishistic approach to a suffocation kink – because right now that is exactly the sort of effect its having on her. She frowns slightly, carefully leaving her expression blank in any other way while the creeping sense of the walls closing in on her begins to slowly entangle around her.

Fucking claustrophobia. Fucking club.

“You ok?” Alex, bless her overly observant soul, asks and the concern is dripping from her tone and sparkling behind her eyes when Anne turns to answer her. There’s a curious brow raised there, and the way her fingers curl around her glass means that somehow the dumbass picked up on the fact that Anne wasn’t really feeling this place.

“Fine.” Anne grunts, slamming back the drink with a bit too much force and maybe thanking the heavens that it’s strong enough to distract her from the lack of any sort of breathable atmosphere. “We’re clearly far too old for this teeny-popper place, and clearly overdressed.” She snarks, throwing a nod towards a couple of girls in the far corner of the room who look like their outfits could collectively be put together to make a handkerchief – maybe.

“And if you say we should trust you, Lydia I swear to god I will dump this drink inside your prada bag.”

So probably Lydia had not made the wisest choice to bring them here. And by the way Allison squirms her way around the kids, she decides, in behalf of the other girls, it’s enough. Her eyes, blurry and unfocused from the smoke, or perhaps a little foggy from the three drinks she had already, tries hard to spot Lydia, who apparently ninja-ed away from them after the whining started. Which was an hour ago; because, despite the fact that they are four responsible girls, you never know how some horny teenagers might manage to slip a drug or two in their drinks in hopes of getting some bang bang in the back toilet. Alex grimaces at some boy who keeps on sending sly smiles in her direction when her eyes widen ever so slightly. Something or more probably someone manages to slip a hand behind her and grab at her ass, giving few tentative strokes.


Her face changes into something that is close to deadpanned before she turns her head to see another teenager grinning stupidly at her. He is just a head taller than her, with ginger hair and freckles that, even under the dancing rainbow lights and lasers, is evident. She raises an eyebrow and mouths “Really?” just as the guy leans over with lips ready for, probably, his first real kiss.


Now, Alex may be a book worm, nerd and anti-social as so many would describe her, but she is definitely not a beginner when it comes to relationships. Not even close. She had had many in her bed, knew how to be a lady outside, a housewife and she definitely knew how to be a person that every man fantasizes about. There is a small tug at her lips as she closes her eyes and brings a hand up, plastering it right in front of the kid’s face, his lips connecting with the middle of her palm. Somewhere in her right, two girls are not even trying to contain their amusement as both of them burst into a soundless laughter.


“Well at least someone is having some action tonight.” Allison yells into the loud music as Alex makes her two feet distance back before the back of her hand convers another round of laughter. Next to her, Anne smirks, winking back at Alex.

“Don’t even start.” She points a finger in front of her best friend, but despite the pathetic attempt the kid did and the horrible time she has, Alex smiles.


Eventually Lydia returns with someone that looks way to good, and dresses way better and, obviously, is the same age of them.


And the girl smiles.


No, she grins, flashy and somehow sadistic, and by the looks of it, someone may have been busy for the past hour or so. Alex frowns, Anne raises her eyebrows in bewilderment and Allison gives one of the biggest smiles that say she knows the person well enough to pass as friend.
“Aiden!” Allison jumps from her seat and meets the guy half way for a warm hug. Anne and Alex exchange a look.

“Now because you two were strangers for the past seven months, you can take this as a punishment from me.” The pose ‘hands on hips’ is back and the two girls frowns. “Take your bags, we are done here.” The glance she throws around states that she was just as excited as them to be in this place, before she turns on her heels, followed by the said Aiden guy and Allison who smiles apologetically at the remaining, and still confused girls.

“What the hell was that?” Alex ask with her thumb pointed in the direction Lydia disappeared at which Anne shrugs but happily picks up her bag and coat and laces her fingers with Alex’s.


They reach the side of the other end of the long bar where there is a massive body blocking a door.


Alex, for the first time feels ridiculously tiny compared to the bouncer, even with the high heels that are way too tall for her taste, her head reaches just an inch above his middle rib cage; which is, again, absolutely ridiculous. Dear god even Anne, with her 6 feet tall, adding the high heels, could barely, just barely reach his shoulders. Stupid tall and gigantic build men, she thinks. But then again, he is a bouncer and by definition they have to be muscled and tall and all gloomy.


She notices Lydia flashing a card in front of him and to her surprise the man nods and moves away. Lydia passes the door followed closely by the others and when Alex reaches the bouncer she glances up, which somehow makes her neck crack only to see a warm smile spreading across his face, but she frowns and never returns the smile as she disappears behind the door and into another club.


Of course there is another one, and of course there is a hidden one for that matter because there are so many known faces she only sees in magazines. And of course the club has high class and is all expensive looking.

“Well ladies welcome to Jungle.” There is that grin again, but only for a moment as it settles into a genuine smile. “I did say trust me when we talked right?” She gives the guy called Aiden a peck on his cheek and whispers something in his ear before he disappears in the crowd downstairs.

The club is nice, Alex decides as she glances around as she passes through the, what could be described as a V.I.P area, where there are neon blue couches and filled with –

“Is that Mike and Chester?” she questions Lydia who nods and smiles. Anne on the other side narrows her eyes, but follows the group right behind Alex. “Oh my god! Are those Jared and Shannon Leto?” she stops and almost hugs Anne who looks like her eyes are equally bulging out of her sockets as they both stare on the other side of the V.I.P floor.

“Girls, could you stop the starring now?” Lydia calls from far and both of them turn their heads in the same time to see Allison and Lydia laughing as they flop on the couch.

They both regain their posture and walk away, though Alex lingers a bit more to see if her eye catches someone else deemed of worshiping. It’s stupid and childish, but she can’t help the sigh she gives as her eyes falls on the lead singer of Arctic Monkeys.

“Lydia, who the hell are you?” Alex almost squeaks when she falls on the couch just in the same time as Aiden comes followed by a waitress holding a tray of drinks. She immediately grabs one and takes a long sip from it.

“Well I may manage a band but that’s not why we are here.” She smiles and glances at Allison who if possible, sinks in the soft cushions of the couch, a blush darkening her cheeks.

Alex catches, for the first time this night, a glittering coming from Allison’s right hand and she feels her eyes widening as realization finally hits her tenfold.

“HOLY FUCK! Allison’s getting married!?!”

“So I take it business has been going well then?” Anne asks, a sly smirk spreading her lips in that one way that always has Alex make parallels between her and the Cheshire cat. She takes a seat in the far left corner of the club; an area not most seem to favor, a bit farther from the center of the room and deemed private by means of strategically placed plants – the bras can’t make itself seen from here, the scenery is far to hidden, far to humble – and she realizes then with a sharp intake of insight that she is not here to be seen, but to see.

She sinks comfortably into the corner, a limb comfortably resting on the armrest to her right while her body maintains that distinct sharp tension about it that always seems to give her an apprehensive edge over any room she is in. She doesn’t look tense, but she doesn’t come off as relaxed either. He muscles are coiled for action, but loose enough to keep her on the prowl. She looks like every bit the predator she was groomed to be – calm, in control, and terrifyingly lethal. Lydia smiles sharply at her,

“Business could always go better.” She says simply, and Anne nods sympathetically – at least on this topic they have always been on the same page. “And sometimes, the people closest to you are the ones that help push the ship along the waves.” It’s Anne’s turn to smile now, dark and horribly amused – so that’s it then? Well trust Lydia to always get to the point without any bullshit.

“We can talk shop.” She finally says with a slow nod, and Lydia hums in her glass with what sounds like agreement. “But tonight is not about us, it’s about Ally – finally marrying that poor dork.”

“Hell yeah!” Alex shouts from the other end of the couch, raising a glass in her honor. “For our two little dorks who made us sick over the years with their sweet little love literally flying all around.” She laughs when Allison throws a peanut in her face but gives the largest dimple smile she’s ever seen.

All of them smiled, excitement reading on their faces as they cheered congratulations for their friend.

“So where is Scott?” Alex questioned as she recoiled the taste of the shot they just had, something with absinthe and who knows what else, because she could feel her throat in flames.

“Oh he is rehearsing with the band back home.” She nods, clearly tipsy from the shots and drinks they had, as if agreeing with her own answer or reassuring herself. Alex couldn't quite press her finger on which one since herself had added some alcohol in her system. She had to call off tomorrow of else Miranda would skin her alive if she would show up with a hangover.

“A band? He isn’t in the same one when he was in high school because man…oh man that one sucked balls.” Alex makes a gagging move as Lydia and Anne nods frantically. Allison giggles and it’s so carefree and adorable that she wants to go and hug the hell out of her.

“No silly, that was then and you are right.” The girl giggles some more which turns into a laugh and then they all start laughing, remembering the good old school days. “They were awful! But no, now he has a new one and they are doing pretty good.”

“Well time for more shots!” Lydia calls as she flicks her fingers at some waiter and if Alex was not so tipsy from the drinks she had, the whole sudden change of subject would have seemed suspicious. Never the less the whole band talk was long forgotten as they start dancing around and drinking even more shots. Anne seemed to dissipate the whole serious act she kept pulling because she was soon grabbing at Alex hand and swirl her around on the music beat.

By the end the music tuned out into a soft rhythm, half of the people curled up in their couches and the dance floor sustaining only a couple of pairs swaying on the music, hugging each other and kissing once in a while. The girls was all sprawled on the couch talking idly between them, catching up the last months of separation. It was not intended, neither really wanted this to happen but because life is such a bitch and it adores when people forgets about each other, things like this tend to occur. But now they were there and by mutual accord they decided to never let something as such happen.


"It's fucked up." Alex rubs a hand over her face as she twists a bottle of water between her fingers. "We used to be really close, not more than a week apart and now-" she gestures towards nothing, perhaps just to show a point, or maybe she had too much alcohol in her system to even make sense by this point. Her lips part and a loud sigh comes out.

Allison smiles reaching out to grab Alex in a hug. Then she hears another sigh and feels a hand from her left wrapping up around the two of them and when she glances up she can see Lydia's closed eyes, a smile playing at her lips before a snicker comes from behind Lydia.

"You three are such a bunch of losers." Anne laughs but places her head on Lydia's back.

"You love us asshole." Alex calls, heat rising up her face from too much hugging. "Ok ok too much. I am going to vomit all over you." she hears 'ew's' from all sides before the warmth leaves.

"So what is this place Lydia?" Alex had meant to ask her since they got there but never had the chance to. She fails to see Lydia tense in favor of sipping at the water bottle, eyes staring at someone unknown who apparently stares right back at her.

"Eh just a club for important people." Ales sees the shrug and decides that there is something that her friend doesn't want to say. A glance at Allison confirms her suspicions.

By nature Alex is a very patient person. But also by nature, Alex tends to have a very short limit until where exactly her patience ends. All night she tried to converse with Lydia but the girl kept shutting her up or avoiding certain questions she addressed or replying in short sentences as if Alex was some sort of acquaintance and not a very good friend.

"Lydia what the hell is your problem?" Alex knew it sounded irritated, and probably a bit rude; she might have stubbornly blamed the alcohol but hell if she hadn't had enough.

"What do you mean?" the reply was defensive, the sharpness in it sending waves of hurt through Alex, and Lydia was frowning disturbingly deep.

"This." Alex gestures towards Lydia. "The whole secrecy you are pulling. We haven't seen each other in a long time, and yes it's shitty and fucked up, but you don't have to act as if we are different people than what we were before. I am the same." Alex places the palm of her hand in front of her before waving it towards Anne. "She is the same, we are all the same." the anger she feels raises in her throat and waves around her body, demanding to be all thrown out. Alex knows she is overreacting, you could blame it on the years she spent in that magazine where, interrogating someone was a huge part of the deal and accepting no for an answer was not in her dictionary.

She glares at Lydia who just stares back with the same intensity. There is something close to fear passing over her face. Then she shrugs and her shoulders slumps in defeat.

Further ahead Anne's frowning, but doesn't say a thing and Allison, the kind soul she is, just watches them in silence, biting at her lip in what could be defined as concern.

"Fuck." Alex mumbles after some time, fingers combing through her curls before settling at the nape of her neck, massaging idly some of the tension she didn't even realized she gathered, out.

“I think you’re had a bit too much to drink.” Anne says in a way that is far too calm for the amount of alcohol she just ingested, and perhaps the world has been inching to tip over for her for the past couple of hours but hey she is nothing if not great at pretending to be ok. ‘Fake it till you make it.” The principle every great corporate tool. She makes a grab for Alex then, a steady hand just beneath her elbow that steadies her on her feet. “You’ve definitely had a bit too much to drink.” She smirks down at the shorter girl and extricated her from the standing puppy pile. She does throw Lydia a look over her shoulder, cold and calculating … if nothing else then just for good measure – because something has more than clearly been up, and she is more than keen on continuing this conversation in a more professional setting.

She steadies Alex back into her seat, and takes her spot by her side throwing an order of ‘black coffee, side of salt’ to a passing waiter that seems to stumble over his feet when he hears the order.

“You remember.” Allison says, a small private smile thinning her lips while her head finds comfort in the ball her right hand. She looks please, relaxed; eyes glossed over and glazed in a way that betrays her inebriation, and the dopey smile still refuses to leave her lips.

“Course I do.” Anne murmurs into her half-filled glass of whatever she was drinking earlier. They all exchange a look, silently snickering before they all blur out :

“COFFEE AND SALT LADIES, COFFEE AND SALT.” They all chant together before bursting out in a chorus of uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh man, that old asshole. I hated his guts but he was so right.” Allison says through a laugh.

“His class was the worst. But hey he did teach us a few valuable – “

“Pff … “ Lydia says over Anne “Giving highschoolers advice on handling their liquor the makings of a good physics teacher does not make.” She says, ignoring the eyerolling she receives for her trouble.

“Oh here we go little miss perfect.” Anne smirks as the otherwised ignored witer sets down their cups of coffee with their token salt shakers.

“Hey, the whole teacher’s pet approach never worked on Finshhook now did it Lyds ?”Allison adds

“Screw you guys.” Lydia says petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wanted to learn.”

“And WHAT exactly would you learn, Lyds?” Anne chuckles “You already knew everything.”

“Most of the time you knew more than the teacher.”

“Ok, the ganging up on Lydia game is officially no longer fun.” Lydia says and drowns her salty coffee in one giant gulp. Anne laughs, raises her cup in solidarity before sayin:

“Here’s to that heart attack we always wanted.”

“May our worst be like today.” Allison adds

“And may you all get laid tonight because you obviously need it.” Lydia finishes bitterly and huffs at the chorus of laughter she gets in return.

The following morning, Alex cursed the universe, because she had never been the religious type, and whatever was out there alike, for the horrible headache. It seemed that every typing sound, clicking of heels on the concrete, higher than necessary voice, crumbling of papers, made its way into her brain, nesting there in a horrific and painful manner. Miranda was not in today, apparently attending some morning party with the press and other important owners of magazines and would get back after she would long be gone; which was perfect, because she could grieve in peace. There had been some 'help' requests from couple of her colleagues, which she waved them immediately, leaving an unpleasant look on their faces. Right, fuck off.


Bits of last night was flashing her mind, embarrassment clearly covering her features as she let her head fall heavily in her hands. Leave it to them to be a bunch of clowns on the street, all of them supporting their own weight on each other, laughing hysterically as they walked on the almost empty streets. But then again, that’s how every celebration went. Get drunk, have fun, forget. You could say it was trade mark a le four.

She missed them, she thinks, her lips curling up despite the shameful night.

A knock on the wall next to her forced her body to jump. The smile completely transformed into a painful grimace, her hands jerking upwards to hold the thumping head.


“Someone had a busy night it seems.” Jay, her long terror came on his chair as if the poor piece of furniture was glued to his bottom. Did he even walk? Alex made a mental note to ask him later, much much later.

“Don’t start.” She moaned, fingers rubbing her temples vigorously in the pathetic attempt to make the pain disappear.

“Here.” She eyed suspiciously the hand which held a bag of something. She reached to take it but the distance was impeding, her body falling back in the chair, the force rocking it couple of times, earning yet another painful moan from the girl. She cracked an eye open “What is that?”

Jay shrugged. “Painkillers, couple of natural teas against hangovers and a protein bar.” There was a smile playing at his lips and she winced. The kid will never fall out of love.

Alex closed her eyes, two fingers pinching at her nose bridge in frustration. Since the beginning the boy washed her with compliments and presents, occasionally throwing in a hint which gave way his desire to go out with her. Alex had been denying everything, yet the following day she would find her desk filled with all sorts of nothings and she couldn’t find it in her power to send them back. She knows she had been giving him fake hopes and perhaps he knows as well but he never stopped.


“Jay-“

“Look just take them ok?” he smiles apologetically for interrupting her, rising from the chair and placing the bag on her desk before giving another large smile and retreating to his own cubicle.

Alex sighs and opens the bag to retrieve said remedies when a body appears from behind shadowing her.

“Would you stop it?” she says, turning around in her chair to meet a perfect Anne. “How do you even manage to look this good?” she points towards the smirking asshole.

“What was Jay doing?” Anne leans on the desk, grabbing the box of tea with her eyebrow raised.

“Courting.” She replies fast, throwing a side glance towards Anne as she unwrapped the protein bar.

“I have a lunch with Lydia, care joining us?” once again, Alex blessed her friend’s soul for not pushing further, the change of subject being highly appraised and welcomed.

“No. Nope. Absolutely denying it right now.” Her head shook fast but was soon followed by a chain of curses as Alex could feel her brain mashing inside. “My bed is calling me.” She groans grabbing her head for the thousand time that morning.

“Yeah yeah dumb ass whatever.” There was a laugh coming from the taller girl just before blessed fingers touched her temples and began rubbing. The noises coming out from Alex’s mouth could be deemed inappropriate, but little did she care as the thumping soothed.

“You do miracles.” She smiles, eyes closed, her body visibly relaxing under Anne’s touch. “Don’t ever let me drink again.”

“Of course, as if you would listen to me.” Anne chuckles in front of her as fingers moves to her forehead.

“You know.” Alex starts but pauses for a short moment to let out a satisfied moan before continuing. “The same thing you said last time and here we are. Again. I should make you sign a contract for this.” Alex pouts but it’s not even close to upset.

Before she knows the hands are gone and she whimpers at the loss, but feeling ten times better than how she was just few minutes ago.
“Leave it on the desk.” Anne jokes as she waves her goodbye.

With her powers back, she resumes the work she didn’t even started to begin with. Definitely a long bath and a good sleep would place her back on her feet in no time.

Ever since college, among her many academic acclamation, Anne was infamous among her peers for one thing: her immunity to hangovers. Regardless of what she drank, or how much she drank the results were always the same: a perfect presence with an irritating smile. There were many rumors circling around Anne’s post binder appearance , and truth be told the most popular theories were the ones involving virgin blood and ritualistic sacrifices – but the truth was embarrassingly simple: the secret was that there was no secret. Anne was disappointingly human, and like most disappointing humans she too suffered from the blithe and anguish that alcohol poisoning unleashed on one’s system. The difference between her and the rest of the world was that she was stubborn. So stubborn in fact that the very idea of showing enough weakness to admit she was in pain was deemed unacceptable.

So Anne suffered; silently and with an unbeatable poker face. Few could tell what she was usually feeling, and the ones that did usually came about this privileged information purely by accident.

Anne remembers vaguely that she wasn’t always like this. A few decades back, when she was still wide eyes and knee high, vocalizing her pain was deemed as natural as breathing – and while the rational part of her wishes to easily pass this along as another childhood trait one should easily grow out off, little girl in her wants to quietly point a finger to somebody else .

Anne frowns, eyes slowly blinking back into focus while her hand silently grips the glass of water she had been sipping ever since she sat
down. She sighs into her glass, and takes an immature little pleasure in the way it fogs up beneath her nose. Trailing down this dark thought path so early in the day was not how she intended this luncheon to go – but she reasons she can blame the depressing turn on the relentless headache and the way the room refused to give up on spinning around her.

“Contemplating the end of the world?” A far too perky voice chimes above her, and though she loathes to do it, Anne slowly lifts her eyes to meet a pair of amused sparkling greens.

“I was going to leave that pleasure to you, Lydia.” She smiles back and motions towards the empty seat in front of her. “Please.” She encourages, and the petite redhead graciously takes she seat.

“You look impeccable, as always. “ she says, flipping a stray strand of hair over her shoulder in a way that anyone else would find dismissive, but to Anne it looks terribly childish.

“I feel implacable.” She derives, tilting her glass slightly at the amused redhead before taking a smug sip.

“Of course, and this would work on anyone else that WOULDN’T be familiar with the way that twisted mind of yours works. Anne frowns and a far too smug smile begins to tug on Lydia’s lips.

“Bearing that in mind …” Anne begins, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest “ … what do you say we both cut each other some thick layering of bullshit and tell me why you insisted we meet in this …” she trails off, sparing a glance of two to the remote little tavern her friend chose for their little rendezvous “…place?” the word comes off as a sentence, and the slight elevation of her brow when she accentuates the inquiry leaves Lydia rolling her eyes and crossing her legs defensively.

“It’s remote.” She says petulantly.


“That … I can see.” Anne says, “The why of the matter is what I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around.”

“We needed privacy. There is a …delicate matter I need your cooperation with.”

“That much I’ve gathered on my own Lyds . So why don’t you just tell me what trouble you’ve gotten into and how much trouble do I have to bail you out off?”

“Trouble?” Lydia asks, a hint of offense thick in her tone “You think I’m ion some sort of trouble ?”

“What would you think Lydia?” Anne answers back easily, chin supported on the ball of her hand “You take us to the shoddiest dive of the city, you act aloof and evasive throughout the night, and now you’re asking from my help over lunch in a place that I suspect passed its health code inspections by pure luck alone.”

“I’m not in trouble. “ Lydia says, eyes sharp and lips thin “I’m representing a group of people that require I as well as them stay out of the spotlight .”

“So … the mod then?” Anne smirks and Lydia pales.

“Anne what the hell?!” Lydia’s voice raises and for the first time in a long time her composure seems to brittle at the edges , and Anne chuckles. “That is not fucking funny.”

“Oh, it is.” Anne nods through a chuckle.

“Fuck you. That was mean. If you figured it out already, why put me through all these hoops.”

“Because it’s fun?” Anne answers, grinning sardonically while her friend huffs dismissively.

“So, what gave me away?”

“A few things.”

“Which are?” she pushes earning an irritated eye roll from Anne.

“Scotts in a band, it’s been doing better, we met in a place that catered to live performances and you were staking out the crowd in hopes to see if it was worth it or not. “

“It wasn’t.” Lydia cuts in darkly, and Anne smirks.

“But mostly, it was because you particularly chose spots where celebrities aren’t really expected.” She adds and Lydia hums in agreement
“So, what can I help you with?”

“I need publicity.” Lydia begins curtly “But the problem is , the band –“

“Oh … a band is it?” Anne cuts in with a sly grin on her lips.

“Yes. “ Lydia frowns slightly annoyed at being interrupted “It’s a band. The BAND “ she continues, accentuating the word for emphasis “ – is not what you would call … cooperating. The problem isn’t Scott per-se, but the rest of them, especially Derek and Stiles –“ Anne frowns .

“Why do those names sound familiar ?” she asks, a little big of confusion tugging at her brow while Lydia rolls her eyes in response.

“Of course you wouldn’t know, you recluse. Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinksi – the leaders and founders of Chained –“ she says and Anne can’t stop the way her eyes widen in surprise.

“No way …” she whispers “The universe cannot be this fucking kind.” She murmus half to herself half to no one in particular while Lydia smirks triumphantly.

“I’ve heard your magazine was in the market for an interview with my boys, and naturally –“

“You thought of me .” Anne finishes.

“I cant trust anyone else, Anne. And these guys … I love them, but god help me they are hopeless. More secluded than you.-“

“Hey!”

“And scared shitless of any kind of publicity. So I figured you could do an expose on them, observe them in their natural habitat while we’re out on our 3 week ‘creativity cruise’ “ she says, air quoting the title like it almost pains her.

“I don’t think they’d be willing to talk to reporters Lyds. Not if they are as bad as you say they are.” Anne says and Lydia smirks devilishly.

“Just leave that to me. I’ve got this covered.”

“Hey, aren’t you going out for lunch?” Jay’s head pops over the small wall between their cubicles, the sudden appearance forcing Alex out of her chair, her knee hitting the desk hard.

“Fuck!” she shouts, heart beating in her neck as she twists and sends a sharp glare towards Jay’s head.

Jay on the other hand looks as if someone hit him in the guts; his face red as a lobster, clearly and undoubtedly refraining from bursting into a hysterical laughter and yet he manages to twist his face to seem apologetic, perhaps with an edge of concern. Alex, if possible, glares even harder, her hand grabbing the first object near it, and without any second though the said object is thrown at Jay’s head, which thankfully ducks in the last minute just as – apparently a stapler – brushes over a strand of curly locks and connects with something hard by the sound it makes.


Alex lets out a breath of relief at the fact that she didn’t send someone in the hospital and returns to rubbing the knee gently.



“Well…that was close.” Jay says as a pen with a yellow stick note attached comes from her left, waving comically, but no sign of its holder coming in view. There is an eye roll, her lips curling ever so slightly into a small smile.

“Can i?” he insists, the pathetic excuse of peace sign still waving, a bit faster this time.

She smiles, larger this time and she just mumbles an ‘whatever’ before resuming work. Alex can see, in the corner of her eyes, a silhouette making its way into her cubicle, dragging the chair with his feet as he is still sitting on it. It became a thing, Jay and the chair and she can’t help but let out a chuckle as she leans in her own chair, eyes closed. She stretches, few weird, yet pleasant noises comes out her mouth before she finally settles to look at her colleague.

Jay stares for a longer moment before he shakes his head, smiling.

“So, no lunch today?” he begins, fingers fumbling awkwardly with the pen and paper. He is cute; Alex thinks still smiling before she just realizes that she is talking about the dude that has been crushing on her since day one and SHE kept on refusing every single attempt he made at asking her out.
And oh my god.

“Um no. I, uh, I just want to finish faster and go home to sleep.” She stammers and she knows and for some twisted reason that is really annoying. Because feeling something towards a person you work with is completely wrong, even if it’s just physical attraction.
Her eyes shift to her hands, suddenly feeling horrible.

“Oh…well I want to tell you that I will start acting school.”

“Oh my god that’s awesome!” there is a grin before his face settles into something close to sadness. “Congratulations.” Alex smiles, rising from her seat in the same time as Jay.

If possible time slows down, she sees Jay moving towards her and then everything stops.

She feels a light brush of lips over hers; it’s delicate and somehow unsure, but it’s there nevertheless. Alex doesn’t find it in her brain to close those eyes so she keeps staring even after the lips are gone and there is Jay’s face staring back at her, shocked.


“I- I’m sorry – I don’t – oh my god!” he stammers and blushes hard and Alex just keeps staring because this – this is exactly why she didn’t want to go in a relationship with people at work. She was never the type to hold onto someone, let alone feel anything more than just physical attraction. She prefers less complicated relationships, where they meet and fuck and say goodbye and never see each other again. It’s safe and easy. Now Jay comes with his annoying cute face, annoying presents even when she made it clear it’s not needed, starts feeling things for her, starts falling hard for her, and by some sick fate she develops feelings for him as well in a way where it shouldn’t even be serious, but, for her, it is.

“I should go.” He says eventually, backing off slowly as if uncertain.

“Don’t.” its everything she says before her brain finally clears, eyebrows frowning as she takes in Jay’s posture. “Jay look.” She starts, fingers pinching her nose in frustration before rubbing hard at her eyes.

“Things will never work between us. I am not looking for a relationship and definitely not one with someone I’m working.” She explains in a tone that doesn’t hold any emotion. She knows is harsh but Jay is young and smart, she knows he will get over it, meet new people and of course, the right one someday, who will make him happy and someone he deserves. “I know I only pushed you further when I haven’t refused your presents, or when I accepted your concern for me and I am sorry. I shouldn’t have. It was selfish, but – “

“I know. Don’t think I am stupid Alex.” He smiles and something inside Alex bleeds; because it’s a genuine smile, with no hate behind, any hard feelings, just purely genuine. There is a sound close to a chuckle when he continues later, voice muffled by his hands as they rub over his face. “You just made me feel happy, even when you never returned even 1 percent from the feelings I have for you. Just having you accepting my stupid self, made me feel needed.”

Alex stares at him, hands limp by her sides; her mind says she should go and hug him and perhaps give a chance but something pulls her back saying its better this way.

“Don’t worry, I just wanted to do that before I leave.” He says in the end, smiling brightly at Alex. There is something glittering in the corners of his eyes and Alex refuses to believe he is actually on the verge of crying.

“Idiot.” She replies few seconds later, smiling, before she makes two steps and bumps her tiny fist in his arm. “You are really something kiddo.”

“Oh please grandma, just because I am nineteen doesn't mean I am inexperienced. You sure you don’t wanna have some of this?” his hands waves in front of him as his eyes wiggle in a manner supposed to be sexy but it’s actually horrible. Alex bursts out laughing, and just as the tension fell over them, is dissipates completely as they fall back into their day by day routine.

“So when are you leaving?” Alex asks, sipping from her cold coffee.

“Tomorrow.” He says and she smiles, bumps shoulders with him and says “You are such an asshole.”

“I know.” His tongue comes out and he grins.

“I really wish you good luck.” She grins back and begins closing her computer as Jay heads for his cubicle.

“When I will be famous I’ll hire you as my personal photographer.” He grins, blows a kiss as he disappears behind the wall, Alex rolling her eyes at his childish behavior before stuffing things in her backpack.
Right after she gets up from the chair a stapler hits her desk, bouncing few times before falling behind the computer with a muffled bump.

“Jay you fucking brat!” she screams but the words has no bad meaning behind them. She shakes her head and leaved the 14th floor feeling better than she had in weeks.




When she gets home the door is unlocked. Her hand pushes the door slowly as she peeks around the living room. The lights are opened, the blanket she left lying around this morning is tucked neatly in the left corner of the couch as well as the pillows and the books that were lying around are stacked on the wooden table in front of the couch.

The adrenaline and panic felt before completely turns into anticipation as her lips curls into a big grin.

“Don’t send me any bill for this or I swear I will kick you in the balls!” she shouts, dropping her back pack near the hanger as she takes out her converse.

There is a mumble coming from upstairs, few loud noises and then something very close to cursing before finally Anne comes out huffing hard.

“Where are your summer clothes?” she asks, forcing Alex eyebrows to shot up.

“Why?” her eyes squint as she slowly makes her way to the kitchen.

“Because.” Comes the fast reply and then Anne disappears back in Alex’s room.

Alex just stares at the ceiling as if she can see her friend fumbling her way around her bedroom and into her wardrobe. “That’s not a reason!” she screams back, opening the fridge, completely ignoring her best friend.

“I specifically asked for you, Anne.” she remembers Lydia saying in that irritating way she has of delivering not quite bad but not exactly good news. It made Anne’s heckles raise at the time, and before she could think better of it, she finds herself asking:

“Why me?” Lydia, true to form only gave her a passing glare , choosing wisely to focus on the more pressing matter of answering what she perhaps deemed as a redundant question.

“Because you are professional, and your reputation precedes you.” She said easily, but the way Anne’s brows must have danced over her face must have been incentive enough to cut through the bullshit, because she adds: “And also because I trust you, and you are my friend.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you chose me in an article that pretty much will ruin my career.”

“It won’t.” Lydia was quick to say, and Anne’s slow rising brow was answer enough. “I promise you. This will not ruin you. The boys they are –“

“Rock stars.” Anne said simply “Rock stars with a superiority complex and a messiah streak. They are difficult, spoiled, and notoriously stupid. Lydia, writing this will pretty much typecast me - because you damn well know I will do the best job of the shittiest material, and once Miranda sees that I can give her diamonds out of charcoal … guess what? That’s what I’ll end up mining for the rest of my life.” There was a pause from Lydia’s side of the table, and the stubborn side of Anne pushes her to give her the benefit of the doubt long enough to spare her a second glance.

“What if I can guarantee you that you will not end up doing segment pieces on rock bands for the rest of your life?” and that had Anne head snapping up so fast that all of lasts nights bad decisions seemed to come together in one crashing, crippling migraine.


Back in the present Anne is fumbling. Hands grabbing, tossing, and casting away every possible article of clothing she can get her hands on. Downstairs next to the window, her own suitcases are all nice and packed – a three weeks’ worth of wardrobe choices all packed away neatly along with her laptop and some small recording devices.

“Where are all your summer stuff? She asks, frustrated at a particular warm looking jumper and wondering absently if she can justify stealing it when Alex isn’t looking.

“Why?” comes the distant wandering tone, and bless her Alex doesn’t seem particularly keen on coming up to investigate the mess Anne is currently leaving in her wake.

“Because .” she answers back petulantly, distracted by a shirt to fully elaborate on that thought path.

“That’s not an answer.” And Anne frowns, because god damn it she knows it’s not an answer. She stops, forces herself to take a deep calming breath before she pokes her head over the upstairs railing and casting a small restrained smile down at her friend.

“Lydia said that if we do a segment on Chained, she can put in a good word for us with the New York Times.” The silence that immediately follows seems like an answer in itself. Nobody gets into the NY times, not without recommendations and maybe a Pulitzer or two under their belt . The very idea that Lydia has enough pull to orchestrate something of this magnitude both scares and impresses her in a way she wisely chooses not to analyze too closely. The New York times was it for Alex and Anne, their dream, their light at the end of the tunnel, so for the first time in a long time Anne allows that though to sink in – the idea that finally all her hard work could pay off in a way that wouldn’t make her wonder if working for Miranda was kindled to selling ones soul.

“Alex … we can finally get out of this.” She says , a bit awed herself as it sinks in “Now help me get you packed so we can go and babysit some bratty rosk stars for three weeks on a warm ass boat in the middle of nowhere, and then write some sappy truth about them.”

Without any other word – because Alex knows better than to question Anne’s judgment, she mumbles something that sounds like ‘I knew it’ and she follows Anne in the bedroom. The whole mess she is met with makes her cringe – because clean freak - and in spite the fact that she as well is in the same position at Anne; stressed, excited, scared – she simply ignores it and starts packing her suitcase. She settles for one in the beginning but when Anne explains the three weeks she would be spending on a boat, in the middle of nowhere she thinks better of it and adds, reluctantly I might add, another one.

She can see, in the corner of her eye, the little faces her best friend makes when her suitcases are filled with ironic t-shirts, jeans, sneakers and hoodies – because there might be storms, Alex explains. She knows she’s a nerd, a book worm, definitely tom-boy that not even Miranda could force some sense into her brain to make a change in her wardrobe.

Alex disappears in the bathroom to pack her sanitary bag and when she appears in the room the suitcases are all closed and ready to go.

“You know I still have things to add right?” she asks amused at Anne’s eagerness.

“Just put them in this one and let’s get going.” She pushes a suitcase towards her and takes the other one downstairs without any other word. Alex shrugs and places them safely in a corner before stacking a thin pile of clothes over them, closes the suitcase and begins to tidy up her bedroom.

When she appears few minutes later Anne’s sitting at the island in the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee steaming around her, talking idly on the phone. From the conversation she knows it’s Lydia on the other line.

“Tell her high and that I want to have a single room by myself.” She calls from the living room to Anne who nods and repeats the same thing. Alex pulls a back pack from the lumber room before heading towards the bookshelf to retrieve few books she bought but never read.



In about half an hour they are both ready to go, Alex doing about ten rounds around to make sure everything is settled, before doing another check on her small list to make sure she had everything she needed for those three weeks.

“So where we meet the girls?” she asks, her eyes on her list mumbling between the lines.

“Well they should come and pick us up.” Anne replies, her fingers typing angrily on the phone as if the poor thing did something to her.

“You ok?” she asks slowly, suddenly feeling sorry for the person she is currently texting.

“Yeah, Lydia said she’ll be late an hour because Ethan’s not ready yet.”

Ok so maybe she’s not sorry after all.

“I wouldn’t say they were shy.” Lydia begins, half an hour later and staring intently at the road in front of her windscreen. It’s been barely foggy ever since this morning, but right before she pulled up in front of Alex’s building the fog seemed to have finally settled in – thick and opaque like an ominous omen, promising horrible things to the path chosen by the hero. Anne smartly chose not to look too closely into it. “It’s just that they’re ….private?” Lydia finishes off with what sounds like a question but was more than likely intended to be a statement.

“Right.” Alex says from the backseat, chin perched on Anne’s seat in front of her and pout slowly building on her plump lips “Private is just a word people use when they’re too nice to call somebody else a fucking hermit.” Lydia sighs, loudly and long-sufferingly ,

“Fine. They’re fucking hermits.” She says, gripping the wheel a little bit tighter “But they are talented fucking hermits, and for whatever reason, people seem to appreciate this fucking talent despite their lack of public appearances and magazine spreads.” She says, and there’s a hint of protectiveness in her tone, and Anne wonders if perhaps Alex didn’t hit a sore spot she should perhaps look into more. “Besides, “ Lydia adds half a beat later “They all have their reasons for staying out of the limelight.”

“Then maybe a career in music wasn’t really the right choice.” Anne says simply, eyes focused out her window and already dismissing the topic. Their reason is not really what she is after here – their life choices, their habits, these are things that are left for the fans to nitpick at over the thousands of blogs and fan sites these guys undoubtedly had online – raised like little beacons and shrines all for a bunch of people that realistically couldn’t spare the entire phenomenon a second thought . Her job here wasn’t to get to know these people, not really. Her job here was to analyze them well enough until their personalities and traits became evident through their actions, and to document these actions. The backstory and reasoning for these would realistically be a nice bonus – but ultimately would not matter in the grand picture of the article.
Lydia, thankfully, says nothing else on the topic and instead chooses to stir the topic in a more manageable direction. “What exactly do you know about Chained ?” she asks, voice cold and calculated in that way that always means she has something up her sleeves that she isn’t quite ready to put on the table yet.

Anne shrugs, half-heartedly and non-comically “Not much really. Haven’t realty even listened to any of their songs. Read a bit – what little I could find. But I can’t in good conscience call that research.” Lydia smirks.

“You and Stiles would get along perfectly. “ she says before reconsidering “But I think you’re more Derek’s type to be honest – all sullen and doomed in your own militarism.” Anne blinks back, dumbfounded.

“What.” Lydia only smirks wider.

“And Alex is definitely Stile’s type.” She says, and Alex frowns – chin perked and nose scrunching in confusion.

“What’s a Stiles?” she asks, a bit bored- a bit curious.

“You’ll see.” She says ominously and both girls share one silent, concerned look.


***

“There she is.” Lydia says as they finally reach the marina. The weather is miserable and bleak, the sky dark and overcast into submission – but in the middle of it all, in the lonely gloomy marina one single cruise seems to burst with life. It’s a beats of a thing, and the size of it seems to justify the amount of waiters and staff that seem to be diligently boarding on it. “Home sweet home, for the next few weeks at least. Remember that this is an exclusive cruise only reserved for the crème de la crème - do try and fit in.” She adds while Anne pulls a backpack over her shoulder and nods at a busboy to grab the suitcases from the trunk.

“So what’s our cover?” she asks and take a little bit of pride in the wide eyed stare Lydia throws her way. “Lyds, I’m not as smart as you but I certainly am not as dumb as you think I am – I did figure out that we’d go in this all covert and secretive like all by myself …” she smirks “Scouts honor.” She adds a second later, two fingers crossed and raised above her heart . Lydia rolls her eyes fondly.

“You could always go in as staff.” Lydia supplies unhelpfully and both girls answer with a paired set of glares. “Fine,” she sighs back “ not staff then.”

“Look Lydia, “Anne begins, already heading towards the narrow stairway that shepherded passages on the boat “This is a cruise ship.” Anne says plainly and Alex nods behind her, already following her thought path “So why can’t we just be your friends who happen to be mooching off your good nature?”

“Well that wouldn’t be too far away from the truth now would it?” Lydia says, arms crossing and eyebrow raising sarcastically.

“And fuck you too.” Anne smirks, turns, and accidentally shoulder-checks somebody just as she steps foot on the boat. The figure grunts, towers over her, and from the stratosphere that the man must be reaching at his altitudes Anne can definitely see a frown. “Sorry, buddy.” She says with a cocky grin – it’s not every day she meets a guy that can top her height and then some, let alone one with an eyebrow game that strong.

“Maybe next time you’d spend a bit more time looking where you’re going instead of insulting people.” the man snarks back and receives an unimpressed brow for his troubles.

“Just accept the apology and move on, pal. You don’t get paid by dishing out sarcasm bombs on polite strangers.” The man seems to consider this for a second, his eyebrows doing a complicated dance of both confusion and astonishment, and Anne refuses to give him a break by breaking eye contact – no, the asshole earned his corner, and he better damn well get comfy in it . It’s Lydia that breaks the intense staring contest the two seem to be keen on having and leans into Anne’s space with a forced smile.

“Derek!” she says and both Anne and Alex immediately tense up at the name, because … fuck. “I see you’ve met my wayward best friends. They’ll be companying me on our little trip.”

“Lydia!” there is a shout from behind them and Alex sees Lydia smile warmly, the tension settled between the four of them suddenly vanishes as if by chance, a ray of sunshine fell over them, warming and welcoming. Alex squints her eyes, because god forbid she be smart enough to grab her glasses from the bag, to see a lithe and tall boy coming out of a car, followed by what she thinks it’s Scott. The boy throws an arm around Scott and with the other one wave at them. Alex has a hard time focusing so she just turns towards Anne, who has a very amused look on her face.

Apparently they share the same thought, the creepiness between them far too old to even surprise them anymore as they both roll their eyes. The guy from before seemed to have disappeared already, she notices before she turns to see the boy hug Lydia, followed by Scott and then Allison.

“This is going to be a great time, love of my life.” His hands linger over Lydia’s shoulders, protective and casual as if they have done this so many times before. From close distance he is tall. Like, very tall, and suddenly Alex never felt so small in her entire life. She is like the midget of the group, everyone having a normal height, some taller, some shorter but definitely none shorter than her.

She mentally groans and steps a foot back, ducking herself from view.

“Stiles, behave.” Lydia replies fast, but smiles and motions towards them.

So this is the Stiles.

“Who in the right mind would name their kid ‘Stiles’?” Alex whispers behind Anne, who just shrugs with internal laughter, her face keeping that cool and professional look.

“They are Anne and Alex.” Lydia waves at them and Alex mentally groans – because apparently that’s all she can do right now. “They are my best friends and would accompany us.”

“Oh hello there.” He grins and oh dear lord he is a jock. “And hello little one.” And of course he is an asshole. “How old are you?” he still smiles.

Lydia and Anne burst into a giggle and for some fucked up reason they just move to say hi to Scott and Allison, leaving Alex right there, boiling with rage but not being able to word it out because, seriously? Did he just act all mature and douchey?

“Um hey Lydia, does she-“

PUNCH!

“What the fuck?!” Stiles shouts, his hand grabs his cheek as he stares at Alex wide eyed. The punch had not been strong, but somehow the boy stumbled back in horror. In front of him, Alex casually dusts her hands and takes a step in front of him, her head tilted back.

“For your information I am not little, not young and not deaf.” Her voice is menacing, her eyes glaring at the boy. “Learn the basic greeting words such as ‘hello my name is’ asshole so you won’t find yourself in this position again.” She just brushes past him, a bit too harsh perhaps before nodding towards Scott, whose mouth hangs open and Allison who just giggles behind her hand.

“I’ll be in my room.” It’s all she says before grabbing her back pack, the keys from the cabin boy and makes her way towards the rooms.


Stiles keeps staring after her, eyebrows knitted together before he blinks and turns towards Lydia.

"Who the fuck is she?" he asks as he head towards the others, his eyes still stuck on the spot where Alex disappeared.

"Well that might be the person that you would entertain during our stay because i swear if something like this happens again i will throw you out in the pits of Atlantic." Lydia returns in that motherly voice, because for some reason she turned into one, and all these people are her kids. She sighs, massages her temples before she comes to check on Stiles cheek. "She is right though." she adds as her fingers applies a bit of pressure to see just how much damaged is the skin. "Learn to behave, you are twenty three for god's sake." she pats his cheek when there is no wince and smiles.

"Why do you have evil friends? That one looks evil as well." he pouts and Lydia rolls her eyes. "They are not evil, they are awesome when you get to know them." his eyes squints suspiciously at Lydia's words before he moves away, heading towards his own room.

Lydia turns towards the other three remaining. "This cruise if going to be an adventure." She sees Scott raise and eyebrow, Allison smile and Anne, well Anne finally bursts out laughing.

Good things come in small packages, as the saying goes. Anne has in fact been very fond of this saying, so fond in fact that she had been consistently applying it for over ten years now. It taught one a great deal of useful things, like humility, and kindness, and a lot more hippy shit she couldn’t be bothered to ever remember. But mostly, it also taught people that you shouldn’t really judge a book by its cover. Because while Alex seemed small enough to squish, she’s, more often than not, the one doing the actual squishing.

To put it simply, the kid had it coming . So Anne laughs, loud and unhinged and enjoys the way realization finally hits the guy fast enough to give him whiplash. “Careful kid,” she says, a faint smirk and a fast wink as she walks off – backpack perched on her shoulder and a carefree easiness about her - “She might eat you alive.” She hears him rather than see him groan behind her and smirks to herself triumphantly – job well done.

Half an hour later she finds herself staring at the small ‘luxurious’ cabin Lydia deemed livable. Well, livable wouldn’t exactly be a word she’d particularly chose to describe this habitat. It’s small, and that’s being generous. Cramped, stuffy, and depressing. It seems to suffer from a case of monocromitis because everything seems to be decorated in brown. There is only one bed, stuffed in a corner and on the opposite wall a dresser and desk crammed together in a way that would make any serious internal decorator weep silent tears of anguish. And to top it all off, there seems to be only one small window. Cubby hole shaped, because the universe loves clichés .

This trip …is going to be interesting , she thinks dully before dropping her backpack on the very stiff looking matters, and fowns at the way it seems to literally sink into it only half a second later. Yeah, she needs to talk to Lydia.

Luck however, doesn’t seem to be on her side, because just as she rounds the corner to what she thinks/assumes is the lounge, she immedietly hears voices.
“And I am telling you” the voice, Stiles she realizes immediately, says “ that was one hellovan exaggeration for a simple midget joke. Because lets face it Lyds, she looks like a fucking midget, you can’t tell me that’s the fist time anyone pulled that card on her-“

“And I am telling you.” The voice, undoubtedly Lydias seems to cut off with a hint of boredom laced with seething furry “ – that if it happens again, I will personally dip you head first into the fucking ocean. You seem fond of medieval torture methods Stiles, tell me, would that resemble waterboarding in any sense of the word?” Anne turns the corner just to see the man swallow dryly and nod reluctantly “Good.” Lydia says, and a smile suddenly spreads her lips “Then if that’s all then, might I suggest you start enjoying your fucking vacation and get your voice and creative juices flowing? After all we are here for you and Derek to get you collective heads out of your respective asses and start writing songs again, am I right?”

Alex loves her room. No - adores it. It’s small, cozy, and warm – no windows to disturb her in the mornings, the bed not too soft not too hard, just perfect. Her hands stretches further, if possible, over the bed and breaths in the fresh apple scent from them.

The anger flew out the window as soon as her body entered the room, whispering to the walls just how lucky she feels. She makes a mental note to thank Lydia later.

After few more minutes of stretching and rolling on the double bed – which again luuu-cky – she decides is time to unpack and settle for those three weeks of complete silence, because let’s face it, no matter how professional this trip may be, spending three weeks with that douchebag and the other stuck up prick seems more a torture than an actual enjoyable business holiday. Her plan is to come out, shoot couple of pictures with them in their natural habitat and then get back in her secure little box.

She hadn’t meet the other, but something tells her they are more calm and quiet than the Stiles guy she met. A hand rubs her knuckles, soothing the skin that still hurts. She felt bad for punching him, yet she couldn’t apologize because let’s face it, the guy deserved it and if anyone opens the subject she’ll be dammed if any ‘sorry’ would come out her mouth.


Eventually she finds the strength to get up from the bed, reluctantly of course, because exhausted person here, before making her way towards the suitcases that are tucked securely in a far corner of the room.

She begins placing her clothes from the first suitcase, together with the sanitary bag – because there is a private bathroom, small indeed, but private nevertheless – which again lucky!; before she starts opening the second.

At first she frowns, then there is confusion and in the end there is panic. She remembers perfectly what she packed and those thin, silky pieces of clothes were definitely not part of her wardrobe. Her hands shots up to her chest, refusing to touch anything, despite the fact that the suitcase looks extremely similar to hers before she gets to her feet and flees out the room to find Anne, or Lydia.

There must be a mistake, she thinks, face concerned as she almost runs around the marine.

It probably passes couple of minutes until she stops to catch a breath, hands resting on her knees as she puffs out, steam coming as clouds around her. She decides to turn around the corner, cursing loudly for the fact that she could just call Anne from the room when she suddenly bumps into someone far too tall for her.


“Oh fuck!” she shouts rubbing at her forehead. “Sorry.” She mumbles lifting her eyes to meet honey colored one.

“Oh…it’s you.” Her face turns into something close to disgust at the realization that Douche – as she decides to call Stiles from now on, stares back at her with what could be considered bored expression.

“Apologies accepted.” He says, pointing a finger at the cheek she punched just few minutes before.

“Uh no.” she grimaces, taking a step back from his personal space. “I am so not apologizing for that.” She points a finger in his direction, eyebrows shooting up when the guy flinches ever so slightly.

Ha!

“In fact, I am not apologizing for bumping into you either.” Her hands cross in front of her chest, chin rising up.

“As if! Your sense of humor radar must be pretty broken if you can’t take a joke.” Stiles counters, hands shoved in the pockets as he leans on the wall.

Alex rolls her eyes at the pathetic attempt of showing how cool he can be, before she decides that is not worth her time with this idiot, so she just brushes past him, keeping enough distance as to not even remotely touch him.

Regardless the promise she made, Alex fells the urge to have the last word in the conversation so before she can talk herself out, she turns and adds over her shoulder “My radar doesn’t catch lame jokes ” And then she disappears around the corner.

On the other side Stiles has a hard time sinking the words and when they finally hit him it’s already too late. “That little shit.” He hisses before hitting the walls and marches towards his room.


Alex glances a few times behind, just in case the idiot follows her but when there is no sight of him she settles into a slow pace, eyes glancing around for Anne or Lydia. Eventually, after it felt like taking the whole tour of the marine she spots a familiar red head in what seems like a lounge space with couches that looked far too comfortable.


“Lydia!” she shouts as the doors opens “There has been a mistake, I think my suitcase got switched with someone else’s!” she flops on the couch, her hands waving around.

“What? Why?” Lydia shares a look with Anne, who straightens from her seat, concern covering her face.

“I found lingerie in my suitcase when I unpacked which i know for sure I haven’t placed any of them in there.” Alex explains looking between the two of them.

“Oh that.” Anne laughs from her seat forcing both Lydia and Alex frown. “I might have added some in there just in case.”

“Anne you are a horrible person, a very horrible person.” Alex sinks in the couch further, arms crossing stubbornly over her chest, pouting.

“I aim to please.” Anne smirks, faux tipping her hat towards her shorter friend before carelessly lounging on the deck chair beneath her. For the past ten minutes Lydia had been diligently filling her in on what the exact purpose of this trip is supposed to be for the members of the band. And, as a conscientious reporter, Anne had been paying attention – mostly. Truth be told, she glazed over the part where the redhead dotted over the importance of emotional and creative stability for young, virile men. Because honestly, that’s not her business to even theories about, let alone write and inform people about – that’s not the kind of journalist she wants to be known for.

“Which brings us to Stiles “Lydia says suddenly, and Anne realizes with a bit of a startle that maybe she zoned out for a bit longer than she initially planned “You’ve already met Stiles – our lead vocals and resident spoiled brat.” She smirks, casting a knowing look towards Alex who seems to frown in recollection. “He is … brilliant.” She says in a way that leaves Anne wondering why Lydia seems so keen on keeping her distance from a man she so clearly admires “He is kind, carrying, and most of all fiercely bright – he and Scott are the reasons why any of us are really here.” She adds and somewhere from her left Anne can faintly make out Allyson’s nodding figure.

“He is Scotts best friend, and they’re been like brothers since both of them were able to walk, let alone form fully intelligible sentences.” Allyson adds, stepping into the little private gathering with an ease and grace only an Argent can conjure when walking in on a gathering they were specifically excluded from. True to form, everyone around her seems to freeze into place; because one thing that was made abundantly clear when Anne and Alex agreed to take on this little adventure into investigative journalism was that Allyson would not be in the know. Her devotion and blind adulation of everything and anything related to Scott made her a liability – such a liability in fact that the very idea of sharing this with her was deemed impossible off the bat. “So.” She says after a minute too long of stunned silence “Why exactly are you meeting in the enclave deck, and why are you going over Chained members profiles?” there’s a dimpled smile accompanied by the icy questions and Anne cannot recall for the life of her a moment in which she was more terrified of a living being in the past ten or so years.

“Um.” Anne says, and immediately cringes because yes, accomplished professionals always begin their sentences with stutters.

“Intelligent. Do go on.” Alex teases and received a death glare for her troubles.

“Look, Allyson …” Lydia begins and Allyson’s eyes immediately lock in on her. Lydia resists the urge to swallow the lump in her throat “You’re a liability.” She finally says, perhaps tapping into that ungodly inner well of strength because somewhere between being petrified and opening her mouth Lydia seems to have finally found her emotional compartmentalization. “If you want in on this, you have to understand that this cannot get back to Scott.” Allyson’s brows furrow.

“And why not?” she asks, arms reluctantly crossing over her chest in a way that speaks volumes about the uneasy perch she has been placed on – between her best friends and the love of her life.

“Because then it will inevitably reach Stiles, and we all know how much of a grudge he has over anything relating to media.” Is all Lydia says, and smiles triumphantly when the realization finally washes over Allyson’s face.

“You …” she says, a slight jump in her step when she turns to look at Anne who simply nods once in agreement “You’re here to write about them?!”

“They are.” Lydia says, and takes a step forward – one hand firm on her hip while the other simply extends a folded up piece of paper. Allyson takes it without question, and her eyes seem to progressively widen as she goes through it. “Now you realize what’s at stake here?” she asks, and Allyson nods silently. Anne however raises a singular questioning brow which has Lydia rolling her eyes before clarifying “The label basically gave them an ultimatum – either they start making some form of segue in media coverage or they are going to get dropped. We all know that Halle and Stilinski would rather risk the band than see past their emotionally stunned idiocy - so I did whatever the fuck I could.” She turns to Allyson who nods again, realization visible on her face “I couldn’t exactly go to any newspaper or tabloid and expect the boys to be treated fairly – so … “she trails, her free hand twisting vaguely into Anne and Alex’s direction.

“Allyson, I promise you, I am not going to crucify your guy for the sake of my career –“Anne says

“No matter how tempting it would be to see Stilinksi suffer.” Alex adds and grins widely at the glare she gets from Anne in return “What? He has it coming.”

“There’s a story behind that.” Lydia supplies, apparently unhelpfully because Alex simply rolls her eyes at it

“Kind of don’t care. Kind of already pegged him as a douche.” She hums childishly and Anne smirks back at her.

“Halle seems interesting.” She finally says, turning towards Lydia and Allyson who nod in unison.

“I figured you’d say that.” Lydia says, casting a knowing look towards Allyson who just smiles full of dimples.

“We’ve both figured you would say that, at some point or another – granted … I didn’t think you’d say it from a professional point of view.” She says and Anne narrows her eyes in her general direction.

“Your creepy matchmaking streak aside , “ she says slowly “Is there anything I need to know about these guys that would help me get closer to them on an interpersonal level?”

“Interpersonal, huh?” Allyson smirks and Anne throws a deck pillow at her face which she easily ducks. God damn Argent reflexes. Her eyes snap pleadingly to Lydia, to somehow save this train wreck and give her anything to work with that might benefit them both. She sighs, rolls her eyes, but concedes to the silent request nonheless.

“Derek is …” she behind, lost in thought and looking for the appropriate wording when a sound resembling a deliberate throat clearing echoes from the corner to her left that has all eyes snapping in its direction.

“Derek is ?” the very man in question asks, brows lowered and arms crossed over his chest defensively, like is steadying himself for a hit that he expects to be coming, and somehow the body language alone makes the entire twist that much more … informative.,

For the sake of it Alex just hopes the man wasn’t there from the beginning of the conversation, because god knows they would be completely thrown overboard, and given the fact that the marine just started sailing about an hour ago, would be very hard to swim back. Her eyes swifts at Lydia, who by the looks of it, seems to have a pretty concerning case of blood loss.

There are rare moments when Lydia sports a look of complete horror, and she had witnessed about one since they met, and it wasn’t even close to this. She cringes in place; possibly sinking further into the couch and refraining from bolting out and leave Lydia take all the damage.

“Derek is the best base I have ever seen.” Lydia, bless her calm soul, replies without a stutter, despite the still horrifying look she has and smile – but of course she smiles, and that alone makes her seem the creepiest person she had ever met in her life. It makes Alex whimper, just a bit in her seat.

She can feel Anne relaxing next to her and Allison giving the largest dimple smile that can melt even the coolest heart.
On the other side, Derek simply raises an eyebrow, somehow unimpressed by the sudden compliment as he nods and heads towards the fridge, grabbing a juice box and heading back.

If anyone could see the whole scene from afar, they would see four different types of smiles, innocent eyes staring back at the male as he made his way out of the lounge.

Then there is silence, four heads turned towards the door to make sure Derek is out before four breaths are heard in the best synchronized manner anyone can pull off.

It Alex who breaks the silence as she bumps her head on the table. “I might have lost about three pounds by now.” She can hear Allison murmur a ‘fuck yeah’ and Lydia slapping her hand on her forehead.

“We need to update you much later. Preferably in one of your rooms, since you are single.” She points at Alex and Anne. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Forget this.” Alex abruptly gets up, wincing as her neck snaps, pain shooting through her head. “Seriously, how you people do it?” she stares at Anne who frowns. “I mean, you know, the whole undercover thing.” Her hands fly around, because they need some blood running through them, considering the whole statue act she pulled earlier. “Photographing is a lot easier.” She stops the shaking, her chin falling in the palm of her hand.

Anne shrugs “It’s a technique.” She then smirks and turns towards Lydia. “We meet tonight in my room, under the pretext of girl’s night.”

“Well we haven’t done that is some time.” Allison chips in, smiling, and Alex just wonders if there is any evilness inside the woman sometimes, but nods in agreement.

“That is so childish.” Lydia snorts, though there is a glint of eagerness in her eyes.

“Deal then!” Alex jumps from her seat, the sudden movement making the other three watch her in question. “What? I’m out of here.” Her hands smooth the black hoodie. “It’s already bad omen since two people that were supposed to not know anything walks in on us talking evil.” To show her points she crosses her fingers in front of them and grins. “See ya’ll later, dudes.” And then she is out the door.

She contemplates on walking around, learning where is what and with what is eaten when there is a silhouette further ahead leaning on the edge of the marine. It looks awfully familiar and she mentally slaps her head when she realizes it’s the second time she forgets the glasses in the room.

As if the universe decided to be completely against her, she sees the silhouette turn towards her and she groans, loud and menacing, because there is the shape of someone tall and lithe that she hates until the pits of hell and back. And on cue the said body starts moving towards her.

There is this urge to just turn around and run but something tells her to not give any satisfaction, so she keeps walking, deciding to avoid the douche.

Just as Stiles come in view, it gets clear and she can see the smirk she so much wants to brush off his face, grow wider, almost into a grin.

“I made you all this turned on that you decide to stalk me.” it isn't a question, but a statement and that makes Alex’s blood boil under the skin.

“Dream on kid.” It’s all she says before brushing past him a bit too fast for her own liking. She can’t hear any steps behind and she resists the push to turn around and watch his face, but she keeps on walking, turning around the corner to get to her room; Which she decides to spend the rest of the day and read until the ‘oh mighty gathering’, because the idea of randomly meeting Stiles seems so disturbing that it almost makes her gag. Damn you tiny marine.



Stiles, on the other hand, watches the midget walk away with nothing more than a three word come back. Its filled with smugness and boredom, and yet it seemed to hold no anger behind it, which makes Stiles smile. Perhaps he is reading too much into it, but he has a feeling the little one would grow into him sooner than he anticipated.

However he decides to make these three weeks’ worth by teasing that stuck up thing until he is completely satisfied. He may be a teenager, which reminds him to make a mental note to find out just how old is she, but he knows the wits he holds behind that childish behavior.

For one he will go to Scott. He knows for a fact that since Scott is Allison’s fiancé, and Allison is Lydia’s friend, meaning the other two knows Scott as well. He grins, turn on his heels and leaves with the master plan taking form in his head.



“Scotty!” Stiles grins, flopping next to Scott who is sipping from his tea, a newspaper spread across the table. “Dude you seriously get ‘married’ day by day and you didn’t even have the engagement party.” There is a frown on Scott’s face as he flips a page.

“Oh right, Allison and I decided to have the engagement party here.” He smiles, eyes glued on some sort of announcement on the house sales page. Stiles’s eyes widen and he brings a hand to his chest in a dramatic pose. “And did you just forget to mention something this important to your bro?”

There is a snicker from a corner of the room, forcing Stiles to break his dramatic act to glare. “Isaac! Did you know about this?” he scowls at a blond, a bit taller than him, with the bluest eyes one can ever see, when the said guy just shrugs and turns around and continues whatever he was doing before. “Hey not fair!” Stiles pouts and crosses his arms. “Some friends I have.”

“You will survive.” The blond calls before he leaves.

“You would have found out eventually.” Scott says calm, breaking his focus on the newspaper to look at his friend.

Stiles snorts “Yeah, in the last minute.” He hits Scott in the shoulder, hard, as the latter starts laughing. “You people suck.” He gets up from the seat, contemplating on taking a whole tour of the marine, which I might add, was big. “And not in a good way.” And with that he is out, leaving Scott clutching at his stomach from laughter.

There’s a drumming noise inside her head, humming and pulsing in an uneven rhythm behind her eyes. It makes the world fuzzy and cast in doubt for the first time in over ten years. It started about the time the base player made his presence known with a well-timed hum and a menacing stance. At first she thought it was nerved – the shock and burst of adrenaline of coming dangerously close to being found out. But that was three hours ago, and the drumming – though much fainter – refused to leave her.

She sighs, silent and deep, and focuses her attention on the crashing waves on the side of the ship’s hull. The cruise liner in itself if immense – sparkling with life and sound from its staff and guests alike, and the idea of finding any spot on this ship that would give her a moment of solitarity seems highly doubtful right now. So she settled on a random spot in the middle; leaned against its railing and casting her eyes as far and as gone as the horizon they were silently leaving behind. A few random faces passed her by, some more known than the other – some more married than most, but each one of them seemed to be keen on brandishing about whatever piece of arm candy they could justify – even if said piece of arm candy wasn’t technically the one that they shared their wedding vows with . It occurs to her then, that if she was any less of a person, if her ethics swayed even just a fraction of a degree in the wrong direction, then she could profit off this in the most skiving way possible. One word to the right person and these stories would sell like hotcakes to the right tabloid.
She shrugs, rolling her eyes at her own intrusive thoughts and wills herself to clear her mind and make the pounding noise in her head stop for a fraction of a second. She takes a deep breath through her nose, closes her eyes, and releases it through her mouth. But, before she can find the her inner sense of calm, Zen, and other m\new age nonsense , a swaying figure laughs at her side – loud and reaking of alcohol, before it leans over the railing and purges whatever it was that she consumed that placed her into this position in the first place. The woman has red hair, fake and dyed to all hell, and her dress had perhaps seen better days because the gold sequence of it seems to have come undone at the seams and is slowly beginning to come loose around her thighs.

“How drunk am I ?!” the woman slurs, and drunkenly places a hand over Anne’s shoulder. It makes her want to recoil, but she resists the urge and simply shrugs noncomically and earns a narrowed confused glare for her troubles.

“I don’t know.” She says seriously, because even though she recognizes a rhetoric question for what it is, the temptation to stump a drunkard in her own devices is too great “How drunk are you?” she asks, and the redhead just sways on her feet before she turns abruptly and throws up over the side of the boat again. “Well I guess that answers that.” Anne says, and smirks when the woman just groans and wipes her mouth off with the back of her hand. “Look, I’d honestly stay and keep your vomit scented ass company, but you reek and it’s kind of beginning to make my eyes water.” She says and takes a hesitant step back “You ok with getting back to whatever lowlife you came from that got you think drunk in more than likely the hopes of getting into your slutty pants?” The woman groans and it might be intended to come off as a yet, but Anne recognizes a lost cause when she sees one. “I should be sanctified.” She says to herself, curling an arm around the woman’s waist line and placing her arm over her own shoulders for support. “Do you remember what room you were supposed to sleep in tonight?”


“What?” the woman slurs, head lolling on Anne shoulder in a way that makes the vomit vapors hit her right in the nose.

“Oh god fucking – room number?!” she repeats herself, leaning away from the woman’s face and gently nudging her into consciousness again.
“Uh … huh? Oh …. Aiden.” She slurs and promptly passes out on Anne’s shoulder. Great. Just … great.

“I should be sanctified.” Anne says again, groaning as she hulls the deadweight of the passed out girl and begins the long walk towards the cabin section of the cruise liner. “Fucking Saint Anne Kramer … The great and all mighty. “ she grunt to herself, stumbling slightly “Known for her altruism in helping drunken girls escape the probability of either drowning in their own vomit, or the ever welcoming sea.” She pauses, looks the girl over again “Or in your case, probably raped.”

A low chuckle snaps her back to reality and she turns abruptly and cringes when the girls head lolls painfully on her shoulder. “You always this optimistic?” a familiar voice says before the shadows give away to the even more familiar figure of Derek Hale.

“You always this stealthy?” she narrows her eyes and stares him down “If I didn’t know any better I’d say the whole dark and mysterious persona you had going is more along the lines of a kindling predisposition to simply be a creeper.” Derek smirks, green eyes glinting into the moonlight and he takes a careful step forward.
“You certainly have a way with words.” He muses and silently grabs on to the girls other arm, swinging it over his shoulder. “Figured you need a hand.”

“I do. And I kind of have to be good with words.” She says absentmindedly, falling into step with him and dragging the redhead along with them “Professional trait.” She says, and silently cringes at this new found honesty streak that this guy seems to bring up in her.

The drumming in her head just grows louder.

There have been moments in life when Alex had an odd sense of being completely thrown out of her world and dropped into one where things seemed to have a sick twist, constantly feeling supervised by some sort of supernatural force and judged according to the actions she did, until, eventually, the said force would decide and change her fate just to test her sanity.

It had been probably hours since she decided to seclude herself from human kind – and of course in a matter of seconds her room turned, literally, into a library; books were hanging in every corner, papers were thrown around – when hunger finally broke the chain and forced her out of the room.

So to say, Fate was a bitch and together with the Universe, plotted her demise. She blinks once, blinks twice, hands rubbing furiously at her eyes to erase the nightmare – because yes, it had to be a nightmare – when she saw who was standing, not even three feet away from her door, key in hand, blinking back dumbly.

“This is not happening.” It’s a whisper, perhaps there is even a groan there, and the words dies out into a simply ‘no’ that keeps on echoing in her mind for the better part of the staring context.

Stiles, idiotic and retarded as always, stands there with the key in his hand as if Alex had been a mythological creature that turned people into stone, minus the whole snake hair and fading eyes.

“Well isn’t this fate.” Stiles starts, then straightens on the spot, leaving the key hanging in its lock.

Alex’s mantra of ‘no’s’ comes back, louder as she takes a step back and just bolts in the opposite direction.

“Wow.” Stiles says and blinks at the retreating back of Alex.



Alex doesn’t know how much she runs but when she finally feels safe, she slides on the deck, somewhere outside, enjoying how the wind seems to cool down her body.

“Why me? Seriously why me?” her hands shot up from the floor and prays at whoever is out there to just have mercy on her.

“Well that depends.” There is a voice coming from behind, which makes her turn abruptly. “Perhaps it has a big plan for you.” The guy points his finger towards the sky, a soft smile playing at his lips.

Alex watches him, unable to talk from embarrassment. He looks young, casually dressed, light blue jeans and a white polo t-shirt which makes his skin just a bit darker than it is in reality. His eyes though, are piercing and mature, despite his features and Alex feels suddenly uncomfortable under the gaze.

“Isaac.” A hand comes in front of her and her eyes narrow.

“Alex.” She replies unsure, eyes shifting from his face to his hand.

“Don’t worry I don’t bite.” He smiles pushing the hand just a bit. Alex takes it and with a force she doesn’t expect, the guy pulls her up.

“Much.” He finishes, smiling and Alex jerks her hand from his as if it burns.

“Har har.” She smiles sarcastically at him before dusting off her jeans. The Green Lantern hoodie she is wearing covers her body like a sack, far too large for her as the sleeves roll down over her hands, giving the impression of a fifteen year old girl than the twenty six year old woman she is. There is a blush threatening to spread across her cheeks as hands fumbles with her sleeves.
Isaac seems to find it amusing because Alex hears a deep chuckle coming out from him.

“What?” she crosses her hands in front of her, a motion she seems to do lately, which again, it makes her look like a little girl. Isaac just shakes his head and murmurs an apology. “Nothing, it’s just you act so much like a friend of mine.”

“Whatever.” She mumbles, her hand pulling couple of loose strands of curly hair from her face. She starts to leave when she turns back. “Do you know any quiet places?” she asks before she can talk herself out, the guy kind enough to at least introduce himself before laughing at her attitude of appearance. There is a rush of rage filling her at the thought of Stiles – ugh worst name ever – before it dissipates as Isaac starts talking. “Um, no, considering the whole buzzing noise the ship makes, but I guess I do know a place free of people at least.” The smile brightens Alex up.

“Oh thanks god because I swear if I bump into that idiot one more time – “ she is interrupted by the look of surprise Isaac gives. “Right, sorry.” She returns the smile and motions for him to take lead.

“Isaaaaaac!” a girl with black hair comes towards them, dressed in blue shorts and a neon t-shirt that hugs her body perfectly. “Oh hi.” She waves at them, raising her eyebrows at Alex, before sending a look to Isaac that Alex can’t entirely read.

“Babe, sorry, i was walking around when I saw this little lady. She is Alex “ he points towards Alex, who nods, face serious and cautious – because the last thing she needed is to be the cause of a break up – “Alex this is my girlfriend, Cora.” At the word girlfriend Cora suddenly brightens up and pushes a hand far too eager. “Hi nice to meet you!” she chirps, high and really weird.

“Same.” She responds, shaking the hand. “Can you tell me where it is?”

“What?” Cora questions curious. Alex shifts from one foot to another, feeling completely out of place near those two. Her eyes takes in Cora, who is the same height at her, with eyes of a dark brown and straight black hair that reaches just under her shoulders. She seems cool and opened and perhaps a bit too rebellious; that kind where they give their parents a living hell.

“She just wants a place free of humans.” Isaac answers, leaning down to kiss his girlfriend’s head. “I said to give a hand since that’s the first thing I looked for in the beginning.” Cora smiles and nods, understanding perfectly what Alex wants. They might become friends, by the first impression.

“You go to the second floor and just as you step out the door, just few feet ahead you will find the sun bathing deck.” Alex grimaces at the word ‘sun bathing’ because as much as she likes sun, she bet’s there would be a lot of ladies coming out there.

As if Isaac just read her mind he answers “Don’t worry, no one will be there, not even during day time, they tend to go down where is the swimming pool.” He winks at her.

“Yeah, last time we went that was our place, until the captain caught us.” They both blush hard and Alex laughs. Of course.

“But they will let you, as long as there is no weird stuff happening.” Issac laughs and somehow that makes Alex forget about the whole idea. “Does – does anyone else knows about this place?” she quietly asks, scared of the answer, because the last this she wants on this holiday is to find two people going at it.

“Ah no no!” both respond in the same time, before they burst out laughing, the act only making Alex more anxious. “Seriously don’t worry.” Cora reassures her. “For sure you won’t find us there, so don’t worry.” Isaac adds before pulling his girlfriend after him as he backs off waving. “We have to go, see you around!”


Alex stares after them, her brain just a little bit short circuited before she snaps out of it seconds later, eyes wide and confused. “What did just happen?”