The next time I saw Owen at work, he invited me for a drink.

It didn't mean anything, but Erin (of course) assumed otherwise.

"You're hanging out. Alone. For the second time this week."

"So?"

"So there's something going on," she said, like it was that straightforward. "There has to be."

Like usual, we were in the office at the arcade. I was in my chair with my feet propped up on the desk, while Erin was sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at me. Technically, we were both meant to be working—her lunch break had become suspiciously extended, and though I was in the right place, my mind wasn't anywhere near finance. But I'd learned how to look busy on short notice if Greg popped his head around the door, and Erin could talk her way out of anything, so I figured we were safe.

"Well, there's not."

It wasn't enough to convince her. "And you're not hoping it'll lead to something?"

"Seriously," I said, folding my arms and leaning back in the office chair. "I don't know why you're so adamant about this. There's nothing going on. It's just two friends hanging out."

"Because you've got to admit it's a little weird. Even just in principle."

"It's not weird."

"He's your ex," she pointed out, like this hadn't crossed my mind pretty much every waking moment this summer. "You haven't spoken for years. And now you're getting on really well—to the point where you're hanging out increasingly often without his girlfriend knowing. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Who said anything about Katie not knowing?"

"Well, does she know?"

"I—" Just like that, she'd shut me up. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't swat her away with a well-prepared answer. "I don't know."

"That sounds like a no to me."

"There's no reason for her not to know," I said. "Owen's allowed to have friends, isn't he? And I know we've only met a couple of times, but she doesn't strike me as the psycho girlfriend type."

"Well, if you're willing to stake your life on it." She tried to stare me out, all serious, but it only lasted a couple of seconds before breaking out into a smile. "Sorry, Sydney. I'm not trying to be the psycho friend here. You know I want the best for you. But you also know I'm not the type to bullshit, so... I'm telling you what it looks like. It's your job to assure me otherwise."

I couldn't hold it against her. The more time we spent together at work, the more I was growing to love her. I'd never had a friend who came close. There was, of course, the no-bullshit attitude, but also everything else. The way she pulled off violet hair, even in a clashing red polo. The maturity that was sometimes remarkable for a sixteen-year-old, and put my own teenage self to shame. How she could smell an incomplete truth from a mile away.

"It's okay," I said. "I know it might look that way from the outside, but if you could see it, you'd know there's nothing going on."

"Nothing?" Erin raised an eyebrow. "Or absolutely one-hundred-percent never-in-a-million-years nothing?"

I couldn't help smiling. "The second one."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it." And there it was: a note of finality in her voice that made me think maybe, just maybe, she was going to drop it. About time, too. "Just make sure I'm the first to know if anything changes."

"It's not going to change," I said, rolling my eyes. "Now is this interrogation over? Because if it's not, I'm about to snitch on you to Greg about the two-hour lunch breaks."

"I'm going, I'm going." Uncrossing her legs and hauling herself upright, she headed for the door—but, just before reaching out for the handle, spared me a glance over her shoulder. "And if you think that was an interrogation, then you clearly haven't known me long enough."

***

"Another one?"

Owen had barely finished his final sip, but that didn't stop me leaping out of my seat with my purse in hand. It wasn't a sudden onset of raging alcoholism, though it may have looked that way to an outsider—just a feeling of cumulative guilt that'd been building from the moment we stepped inside the pub. Like I'd expected, the first round was on him. However, so was the second, and I had a feeling the third wouldn't buck the trend.

"Are you trying to get me wasted, or something?" he joked, but this was followed by a nod. "Same again, thanks."

"Just trying to make sure you don't jump in there and get your wallet out again," I told him, scooping up both empty glasses to take back to the bar. "You know, every time it happens, I feel just that little bit more hypocritical calling myself a feminist."

He chuckled. "I promise that wasn't my intention."

"I know. But I'm still buying."

Moving away from the table, I weaved my way across the pub toward the bar. Late on a Friday evening, anywhere else likely would've been rammed, but there was nothing in Walden that could pack out to capacity without ice cream being on sale. I could move across the space pretty easily, with the only thing to dodge being the occasional stray chair and the strange old local who chose to comment on my 'cracking pair of legs' as I passed. Gross.

The huddle at the bar packed in close, and five minutes later, I was just thankful to make it out alive with Owen's cider and my third (large) glass of white wine. My drink of choice always made me feel kind of classy, but really it was just a uni tactic that had stretched beyond graduation. I'd since developed a sixth sense for seeking out the cheapest wine with the highest alcohol percentage—which, when getting drunk on a budget, was a necessity.

"I'm struggling to keep up with you," Owen said, once I'd got back to the table and planted the drink in front of him. "Are you not feeling this yet?"

"Nope," I said, though I had to admit I wobbled a little as I sunk back into my seat, forgetting that I'd been rocking back and forth all night on its dodgy fourth leg. "This was pretty much any weekday evening at uni."

He raised an eyebrow before taking a sip. "Safe to say it sounds like your experience was a little more wild than mine."

"I wouldn't call it wild," I said. "Just making the most of student life. I mean, when would it ever be acceptable to rock up to work at eleven a.m. on a Thursday ridiculously hungover? Or skip out on work altogether because of said hangover? I say get away with it while you can."

The corner of Owen's lip curled in amusement. "I think I was more the type to show up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a nine a.m. lecture."

"I can definitely see that. Were you also that kid delaying everybody by asking hundreds of questions at the end?"

He looked a little guilty, and my accusing look that followed had him holding both hands up in mock surrender. "Only a couple of times. But I'll have you know things evened out. What about the kid who saves everybody else from awkward silence when the lecturer keeps asking questions? Somebody has to take one for the team."

"Yeah, okay, I'll give you that," I told him. "Those kids are kind of unsung heroes."

"Exactly. The whole lecture dynamic wouldn't work without us."

"But come on," I said, resting my elbows on the table as I leaned a little closer. "You must've gone out at least once. Three whole years—everybody's got at least one wild story. Even if they get smashed out of their mind once, face the killer hangover the next day and swear off drinking forever. We've all got that night."

"Come to think of it," he said, after a couple of seconds' thought, "I have."

"I knew it!" My voice, fuelled by half excitement and half alcohol, came out louder than intended. Several people in the vicinity turned their heads. I continued more quietly. "Now you definitely have to tell me. How bad are we talking? Passed out in somebody else's bathroom? Or are we on the level of an ambulance ride back?"

"Once again, maybe not as wild as your experience," he said. "Have you been brought back in an ambulance?"

"I've seen it happen. But it's not about me. Go on, tell."

Owen shifted in his seat, and the look on his face gave me the impression he couldn't quite believe he was telling me this story. "It was fresher's week," he said. "Second year, though—makes things kind of ironic since I wasn't even a fresher at the time. I probably should've known better."

"Not true." I shook my head dismissively. "Plenty of people get carried away for the exact reason that they think it can't get worse than fresher's week. Spoiler alert: it can."

"I learnt that the hard way." He grimaced. "We'd just moved into our second-year place, me and my new housemates. Now, they were all computer science students, so you can imagine it wasn't exactly the party central of our street. But it was the first night back, one of the guys had just broken up with his girlfriend back home, and I guess he couldn't sit home alone knowing all those eighteen-year-old girls were down at the union just waiting to hear his awful chat-up lines. And, after some convincing, he dragged us all out with him."

"So what drink was it that finished you?" I asked. "Let me guess. Tequila, maybe? That's never kind on the system. Or perhaps just a dangerous mix of everything?"

He managed a slightly embarrassed smile. "This is going to sound really pathetic and embarrassing, but it was actually rosé wine."

I stifled a laugh. "What? Now I definitely have to hear the story of how you got completely fucked up on rosé."

"I promise it's not usually my drink of choice," he said. "I was trying to look a bit more manly by starting off on beer. But I've never really liked the taste, and I got talking to this girl who had a straw in a wine bottle... and well, when she let me try it, I thought it wasn't so bad. So we ended up saying fuck it, taking a detour to the off-license and buying three bottles of the stuff."

"Oh my God."

"Yup." He pulled a face. "I didn't know pink vomit was a thing, but I was definitely proved wrong that night."

"And how bad was it?"

"Well, there were no ambulances involved," he said, "but had there been another bottle, there could well have been. The last thing I remember is puking in a urinal in the club bathroom before passing out."

"Oh, jeez." I was doing my best to hold back the laugh, but it was proving difficult. "You really went glamorous, didn't you?"

"What can I say? I'm a classy guy."

"And are you sworn off rosé for life?"

"God, yes." He shook his head vehemently, like the mere thought made him shudder. "Never again. I'd rather lick this disgustingly sticky table than take another sip."

His look of revulsion was so strong that I couldn't stop smiling. Owen was usually so calm and composed—cool in a kind of nerdy way that didn't matter if he wasn't like everybody else. I couldn't imagine him completely smashed in a club bathroom, being carried home by his friends. Even if it had been a one-off, the whole thing sounded hilarious, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The wine in my own glass was disappearing at an alarming rate. It couldn't have been more than five minutes since I was last at the bar, and yet my glass was already past the halfway mark. The sensible part of my mind was telling me to slow down. And yet the other part was assuring me I'd be fine—I'd done this all the time at uni, and rarely had the hangover to match. I still had a long way to go before I reached my limit.

Plus, this whole evening was so nice. A few weeks ago, I never would've imagined that Owen and I could get on so well. Things weren't awkward in the slightest. Conversation flowed freely—and even better with drinks in hand. We could talk about old times without the tinge of awkwardness. It didn't matter that we'd once dated. It didn't matter that we'd once been each other's firsts—first kiss, first time, first love. It didn't matter that I'd once torn his heart in two.

The wine was giving me a pleasant buzz, one I didn't want to wear off. It was a good state to be in—happy and carefree, with everything else that was usually on my mind blending into the background. Here, the only thing that mattered was right in front of me, like I could finally focus.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for things to get very much out of focus.

As the night continued, the warm buzz started to disappear—but not in the way it would if I'd have stopped drinking. Instead, my third glass of wine turned to another, and another, and then after that I completely lost count. Owen had stopped a while back, and that much I was sure of. There'd been a couple of times when I came back from the bar with only one drink in hand, because he'd much more sensibly switched to water. I should've done the same, but I was chasing that feeling from earlier, convinced that the next glass would be the one to get me back in that great state of mind.

None of them did.

"Sydney."

I heard my name as I was draining the last few drops from my glass, and when I lowered it, Owen was staring at me with concern. "What?"

"It's late. We should probably think about heading home." Then, after a few more seconds of looking at me, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, but as I went to set my glass back on the table, my hand slipped and it went clattering over on its side. It was empty, but the sound shocked us, and Owen was quick to snatch it up. "That was an accident. I'm fine."

"Either way, it's probably time to go."

"But wait..." He moved to get up, but some drunken instinct had me reaching out to grab his arm. The contact seemed to surprise him, and he stared down at the grip I now had on his wrist. Feeling suddenly awkward, I let go. "Let's just stay a little longer. We were having a good chat, weren't we? A really good chat."

"We can't," he said. "It's late, and we've both got to be heading home."

"Fine," I huffed. "Let's go be boring."

"Trust me, there's a time and a place for boring," Owen said, standing by as I hauled myself out of my chair and grabbed my bag. "It just so happens that's now."

He walked behind me as we left the pub, like he thought he might have to catch me if I toppled over backward. Outside, the night had well and truly set in, and the temperature had plunged since we'd walked down here earlier. In just a thin shirt, I shivered.

"Cold?" Owen asked. "Do you want my jacket?"

He was already shrugging it off his shoulders, but I swatted him away. The whole thing was so date-like, and even in this state, I wasn't about to let myself get confused there. "No," I said. "Stop looking after me."

"I think you need looking after right now."

"No, I don't." There on the street, I folded my arms in a show of determination, though I could feel myself swaying slightly on the spot. "I'm fine. Never felt better."

"Well, you're certainly not in a state to walk home by yourself."

"Says who? I'm going right now."

I took a step back from our face-to-face confrontation, but the fact we were on a raised pavement slipped my mind, and I was caught off guard when my foot went down further than expected. I stumbled, throwing my hands out to the side for balance—only to have them caught by Owen a second later.

"See what I mean?" he said, even closer now he was holding me up. "There's no way you're making it on your own."

"So maybe I need a little help." Once I'd got my balance back, I was pushing him away, finding myself unnerved by the closeness. My hand went to my forehead, and I tried to steady myself in a world that was now spinning. "Fuck, I've really overdone it, haven't I? I can't go home like this."

"Look, I'll walk you, okay? It's ten minutes at most. You'll be fine."

But he wasn't getting it. "No. I can't go home," I said. "Mum and Howard will still be up. They'll hear me come in. And then they'll ask me questions about what I've been doing and who I've been out with. They can't see me this bad."

"You've got to go home at some point."

"I can't. They've never seen me like this." Then, the thought occurred to me. It was cheeky to ask, but in this state, I'd try anything. "Can I stay at yours? On the sofa or something? Please?"

"Sydney..." he said. "I really think you'll feel better once you're in your own bed."

"Please?"

"Well..." He went quiet for a few seconds, turning the thought over in his mind. I stuck out my bottom lip in an attempt at a pleading expression. "Okay. You can crash on my sofa—I just can't guarantee it'll be very comfy."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" In the moment of relief, I forgot everything—and instinct had me leaping forward to throw my arms around Owen. He stumbled back a little in surprise, before I felt a hand pat my back awkwardly. "You're saving my life. Thank you soooooo much."

"It's just a sofa, Syd," he said, before prising himself free from my grip. "Come on."

He gestured in the right direction, and I stumbled forward, deciding a few steps in that I needed more support. So I looped my arm through Owen's. Had I been sober, I never would've dreamed of doing such a thing, but my brain seemed to have lost all sense of inhibition.

His apartment was a lot closer than my house, and we made it up the stairs of the building and to the front door in just a few minutes. I steadied myself against the wall as he fumbled with the key in the door. When he pushed it open, he gestured for me to step inside first.

It was small—that was pretty much all that registered in my state. A couple of doors sat off to the right hand side, and I found myself enclosed by the scruffy furniture of the living room. And that was all I had time to look at, because then I saw the figure standing across the room.

Katie. Hair in a topknot, a big T-shirt over pyjama shorts, and her arms folded.

"I'll grab you a pillow and blanket," Owen said, his gaze locked on Katie despite clearly talking to me.

I was left alone in the living room when they disappeared into one of the other rooms. With just my own thoughts for company, the uncomfortable tension set in full-force. Were those lowered voices I could hear on the other side of the wall? They were obviously talking about me; I was the elephant in the room neither could ignore. Katie had no idea what I was doing here, for a start. Perhaps Erin was right, and she hadn't even known we were out together...

The thoughts circled my mind, but they started to get easier to ignore when I kicked off my shoes and put my head to the sofa cushion. It was warm here, and my eyes had been wanting to close for a while. Whatever there was to deal with between me and Owen could wait until morning.

I vaguely heard a door open, and a few seconds later, a blanket was set down beside me. "Here you go."

Raising my head, I saw Owen standing above me, looking down with an expression I couldn't read. A thought occurred to me, and though I knew it sounded stupid, the request ended up coming out of my mouth anyway. "Can you... can you tuck me in?"

"What?"

"The blanket..." I said, losing patience for finding the words I wanted. Why did it take so long to be able to sleep? That was all I wanted in the world right now—that and the room to stop spinning. "Put it over me. Please?"

He looked confused, but the fabric landed over me a few seconds later. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome, Sydney."

"You're the best," I mumbled.

I was sure Owen said something back. His voice edged across the space, but I was already too far into sleep for it to reach me. There was no chance to ponder the thought longer before I slipped into unconsciousness.

For now, it didn't matter.

The aftermath would be there to deal with when I woke up.

----------------

Hi, everyone! This one went up quickly, right? I'm really proud of myself for managing to get a chapter up in a reasonable time despite being so busy. It's proved that it IS possible to make time, no matter how busy you are (and may have involved a bit of sneaky writing at work...).

It was so interesting to hear your thoughts on Sydney and Owen on the previous chapter! Seems like the majority of you are shippers, but I wonder if it'll stay that way?

Let me know what you thought in the comments, as always!

- Leigh