PROLOGUE
THE REST OF MY LIFE

TW/CW: implied suicide

The National, I AM EASY TO FIND

"Before you say we shouldn't be doing this, I want you to know that I know we shouldn't be doing this." Loveday Teuling, ever an unstoppable force, studied the seemingly-immovable object in front of her: the door to Apartment 9A of Arteton Building, Forest Hills, NY 11375. It was locked, of course, and inconveniently so. "I know you're gonna say, But Love, isn't breaking and entering a crime?, so just say it."

Jess Hunt knew his part—that of the overworked, underpaid and certainly unappreciated research scientist studying the irresistible force paradox that happened to be his best friend—and right on cue, just as scripted, he played it. Kind of. "I know breaking and entering is a crime, Love."

Close enough. "So we're on the same page, then."

"We're definitely not on the same page."

"Yes, we are, we always are."

"Not morally."

"Let's not get hung up on technicalities," Loveday said, with the air and theatricality of a stage magician, "We're on the case, dork. And we're being paid by the hour, so, y'know, let's get moving."

"We're not getting paid, Love. Like, at all."

"We're getting paid in satisfaction." As she spoke, Loveday gestured vaguely with her hand. Jess recognised the motion and pulled his backpack off his shoulders, setting it down on the hallway floor. Loveday crouched to unzip the bag.

"I wouldn't call this satisfying."

"Then we're getting paid in moral superiority. Call it charity work, write it off for tax." Loveday corrected herself for his benefit as she sifted through the contents of his bag, searching for another moment before procuring her trusty lock-picking kit. "Just like that, we're good people."

Behind his glasses, Jess rolled his eyes. "Other people have to call you a good person for you to actually be a good person, it's kinda concerning if the only person calling you a good person is yourself. And more on that, if you're saying the phrase moral superiority—emphasis on superiority—you're probably not a good person. Like, you're the person everyone ignores at a party. Egregious loser."

"Moral superiority?" Ignoring everything else, Loveday gasped. "What are you talking about? Jess, that's horrible. Good people don't call themselves morally superior, you know that. Goodness gracious, no one truly good has ever run around calling themselves good." Loveday grinned, opening her kit with nimble fingers. "I'm disappointed in you. What happened to the sweet little Jess I used to know? You were so innocent, so kind... and those glasses you had? Those braces—"

"—You're a bitch." Jess said, rolling his eyes. Loveday merely laughed as she looked over her collection of lock picks and tension wrenches. 9A's door had a standard pin tumbler lock; it was nothing Loveday Teuling, Girl Wonder—and her trusty sidekick, Jess Hunt—couldn't handle.

"But you love me."

Cue the blush. "Sometimes."

"Mm, most of the time." Loveday selected her tools. Then she stepped up to 9A's door and began her task.

"Sometimes."

"Most of the time," Loveday repeated, humming. Her melody found a middle ground, somewhere between affection and condescension. Most of the exchanges that took place between her and Jess could be marked on this spectrum. "I would even say... always."

Jess paused. Loveday could feel his gaze fixed to the back of her head. "Always, huh?"

Loveday, multitasker incarnate, flicked him another grin as she messed around with the lock. "I'd hope so."

"'Course you would." You could hear the flush in his voice. "What would you be without me?"

"Extremely, desperately—dare I say tragically?—lonely."

"Hmph." Jess was silent for a long, pointed moment. Then, he huffed. "You always know exactly what to say."

"It's a life skill." Click. Triumphant, Loveday pushed the door open. "And so is lock-picking. I'm telling you, YouTube is a lifesaver when it comes to these things."

"You know what's the opposite of a lifesaver? Going to jail for B and E."

"Mm, that sentence doesn't make a lot of sense."

"B and E. Breaking. And. Entering."

"That's not the part that I—I know what B and E means, dumbass. And to go for jail for B and E would require us getting caught and then being sentenced for B and E."

"I know how arrests work."

"Not first-hand. And you won't, 'cause we're not going to get arrested. He's a missing person. Missing being the operative word. He's not here, he won't catch us."

Jess fell silent again. "Just because that technically makes sense doesn't mean it actually makes sense."

"Now, that doesn't make sense."

"I was under the impression we were hoping he'd be here."

"If he was here, in his apartment, in his place of residence, this would be the most anticlimactic missing person case of all time."

"I like anticlimactic. I like peace and quiet."

"'Cause at your core you're an old man."

"No?"

"Uh, yeah. You dress like an old man, you talk like an old man, you snore like an old man—"

Jess blinked. "Is it National Insult Jess Day again? I could've sworn we already had that last month—"

"—like, if we were in a cartoon you'd have those massive Zs hanging over your head. Or like, honk honk shoo in little bubble letters."

Jess half-snorted, half-scoffed, "Love, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean!"

"Clearly I do not."

"Well, then it's because you're old and your old man brain is starting to fail you."

"Or maybe it's because you're impossible."

"It's impossible that you've lived this long, old man."

"It's impossible that you've lived this long. I'm gonna kill you."

"Now that's something you could definitely go away for. Twenty-five to life, my sweet boy." Loveday, having packed away everything back into the lock-picking kit, crouched back down to return it to Jess' backpack. "Imagine that. Your life all but over at seventeen."

"You won't have to imagine. I'm going to cut you up into little pieces and throw you into the Hudson."

"You can't even dissect a frog, Jess. I find it hard to believe you have it in you to dissect an actual human person." Loveday stood straight again, offering Jess his backpack.

"I could do it. If I like, closed my eyes."

"What about the smell?"

Silence. Jess took the bag, making sure it was zipped up properly before he swung it back on. "I will... find a way around that. Somehow."

"Somehow." Loveday grinned again, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ears. "So squeamish. You'd make an awful serial killer."

"In a weird, roundabout way, that's actually kind of a compliment." Jess leaned into the touch, eyes settling on hers, "But who said I was gonna be a serial killer? I don't want to kill everyone, just you."

"Romantic." Her hand fell to his chest, her black fingernail polish a stark contrast to the bright blue fabric of his t-shirt. "I dunno, Jess. It's a slippery slope."

"And you'd know." Jess eyed her hand. His own closed around her wrist, the tip of his thumb tracing over her charm bracelet.

"Mhm. You do it once and then you just can't stop."

"Right," Jess said. There was an absent quality to his voice, a solemnity that Loveday liked about him. She rose up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his, letting the kiss linger for a long moment. Then she pulled back, angling herself towards the open doorway. Her hand fell idly to her side.

"C'mon, Jess. We're on the clock."

He nodded, wordless. Then, running a hand through his hair, he stepped inside. Loveday smiled fondly at the absence he left in the hallway. A moment, two, and she followed him into the apartment.

⌕

Ten years Loveday Teuling has known Jess Hunt, and yet—as extensive as her vocabulary was, as clever and as observant as people believed her to be—she couldn't find a way to describe him. Where to start? How? A few paces behind him, Loveday's eyes were glued to the back of his head, settled upon the clusters of freckles that painted the nape of his neck. If she had to describe him, she would probably start somewhere in the semantic field of beautiful. Admittedly, he hadn't always been this way—once little more than a gangly collection of long limbs and curly, dark hair—but in the past eighteen months or so he had grown into his body and good looks. Tall and tan, what Loveday liked most about her best friend was his face: the straight line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes.

He was handsome like his father; if said father had been around more often, Loveday was sure comparisons would have been drawn with more frequency. Colin Hunt flew in and out of New York for work, and the same absence he left in his home he left in his son. Jess had swallowed that void, but in the right light Loveday could see it, in the way he locked his jaw, or how he drew his eyebrows together when he was frustrated. He was always on a slight tilt—always putting his weight on one foot, or cocking his head to the side, or smiling lopsidedly—though, Loveday reasoned, it suited him. He was an asymmetrical person, weighed down by a generational gravity he could not control. There were parts of him that were uneven, his humour, his timing, his understanding. Still, he was a perfect fit for Loveday. She was uneven, too, and even before he was gorgeous she had wanted him. She wanted him now, but that was neither here nor there.

Jess stopped at the end of the apartment foyer, right at the mouth of the hallway where the narrow space opened into the rest of 9A. Loveday slowed behind him, then sidestepped around, brushing against his arm as she passed. Her fingertips grazed the watch he always wore on his left wrist.

THE SUBJECT, WES TEULING'S OLD WATCH: Cartier Tank Francaise. 37mm. Silver-grained dial. Roman numerals. 18k yellow gold and stainless steel. Sword hands. Sapphire-crystal, scratch-resistant glass. Quartz movement. This watch was given to JESS HUNT on his sixteenth birthday, in District Attorney WESLEY TEULING's upstairs study. It belonged to Wes before Jess, and before Wes, it belonged to Wes' brother Alistair. It has been repaired two times, once while in Wes' possession and once while in Jess'. It is worth approximately $5,636 in United States Dollars, more than all of Jess' other articles of clothing and miscellaneous accessories combined. In terms of sentimentality, it is priceless. For the four hundred and seventy-four days it has belonged to Jess, he has worn it for four hundred and seventy-two. (It took two days to be fixed.)

Loveday brushed off the information—she knew it already—and began to survey 9A. A two-bedroom apartment, it had a relatively open floor plan, with a kitchen and balcony towards the back of the apartment. Adjacent was the master bedroom, then beside that, the spare. Both rooms had ensuites. Loveday knew all this from a real estate listing she had found online. What she couldn't learn through the internet was gleaned through touch; dismissing Jess for the time being, she walked around the apartment, grazing her fingers gently upon anything and everything she could get her hands on.

Jess retrieved a camera from his backpack; it was his turn to follow Loveday now and he did, taking photos of everything she stopped to touch. First,

THE SUBJECT, FRAMED HANNON FAMILY PHOTO: Printed on Canon Photo Paper Plus Glossy II. Full colour. Depicts father of missing person, Yuri Hannon; mother of missing person, Allison Hannon; and missing person, Ed Hannon. Yuri and Allison appear to be in their early thirties, while Ed could be anywhere from age five to nine. This image was taken in the fall, at the Flushing Meadows Corona Park.

ACTION: YURI HANNON stands where JESS HUNT stands now. Instead of a camera, he holds the subject, rubbing his sleeve at a mark on the glass before hanging the frame on the wall. He stands back, and smiles.

"They look happy," Jess said quietly, taking a photo of the photo—careful not to capture his own reflection in the frame's glass. Loveday spared Jess a glance, the levity from before disappearing into nothing just like she disappeared into every object she touched. She had lived between her house and Jess' growing up; not once had she ever seen a single family photo on his walls.

"I think they were. Before the accident."

THE ACCIDENT: Twenty-six months before Allison Hannon hires ("hires") Loveday and Hunt to investigate the disappearance of her son, Ed, said son is being driven back from the airport by his father, Yuri. He was visiting for a few weeks, having taken a break from his research project at the California Institute of Technology. On the I-678 N highway, at 8:58PM, another driver—drunk—slips into unconsciousness behind the wheel. Their vehicle veers into the next lane, colliding with Yuri's SUV and sending it into the nearby traffic barricade at full speed. Source: Allison Hannon, and Forest Hills Post.

"Yeah," Jess said. Loveday moved from the family photo to the next frame.

THE SUBJECT, ED HANNON'S PHD: Doctor of Philosophy, from Caltech Astronomy Graduate School, awarded to Ed Hannon. Dissertation: Spectroscopy of massive and old quiescent galaxies at high-redshift.

THE ACTION: ED HANNON beams when he receives his physical certificate. His smile is boyish and slightly-lopsided. (Like Jess'.) He is twenty-two. Something of a prodigy.

"Do you know much about astronomy and astrophysics, Jess?"

"Not as much as this guy."

"Funny." Loveday bites her lip, wiping the dust on her fingers off on Jess' sleeve. In response, he grimaces. "I'm serious."

"So am I. What about me screams extragalactic astronomy?"

"See, when you casually drop terms like extragalactic astronomy, it makes me think you do, in fact, know a lot about astronomy and astrophysics."

"I have a casual interest in astrophysics, enough to make amateurish conversation. Not so much astronomy."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yuh-huh."

"Nerd."

"I have no response to that."

Loveday snorted gently and headed for the kitchen, passing more framed photos on the way.

THE SUBJECT(s), MISCELLANEOUS HANNON FAMILY PHOTOS: All photos printed on Canon Photo Paper Plus Glossy II. Full colour. Photographs appear to be dated from the early 2000s to the mid-2010s, though the prints are fresh and the frames have been purchased semi-recently. Ed Hannon appears as follows: his first day of preschool, his elementary school graduation, his graduation of high school at age 13, his senior portrait, and in a clipping of a local science paper's article that was written about his undergraduate ceremony: BOY WONDER GRADUATES EMPIRE STATE UNIVERSITY AT AGE 16; OFF TO CALTECH TO STUDY THE STARS.

"Oh, so he was smart-smart," Jess said, stopping briefly to take a photo of the framed news article. "I thought his mom was exaggerating. You know, in the way parents always do."

"Mm?" Loveday opened the fridge. It was empty, and the power had been switched off.

"Well, every mother wants to believe their kid is the smartest person alive. When Allison was talking to us, I guess I just assumed she was biased. But he was actually super intelligent."

"Was?"

"Was."

THE SUBJECT, ED HANNON'S MEDICAL REPORT: Examined by Dr. Mitchell Vuong of Long Island Jewish Forest Hills. Patient suffered a intraorbital foreign body from a car accident on the I-678 Interstate Highway, after which the patient was unconscious for approx. six hours. After being admitted to Long Island Jewish Forest Hills, Hannon underwent emergency surgery, then postoperative anti-infection treatment.

"Mrs. Hannon said he was trying to continue his research."

"Emphasis on the word trying."

Loveday slanted Jess a look. She moved on from the fridge to the kitchen cabinets, finding plates, bowls, cups, and utensils for two. They had not been touched for months. "She wasn't wearing her wedding ring when we spoke to her."

"I did notice that. Only 'cause she kept fidgeting with her left hand."

ALLISON HANNON'S WEDDING RING: Location unknown.

"Did you like her?"

"Does it really matter whether I liked her?"

"Mm, you're better with people than I am." Loveday leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, watching Jess with an unreadable expression. In the afternoon light that poured through the apartment windows, his dark hair looked auburn. "What did you think of her?"

Jess put down the camera for a moment, then folded his arms. "Nothing she actually said made me dislike her. But she seemed like a bad mother."

"That's pretty harsh."

"Hey, you asked." Jess shrugged, nonplussed. "Her son's been missing for months and she only gets concerned now? Why now? And, no offence, but she hires two random teenagers to find out what happened to him instead of, I don't know? Going to the police? Looking for him on her own?"

"...You have a point."

"She didn't wear her wedding ring and she didn't mention her husband, either. Pretty suspicious, if you ask me."

"Maybe her husband is the suspicious one."

"Maybe. He was completely unreachable, wasn't he?"

"Yep. Didn't return a single phone call, not from me or from Mrs. Hannon. And he hasn't been seen in months, either."

"Do you think he did something to Ed, then?"

"I don't know. He became his primary carer after the accident—I assume he lived here with Ed." Loveday watched Jess, playing again with her bracelet. "We need to find something that belongs to him, I need to get a feel for the type of person he was. Everything here—everything that's hung up? It's all new. No history, no sentiment. Nothing for me to get a reading from."

Jess nodded, even though he didn't fully understand. He reached for his camera, "Yes ma'am. Onwards?"

"Onwards."

They left the kitchen and the light, trawling deeper into the apartment. The master bedroom—Ed's—was neat and decorated modestly, with only a bed, a nightstand and a small chest of drawers arranged in the space. There was a Caltech pennant pinned to the wall above the bed. Loveday followed the orange fabric up, up, up until her gaze reached the ceiling. Hundreds of small, glow-in-dark stickers had been placed on the surface, pale, fluorescent stars and planets decorating the otherwise-bare ceiling.

"That's cute," Jess remarked, taking a photo. Loveday hesitated, then climbed up onto the bed so she could reach the ceiling. She ran her fingers over the stars, feeling only feint pulses of memory until—

THE SUBJECT, YURI HANNON'S STARRY NIGHT: Glow in The Dark Stars Decals Decor for Ceiling Realistic 3D Stickers Starry Sky Shining Decoration 633 Pcs. Purchased from Amazon US. Finally, something with a sentiment strong enough for Loveday to use.

THE ACTION: YURI HANNON stands on a chair by the bed, where ED HANNON lays, tucked in snugly. He watches his father with big eyes as he carefully places each star. Ed's still young, early twenties, but the bags under his eyes are deep and dark, and his hair has been cut short—cropped close to his head. It makes him look older. Much, much older.

YURI: I don't really know where these are meant to go.

ED: Well, in fairness—I don't think you can replicate the night sky to-scale with glow-in-the-dark stickers.

YURI: I can try.

ED: I guess. They look nice.

YURI: Probably not as nice as they do from your fancy Caltech telescopes.

ED: No, not quite.

"I like him," Loveday said, when she returned to the present. One of the stars had begun to peel. Loveday pressed it back into the ceiling with her thumb. "Ed's dad, I mean. He was the one who put up all these stickers. I think he was trying to recreate a section of the night sky for his son."

Jess took another photo. He smiled, albeit small. "Sweet of him."

"I agree." Loveday got down from the bed. She looked in the nightstand for anything of interest, finding only a stack of astronomy and telescope magazines. She moved on to the chest of drawers. "Hm. Someone's been through here, taken all his cold-weather clothes. Nothing left that's warm enough for winter."

"Is that important?"

"Maybe."

"It's summer. Sticky," Jess said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Gross word choice."

"I'm saying, maybe that's why he doesn't have any cold clothes."

"What does he do in winter, then?"

Silence. "... Not go outside?"

"You're slow today, Jessie."

Jess turned his head to hide the blush that was growing swiftly on his cheeks, "Don't call me that."

"Don't be stupid and I won't, Jessie."

"Totally fair deal."

"Right?" Loveday walked around Jess, examining the room for any more clues. Finding nothing of particular interest, she stepped back through the doorway and towards Yuri's bedroom. "What do you think about stars, babe?"

"What's there to think? I haven't seen a star in years... the light pollution in the city is too heavy." Jess followed, taking more photos on his way. "What do you think of them?"

"Pretty much the same. I saw some a little while back—last year, when Dad took me to the Berkshires. But it wasn't anything spectacular." Finding Yuri's door locked, Loveday gestured again for the lock-picking kit. As before, Jess complied. "I was just thinking about Ed. And why he studied them so... obsessively."

"How do you know it was obsessive? Maybe it was loving."

"I can only assume. Who goes straight to Empire-U for astrophysics then immediately to Caltech? He knew what he wanted to do."

"I envy that."

"Yeah?" Loveday inserted the tension lock again. "How do you figure?"

"I have no idea what I want to do with my life."

"You got a lot of time to figure it out, Jess."

Jess laughed. Loveday didn't even have to look at him to know how forced it was. "Do I?"

"Okay, Mr. Northwestern."

"We don't know if that's a sure-thing yet, Love."

"We so do. You're brilliant." The door clicked unlocked, and again Loveday began packing up her instruments. "One day, when you've won a Pulitzer, I'm going to be one of those total assholes who claimed they knew you."

"You do know me."

"You know what I mean."

Jess bit his lip. They both stood at the door, not moving to enter. "Can I tell you something?"

"Is it stupid?" Loveday zipped up the kit case, then handed it to Jess so he could put it away.

"A little."

"I'm not going to apply to Northwestern."

"...what?"

"I want to go to Yale." A pause. "With you."

Loveday scrunched up her nose. "Jess—"

"If I can't get into Yale, which I probably won't, then I'll go to UConn. Or Wesleyan. Or Fairfield. It doesn't matter—I want to be with you." Jess held onto the lockpicking kit; completely still, he simply stared at Loveday, his gaze deep and blue, blue, blue.

"What if I don't get into Yale?"

"You're going to get into Yale."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'll go wherever you do get into."

"Jess—"

"I'll go to community college, I'll work some boring, dead-end job, it doesn't matter to me. I want to be where you are."

"Jessie, you have the rest of your life ahead of you. You can't base it off me, it isn't fair. To either of us."

"You don't get it."

No, she didn't. She liked the psychometry, sure, but if she could have any power it would be telepathy—what she wanted most in this moment was to be able to touch that beautiful head of his, read his thoughts like a book and understand him fully, undeniably. "Then explain it to me."

"You might just think that this is some... childhood thing. High school thing. But I don't want it to be that, I don't want it to end when we graduate, when you move to New Haven or wherever it is that you move to. I don't want it to end, ever. I love you, I know you don't like it when I say it, but I love you, and I want to be with you. You're the rest of my life."

Loveday, for once, was speechless. "Jessie—"

"—before you say anything, there is fine print. I will not follow you to Ohio."

Loveday didn't like to give Jess the satisfaction of her genuine laughter too often—she didn't want him to get spoiled—but this one, singular time, she let him have it. "No? What if I only apply, specifically, to Ohio schools?"

"Then I will kill myself."

Loveday covered her hand with her mouth. "Please don't do that."

"Please don't go to Ohio."

"I won't, my god." When Jess reached to move her hand from her face, Loveday let him, her fingers curling gently around his. "I hope you know that nothing I could possibly say will top the whole, 'you're the rest of my life' thing."

"I know."

"But you know I feel the same."

"...I know."

"I promise I won't go to Ohio."

"That's basically a proposal."

"Are you saying yes?"

"Obviously."

Loveday laughed, as Jess finally put away the lock-picking kit. She turned and stepped into Yuri's room. "I'm proud of you, though. Did you rehearse that?"

"No, but I've been thinking about it for a while."

"Pulitzer-Prize-winning declaration of love right there, Jess."

"You reckon? I'm surprised my voice didn't break or anything."

Loveday laughed again, then sobered up as she took in the room around them. Yuri's room was the same kind of sterile-neat that Ed's was; there were no stars this time, just a bed, another chest of drawers, and a filing cabinet. No need for the lock-picking kit again—Loveday was sure Jess was sick of getting it out. The cabinet opened with a kick to its side.

Rifling through, Loveday only found bills and bank statements, medical documentation and reports. She took them out in order, then laid them out on the desk in chronological order. Jess took close-up photographs of every document. "No memories for these?" he asked.

"No, not usually for pieces of paper—unless they're printed photographs, certificates, handwritten letters. That kind of thing." Loveday's voice trailed off as she examined a bank statement. "Huh."

"What?"

"Yuri withdrew a thousand dollars from a shared account he had with his wife. There's no other kind of withdrawal like that in any of these records."

"That's not suspicious at all."

"No... wait." Loveday paused. "A few months ago he took out ten thousand dollars."

"Allison didn't report it?"

"Legally it was his money, too." Loveday knit her brows together. "If you had ten thousand dollars, what would you spend it on?"

"College tuition."

"If you didn't have to pay college tuition, what would you spend it on?"

"Uh..." Jess stopped for one beat, two, to take another photo, "a house."

"Jess, be creative."

"Fine. A trip."

"Thank you." Loveday thumbed through another document, stopping when she felt the change in texture. All the other evidence had been printed on various types of standard, 80gsm copy paper. What was in her hands was thick, cropped, glossy—a travel pamphlet. "Observatorio Interamericano Cerro Tololo."

"Huh?"

"NSF's National Optical-Infrared Astronomy Research Laboratory; does that mean anything to you?"

"Not really, no."

"Hm." Loveday looked through the pamphlet. "Apparently the Atacama Desert in Chile is the best place in the entire world to stargaze. The clearest and most unpolluted sky on Earth."

"Right."

"I think that's where they went."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Loveday continued through the contents of the filing cabinet until she found what she was looking for: confirmations for the flights and hotel. "But this months ago, and they still haven't come back."

"Maybe they didn't want to."

"Maybe." Loveday put down the papers abruptly. "Let's check out the balcony."

"Okay?" Jess seemed taken aback, but he was just steps behind Loveday as she left the room and began for the balcony.

It was barely a balcony, but it still fit two chairs, a few potted plants, and a telescope. Loveday was drawn to it immediately—brows furrowing again, she brushed her fingers along the optical tube.

THE SUBJECT, ED HANNON'S C8-SGT (XLT) COMPUTERISED TELESCOPE: 2032mm f/10 Schmidt-Cassegrain. Motorised Equatorial Mount. StarBright XLT coatings. Worth approximately $1,529 at time of purchase. Given to Ed by Yuri.

THE ACTION: ED HANNON sits on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket. YURI HANNON sets a mug of tea on the arm of his son's chair, then settles into his own, smiling. Before them is the telescope, bright, gleaming, brand-new. Around them, the night sky is made light by the city. Not good for stars.

ED: Dad, you didn't have to get this for me.

YURI: It's the one you wanted, isn't it?

ED: Well, yeah, but—

YURI: I want you to be happy.

ED: ...

ED: It doesn't change anything.

YURI: Eddie—

ED: I haven't changed my mind.

YURI: At least try it.

YURI: Please.

Loveday could feel Yuri's love. And she could feel his pain. What was the wound?

YURI: I was thinking we could take a trip. New York isn't good for stargazing.

ED: Nowhere in the States is.

YURI: So let's go somewhere else.

ED: Where?

YURI: Somewhere you can see the stars.

When they call by Allison Hannon's house, and Loveday tells the woman what happened to her husband and son, Jess waits outside. Even though, out of the two of them, he is better with people, it is perhaps because he is better with people that he can never stomach this part.

He doesn't understand it—not when Loveday tries to explain the first time, there on the balcony, or again in Yuri's bedroom as she puts the papers together to show Allison. Not when they're on the bus that took them through to the widow's Forest Park address. Not at the foot of the Hannon house, where he sits in waiting for Loveday as she breaks the news.

To her, a girl who puts things back together, it all makes sense. The dusty apartment, the empty fridge. The photos on the walls. The documents in the filing cabinet—the medical reports, the prescriptions, the evaluations. For someone so skilled at finding the truth, at telling it, Loveday's work was really in stories, in narrative.

THE NARRATIVE: A gifted young boy leaves his home, and his family, to study stars in galaxies that people on the street don't know exist, let alone understand. That boy comes home to visit his family, and on his way back from the airport his car is hit by another, its driver drunk. The other driver dies; it is a fate that the boy wishes on himself when he wakes up in the hospital and his brain, damaged beyond repair, refuses to work the way it used to.

LOVEDAY: Should I continue?

JESS: ... I think so.

THE NARRATIVE, CONTINUED: His parents split when they can't agree on how to take care of him. His father rents an apartment for them to live in, and tries to make the most of his situation. His situation is that he can barely breathe without assistance, he can't think like he did before the crash, and he can't feel. He tries to kill himself. Three times, according to the medical reports in his father's filing cabinet. Yuri Hannon tries everything, but nothing is enough. His son has lost the will to live, even though he has the rest of his life ahead of him.

JESS: The rest of his life...

LOVEDAY: The rest of his life.

THE NARRATIVE, CONCLUDED: His father takes him to the Atacama Desert in Chile, where the earth is dry and the sky is bright—beautiful. They leave the apartment clean, empty.

They know they are not coming back.

Later, they sit in Loveday's backyard, legs crossed in the grass. Evening draws closer; the last light catches in Jess' hair, colouring his curls auburn. His shirt discarded somewhere on the lawn, Loveday sits behind him, tracing constellations between the freckles on his back.

"How do you do it?" Jess asked abruptly. Loveday's hand stilled, coming to rest upon his shoulder.

"How do I do what?"

"How do you..." Jess seemed unable to find the words. "Everything you touch tells you something. You don't keep the objects, but at the same time... you do. How do you carry it all?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I've been thinking about it for a long time. Now just seemed appropriate." Jess uncrossed his legs, turning so that they were sitting opposite each other. Having spent the summer training for lacrosse when school started again, his body was hard and strong. Confronted with its beauty, Loveday found it hard to focus—she was glad for the coming night. Still, she reached for him, uncrossing her legs too so she could crawl into his lap.

Then, she wound her arms around his neck. Her lips found his. Then his jaw, his neck, his chest.

Jess pulled back reluctantly, trying not to laugh. "I asked you a question."

Breath hitching in her throat, the taste of his mouth on her tongue, she shook her head. "And? I'm thinking about my answer." She stole another kiss, then another—in grudging protest, Jess' hand came up to hold her jaw, keep her face and lips angled away from his.

"Love, I'm serious."

She pouted in response. "It's been a depressing day. Can't we just make out?"

"So you admit it's depressing."

"We can even fuck if you want—"

"—oh my god."

"Or, alternatively, we can talk about the super sappy bullshit you pulled on me today."

Jess' grip on her jaw loosened, and his hand fell to her neck—fingers pressed gently to pulse. "I meant every word."

"I know. That's why it was bullshit."

"I don't understand." It was darker now, and she was losing Jess—his face, his voice. "If you don't feel the same way, then just say so."

"Of course I feel the same way, dumbass. You know that. That's why your whole speech was stupid. I know I'm the rest of your life. You know you're the rest of mine."

"Do I?"

Loveday's hand came up to close around Jess' wrist; she gave him a gentle squeeze, then touched her lips to his again. "You would have to die to get away from me."

Before he could answer, she reached for his zipper, tugging off his jeans as she eased him to lay down in the grass. When they're done, the night is fully upon them, though it isn't completely dark; in a city like New York, it's never dark, not really. Slick with sweat, Loveday doesn't move, even when Jess warns her father will be home soon, and no fondness for him, no watch or birthday gift will save him from Wesley Teuling's wrath if they are caught like this.

Like what? Young and in love?

No, Jess answers, feeling around for his clothes, naked and having just fucked on his back lawn.

They put themselves back together and go inside. Later, when Loveday looks back on this case, this day, she tells herself a different story. She remembers things differently. Jess, in memory, is more beautiful than he was in life. Loveday is kinder to him. She doesn't laugh at him, she doesn't brush him off when he tells her he loves her. She answers his question when he asks it. And Yuri and Ed Hannon are not dead and buried in a different country; they are alive, and when they go out onto their balcony, the night sky is dark enough for them to see the stars.

⌕  well, this wasn't depressing at all. thank you everyone for reading the long-awaited first part of TIMEFIGHTER; it has taken a long time to get this written, but yay, we made it. first of all, i want to say that i do not think that life post-a severe accident / injury isn't worth living. i don't want to endorse the idea that disabled people can't live a full and enjoyable life, nor invalidate or speak over their experiences living with disability. ed's somewhat ambiguous death before the events of this story is meant to parallel jess' own arc; i'm not saying jess gets into a life-changing car crash, but i think you can see the similarities between jess, ed (and, of course, peter.)

⌕  (i chose jess' words very carefully in this chapter.)

⌕  i know we jumped right into ld's powers with little-to-no explanation, but that will come later, i promise. i really wanted to begin with a "case" that established loveday and jess' relationship and threw them right into the "action". a lot of the hannon case was left ambiguous, i know, but it was purposeful (and not just me being lazy 😭😭) memory is ambiguous, whether you have psychometric powers or otherwise. and memory is a very important theme in this story.

⌕  please let me know what you thought of this chapter, especially of loveday and jess' dynamic. it wasn't originally going to be so explicitly romantic, but i've come to like the idea, especially when i treat jess as a parallel of peter, and also, of course, of gwen. his character is based primarily on frank hardy of the hardy boys (#bayportsrepresent ✊) but also pretty much every "best friend love interest" character ever.

⌕  the writing style / structure / format for this fic is obviously pretty specific to loveday and her powers. please don't steal it. otherwise, i tried not to waffle on too much in this chapter, so if you read my other stuff please let me know how you think it compares to my typically more lyrical / descriptive projects!

⌕ i also did not proofread this at all 🤞

⌕  thank you again for reading! have a lovely day!