chapter forty-eight:
❛ lightweight ❜

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:) PLEASE JUST STOP BEING A GHOST READER!! ITS ANNOYING!! PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE. ITS NOT THAT HARD

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

The sounds of furious button mashing and cartoonish explosions echoed in the basement as Demetri and Dylan sat on the floor, locked in a heated video game battle. The glowing TV screen illuminated their intense faces as their characters fought for dominance.

"Ha! You're trash, Demetri!" Dylan crowed, leaning forward with an exaggerated smirk. His fingers danced over the buttons, delivering a relentless onslaught.

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts," Demetri shot back, narrowing his eyes as he struggled to keep up. "Victory's a marathon, not a sprint, buddy-no, no, what the hell?!"

On-screen, Demetri's character got pummeled into a dramatic defeat. Dylan threw his controller down and leapt to his feet, arms raised in triumph.

"Boom! Game over, loser! Bow before your champion!" Dylan declared, breaking into an enthusiastic, albeit awkward, victory dance. His moves included wild arm flails and an exaggerated hip thrust that would make anyone cringe.

Demetri groaned, leaning back on the couch. "Congratulations, you've managed to make winning even more embarrassing than losing. Sit down before you pull a muscle."

But Dylan was in full celebration mode, spinning in a circle and humming a tune that sounded vaguely like a victory anthem. His theatrics were interrupted by the sharp chime of the doorbell upstairs.

"Saved by the bell," Demetri muttered, pushing himself off the couch. "If that's the Girl Scouts, I'm buying their entire cookie stash just so I don't have to watch you dance anymore."

Dylan stuck his tongue out as Demetri jogged upstairs. He swung the door open to find Robby, Miguel, and Eli standing there.

"Uh... hey?" Demetri greeted, blinking in surprise.

"Hey, Demetri," Miguel said casually, stepping past him into the house.

Before Demetri could react, Robby followed, offering a polite nod, and Eli strutted in with his usual swagger, barely acknowledging his cousin.

"Sure, come on in," Demetri said sarcastically, shutting the door. "Mi casa es su casa, I guess."

He trailed after them back to the basement, where Dylan had resumed dancing until he noticed the new arrivals. He froze mid-spin, arms awkwardly raised, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"What's going on?" Dylan asked, his voice uncertain.

Miguel plopped onto the couch like he owned it, resting his feet on the coffee table. "So, the girls are having a girls' night-"

"And we couldn't find our phones to tell you guys," Robby interjected with a shrug.

"So..." Miguel grinned. "Boys' night out!"

Eli jumped onto the arm of the couch, barking like a dog. "Boys' night! WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!"

Dylan looked visibly alarmed. "Boys' night out? Like... fake IDs and stuff?" His voice wavered.

Eli's grin widened as he slung an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Ohhh, boys, it's his first boys' night!"

Demetri raised a hand like he was in a classroom. "Quick question: is this going to be anything like my first boys' night with you psychos? Because if it is, I'm gonna need body armor and a will."

Miguel chuckled, leaning forward. "Hey, to be fair, your first boys' night wasn't that bad. You survived."

"Barely," Demetri retorted, pointing at Eli. "I'm still not over the time you thought it'd be fun to set fireworks off inside my garage."

Eli shrugged unapologetically. "It was memorable, wasn't it?"

"Trauma is memorable too," Demetri shot back.

Dylan's eyes darted between them, his nervousness growing. "What kind of fireworks? Like sparklers... or the kind that explode?"

Eli clapped him on the back. "Relax, rookie. We'll start small. Maybe a little trespassing. Or some mildly illegal pyrotechnics."

"Or," Demetri cut in, "we could just stay here, play video games, and not risk getting arrested tonight?"

Eli groaned dramatically. "Ugh, you're such a buzzkill, Demetri."

"I prefer the term 'voice of reason,'" Demetri said, crossing his arms.

Miguel laughed, slapping Demetri on the back. "Come on, you know you secretly love these nights."

Demetri sighed, shaking his head as the group started heading toward the door. "Fine. But for the record, I'm not bailing anyone out of jail this time."

Eli grinned mischievously, dragging a reluctant Dylan along with him. "Don't worry, newbie. By the end of the night, you'll be a pro at this."

Dylan gave Demetri a pleading look, but Demetri just shrugged. "Welcome to the club, buddy."

As they left the basement, Dylan muttered under his breath, "I think I made a mistake."

Demetri smirked. "You definitely did."

The neon sign outside Rico's Tattoo Shop buzzed faintly, casting a greenish glow on the group as they approached. Inside, the faint hum of a tattoo machine mingled with muffled punk rock playing over the speakers. Dylan lagged behind, clutching his hoodie tightly and glancing around nervously.

"Are we seriously doing this?" Dylan whispered to Demetri, who was walking beside him.

"Relax," Demetri replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. "It's not like you're getting a face tattoo. Eli knows this guy-he's done this a million times."

"That's not comforting!" Dylan hissed back, his voice squeaking slightly.

Eli pushed open the glass door, the bell jingling as the group filed in. The shop smelled faintly of antiseptic and ink. Behind the counter, a heavily tattooed man with a long beard and an armful of intricate designs looked up from his sketchpad.

"Yo, Rico!" Eli greeted, throwing up a hand like they were lifelong friends.

Rico grunted in response, barely looking up. "Hawk. What do you want this time?"

Eli leaned casually on the counter. "We need a little favor. A... document of questionable legality for my cousin here." He jerked his thumb toward Dylan, who was now pale as a sheet.

Dylan's eyes widened. "Wait, what?! No! No questionable documents!"

Miguel chuckled, patting Dylan on the back. "It's just a fake ID, dude. Nothing serious."

"It's illegal!" Dylan whisper-shouted, his voice cracking.

Eli rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Dylan. It's a rite of passage. Like your first beer or your first fight. Or, in your case, your first freakout."

"I'm not freaking out!" Dylan said, his voice going up an octave.

Demetri smirked. "Yeah, you're totally calm. Super chill vibes right now."

Rico finally looked up, his sharp eyes landing on Dylan. "That him?"

"Yup," Eli confirmed.

Rico nodded toward the back. "C'mon, kid. Let's get this over with."

Dylan planted his feet firmly on the ground, refusing to move. "No way. Nope. I'm not doing this. You can't make me."

Eli sighed dramatically, grabbing Dylan by the shoulders and steering him toward the back room. "Oh, boys, it's his first fake ID. How adorable."

Dylan dug his heels in. "This is a terrible idea! What if I get caught? What if I go to jail? What if-"

"What if you just calm down?" Eli interrupted, shoving him gently into the chair. "You're not robbing a bank, dude. You're just gonna have a slightly more exciting wallet."

Rico pulled out a camera and snapped a photo of Dylan before he could protest further.

"Hey! I wasn't ready!" Dylan yelped.

Rico didn't care. "You'll live. What name you want on it?"

Dylan looked around helplessly, his mind blank. "Uh... uh..."

Eli leaned in with a wicked grin. "Put 'Panic King' on it."

"No!" Dylan snapped.

Demetri piped up from the corner, smirking. "Maybe something more believable, like 'Law-Abiding Citizen.'"

"Guys, stop!" Dylan groaned. "Just... just put my real name, okay?"

Rico raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Alright, Dylan Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is. Give me five minutes."

As Rico disappeared into the back room, Dylan buried his face in his hands. "This is insane. I'm going to die. My mom is going to kill me."

Miguel chuckled, sitting down next to him. "You're gonna be fine. It's not like anyone's gonna actually check if it's fake."

"Yeah," Eli added, slapping Dylan on the back. "Unless you're planning to get pulled over or something. Then you're screwed."

"Not helping!" Dylan snapped.

When Rico returned, he handed Dylan a freshly laminated ID card. Dylan hesitated before taking it, staring down at the card like it might bite him.

"There. You're officially 'Dylan Matthews,' 21 years old," Rico said. "Now get out of my shop."

Dylan gulped. "This is... oh my God. I can't believe I have this."

Eli grinned. "Congratulations. You're officially one of us now."

"One of who? Criminals?!" Dylan exclaimed, shoving the card into his pocket.

"Relax," Demetri said with a shrug. "Your first fake ID's always the scariest. It's like your first boys' night with Eli-traumatizing, but you survive."

"Barely," Dylan muttered, glaring at his cousin.

Eli threw an arm around Dylan's shoulders, steering him toward the door. "Alright, Panic King. Let's go break that bad boy in!"

Dylan groaned. "This was a mistake."

Eli just laughed. "Nah. This is gonna be legendary."

The line for Club 21 stretched down the block, buzzing with anticipation as music thumped from inside. Neon lights painted the sidewalk in streaks of purple and blue, casting an electric glow over the crowd. Dylan stood sandwiched between Miguel and Demetri, visibly sweating despite the cool night air.

"I don't think I can do this," Dylan muttered, shifting from foot to foot.

"You'll be fine," Miguel assured him, his tone calm and collected. "It's just a club, man."

Dylan shook his head furiously. "No, it's not just a club. It's a place where people have real IDs, and I have this... this crime ticket in my pocket!"

Demetri snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. "Crime ticket? Dude, it's a laminated piece of plastic. You're not smuggling diamonds."

"Guys, I'm serious!" Dylan hissed, clutching his hoodie like it was a lifeline. "What if they figure it out? What if they call the cops? What if they-"

"-lock you up for life?" Demetri interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Relax, Dylan. The bouncer's not the FBI."

Eli, standing ahead of them in line, turned back with an exasperated look. "Would you stop acting like you've got a suitcase full of drugs? You're killing the vibe."

Dylan shot him a panicked look. "That's easy for you to say! You don't have to pretend to be 21 when you're clearly not!"

Eli grinned wickedly. "Speak for yourself. I've got this baby face, too. Pure youthful charm."

Miguel stepped closer to Dylan, his tone soft and reassuring. "Listen, man. Just stay calm, okay? Don't overthink it. All you have to do is hand them the ID, act normal, and walk in. That's it."

Dylan stared at him. "Normal? I don't even know what normal looks like right now!"

Demetri leaned in, smirking. "It looks like not freaking out, for starters."

As the line inched forward, Dylan's breathing grew more erratic. Miguel put a hand on his shoulder. "Dylan, buddy, you're gonna be fine. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

"I'm hyperventilating," Dylan whispered, his face pale. "Is this what dying feels like?"

"You're not dying," Demetri deadpanned. "You're just embarrassing yourself in public, which is basically the same thing."

They finally reached the front of the line. The bouncer was a tall, broad-shouldered man with tattoos snaking up his arms. He gave off an air of indifference as he glanced at Eli, who confidently handed over his ID. The bouncer barely looked at it before waving him in.

Eli smirked as he stepped inside, turning back to give Dylan a thumbs-up.

Miguel went next, handing over his ID with a casual smile. The bouncer nodded and gestured him through.

Demetri stepped up, flashing his ID with an air of practiced nonchalance.

Then it was Dylan's turn.

He froze for a moment, staring at the bouncer like a deer in headlights. Demetri gave him a subtle nudge from behind, and Dylan stumbled forward.

"ID," the bouncer said, his voice gruff.

Dylan's hands trembled as he pulled the fake ID from his pocket and handed it over.

The bouncer held it up, examining it more closely than he had the others. Dylan's heart pounded in his chest as sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

"This... uh... this is me," Dylan stammered, his voice cracking.

The bouncer's eyes flicked to Dylan, then back to the card. "You sure about that?"

"Oh, yeah! Totally sure!" Dylan blurted, nodding so hard it looked like his head might fall off. "That's my name. Dylan Matthews. Born... um... January 12th, uh... 1998?"

Demetri slapped his forehead from behind him.

Miguel quickly stepped forward, laughing nervously. "Sorry about him. First time in a club. He's... uh... not great with people."

The bouncer raised an eyebrow but shrugged, handing the ID back to Dylan. "Whatever. Just don't cause trouble."

Dylan grabbed the card with clammy hands, his relief palpable. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I promise I'll-"

"Move along," the bouncer interrupted, clearly uninterested.

Miguel and Demetri each grabbed one of Dylan's arms, steering him inside before he could say anything else.

"See?" Demetri said as they walked into the packed club. "That wasn't so bad."

Dylan glared at him. "I almost blew it!"

"Yeah, you almost did," Miguel admitted, patting him on the back. "But hey, you didn't. That's what matters."

Eli was already waiting for them near the bar, grinning like a maniac. "Well, look who made it past the big, scary bouncer. Proud of you, Panic King."

Dylan groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm never doing this again."

"Oh, yes, you are," Eli said, slinging an arm around him. "This is just the beginning, my guy."

"God help me," Dylan muttered.

The bass-heavy music in Club 21 pulsed through the room as the guys settled onto stools at the bar, the neon lights overhead casting an almost surreal glow on their faces. Dylan sat rigid between Eli and Miguel, his eyes darting nervously around the packed club.

"I'm pretty sure the bouncer is watching me," Dylan muttered, leaning in close to Eli.

Eli smirked. "Relax, dude. If he wanted to kick you out, he would've done it already. You're in. Time to enjoy the perks."

"I don't think I'm cut out for this," Dylan whispered, clutching the edge of the bar like it might fly away.

Eli rolled his eyes and turned to the bartender, a laid-back guy with a sleeve of tattoos and a look that said he'd seen it all. "Hey, can we get something to take the edge off my guy here? Something... mild."

The bartender chuckled, eyeing Dylan's pale complexion. "Sure thing." He grabbed a shaker and started mixing, sliding a tall, fruity drink in front of Dylan a moment later. "Here. On the house for the rookie."

Dylan stared at the drink suspiciously. "What is it?"

"It's called calm the hell down." Eli grinned, pushing it toward him. "Drink up."

Dylan hesitated, then grabbed the straw and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, wow. This is... really good."

"See?" Eli said, smirking. "Told you."

Dylan slurped up half the drink in one go and slammed the empty glass down. "Another, please!"

The bartender laughed, clearly amused by the enthusiasm, and mixed another. Dylan dove into it with equal gusto.

"Uh, Dylan?" Miguel said, raising an eyebrow. "You might want to slow down. These things catch up with you."

"Catch up with me?" Dylan scoffed, finishing the second drink and ordering a third. "I feel amazing. Why didn't anyone tell me this was so easy?"

Demetri leaned on the bar, watching Dylan guzzle the third drink. "Oh, this is going to be fun. Like watching a toddler discover sugar for the first time."

Eli snickered. "Nah, let him go. We all remember our first time. Let him live."

Dylan polished off his third drink and waved at the bartender again. "Another, please!"

Miguel placed a firm hand on Dylan's arm. "Okay, seriously, you need to slow down. If you keep going like this, you're going to-"

"Feel awesome?" Dylan interrupted, already halfway through the fourth drink.

"No," Miguel said patiently. "You're going to get super drunk and regret it in about an hour."

Dylan waved him off, giggling. "I'm fine. You worry too much."

Eli clapped him on the back. "Atta boy! That's the spirit!"

Demetri leaned closer to Miguel. "I give it twenty minutes before he's on the floor."

"Fifteen," Miguel replied grimly.

As Dylan started on his fifth drink, he spun in his stool, a huge grin on his face. "Guys, this is the best night ever! I don't even care that I'm breaking, like, seventy laws right now!"

Eli burst out laughing. "Oh, he's gone. Welcome to the club, rookie."

Miguel sighed, glancing at the bartender. "You got water back there? A lot of water?"

The bartender smirked, already filling a glass. "He's gonna need it."

The club's energy pulsed all around them, the music vibrating through the floors and the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the bar. Miguel, Demetri, and Robby had a front-row seat to the unfolding chaos: Dylan and Eli locked in a drinking contest that was quickly spiraling out of control.

"Dylan doesn't even drink soda without wincing," Miguel muttered, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter.

"Yeah, but here he is, trying to go shot-for-shot with Eli," Demetri said. "This is like watching a Chihuahua challenge a Doberman."

Robby took a sip of his soda, smirking. "I'll give the guy credit-he's got guts. Not much sense, but guts."

At the bar, Dylan was visibly wobbling but stubbornly clutching his eighth shot glass. Eli, on the other hand, looked annoyingly unfazed as he tossed back his shot and slammed the glass down. "Eight, baby!" he shouted, spreading his arms like he'd just won a championship.

Dylan swayed precariously, narrowing his eyes at Eli as though his sheer willpower could match his opponent's. "I'm... I'm not done yet," he slurred, grabbing his shot glass. "Nine. Watch this."

The bartender raised an eyebrow but slid the next shot over. "You sure, kid? You're already looking a little... green."

"I'm... fine," Dylan insisted, though his voice wavered.

Miguel exchanged a look with Demetri and Robby. "Should we stop this? Or are we letting natural selection do its thing?"

Demetri waved a hand. "This is a teaching moment. Painful, but necessary."

"Yeah, for Eli's ego," Robby quipped.

They turned their attention back to the bar just in time to see Dylan down his ninth shot. He set the glass down triumphantly, but the victory was short-lived. His eyes went wide, his face paled, and his body tensed like he was bracing for an internal explosion.

"Oh no," Miguel muttered. "It's happening."

Dylan clamped a hand over his mouth and bolted off the stool, weaving through the crowd in the general direction of the bathrooms.

"Man down!" Demetri said, pointing after him.

Eli leaned back in his seat, grinning smugly as he raised his arms. "And that is why I'm undefeated!"

"Wow, Eli," Demetri said, clapping slowly. "You made an amateur drink himself into oblivion. Truly, you're an inspiration to us all."

Miguel shook his head, already pushing off the counter. "I'd better check on him before he pukes on a bouncer and gets us all kicked out."

As Miguel followed Dylan, Robby turned to Eli. "You think he'll be okay?"

Eli shrugged. "Sure. Kid's gotta learn somehow. And hey, maybe he'll toughen up a little. Trial by fire, right?"

Miguel found Dylan in the club's dimly lit bathroom, hunched over a sink and looking like he was on the verge of collapsing. The sound of retching echoed off the tiled walls as Dylan clung to the edge of the sink, his knuckles white.

"Dude," Miguel said, stepping closer and grimacing. "You okay?"

Dylan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face pale and sweaty. "No. No, I'm not okay," he croaked. "I feel like my stomach is trying to escape through my throat."

"Yeah, that's what happens when you try to outdrink Eli," Miguel said, crossing his arms.

Dylan turned to him, his eyes wide with panic. "Miguel, you... you can't tell Sam about this. Please. She'll never let me live it down. She'll think I'm a complete idiot."

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "Well, you did challenge Eli to a drinking contest, so... kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"I know! I know!" Dylan groaned, clutching his head. "But she doesn't need to know that! Please, dude. I'm begging you."

Miguel sighed, leaning against the wall. "Fine. I won't tell Sam. But you've got to promise me you're done with the drinking contests. Seriously, man, you're not built for this."

Dylan nodded frantically. "Deal. Never again. I swear."

"Good," Miguel said. "Now let's get you some water before you keel over."

As they exited the bathroom, Dylan still looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a blender, Miguel couldn't resist a smirk. "But seriously, next time you think about drinking with Eli, just... don't."

"Noted," Dylan mumbled.

The night had been chaotic from start to finish, but it was far from over. Miguel, Robby, and Demetri dragged an unconscious Dylan into Johnny's apartment, with Eli stumbling behind them, singing an off-key version of Eye of the Tiger.

"Dude, he's heavy for a lightweight," Demetri groaned, adjusting his grip on Dylan's arm.

"Yeah, well, next time, let him puke before the ninth shot," Robby quipped, opening the door to Johnny's apartment with his free hand.

Johnny, who was lounging on the couch with a beer, raised an eyebrow at the sight of the group. "What the hell happened to him?"

"Boys' night got a little... intense," Miguel admitted, helping Robby lay Dylan down on the couch. Dylan groaned but didn't stir.

Eli plopped into Johnny's recliner, grinning like he'd just won a championship. "I destroyed him in a drinking contest. The kid had no chance."

Johnny shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Amateurs."

"Hey, do me a favor and make sure he doesn't roll off the couch," Miguel said, pointing at Dylan.

Johnny waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just don't let your mom find out about this. Or Sam. Or literally anyone who's going to yell at me."

Miguel leaned against the railing of the apartment complex, soaking in the quiet of the night. That brief stillness was a welcome contrast to the chaos of the boys' night. He glanced down the stairs, spotting Arizona making her way up, her steps light and her expression glowing with laughter.

"Arizona?" Miguel called out, straightening as she approached. "What happened to girls' night?"

Arizona paused, leaning on the opposite railing, her smile widening mischievously. "What didn't happen?" she quipped, shaking her head. "You're not going to believe this, but Johnny tried to get Sam, Tory, and me to fight each other."

Miguel blinked, his mouth falling open slightly. "He what?"

"Oh, yeah." Arizona's grin turned into a full laugh as she recounted the scene. "He gave us this long, dramatic speech about 'settling things the old-fashioned way.' He even started shadowboxing in the middle of the living room to prove his point. I think he called it the 'Cage Match of the Century.'"

Miguel groaned, rubbing his temples. "I knew something was up when he said girls' night would be 'therapeutic.' Should've guessed his idea of therapy involved fists."

Arizona chuckled, brushing her hair off her face. "Honestly, it was hilarious. But when we refused to fight, things got... interesting. Instead of punching each other, we all started yelling. Like, really yelling. Everything we've been holding in for years came flying out."

Miguel's eyes widened. "And that's a good thing?"

"It turned out to be," Arizona admitted with a shrug. "After the yelling, we all ended up crying and hugging. Like full-on group hug, sobbing into each other's shoulders kind of thing. It was messy, but it felt... real, you know?"

Miguel exhaled, relief washing over his face. "Thank God. I've been waiting for you three to get on the same page forever. That's the happiest disaster I've ever heard."

Arizona laughed again, her tone softening. "Yeah, I guess it was. What about you? How was boys' night?"

Miguel smirked, crossing his arms. "Well, Dylan passed out drunk on my couch after losing a drinking contest to Eli."

Arizona burst out laughing, covering her mouth. "Oh my God, you guys are ridiculous. Let me guess-Eli's still going strong?"

Miguel nodded, grinning. "Yep. He's in Johnny's recliner right now, declaring himself the 'champion of champions.'"

Arizona shook her head, her laughter trailing off into a thoughtful smile. "Sounds like a classic boys' night-complete disaster, but memorable."

Miguel chuckled, the easy banter between them reminding him of how much he'd missed this. But then Arizona's expression shifted slightly, a touch of hesitation crossing her face. She leaned back against the railing, looking up at the sky.

"You know," she began, her voice quieter now, "I've probably been acting a little... off since I got back from India."

Miguel tilted his head, sensing the shift in tone. "Off how?"

Arizona hesitated, her fingers tracing patterns along the railing. "I mean, you've probably noticed I've been, like, weirdly zen. Less... fiery."

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "You've definitely been calmer. But I figured that was just the yoga or whatever you were doing over there."

Arizona laughed softly, shaking her head. "It's more than that. When I was in India, I met this fortune-teller lady. She told me that if I kept going down this path of violence-if I didn't change something-it wouldn't end well. For me, or the people I care about."

Miguel's brows furrowed, concern flickering across his face. "What do you mean, 'wouldn't end well'? Like, something bad would happen to you?"

Arizona shrugged, her smile faint but tinged with vulnerability. "I don't know. She didn't give me specifics, but it scared me enough to take her seriously. That's why I've been trying so hard to stay out of fights, to stay calm."

Miguel stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. "Arizona, you've always been fierce, but you're not defined by violence. You're so much more than that."

She looked down, her usual confidence wavering. "Sometimes it feels like fighting is all I've ever known."

Without a word, Miguel reached out and gently cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to meet his. "You're more than that," he repeated softly. Then, before she could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed her, the gesture full of reassurance and understanding.

Arizona froze for a moment before melting into the kiss, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. When they pulled apart, she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miguel smiled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "Anytime." He stepped back, letting his hand drop. "So, what now? Should I worry about Johnny trying to get you three to fight again?"

Arizona laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. "I think we're safe-for now."

Miguel grinned. "Good. Because I don't think I can handle another round of Johnny's therapy sessions."

She laughed again, the sound carrying into the quiet night as they leaned against the railing together, the chaos of the evening fading into the background.

ASH SPEAKS!!!

THIS CHAPTER IS MY NEW FAVORITE SO APPRECIATE THIS AND YOU BETTER NOT BE A GHOST READER

ARIZONA AND MIGUEL >>>>
zen arizona is STAYINGGG even after what happens in barcelona

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!
COMMENT AND VOTE! IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:) PLEASE JUST STOP BEING A GHOST READER!! ITS ANNOYING!! PLEASE COMMENT AND VOTE.