Gage's POV

For as long as I can recall, mine and Nate's parents had encouraged, if not even enforced, our friendship by scheduling play dates, sleepovers and, albeit for a very short period of time, dance lessons. Yet even as young children, Nate had always preferred solitude rather than a large collective. The only person he seemed to tolerate around was me, but even that seemed strained as if he only did so to appease his parents.

I vividly remember that conversation, although sparse, seemed to always spiral out of my grasp, often taking a gruesome twist as he would describe yet another snail he'd stepped on, or another cat he'd conveniently led towards a path of rabid dogs.I'd sometimes mention it to my mother, yet she always seemed to brush me off, blaming it on a hyperactive imagination and not real events. We would've eventually grown apart if it weren't for his need to be around me every so often, so his parents could cease worrying about his antisocial behavior.

Sometime around the time we were 12 or so, he started carrying a small orange bottle around, and whatever the pills inside contained, they seemed to tone down his "hyperactive imagination", so much so that his tales were reduced to couple observations and rattled off statistics about the local murder or rape and how he reasons each of the criminals could've gone uncaught. I never found out what those pills are exactly, as we didn't speak of them, and neither did his parents. In fact, they seemed rather keen on pretending they didn't exist.

I was startled out of my thoughts by the jingle of the coffee shop bell, and I looked up, only to see Ari looking around seemingly at a loss. Tucked into a small booth at the very back of the café, I knew her anxiety would be flaring up not being able to spot me, and I got up to get her attention. Spotting me, a shy and infinitely endearing smile fought its way on her face, just as she made her way through the crowd of coffee addict businessman and women getting a quick caffeine fix during their lunch break.

"Hi, baby girl" I murmured in her ear as I leaned down to press a chaste kiss on her forehead, gently nudging her to sit on the couch and scoot over, until she was pressed against the wall and I against her. As we conversed, I repeatedly tried to coax out of her the reason for her faraway look and most importantly, the dim in her excitement to see me. "It's nothing, really. I just had a restless night and I'm a bit tired" she said dismissively, expecting me to buy it and move on.

But after dating her for close to a year, I had become accustomed to her way of snuggling against my side, head tucked under my chin and a hot chocolate in her hand, content to listen to me talk after she missed a night twisting and turning. Yet this time she remained rigid by my side, and my patience was starting to wear thin, while the hand previously resting on her knee rose higher feverously, along with the tone of my voice. "Quit making a scene, I'm fine." she hissed, eyes roaming around the room for the people who had suddenly become much less invested in their own conversations and had tuned in into ours.

I was ready to reprimand her audacity to talk back to me when we were interrupted by the slightly forcedly cheery voice of a waitress. "Excuse me, sir. Would you like the check?". The girl seemed to be around our age, with long strawberry blonde hair and a white blouse, with the top three buttons purposefully unbuttoned. Thinking quickly, I switched my strategy. Pulling away slightly from Ariana, I pointedly dragged my eyes over her decently pretty figure and lowered my voice "Well sweetheart, I would but that means I will probably never see you again" I indulge in a long sigh, while purposefully allowing my eyes to linger on her red bra peeking through her décolletage before speaking again "What else would you consider worth tasting, beside the obvious?"

Feeling powerful, I added a wink, only to feel Ariana further stiffen and try to pull away from my grip on her thigh, but I held firm. The waitress, to her credit, didn't spare Ariana a glance, and instead played right into my hands. "Leave it up to me. It's on the house." Adding a wink of her own, she sauntered off.

"What's the matter with you? Let me out." Ari started pushing against me, yet I held firm, effectively stopping her from leaving the booth. "Now baby, you wouldn't want to cause a scene from nothing, would you?" I crooned. "Plus, you know you pushed me too far. You don't really want to leave me here alone with her. I mean, who knows what might happen?" And with that, I could see the fire in her eyes melt away, replaced with the anxious look I'd become an ace at prompting out of her. "No, I don't," she said in a meek voice, which was my cue to release the grip on her thigh.

Ari's POV

Why was I expecting it to go any differently? I wondered as I hastily unlocked my apartment and briskly walked to my room, evading my parent's questions and locking the door behind me, before collapsing on the floor, cold linoleum grounding me. I watched the walk home replay in my mind. Remember the possessive hand wound tightly around my middle, but also how he hadn't pushed further with his inquiry as I let myself go lax by his side and left him guide me home. He loves me. The purplish bruises forming on my thigh begged to differ.