you, Peter
Ian: You’re a has-been
Ian: and since you’ve never been on a successful show before, you have no idea how things work, especially off on your stupid little island
Alex: Is Tuna Rage a thing? Like ‘Roid Rage, only smellier and less articulate?
Maria: “Fuck you, Peter”?
Maria: Oh, Ian, I’m so sorry
Maria: I’m afraid Peter requires a certain level of
Maria: how should I put this
Maria: personal hygiene? yes, personal hygiene
Maria: when it comes to his lovers
Maria: I’m pretty sure anyone who smells like the Catch of the Day is disqualified, sadly
Carah: oooooooooooh
Carah: the rare and elusive piscine BURN!
Carah: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
Ian: That’s right, Maria
Ian: I suppose you WOULD know all about Peter’s requirements for sex
Summer: Stop right there, Ian
Maria: No, go on, I’d like to hear this
Alex: Ian, Peter might not have an IV tuna drip and muscles upon muscles, like some sort of steroid-induced pecs Inception, but he will fuck you up, my dude
Alex: and so will I, to be clear
Peter: Thank you for the kind offer, Alex, but there would be nothing left of him by the time I was through
Peter: and that’s only if Maria doesn’t get to him first, because she would transform him singlehandedly into a fine pink mist
Peter: So please, Ian, finish what you were saying
Carah: IT’S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY UP IN THIS BITCH
Carah: NO TUNA IS SAFE TONIGHT
Peter: Ian?
Alex: Yo, Ian
Carah: IAN, COME BACK
Maria: He swam away, like his beloved fish
Maria: which are vertebrates, unlike him
Summer: Oh, wow. ::high-fives::
Carah: ICHTHYOLOGY SHADE, I LOVE MY GODDAMN LIFE
If Marcus could have smiled, he would have.
Instead, he drained the rest of his water, set the glass in his deep, wide sink, and prepared to remove his suitcases from the car and literally unpack his relationship with April.
After several trips outside, he set the luggage on his California king bed and unzipped everything, determined to empty every compartment, every pocket, every dark hiding place.
Dirty clothing goes in the hamper. Clean clothing goes in drawers or on hangers. Toiletries go in the bathroom. Tech goes in either my nightstand table or my office.
If he kept repeating the next steps to himself, he couldn’t think beyond the moment. Couldn’t remember.
It was all so easy. Mindless. Mindless was good.
One armful at a time, minute by minute, everything settled back into place. Clothing, toiletries, tech, emotions. His life, restored to its state pre-April. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d never left at all.
Then he saw it, carefully tucked inside a pocket, cushioned from damage with newspaper.
“I changed my mind,” she’d told him one Saturday, as they’d stood on the cliffs above the Sutro Baths and watched the tide roll in. “I thought you were a diamond, and then I thought you were gold. But none of that was quite right. Not once I knew you better.”
After squeezing his hand, she’d let go of him and gone digging in her oversize purse.
“I’ll be glad to hand it over.” The setting sun sparked in her hair as she shook her head ruefully. “It’s heavy as fuck. You’d think it would be easy to find for exactly that reason, but . . .”
He’d help her, only he had no idea what the hell she was talking about. “I’m sorry?”
“I got you a gift,” she told him cheerfully, and kept digging.
He stared down at her, speechless. The last time anyone had given him a present with no ulterior motive, no special occasion or achievement to celebrate—
Well, that had never happened before. Not once in his memory.
“There it is.” Lifting her head, she smiled with satisfaction and put something extremely heavy in his palm. It was wrapped in newspaper, but vaguely round. “Open it.”
The sheets of newspaper crinkled as he carefully unfolded them, revealing . . . stone. The most beautiful stone he’d ever seen. It was a rich, intense blue, speckled with white, veined in what appeared to be gold. A polished sphere, cool in his cupped hand.
“It’s lapis lazuli.” With a fingertip, she tapped the stone. “When we went to that gem and mineral warehouse the other weekend, I picked it up. While you were in the bathroom.”
He’d have appreciated anything she gave him. Movie tickets. One of those fossilized pieces of feces—coprolites?—they’d seen in the warehouse. A soda. Whatever.
But this . . . this was gorgeous, as lovely as the woman who’d gifted it to him.
Then she kept talking, and his heart swelled to fill his entire chest and push up into his throat.
“Lapis is a metamorphic rock. The original rock is