Catching feelings for someone was kind of like going through the five stages of grief.

The realization of catching feelings was what prompted your grief. It was originally called "the five stages of death," and I understood why. Catching feelings felt like the death of your peace of mind. Like, good luck being normal around that person now.

Denial was first, of course. It was frustrating and absolutely annoying, because you can never plan for these things. Because no, I do not want Devon McCall. There was no way. He was grouchy and sullen, even if he always smelled like the air after it rained and every time he'd rake his hair away from his face so effortlessly while he sang, it made me want to die.

Anger was next. I hated him for existing. For lingering behind last night after everyone had gone to dinner. For catching me out of the shower in a towel and giving me this dark look that made me want to drop the towel just for him. For opening up to me when I asked, and for letting me touch him. The audacity he had of actually being sweet and agreeable and vulnerable for once. I never wanted to let go.

Then came the bargaining. You see, your body knows you've caught feelings, even if the rest of you won't admit it, and I begged my body not to react differently when I was around him. Please, just be fucking normal. But the moment I let go of him (and trust me, I didn't want to), I felt all the warmth leave my body, and I was shivering for the rest of the night. It was awful.

Depression came next. I wouldn't say I was depressed, but knowing that I couldn't read him, and that there was a serious possibility he did not return whatever feelings these were, was sobering at the least. I'd never been in a position where I didn't have the upper hand when playing cat and mouse with a boy, and I didn't know how to act.

Acceptance is last. You spend time around someone (even if it's out of obligation), and everything is fine and normal and not in any way out of the ordinary. But then all of a sudden you're overcome with the urge to hug them, to feel them, to actually want to live under their skin (clearly the cannibalism stuff has rubbed off on me). Then they look over at you just the right way, and that one act has now shifted your world off its axis. You are unstable, unprepared, and maybe even a bit unlucky, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Needless to say, breakfast that morning was a miserable experience for me as I went through the five stages of catching feelings while watching him eat a fluffy belgian waffle. He even looked good doing that.

Thankfully I had a distraction. I'd brought my laptop down to breakfast with us so I could get everyone's sign off on a few t-shirt designs and a new logo - one that mirrored the actual logo the movie used on their title screen instead of the stereotypically illegible word vomit they had before.

"Wait a minute." Evie scooted closer to me in the booth to peer over my shoulder at my laptop screen. "That's one of the movie posters."

My chest swelled with pride as I smiled, because I never thought I'd actually be able to say, "I made a few calls. Someone at work was able to get me the rights to use it and mess around with it."

I'd taken one of the initial movie posters for The Green Inferno and tweaked it slightly so that instead of the starring actors listed at the top, it had the band members' names, and where the poster normally said presented by Eli Roth, I changed it to presented by Ghost in the Machine - the indie record label that distributed the band's music. Subtle changes, but enough to be satisfying.

But my personal favorite was the spoof on the I <3 NY shirts. I'd be remiss to say I hadn't remembered my exact words to Lyanna before we'd left for tour (which felt like way longer than a few weeks ago) about wearing a shirt that says I <3 THE GREEN INFERNO and wearing it under all my clothes. Even though I was joking at the time, I'd really do it now. 

"That's sick," Gareth leaned over the back of the booth seat, mouth half full with toast.

"You are literally chewing in my ear," Evie groaned as she whipped around to scold Gareth. "Oh my god, there's crumbs on my shoulder!"

"I need to eat!"

While they bickered, Raf gestured for me to spin my laptop around to show him.

"Ya know, you really have a knack for this." Raf gave me a warm smile as he handed my laptop back to me. "Why wasn't all this fancy photoshoppin' mentioned before?"

I couldn't pretend it was nerve-wracking trying to get validation about something that was, at best, a hobby. I'd never considered graphic design as anything more than something to put on my resume to look more enticing to real jobs. It wasn't the kind of thing a girl like me pursued professionally. Right?

"I took one graphic design class sophomore year of undergrad," I shrugged, keeping my tone casual. "Otherwise it's just a few Youtube videos in my spare time."

A snort came from Devon, still eating his waffle and seemingly unfazed by the commotion on the other side of the table. There was a speck of maple syrup in the corner of his mouth, and I was overcome with an erotic need to lean over the table and wipe it off with my thumb.

Instead, I bumped his long, Slenderman leg under the table with my own. This was my body acting on its own again, but I'd accepted it. I liked touching him, even if it was as subtle as that.

"Something to say, Dev?" I arched a challenging eyebrow at him. Since when did I call him Dev? My voice betrayed me too.

"No pink one, huh?" He kept his tone as calm and even as ever, but I swore I saw his lips twitch upwards just slightly, and it teased out a smirk in me.

"Don't worry, I'm making one just for you."

"I wasn't," he responded, the cadence of his voice upticking just slightly. "Worried, I mean."

He finally glanced up at me, his dark eyes glinting with a hint of uncharacteristic playfulness.

What was this? Were we flirting?

No, I could flirt. Flirting was easy. This was something else. This was complicated and dodgy, like we were both still tiptoeing around whatever it was that was actually going on.

⋆ ★

Since we still had a full day in Burlington before the show, we decided to go wander around downtime to pass the time. Clark had tapered off pretty quickly to get lost in some vintage book store and Raf had gone off to the venue to make sure everything was good to go for tomorrow, leaving me to walk beside Devon while Evie and Gareth strode a few paces ahead.

I tried not to overthink how intentional it was on Evie's part. Even though her and Gareth seemed deeply engrossed in some conversation about bird conspiracies, she'd glance back at us every so often with the faintest self-satisfied smirk.

Burlington was the most quintessentially autumnal New England town I'd ever been to. Everything was walkable, with pockets of shops and boutiques tucked away off the streets in wide, brick-lined alleyways that didn't allow cars. It sat on the edge of Lake Champlain, and even though the water wasn't visible from where we were walking around, it brought in a cool breeze that gently shook all the sunset-colored foliage in the trees that lined the streets and walkways. Most of the buildings downtown were old but well kept, so everything looked uniform and aesthetically colonial, with flickering string lights hung between them across the marketplace alleyway. Fallen leaves in various shades of red skirted around our feet in the breeze, and I pulled my puffer jacket tighter over my chest.

Devon, being the cold-blooded creature he was, seemed unfazed by the wind as it whipped around locks of his dark hair. At least the sun provided some warmth, and it backlit him in a paradoxically angelic way.

"I thought you were from North Dakota," he chided with a wry smirk. "Shouldn't you be used to the cold?"

"That doesn't mean I like it," I retorted, and I felt my body betray me again as I moved slightly closer to him, hoping his large frame would block some of the breeze. "I left, didn't I?"

"You ever think about going back?" he asked as he kept his gaze down, kicking around a rock with the toe of his boot.

I blinked up at him behind the lenses of my Prada sunglasses, and after the moment of shock wore off, I smirked coyly. "Are you...are you actually asking me about myself?"

He kicked the rock harder, nearly nailing Gareth in the back of the shin. "Just keeping you on your toes. Would you rather me ask you about your favorite color or something?"

"Well, you already know the answer to that one anyway," This time of my own accord, I playfully shoved him in the arm of his bomber jacket. "But I'll humor you. No, I don't think about going back. No reason for me to."

There was a pause while he considered his next words. "You don't miss your family?"

I shouldn't have been surprised he wanted to know things that actually made me think about my response. I furrowed my brows and heaved out a sigh. "Well...yeah, sometimes. Even though I make conscious decisions to stay in New York for most holidays, that doesn't mean I don't miss them. It's just that my disdain for my hometown outweighs that. Most of the time, anyway."

For someone who very obviously had a strained relationship with his family, I found his curiosity in mine...well, curious. I wondered if he held out some kind of misplaced hope that maybe my relationship with my family was damaged like his was. That maybe I'd understand him. I wished I did, for his sake.

"Do you?" I breathed out my next words softly. "Miss yours?"

"No," he responded quickly, shaking his head. "Never."

Before I could press him further, Gareth had suddenly bolted to the other side of the marketplace alleyway, chasing a flock of birds and garnering a few curious glances from passing pedestrians.

"I told you!" he cried out as they flew away.

We caught up to Evie as she'd come to a stop on the sidewalk, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't make me get you one of those child leash backpack things," she called after him.

I snickered behind my hand, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Devon's lips lift into a faint smirk. Gareth was practically built-in real-life comic relief, and I was so grateful for that. Our conversation could end there for now.

Gareth came jogging back, panting as he rested his hands on his hips. "Birds aren't real."

"Okay dude." Evie patted him on the shoulder. "Whatever you say."

Devon shifted just slightly on his feet, and he hesitated to move as Evie and Gareth continued on and crossed over to the other side of the marketplace. For someone who acted like he wasn't cold, he shuddered, and I wanted to hug him like I did last night, but I didn't want to startle him either, like a skittish puppy still hesitant to accept a person's touch.

Instead, I pivoted as we eventually followed after the other two across the street. "Okay, I want to know something else. Why'd you stay behind last night?"

Devon let out a dry chuckle. "Laundry."

"What?" I scoffed. "I don't believe that. How are you out of clean clothes already?"

"I don't know, I packed light, okay?" Devon jammed his hands into his jacket pocket and shrugged. He hung his head down and lowered his voice. "I guess I just...anticipated the worst. Like maybe I wouldn't actually need clothes for a whole month because something fucking stupid will happen and we'll be off the tour before it's over. I don't know."

Suddenly my whole body lit up like a lightbulb, and my heart lifted in my chest. I pinched my lips together and nodded. "So you...don't have a lot of clothes? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"You sound like you're scheming," he groaned. "Out with it."

"Let's go shopping!" I squealed and grabbed his arms. "You need clothes, and I will take every opportunity humanly possible to go shopping. It's a proven serotonin booster."

Devon ran his hand down the side of his face and groaned again. "Is it, though?"

"I saw a men's store back there," I gestured behind us. "This is perfect. I'm sure they have some things you could wear."

"You guys go ahead, Gareth and I need some more coffee," Evie called over her shoulder, making a decidedly less subtle attempt to separate her and Gareth from us as she yanked on his arm before he could protest, pulling him towards a coffee shop at the corner. "Don't wait for us!"

I beamed again (because the serotonin potential clearly overcame how much I could overthink Evie's intentions again) and grabbed Devon's arm as I led him down the street. Arch & Son's was nestled into one of those aesthetically old colonial storefronts, with big windows displaying classically styled mannequins in jeans and patterned shirts, and a hand-painted sign that said new fall arrivals in a deep crimson red and gold.

"Sienna, this is not a good idea," Devon grumbled as I pulled him into the store, but I knew better, and I immediately got to work.

"No, this is a great idea," I told him as I started shuffling through the racks. The store displays were old and weathered in a seemingly intentional way, because old and weathered was in fact trendy, and the unbuffed wooden floors were probably intentionally weathered the same. "You need clothes, and it's time for you to elevate your stage style. Who knows, maybe you'll start participating in fit checks."

I wiggled my eyebrows at him, and he grimaced.

"Slim chance."

I was in my element, my happy place, and nothing he could say or do would deter me. I grabbed a few collared shirts from the rack - a knitted one with a deep green and beige houndstooth pattern, and a black button up with a dragon motif on the front. "Okay, you have really great shoulders, and we all know you look good in dark colors, so these should work well to start."

I handed him the shirts and tried not to second-guess how coy the things I was saying to him were. I believed them, so what was the point in saying otherwise? In fact, I was pretty sure Devon would look good in anything.

When I stole a glance at him, he looked uneasy as he clutched the shirts I'd given him to his chest, and I took a moment to steady myself. I could take a good guess as to why he thought this wasn't a good idea, and I wouldn't accept that. He deserved to feel good about himself too.

"Sienna, can we-"

"No." I handed him a thick cotton red and black flannel from a different rack and a black t-shirt with a chest pocket that had a magic 8 ball stitched into it. "Less talky, more shoppy."

He sighed and shook his head as he trailed behind me, shuffling in between the wall and a big wooden table full of jeans. 

"What size pants are you?" I asked him as I carefully picked through a stack of dark gray jeans. 

Devon moaned. "I don't know, Sienna. If you're so brilliant, why don't you guess."

I smirked at him. "Good call."

"That was a joke," he deadpanned as I draped the jeans over his shoulder.

"You guys need a fitting room?" a tall girl with a short blonde bob came up to us.

"Yes please," I blurted out before Devon could protest.

The sales associate led us back through the store, passing abstract art hung up high on the walls over displays of shirts and sweaters, and another abstract sculpture piece towards the back before we reached the slatted saloon doors for the fitting rooms.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she gave me a pinched smile before leaving us to our own devices.

Devon sighed as he retreated into one of the fitting rooms and shut the door. I took a breath and leaned back against the wall across from the room, trying to avoid the fact that the sight of him undressing was very visible between the slats in the door. Even though I had only dreamt of his tattooed torso and wasn't at all keen on what was actually inked on him in real life, he was in fact covered from collarbone to waist.

"Am I supposed to show you everything I try on or something?" he asked.

"If you want to," I replied, trying to compose myself as he opened the door.

He held his arms out to the side as he half-heartedly modeled the knitted collared shirt I picked out for him first. Unsurprisingly, it fit him perfectly, hugging his shoulders and skimming his lower torso to his waist. 

"You could literally wear that right now," I told him with a smile. "Matches your jeans and your boots."

He nodded, his voice wavering slightly. "Okay then."

No, I was not accepting this. I reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, and the feeling of his quickening pulse under my fingertips made my own heartbeat kick up into a sprint. "I mean it, Devon. You look good."

He surrendered a sigh, and when I smiled at him again, he made an attempt to smile back. "Thanks, Sienna."

I let him retreat back into the fitting room, and took my place back against the wall, pressing my hands to my chest and begging my heart to slow down. We might have backslid to the bargaining phase.     

"So, what was with the whole photoshop thing this morning?" he asked me as he tossed me the shirt over the open slot at the top of the door. "I'm keeping that, by the way."

"What do you mean?" I asked with a forced chuckle.

"You just seemed really dodgy about it. Like you weren't telling Raf everything."

And here I thought he hadn't been paying attention. But I decided to concede, because as much as I wanted to know him, and maybe he actually wanted to know me too. I couldn't help smiling to myself, thankful nobody was there to witness me turn to putty in his hands.

"I just don't think graphic design is for someone like me," I responded, trying to keep my tone as even as possible. "I doubt I'd be taken seriously anyway."

The door swung open again, and Devon shot me a skeptical look. "That's bullshit."

He had the dragon button-down shirt on now, and he'd left the top two buttons undone, exposing just a little bit more of the puzzle that was his chest tattoos. I tried to be subtle as I caught sight of what looked like big script words stretched across his sternum.

"That looks good too." I nodded.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Why do I get the feeling you're just going to say that about everything?"

I scoffed. "Because it's true."

Devon groaned, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "You're so lucky I have access to an AmEx."

I returned his smirk as he retreated back into the dressing room again. He tossed me the shirt over the door.

"You can do whatever you want, you know," he said, his voice muffled as he pulled another shirt over his head.

I sighed and leaned back against the wall, furrowing my brows as I tried to unpack his response. I guess he would know better than most people would, wouldn't he? As much as it might have hurt him, he did it. He gave up what was expected of him to do what he wanted to do instead.

"Do you regret it?" I asked as I ran my hand along the soft knit material of the collared shirt draped over my arm.

The door opened again, and he had the magic 8 ball shirt on now. The cotton strained against his chest, but god it looked unfairly good. Even though it wasn't surprising, I still wanted to know why he looked good in everything. I'd backslid into anger and frustration now.

"Regret what?" he asked as he leaned against the doorway. 

"Following your dreams instead of doing what was expected of you."

"No," he answered without hesitation, then spun around and shut the door behind him.

Shit. That was the wrong button, and I wanted to kick myself.

"I mean, I regret the fallout of it sometimes, I guess." The sound of his voice cracking open took me by surprise, and I found myself standing upright in anticipation. "But then I remember how shitty I felt being under my family's thumb, and I go back to not giving a fuck."

His words were heavy, and they weighed on my heart. I heaved out a sigh. "Devon, I don't think you really mean that. If you're angry that's fine, but you can be angry with someone and still miss them."

"Well, I don't," he bit back. "At all."

My heavy heart still found a way to jump into my throat when the door to the dressing room opened this time, revealing not only his completely bare torso, but those jeans I picked out for him unbuttoned and unzipped, revealing the waistband of his Hanes boxer briefs and the imprint of what definitely could have been the reason his pants were unzipped. 

I gulped and forced my gaze upward to complete the puzzle of his chest tattoo, where in that big script was written these violent delights have violent ends, decorated with what looked like melting violins similar to the clocks in that famous Dali painting. Thankfully Devon spoke up, forcing my attention to shift. 

"I cannot even button these," Devon groaned, forcing out a chuckle. "But thanks for thinking I'm fit, I guess."

"I'm sorry." I tried not to laugh as I shot him an apologetic smile. "But for what it's worth, abs are overrated. You look...healthy."

He responded with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Whatever you say, Mary."

I groaned and leaned back against the wall with a smirk. "I so regret telling you that."

And he laughed. He really laughed, and my heart could have burst. "Too late now. I think I like it better than Polly Pocket."

"Oh, just great," I grumbled.

Just as he slipped back into the dressing room, the sales associate came back.

"Does your boyfriend need anything else?" she asked with a smile. While I knew her question was innocent in nature, it still made my whole body lurch.

"Oh he's not...I mean, we're not-"

A hacking cough came from inside the dressing room, as if Devon had choked on his own breath.

"Sorry," the associate gave me a guilty smile. "Just...let me know if you need anything else."

All I could do was grimace in response. Devon came back out of the dressing room in his own clothes, and he lifted the pile of shirts out of my hands.

"You're really going to get all of that?" I asked with a coy smirk.

"Yep," he nodded. "I've got six more shows to go, and obviously I cannot be seen in the same outfit. Also I want those pants...but probably in a bigger size."

I grinned up at him. "I've taught you well, young grasshopper."

He chuckled and shook his head before gesturing for me to leave the dressing room first. After he'd paid and we'd rejoined Evie and Gareth (suspiciously without coffee), I realized how much I'd enjoyed the alone time I had with him. 

We'd found some kind of mutual understanding, and I'd arrived back at the acceptance phase. I accepted that maybe that was all I needed for now, even if the sight of him made me feel like I was being set on fire. They say grief gets better with time. Maybe feelings do too.

⋆ ★

okay i'm not gonna lie, this chapter just completely ran away from me and i'm not even mad about it. this is the longest chapter of the story to date, and it was worth it. we have arrived at mUTUAL ATTRACTION??? MAYBE???

also i am sienna, shopping provides me with unparalleled serotonin, so that whole scene was extremely valid.