Shallow.

Ben came home early from his meeting and I am positively halfway to shitfaced, which is probably two martinis too many, but this is my fourth, I can't enunciate any more and I'm afraid he's going to be disappointed in me as I lost my grip on the day, a grip that was one-handed anyway, greasy enough to slide too far for my comfort and already way past theirs.

It's March break still, the last one we'll ever get. It's spring which hurts in a weird way. I always seem to fall in love in the spring and have my heart broken in summer, fall and winter, if we're keeping track but right now the buds are on the trees and it's a retina-searing eighteen degrees but cold in the wind. 

That's fine. I'm inside. 

Nothing particularly bad happened today, I'm just tired. I lie that information to Ben and he fails to believe it. He asks me if the concert cancellation (Breaking Benjamin (not my Benjamin) and Asking Alexandria cancelled their western Canadian tour dates due to 'production issues'. I know what that means, I'm not dumb, but I am seven hundred dollars richer again soon because refunds! Refunds and breathing space because we had three concerts in one week in April and now there's only two) had anything to do with it. Of course not. Shit happens ('production issues', apparently). I just...eh...I need more sleep. 

I'm watching A Star Is Born on my laptop (the remake with Bradley and ah..er...Lady? Not the Barbra Streisand one, but I'm going to dig that up next) and it's freaking GREAT. Their chemistry is blowing me off my seat. 

I'm glad you never met anyone like that, I tell Ben. Or rather, I almost tell him. Some of the words aren't fully formed. 

I did, he says. 

I mean someone who could sing. 

I did, he says. 

OH my fucking God! I mean Lady Gaga with her million award nominations and Saturday Night Live gig! 

Yeah, you're not really all that, are you? He said it as a joke but I just took another huge swallow of gin and put the movie back on just in time to see Bradley Cooper take a big swallow of gin, too. Oh, I get it. In this story, I'm the guy with a fucked up life watching someone steal my starshine. 

Gotcha, universe. Touché.

(Also I went into this knowing nothing, laughing about how much Bradley Cooper sounded like Sam Elliot with his Deep Voice and then Sam Elliot comes on screen. Yay.)

(Boy did I ever go into this knowing nothing. Oh my God. Next time go ahead and spoil it, please. Everyone was like It's great! It won awards! Well, to someone like me it's a battlefield disguised as entertainment and I don't have any fight left in me. Ben almost threw the computer out the window.)

Nice try.

I think they're planning something.

I waltzed into the kitchen in time to see PJ putting bags in the cupboard. He saw me and did a double-take and then all but threw the bags inside and shut the door. I saw a flash of green foil.

When I asked Lochlan and Ben what they want to do this weekend (Drive over mountaintops? Freeze to death kayaking? Spend the whole damn thing at the movies?) they both demure on making plans, saying they are tired and we should have a quiet weekend to rest, since no one is sick (ha, still coughing a bit), and since we don't have to do anything specific.

But it's St. Patricks Day! I complained. My national holiday! The one where everything is green except whatever I eat because I'm allergic to food colouring. 

Eh, it's not a specific holiday, Bridge. But I see Lochlan struggling to keep a straight face so I let him off the hook because I know something exciting is coming.

Yeah, you're right. I guess I'll mark it in my own way. 

That's my girl. Hey, maybe we can go see Captain Marvel this weekend. 

Or we can do nothing. You said you were tired, right?

Yeah. (He (Monsieur MCU superfan) was hoping I'd be on board but I'm die-hard DC, remember?)

Typical.

What would you like for dinner, Bridge? 

Toasted marshmellows and cold vodka. 

Where? 

In the pool. 

When?

Moonrise, of course. 

You're weird. 

Thank you.

Pies offering.

I did go to work after all, and halfway through the day I turned and walked all the way to the last booth, pulling down the menu and finding Batman there. 

You were coming to see me, that day you got..ah..distracted with Jake. 

I was.

Why?

Maybe a loan. 

He laughs a big, rare laugh. For what?

Does it matter?

Perhaps. 

I need to buy all the Jeeps. 

Why? 

No one told me how fun they were to drive.

Maybe I should get one. 

Yeah, you should. Take mine out this weekend and see. 

You'll lend your beloved? 

It's insured. Ruth takes it, sometimes. 

Possibly. 

Does this mean you might come back and see me and actually find me at some point? 

They wouldn't be very impressed. 

That's fine. I don't live to impress the commune. 

Collective.

Whatever. 

You're part of it. 

If I were I would have a place at the table. I am nearby. Close enough to keep an eye on you. 

I soften briefly. He is difficult and and it's rare that we're into each other. So rare. I appreciate that. 

I'm glad to hear it. Maybe now I can try this famous pie of yours? 

What kind would you like?

Surprise me. Just warm it up a little, please? 

I'll be right back. 

Light be mine.

Ben had to pry me away from him this morning. Who wants to go to work when there are sweet reunions to be had? But under promise of more snow I went, because I knew it would be less busy, hopefully and more organized. I like it when it's organized. I hate it when I'm running nonstop. 

I got another kiss and Ben said he would be lonely until I got home and Lochlan glared at him and asked if he was just a third wheel or what? Ben didn't miss a beat, winked and Loch and said Shhhhh. I'm just letting her think what she wants. The minute she's gone I'm all yours. 

Lochlan laughed out loud and the happiness in the room made it even harder for me to leave. 

The day went fast and once I was home time slows back down, the way it should. We made dinner, I got caught up on laundry (have to wash my work dress for tomorrow since I only have one) and now they're looking at a gold-panning video online while I make my lunch for tomorrow. 

Maybe I'll call in sick.

Times change, routines don't.

Ben is home. I sensed him before I heard him, and when I turned around he had filled the kitchen archway, bag still in hand, smile on his face that said maybe he missed me as much as I missed him, and I dropped the pot into the sink and ran.

I am in his arms off the ground before he has time to say hello and I wouldn't have it any other way. His absence is a familiar ache and I always loved it when he came back. Still do.

I didn't get a welcome like this from PJ. 

He just doesn't want you to mess up his hair. 

And I get a kiss. A Ben-kiss which is one of the best kind.

Tired? 

Yeah. I didn't sleep. It was too quiet. There was too much space. I need my velcro friends. 

You got them. 

Okay, can we go to bed at maybe seven? I'm really wiped. 

I can do that. 

Lochlan? 

He's next door dropping off some papers with Schuy. Brace yourself when he runs at you. He's been working out. 

How so? 

Trying to get past the others to punch Caleb. 

That's a good workout for him. 

Not really but sometimes he's stronger than they are if he's in the mood. 

Where's Cale? 

Church, I think. 

Ooh. Alone? 

Yeah. I've done it. YOU'Ve done it. 

True. 

He smiles with crinkled eyes and I put my hands on his cheeks. I'm so glad you're home. 

Wow. I should go away more often to get a welcome like this. I figured you'd throw an Oh Hey over your shoulder and keep doing whatever. 

You should NOT go away more often and I've never done that in my life. 

Lies. You did it that one time I called Jake out and then went to Europe for three months. I've never felt so small. 

Oh, you deserved that though. You were being an ASS. 

I was. And I'm glad I'm not anymore. 

Me too. 

This is my brain on the sunrise.

I will not rescind a word
Of what I've said
For the vultures overhead
But for every line I vent
Another ten
I'm afraid I'd lose you then

Pre-dawn coffee from the firepit with Diabhal, who is soft-spoken and completely willing just to spend the time this morning. We've made toast with melted cheese directly on the grill over the fire and I give the ashes a stir, my own version of a dark zen garden, tracing patterns in the embers, envisioning them as water flowing black over my ruminations, eroding my efforts to shut him out as he deserves to be, these days.

The coffee is good. Hot, rich, tempered with just a little sprinkle of brown sugar. The bread is sawed rough from a round loaf of sourdough, broken with his hands into pieces small enough to eat, the cheese cut with his pocketknife and balanced on each piece of bread until soft enough from the flames to melt into the crumb just the way I like it.

The dawn is beautiful. The sun bursts quietly through the lavender-grey horizon gently and without announcement, casting a beautiful glow on our faces, erasing years, lines and deeds in a brief instant before casting shadows once again as it chases the moon out of the spotlight.

He's done it. He took a strongarmed action and strangled it off, returning to the patient Devil, to the reactive instead of the proactive emotional strategy he usually feeds off.

I watch him as I sip my coffee. He watches me back. Almost imperceptibly he nods. As if this is good enough, if this is going to be the way it is. He has softened around his sharp edges, mellowing at last, aging gracefully into what I always hoped he would be, but what I figured would always be just another daydream for a little girl looking out the window as the road wound like a ribbon around her life. She wanted to put the Devil in her pocket, along with the crushed paper cone from the cotton candy, and the seven pennies she found underneath the window at the ordering counter of the ice cream shop, so that she would always know exactly where he was, and he'd never be able to surprise her again. Then she would take her sticky hand and thrust it into Lochlan's and they would be safe.

Manic pixie dream boys.

Five nights straight all to ourselves and we've already resurrected old sleeping patterns, old habits and old feelings. Five nights straight of Ben being away (work. travel. argh. fuck. retirement. apparently) and I'm pretty sure that while we slumber away pressed closely together in each others faces, PJ is probably sleeping on the steps outside our door, an exhausted sentry, a one-man-band, tasked with keeping the peace. Not alone but mostly in charge while everyone else is off doing their dailies and he remains on high alert at all times because the moment you let your guard down otherwise Caleb and Lochlan will be at each others' throats because that's how their friendship is mapped.

Caleb thinks he is untouchable. Lochlan thinks he can carve rules in stone, that our routines will never change. Caleb has some foolish notion that we can move forward, all the while carving his name into the chip on Lochlan's shoulder.

We try to move on and then the past drags us down into the abyss. I worry that it might always be groundhog day around here, even as I tried so hard to move on, to find someone new, completely outside of the Collective and..it ended badly. It ended abruptly, and I went running back. 

Didn't know I had a reset button.

I was getting ready for bed, putting gloss on my lips from a little pot and Lochlan appears in my reflection, turning me around, taking the pot from me and putting it on the counter, taking my hand, finger still up, using it to trace my lips. His face is an inch from mine but he's very intent on holding my finger steady, gently sliding it over my lips. His mouth is open, breath held just for a moment as my eyes try to take everything in. Is he angry? Is he resigned? Is he fine with it, fine with everything or is he going to barge in with some sort of gentle demand that I can't fulfill?

He moves my finger to his lips and traces his bottom one. It's probably the most tender moment we've shared in months. Maybe even years. Then he kisses me and I replace the previous moment with this one, because it's soft and slow and perfect. It's not a Hurry up and prove I'm the One, it's a We're going to take our time moment.

He picks me up and sits me on the counter, legs dangling over the edge on either side of his hips. He pulls his shirt off and unbuttons mine, leaving it around my shoulders because I'm always cold. He pulls my hips right to the edge where he is there to meet me, and I cry out, surprised at the cold counter, and at the warmth of his skin, always. When he hears me he lets go of my hips and wraps his arms around me, lifting me up, taking me out of the room, into our bedroom, gently putting me down on the quilts, then following me there. Another kiss and he smiles and turns me over, pressing me down into the covers with his weight, pushing his arm down underneath me in order to pull me back up against him, hand firm against my belly, suddenly driving so hard into me that I have to make fists into the blankets just to breathe, just so I don't cry out too loudly.

His other hand is twisted in my hair. God, it's so long finally, he says, and I don't know if he's talking about my hair or the length of time we've been without this kind of comfortable privacy. He pulls my head back and kisses my ear, then lets go and I am shoved against the bed over and over again until he evens out, turning me back over, making me climb walls until I'm begging him to stop and then he comes too and I feel like his grip might pull my head right off, his other hand anchoring my thigh so hard he leaves a placemarker bruise, one that is still present this morning.

He slows to a crawl against me and another kiss is my reward for conquering the dark.

I like your lipgloss, he says. It tastes like raspberries. 

Everything ends in a fistfight. That used to be my complaint about movies, that it didn't matter what special powers anyone had, they would fight the enemy with punching and beating. 

My guys have super powers. They do the same.