strange dream .

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Freya is laughing. Her usually very solemn face crinkling as giggles spill over her lips and her tipsy gait loses a few steps as she grabs onto Nick's thick bicep. Mid-laughter and she can't remember where the conversation was or what she's laughing at. She's had a few too many gin cocktails poured down her throat, and recounting the past eight hours of wandering around Los Angeles like a couple is humorous. They're pretty deep in the remember-whens, repeatitively saying 'remember when' like it was years ago they were in that yuppie lamp store rather than four hours ago. “It feels weird going home to worry about pouring another drink rather than paying the babysitter,” she thinks outloud, and even this thought makes her cheeks wrinkle with the threat of a laugh. Of course by home she's refering to the AirBnb they're residing at for the next couple of days. The home is so minimalist LA that she wishes it was actually her home. Her own sense of interior style has been ruined by children's toys... the eggshell walls she had been so excited about having in her New York apartment were now covered in Olaf from Frozen decals (though she wouldn't have it any other way). The brunette is over that thought, her body spinning and she walks backwards for a moment. She watches Nick's dark face and opens her mouth for another reflection of today, but smacks her lips together when she almost trips. She quickly spins and walks forward, her mouth grinning a bit bashfully. “Do you remember...” she thinks about what she was trying to remember them doing, “do you remember when we first met? You told me your name was Rick.”

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As Freya's elegant fingers tighten around his bicep, Nick's hand finds her waist, snaking around her slender frame to hold her steady. Evidently he had achieved his goal of getting her as drunk as he could possibly manage, and much more easily than he had expected to. Inevitably he would face the reprocussions tomorrow. Despite her airy laugh and apparent enthusiasm in this moment, Freya was a reticent drinker, living her life in fear of a hangover that she never allowed herself to come close to inviting. It was strange to see her like this, loose and giggly. It was strange to see her on her own at all, so often was Naila close by, handed between Nick and Freya with such regularity that it was silly, them not living in the same place.  Now was not the time to revive that discussion, however. Buzzed himself, Nick squinted at the door in front of him, trying to focus his mind. Was this the right place? It didn't look like his door.. oh no, wait, it was an AirBnB. He laughs as he catches on to what she's saying, briefly pausing to do an impression of the barmaid from the last place they'd been, a burly woman who commented on their PDA and said she hated couples like that. It had been an unfair accusation, both because they weren't a couple and because their PDA had been far from severe - no, Nick may have puled her stool closer to his, may have kept a hand around her shoulders, or even on her knee... but that was just how he was, a tactile person. Maybe the barmaid had been jealous. "Does it? I don't usually bother with a sitter, too expensive. I just leave her with a box of cereal and tell her not to go near anything sharp, flammable or toxic," Nick said, shooting Freya a grin as he finally managed to prise open the door. He dropped the keys on the tasteful sideboard by the door, turning just in time to watch Freya almost trip. "Careful, I don't wanna be remembering the time you tripped and broke your neck in our AirBnB," he said, heading over and putting his hands on her shoulders, steering her towards the couch. He dropped his considerable weight down onto it, pulling her down with him and slightly misjudging it, so she was half in his lap. He laughed. "No I didn't. You misheard my name as Rick and I was too embarrassed to correct you," he said, his smile turning slightly bashful. "You could have called me anything and I'd have gone along with it, I was so smitten."

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Other than the summer of her graduating senior year, Freya had never been much of a drinker. Though one would think otherwise, the blue eyed brunette had become much too self-aware to allow alcohol or other substances take control. That summer, she had kissed and told, laughed tears of watermelon flavoured vodka, and felt free. Then she and Rafi became serious and although she didn't realize it, that feeling of freedom slowly faded. He'd told her that she was embarrassing after a drink of wine, so gradually that became less enjoyable. Then Naila came and she was a terrible mother for getting giggly after a drink. Now with her husband gone, she avoided drinking heavily as a fear of becoming vulnerable. But that fear had left her mind within the third drink. She would surely be mortified when she woke up, but right now she was living for it. Her skinny frame leans against the door frame as Nick fiddles with keys, she smirks at her comment and attempts a serious nod. “She's self-sufficient. Definitely takes better care of me than I do of her... maybe avoid telling social services that.” The door opens and she wobbles in, laughing at her own clumsiness. Nature tells her to flinch as Nick places his hands on her bony shoulders and her lips pull into a wide apologetic smile, looking to him and hoping he doesn't say anything about it. Freya falls onto the couch with him, and doesn't make an immediate effort to move her back from her chest. Instead she warms into him, her face turning mortified when she realizes her own past mistake. “Oh my god, I literally addressed your birthday card 'Rick'. Is that when you fell out of it?” she brings her feet closer and begins to tear off her heels. "Why did I wear these? Why did you let me wear these?" she dangles them in front of him, "they're begging for a rolled ankle. Did you think they made me look more like girlfriend material and not consider the welfare of my ankles?" She teases and throws the shoes toward the door.

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Only once before had Nick seen Freya like this. He had been staying with them sometime before Naila was born, visiting from UCLA. Rafi was working late and Nick had insisted they have a drink, dragging her out to the local bar and encouraging her to do shots, her reluctance fading with a little encouragement. He also remembered the look on her face when she saw Rafi's name flash up on her phone, the way she ignored it, the way she looked away when Rafi called him and he took the call. Of course Nick admitted where they were freely, had laughed and told his brother he'd gotten his wife white girl wasted... he remembered Rafi's credible laughter, the way Freya didn't share in it when he told her. At the time he hadn't thought much of it, and now he could kick himself for not seeing what was so obvious. With his big hands on her tiny shoulders, Freya winces and it breaks his heart cleanly in two. How could anyone want to hurt her? He was bigger than Rafi but not by much, the thought of ever using that strength against her was one that made the blood drain from his face. His hatred of his brother renewed, he made sure to ease the firmness on her shoulders, though he didn't let go-- he'd seen people treat her like a china doll in the past, and knew she hated it. With her snuggling into him on the couch, he feels better, reassured that she doesn't see him as a threat. "I couldn't believe no one corrected you. I think my parents thought it was an American thing, like a funny nickname they didn't get, just 'cause I never said anything." It was sad to think of his parents, how fond they had always been of Freya and how easily they forgot that. Then again, they seemed to let go of their own son easily enough. He laughs as she dangles the heel in front of him, holding his hands up in surrender. "I know better than to ever tell a girl how to dress," he said, pulling her in close to him, booze making him bolder. "Besides, they made your legs look endless. Like you were all leg. Like a supermodel!"

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She laughs a little as he talks about his parents, but she feels more sad about the subject rather than amused. It must hurt Nick to be cut off by his parents, especially as their relationship had been fine before she had caused drama to unfold. She thinks about their family dinners, how at ease and welcomed she had felt. How she'd almost choke on her meal when Nick passed her a look while Rafi talked about Rafi. Then how easily they'd both been banished from those dinners. It felt like a dream now. Snuggling on the couch, the past felt so far away. Like miles on a foggy road, and that was without alcohol. "I remember reading something you wrote and seeing that it was Nicholas.. then being so mortified I couldn't even tell you how good I thought it was," she winces at the memory. She's getting too comfortable in the position of fake girlfriend. The drink blurs the lines of appropriateness, and she's sure to cringe over this in the morning. Throwing the shoes, she stretches out those long supermodel legs. "This must be how you get all your girlfriends, I bet you can't count on one hand how many times you've used that line," she grins, her head resting softly on his chest. Freya represses a yawn. She rejects her exhaustion, not wanting to be tired. "Alright, get up," she pats his chest, her legs swinging and legs hitting the ground, "we have to find the liquor."

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Opposite the couch is a TV, but behind that a huge window shows a panoramic view of the street. It was a familiar vista to Nick, who had of course gone to college in LA, but it was strange to be here with her, on their own. His younger self would have been deeply confused by this image, the two of them curled up on the couch, a less than healthy dose of vodka coursing through their systems and giving everything a soft focus. As sad as the circumstances of how they wound up like this were, he couldn't help but feel content. "That's okay, you can tell me now. Heap me with praise. Let's get into specifics, what are you favorite pieces of mine?" he asked her with a grin, nudging her slightly to encourage her. "Don't say 'Pick a Picture of Roadkill and We'll Tell You Which Gilmore Girl You Are', because that's everyone's favorite and I'm sick of hearing it." Forever used to playing the boyfriend role, Nick can't help but lift a hand and start playing with her hair idly, picking up silky strands and letting it fall through his fingers as her head rests against his chest. Playing with her hair was the easiest way to send Naila to sleep, with most nights she spent at his ending this way, the little girl dozing off in his lap and having to be lifted to bed. "No, do you wanna know how I do it?" He cleared his throat, inching away from her slightly so that he could see her face. Gently, he tucked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up so that he could look at her in the eye. "Freya, I really like spending time with you. When I'm around you... I don't know, it's like I forget where I am, I get out of my head for once... this might be too much too soon but I'd hate myself if I didn't ask. Would you be my girlfriend?" He looked at her earnestly for a second, before awkwardness caught up with him and he laughed. "Usually works." Before long she's getting up and he groans, though the promise of more alcohol is a rousing one. Getting up himself, he starts rooting around the cupboards. "... Ah. Kahlua, a dribble of vodka... only one thing for it: espresso martinis! Or Kahlua hot chocolate? Always knocks Nai out when I give it to her."

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She stares thoughtfully, taking in the house's decor. A statue of a hedgehog, a man with a spear, and a painting of a Seth Rogan lookalike with multiple women in bikinis. Was this Seth Rogan's house? She's caught off guard by his question and tries to think of his past published work. "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Dates. That was you, right? That's why August left?" she kids, but holds a serious look. "Gun laws too, those ones are mediocre to good." His fingers comb through her hair and she's relaxed by it, if he does it any longer her will to stay awake will soon leave. "Mhm," she responds, allowing her chin to be lifted and her eyes meeting his. She plays along and smiles sweetly, her lashes batting over her icy blues. "I thought I already was?" her brows crease and she looks hurt. Freya lifts herself from the couch and reaches up to stretch, her spine cracking and making her feel looser. "That's it?" she pouts a little, joining him and peering into the near bare cupboard. "Martinis!" she knows it's a bad idea as she says it. She'll spend the remainder of the night bouncing off the walls and not catch a wink of sleep. But she pulls a couple of mugs from the cupboard anyway, "Since it's coffee, does it go in a coffee mug? Or does it go in a martini glass because it's a martini?" she questions, setting the mugs in front of him.

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Nick gives her a pointed look. "You know, some things in this world are too serious to joke about," he said solemnly, before breaking into a smile. It dawned on him now how hungover he would be tomorrow, when he was due to catch up with August - since he was the whole reason Nick was visiting California, after all. Though he tried to resist thinking about it as much as possible, the thought of Freya with August drifted into his mind and he shuddered slightly, hating the thought every single time he deigned to think about it. Not that it was really any of his business. "You think? Everything to do with gun legislation seems so obvious, it's almost a cheap shot. If you'll excuse the pun." He's so comfortable entwined with her on the couch that he almost feels sleepy himself, the cure to his insomnia apparently the company of a good friend and booze. If only it was always this easy. "Oh yeah," he said, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Duh." "Technically it goes in a martini glass, but whenever I make these I never cool them enough so let's just go with the mugs. Safer." He sets about making the espresso to mix, moving around the kitchen as if it was his own. He was after all a dab hand in the kitchen as a general rule, raised by his Iranian mother to know how to feed himself and feed himself well. He takes the coffee and holds it under the ice dispenser, great cubes of it sloshing into the mug. He then pours a liberal amount of both alcohols into each of the cups, giving them both a stir with a spoon before sliding hers across to her. "Down in one," he instructs, though in fact he only takes a swig of the bitter, strong concoction. He winces. "We're gonna be up all night."

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Freya shakes her head as she laughs, knowing that even a mention of August would make Nick squirm. She had decided a few hours ago that she'd be stepping out of tomorrow's plans and doing her own thing. It wasn't often that she had a full day without work or school or her kid, and she planned to take advantage of that. Though at this point, she would be feeling completely rotten tomorrow. Her plans of taking a sunny walk down by the beach would surely be rendered useless when she woke up with a pounding head and a desire to be put out of her misery. The thought of waking up with a clear head was a positive but impossible one, consider she now may not even make it to bed. She watches as Nick makes his way around the kitchen, her hands propping her chin up as though she's too tired to hold it up herself. The clock glows 2:00, how was this possible? How long were they at the bar? She catches the mug with her hands and look down at the dark murky liquid. "In one?" she hesitates, but lifts the mug to her lips. She takes a long sip and puts it down unfinished. Her eyes water and her lips twist, "ugh, no. Stick to writing quizzes." He states the obvious and she refuses it, "no we're not, we're going to burn off it off and collapse into bed." She takes another torturous sip and moves swiftly to the stereo. Her fingers work the dial and turn up the volume, "is this too loud?" She yells over the random pop song, playing with the tuner to find a better song, "do you think the cops will come if it's too loud?"

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He watched her as she scrunched up her delicate features. "Hey now. It's 2am, I'm working with limited resources, don't judge my ability on this shitty cup of alcoholic coffee," he said, taking another long slurp of his and managing to repress a grimace. "Oh are we?" he said with a smirk, glancing up and down at her. "I'd suggest a workout but there's not a lot you can do in that dress." It wasn't often that he saw her in a dress, since most times they met she was either on her way to work or on her way to school, and there wasn't a whole lot of call for cocktail dresses at either. She wore it well, her svelte figure showing no sign of the fact she was a young mother. He had been speechless when she first emerged from the bedroom, ready to go out... it was more effort than he had been expecting, and with her in a dress and heels he had felt decidedly casual in his sweater and jeans. He'd changed into a shirt and blazer, the latter of which he shrugged off now. "Not too loud," he said, though he was probably not the best judge. "Oh yeah the cops are gonna come. They're gonna bust you," he said, crossing the room to stand beside her, taking her hand off the dial as Sam Smith's Stay With Me came on. The slow rhythm leant itself to a slow dance, and he took her hand in his, placing his other hand on her waist and swaying gently. "Don't you hate this song?" he said, though he made no effort to change it. Smiling down at her, he mouthed along with the titular lyrics, exaggerated passion and all. "Thanks for coming with me," he said eventually, still swaying tipsily. "It's not nearly as fun drunkenly slow dancing on your own."

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"Are you kidding me?" she questions, her fingers pulling at the black material of the short strappy dress. "I was a cheerleader in sophomore year, I could do the splits if I wanted to," she doesn't inform him of the time she was cutfrom cheersquad that same year. Her flexibility did not match her coordination, which was a threat to the lives of her fellow cheerleaders. The last time she had worn this dress had been for her last date a few months ago. A date in which she played with her food in boredom and rolled her eyes when her date had found a way to announce his yearly salary. The idea of a sugar daddy making her life secure was a nice one, but the reality of it wasn't an ideal one for Freya. Humble people didn't go looking for wives half their age. "You think he'll cuff me?" she sways to the beat of the song, her hips and shoulders hold no rhythm. She grins as she's taken away to dance, an arm finding a way above his shoulder and her legs moving like a deer on ice. "I like the Angus and Julia Stone version better," she name drops with a wide smile. "Don't get gushy, you know I'm not good at gushy," she makes an effort to make him spin and drags him back to her. "I'm having an okay time too... though I'm not sure if it beats a Netflix marathon," she laughs a little, looking up to him. "I really do like your mustache," she reaches her hand to give his facial hair a stroke with her thumb, "I didn't think much of the mustache till I saw it on you."

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He laughed, shaking his head. "I lost my virginity to the captain of the cheer squad, she definitely never cheered in anything as tight fitting as that," he said, thinking back to Lara and her crimson cheer outfit, the way the pleated skirt would fan out as she moved. What a cliche, the football star and the cheerleader... the only twist in the tale was a classic Nick one, in that he hadn't been the usual asshole jock, and had in fact been absolutely smitten with her the whole time. But then that was nothing new. "I do think he'll cuff you, then he'll send you straight to jail without a trial. The LAPD takes blaring Sam Smith at 2am very seriously." The fabric of her dress is smooth and soft under his fingertips, her hand tiny in his. He can't help but laugh at her ungainliness, leaning back to look at her feet suspiciously. "Are you sure you were a cheerleader?" "There's an Angus & Julia version? God, I don't think my heart could take it." Laughing as he spins, he shrugs his broad shoulders. "Gushy is my only mode. If you want me to be anything else you're gonna have to piss me off, go on, provoke me." He rolls his eyes at her Netflix comment, shaking his head, "you need an intervention." She compliments his moustache and it makes him look at her skeptically, not sure that he believes her. But she strokes it and he realises she's being genuine, his smile turning slightly bashful. He wondered if he would ever get over the butterflies-in-his-stomach crush he had had one her since the day they first met, a stupid crush that was as much about how much he idolised his brother as it was about how wonderful she was. He had gotten used to Freya in all her glory, he supposed, and now that he was seeing her in a different light, in a sexy little black dress and without the usual interruption of Freya, he felt almost as shy as the day he'd first met her. "You're a good liar," he said eventually, taking the opportunity to hold her slightly closer to him, "I'm no Freddie Mercury, but I try."

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Freya cocks her head and dimples form at the sides of her outh, "you are an absolute cliche, Mr. Khan." This is one of those moments that she'll look back and miss. She'll look back on it at the end of a particularly shitty day and wish she was right here, in someone else's living room and drunkenly swaying with one of her favourite people. She's laughing again, she's been laughing more than she has not. "Only for two weeks," she admits, biting her lip guiltily, "they kicked me out, too many failed pyramids." She thinks about ways to provoke Nick. It's easier said than done as he's the most patient person she knows and could definitely take more shit than she ever does. "You are the worst... friend I've ever had," her forehead bows and her facial expression admits failure. "And you make terrible cocktails!" Freya's hand moves to rest at the nape of his neck and the tips of her fingers fiddle with whiskers of hair. "Freddie who?" she grins, moving closer as he enables her. All of it is really romantic, and she's shyly approaching the situation. Is it cruel to continue? She thinks about the time she'd kissed Nick, not long after things with Rafi had ended. She wonders if Nick thinks about that and if he secretly hates her for it. "I know I'm a little drunk but I'm really happy here."

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"I pride myself on my predictability," he said seriously, though really he was mildly embarrassed by his ordinary-ness. Amongst his friends he always felt like the bland one, Corinne with her sweetness, Teddi with her feistiness, August with his... August-ness. Nick was the Good Guy, a dependable, predictable person whose next move was never much of a surprise. But around Freya he felt less ordinary, she gave him a sense of purpose. She inspired by example, by being such a great and devoted mother, and she inspired him with her belief in him. He was a better version of himself with her in his life, there was no denying that. He tilts an eyebrow at her attempt at provocation. "I take back what I said earlier, you're a terrible liar.'  Yet more laughter erupts from him and he nods, conceding defeat. "You've got me there." Her fingers brushing against his neck sends goosebumps across his skin. The atmosphere has changed in the last few seconds, it feels heavy with expectation and he feels amped up with a sense that he should be doing something, making some sort of move. If it was anyone else on earth he wouldn't hesitate for a second, never one for shyness. But he feels strange, his throat feels dry and he's nervous, more nervous than he can remember being around any girl in a long time. He hasn't even heard what she's said as her body gets closer to his, he's dizzy with indecision. His hand falls from her hand to her waist, he awkwardly holds both his hands on her waist like a virgin having his first prom dance. He nods at her comment, his eyes on hers. "I'm really happy you're here," he said, the words struggling against his dry throat. "You're one in a million."

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While Nick saw good in her, she saw better in him. He was a role model to her, in many ways that he failed to realize. Outspoken, loyal, and soft hearted. Freya saw strength in Nick that she wished she could reflect. Though she also knew he doubted, which was something she assumed outsiders to be blind to. In those tender struggles, Freya tried to stand behind him to push him forward when he began to feel doubt. In present time this applied to Naila's adoption, which she had no doubt would go through. She can't help but laugh at their shyness. It feels so obvious but so silly at the same time. There's an invisible barrier that prevents words from being completely spoken, or from the moment getting more intimate than lingering eye contact and slow-dancing to the most awful goddamn song. "I don't really mean here as in California. Not even like this very second, but I am really happy about both. I think I mean here, like this year. Like where we are, what we're doing, you and me and Naila. I'm really happy," as she says it she realizes that she truly means it. Last year was tough, but it was all going up and she was beginning to feel that spark again. The song changes to another more upbeat song, but Freya doesn't let go. Instead she squeezes a little tighter and rests her head against his chest. "You are so fucking cheesy. Stop reusing pick-up lines on me."