God, I hate the sound of my own voice.

Why is it so squeaky? Do I actually sound like that? This can't be accurate. It can't. Maybe a voice recording is like a camera but instead of adding ten pounds...it adds ten octaves?

Wait, what did I just say? What was the qualifying age to be a representative in Congress? Twenty-five?

Shit. No. Focus.

A deep grumble slips past my lips and penetrates the silent hallways as I rewind the recording of my US Government notes back one minute.

"Elected every two years. Must be at least twenty-five years old. Must be an American Citizen. Must live in the state they represent."

Okay. Got it. I got it. I take a sip of lukewarm coffee as I continue to pace back and forth, mindlessly strolling down the empty hallways of Hilton, hoping that my brain soaks up every statistic, every fact, every single boring piece of information. I need to ace this midterm. Need. But it's only 6 am, which means I have two and a half hours before my test. Plenty of time. Plenty.

As I get to the end of the third recording on the Senate, a thud coming from the emergency exit door draws my attention. Pausing the voice memo app, I squint at the rattling handle and take a calculated step towards the noise. What the... Before I get a chance to investigate, the door swings open and slams against the rubber stopper.

Seriously? Again?

"Oliver!" I whisper in a harsh tone, peering down the idiot sprawled on the floor.

"Kennedy!" he snaps back, mimicking my tone.

I scowl at him, suppressing a grin. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Opening a door, obviously," Ollie slurs, pulling his limp body up to his feet. He runs a hand through his messy hair as he leans against the frame- to keep himself upright, no doubt. "That's what doors are made for, Kenny," he continues, wiggling his brows, "Opening and closing." He arches closer to me, the scent of his cologne dizzying my senses. Asshole. "Next week, I will go over windows with you; same concept but slightly different uses."

He pokes his index finger in the middle of my forehead, snapping me out of a momentary daze.

"What?" I mutter, swatting his hand away.

He snorts, tossing me a smirk. "You're losing your touch, love. You're what we call book smart. Not a lot of basic day-to-day knowledge, yeah?"

I roll my eyes at him.

"Midterms start in two hours." I sniff the air around us, narrowing my eyes as I astutely point out, "And you're drunk."

"No? Really?" Oliver gasps sarcastically, covering his mouth as he takes a step into the hallway, gait swaying. "What will I ever do? How will I ever be anyone or do anything of importance or value if I don't pass this standardized high school test? What will become of me?" He feigns crying. "What will my parents think?"

"Oh God, we need to sober you the fuck up," I say, clicking my tongue as I grab his wrist and drag him towards the boy's bathroom. "This way. Let's go."

"Bossy Kennedy Live at The Globe Theatre!" Oliver proclaims, his voice far too loud for my liking. Globe Theatre, though? Huh. Nice reference. I stop in front of the sinks and set my phone on the counter as he continues, "Get your tickets, folks!"

"Ollie!" I state, holding out my hand. I only know of one way to sober up a drunk person. If it works on Max, it'll work on Oliver. "Give me your phone and wallet."

"Will you please relax?" he says, surprisingly following my directions. "I'll be fine. I'll take a little power nap and be good as gold before my first exam. You needn't worry so much, I'll surely be able to pass with D." He lets out a snorting laugh as he loses his balance. "Okay, maybe a D minus."

"A D? That's your standard?" I grab Ollie's phone and wallet and place them next to mine. "I have never gotten a D and I think you're capable of getting much better grades than that."

A sly smirk creeps up on Oliver's face. "I know you've never gotten the D."

I blink, clenching my jaw together. "A D, not the D."

"A, D, B, C," Ollie chuckles, clearly amused with himself. "So many letters, in fact, there are twenty-six. Might I offer you a D?" He arches down, eyes locked on mine. "Perhaps in exchange for your V?"

"Holy shit," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You did not just say that."

"Oh, someone's blushing," Ollie sings. "Pink's a nice color on you, love, really bring out your eyes."

"And blue's a nice color on you," I retort, scanning his face. "Would you like to wear it around your eye?"

He snorts. "Your tiny little fist would barely leave a mark. It would be like being punched in the face by a beautiful butterfly."

I grin. "Beautiful? Yeah?"

He clears his throat. "I am not saying you are beautiful, I am saying butterflies are beautiful."

"Mhmm," I hum, pursing my lips. "Sure."

He frowns. "And some moths too...and bees...dragonflies...all insects really."

"Wow," I muse, tilting my head. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Globe Theatre, we have an entomologist in our midst."

"What can I say? I'm a bug guy." He wiggles his fingers in my face, a devious look in his eyes. "A fan of all the creepy crawlies." He takes a step towards me. "Are you ticklish, Kennedy? Hmm?"

"Oliver," I state, putting a firm hand on his chest as I gently push him back towards the shower stalls. "Don't."

"Oh, you totally are!" he says with a husky laugh. "Where's your danger spot? Armpits?" He tries to tickle me, and I slap his hand away. "Ouch! So fucking violent!"

"Oliver?" I ask as we stop in front of the showers.

Here goes nothing.

"Yes, love?" he coos, eyes glazing over. "What is it?"

"Sorry about this," I state, shoving him into the stall and immediately turning on the cold water. The nozzle spurts, drenching Oliver in a matter of seconds as he curses every profanity known to man. Oops. He seems mad. I take a step back before adding, "You'll thank me in a few years, I promise."

"Oh, I don't think so-" Oliver lurches forward, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the freezing shower, my back slamming against the cold, wet tile as he hovers above me.

"Ollie!" I shriek, water dripping into my eyes as his grip tightens around my arms. "What the fuck?"

"Mmm," Ollie hums, damp strands of hair sticking to his face, covering his grey eyes that are intently glued to mine.

"Wha-" I begin to say but letters and words and sentences seem like an impossible concept for my brain to grasp under his gaze. "Wh-"

"You know-" he rasps, inching closer to me, so close that we're breathing the same air. Air, that right now, feels very hot and muggy, and it's making it hard to breathe, to stand, to think. He lifts his hand slowly up to my cheek, his gaze flitting across my face. "You really are a butterfly."

"What-" My chest rises and the water streaming down our bodies doesn't feel so cold anymore. "What are you doing?"

What is he doing? He's too close. Way too close. I don't like it. I don't. I really don't. I can't. It's a game to him. A stupid silly game. He's drunk. He's not thinking clearly. He's not in control of his actions. He can't be.

Oh, but I want it to be real.

"Tell me to stop," Oliver breathes, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Say it."

"Ol-" I stammer, closing my eyes as his thumb strokes the apples of my cheek.

"Tell me to stop, Kennedy," he whispers, his breath blowing against my lips. Oh God, my lips. Behave. Please. "Say the word and I'll stop."

"You're drunk," I manage, unable to open my eyes; if I do, it'll go away. "You're drunk, Ollie."

"No, I'm not," he says, tone suddenly serious, solemn, raw.

I shake my head. "Yes, you are."

"No. Kennedy. I'm not," he says, caressing the underside of my chin, tilting it up, my eyes springing open because I know what he wants. What I want. What's going to happen. He swallows, peering down at me with eyes that carry the burden of all the ships swallowed by the sea. So vast, so blue, so deep, and yet so sad. "Truthfully. I've never felt more sober."

And despite consuming zero alcohol, I feel wasted, plastered, drunk out of my mind.

"We should go," I swallow, reaching for the nozzle and turning off the shower. Back to reality. Back to what's real. What's normal. What's not going to hurt me. "You should sleep before our- our exams."

"What are you so afraid of?" he asks, tone low, almost defeated. "Tell me."

"Same thing you are," I reply mindlessly, willing my legs to move, to run, to escape.

"Do I look scared to you, Kennedy?" he asks, cocking his head.

"Yes," I nod, my throat parched. "Terrified actually."

"Well I'm not," he says, lacking conviction. "I'm not afraid of anything. Especially not you."

"Lies." I shake my head. "If you're not scared, then why do you drink so much, huh?"

Silence lingers between our two wet bodies as his face twists up into thought.

"Do you want me to stop drinking?" he whispers, avoiding eye contact. "Would that make you happy?"

"It's not about my happiness, Ollie," I say, placing a hand on his chest. "It's about yours."

"Why not both?" he asks, looking up at me. "Could be symbiotic... if we tried."

"Is that what you want? To be...symbiotic?"

"Do you?" he asks, his gaze flickering down to my parted lips. "What do you want, Kennedy? Tell me what you want from me."

"Nothing," I lie, my heart beating in my chest. "I don't want anything."

"Now you're the liar," he notes. "I see you, Kennedy, you know that, right? I see you."

It's an unwelcome emotion, vulnerability. Like standing naked before a crowd. A crowd that judges you. Every single thing. They want perfection. Always. But I'm not perfect. Far from. He can't see me. He doesn't know me. He can't know me. I don't want him to know me.

"Kenny," he whispers, cupping my cheek. "Stop thinking so hard and let yourself feel. For once in your life, don't think."

"What do you want, Ollie?" I ask hesitantly. "What do you feel?"

He swallows. "You know what I want."

"Say it then. You claim you're not scared, so say it, Oliver. Tell me what you want."

He blinks. "Not good at reading between lines, are you Carmichael?"

"See?" I hum, nibbling on my bottom lip. "You can't do it."

He expels an airy laugh. "I wish I could turn your brain off for just one fucking second. Maybe then you wouldn't need words."

I squint. "Words are important, Oliver."

"Actions speak louder than words if I recall correctly," he retorts. "Or do you not abide by that particular adage?"

"Actions have consequences," I counter.

He rolls his eyes. "No risk, no reward."

I snort, crossing my arms. "All that glitters is not gold."

"For Christ's sake," Oliver huffs, hanging his head. "This could go on for hours."

"It sure could," I hum. "Listen, maybe uh- maybe we can have this conversation later, okay?"

His head snaps up. "Later? As in there is a conversation to be had?"

I purse my lips, taking in a deep breath. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe," I repeat myself, ducking under his arm towards the sinks. I grab my phone off the counter, turning around. "After exams are done. When we're both dry and umm sober."

Both of us. Sober.

"Fine," Oliver sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. "Come to my show on the 19th then, yeah? We made the finals. We can talk then."

"You made the finals?!" I exclaim. "That's awesome, Ollie, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You're a very busy girl, Kennedy," he says with a shrug. "It's hard to find you sometimes."

"Should I wear a reflective vest for your benefit?" I joke, leaning against the sinks. "Would that help?"

"Yes." A gentle smile spreads across his face. "That would be much appreciated."

"Noted," I say, concealing a grin as I check the time. Crap. "We should go now, you need to sleep and I need to study."

"Maybe I'll study too," Ollie says nonchalantly. "Just for a bit."

"I think Satan just did a Triple Axel," I mutter under my breath as we awkwardly head to the door.

"What?" Ollie asks.

"Nothing-" I gasp, covering my eyes as the bathroom room opens and Cliff saunters inside with only a tiny towel wrapped around his hips. "Oh my God!"

"Uh-" Cliff stammers. "Isn't this the-"

"Sure is, mate," Oliver laughs, patting Cliff on the back. "Enjoy. The showers here are great."

"Okay, bye," I squeak, my cheeks burning up as I sheepishly smile at Clifford. "Uh- Oliver, I'll umm...see you at the show, okay?"

Oliver smirks, a devious glimmer in his eyes. "Can't wait. I think you'll love our set."

"Wait, why are you both wet?" Clifford frowns, scanning the two of us. "And...fully clothed?"

"The uh- pipes burst," I whimper, cringing.

"Oh," Cliff hums, looking around the stalls. "I don't see-"

"Don't worry about it," Ollie says, placing his hand on the small of my back as he nudges me out of the bathroom. "We fixed it."

"But-"

The door closes behind us.

Oh, thank God.

"Good luck on your exams, Kennedy," Oliver says. "Not that you need luck."

"Thanks," I say, fiddling with my phone. "You too."

I might not need luck, but fortune favors the bold.

Maybe I can be bold.

Maybe.

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AHHHH, you guys! Thank you so so so much for being so patient with me as I dealt with real life. You don't know how much you all mean to me and I'm so excited to be able to give you this chapter.

Love you all

THOUGHTS???????

PREDICTIONS????