Chapter Text
You held onto your poorly made mimosa as if it were a lifeboat in a sea of people whose faces you barely remembered, forced to smile through entire Facebook albums of weddings, baby showers, small angry white dogs named "Teddy", or someone's recent spiritual enlightening while visiting Tibet with highly insensitive interpretations of Buddhism. You suffered through it with the same plastic expression you donned during your high school days, awkwardly humming along to questions regarding the cuteness of someone's son suffocating their family cat.
Then came the questioning of your own life and pity once you mentioned that you weren't married. Something about being in your early thirties made people feel entitled to give you life advice you didn't ask for, along with tips and tricks for catching a future husband you didn't want.
After an excruciating hour of savoring lukewarm orange juice and looking at way too many videos of gender reveal parties, you decided that only something stronger could get you through the night.
You made your way over to the liquor table, noting that someone left a bag of ice outside. It was mostly a puddle dripping onto the floor now. All of the prepared drinks were gone, so you eyed the cheap, untouched bottle of gin, and poured yourself a hefty amount into the glass flute. Just as you contemplated adding some lemon slices in it, two women scuttled over to the table with sardonic expressions. You moved to the side, allowing them to pick their poisons, but the conversation couldn't miss you even if you decided against eavesdropping.
"He was always such a weirdo."
"I know right. Remember when he lied about dating Tess Holowinsky and gifted her that creepy scrapbook?"
The woman you vaguely recognized chuckled and rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Oh God, yeah. I completely forgot about that. Who does that? Serial killer vibes."
"Well yeah, Chase always had that Dahmer look going. Who knows, really… creeps me out."
You took a few steps away from the table and frowned down at your shitty glass of gin. Chase. Tess. There were some connections there, but you couldn't quite recall the scandal as well as the other two women could. God, your high school presence was so insignificant that you repressed most of the stories revolving around stupid things in order to make space for more important information.
Most of the things.
It had something to do with him embarrassing himself at prom, probably, and how — despite everyone cheering him on as a joke — he owned his attempt at doing the pop and lock, moonwalking straight into Trent's fist. The jock then proceeded to smash his glasses (along with his nose) because he spilled spiked punch over his suit. However, the Adrian Chase you knew back then was a scrawny kid with a bad haircut and glasses that looked like they belonged to your grandmother.
The man before you was tall, with a swoop of curly brown hair and — well, equally dorky smile, to be completely honest.
You momentarily recalled the unnecessarily large corsage strapped to your wrist by your mother, pale flowers staining deep maroon as you pushed tissues under his bloody nose. His jawline was less prominent then, and he made a poor attempt at growing out a beard.
"Fank u!" He mumbled over the rapidly darkening tissues.
The flesh around his nose started turning a deep blue and you informed him that you're getting a teacher.
"Ah maaah, noh again. Wait, wait, Liz…"
You slowed, turning around to face the boy sitting on the hood of your dads shitty blue Honda. He smiled over the bloody mess crumpled in his hand, all dimples and bloody top teeth.
"You look beauhiful in that dress. Puhple is your color, girl!"
Now that you think back on the incident, you found his lack of concern a little off-putting. He merely continued swinging his feet to the beat of the song faintly playing inside, humming along to Thin Lizzy as if his entire face wasn't turning blue.
Those same dimples were now on a man who could probably break Trent's nose back, although they faltered into a confused pout as the blonde woman beside him scoffed and walked away. He was still a terrible dancer and, apparently, still tried to impress women by doing the pop and lock.
He shrugged it off and continued dancing on his own beside the booth, ignoring the amused looks from people near him. You hid your smile behind the glass. The moment the gin hit your throat you started violently coughing. This wasn't just bottom shelf, this was borderline criminal. Whoever brought the bottle deserved to be arrested and sentenced to drink two bottles of it on an empty stomach.
You squeezed your eyes shut as the liquid traveled up your nose, pinching your fingers on the bridge of it in panic. The mimosa was bad, but this was unimaginably horrible.
"I see you're a woman with refined taste."
A voice chirped, and you opened your watery eyes to observe Adrian proudly crossing his arms over his chest. The red button down looked nice on his toned arms, but you couldn't appreciate his transformation as his words made you see red in a completely different manner.
"You brought this?"
Your throat stung as you spoke, another coughing fit making you reach for a discarded cup of juice someone left on one of the tables.
"Ew man, someone drank from that. You're gonna get herpes tomorrow. Not… the genital kind. Or is every herpes genital? That wouldn't make sense though because—"
He rambled on about sexually transmitted diseases as you downed a cup of leftover grape juice, dabbing your watery eyes with the heel of your thumb. Hopefully the waterproof mascara would live up to its eight dollar value, and you wouldn't spend the remainder of the evening looking like a racoon.
"Adrian, this is the shittiest gin I ever tried. Where the fuck did you get this?"
Somehow the fluid made your voice raspier and your throat hurt as you talked. As you discreetly cleared your throat, Adrian paused mid sentence to give you a puppy-like tilt of his head. He was still cute when confused. Better looking too, but his intelligence didn't grow with his bicep, sadly.
"That's because it's not gin. It's my mystery juice." He stated matter-of-factly, the corner of his lips twitching as if he found something personally amusing in that sentence. "You see, as my best friend once said: think smart, not quick. I mixed together my leftover gin with my leftover tequila, and the bottle of vodka I found on that lawn while pa… anyways, it's not gin."
You stared at him as if he just grew another head, trying to find any semblance of logic in that statement. Right, Adrian was always somewhat of a nutjob. Now that you think about it, you could recall more strange things he did during your high school days, along with, yes, gifting a girl a scrapbook filled with candid photos he took of her during choir practice.
"Why… would you bring that?" You added, defeated, checking your wrist watch and looking out for the friend that brought you into this whole mess in the first place. It was just like her to disappear off into the masses after she convinced you to accompany her somewhere.
"Because the invitation said no unopened bottles and I couldn't bring half a bottle of gin, duh!"
Your friend was all the way on the other end of the room, chatting with a group of people who drank up every single one of her syllables. Just like high school. A sudden wave of exhaustion made you rub your temples, the headache that usually got you from working overtime, now coming back with a vengeance.
"Right. Well, it was a pleasure catching up, Adrian. You really changed for the better. Have a nice evening."
He opened his mouth to reply, but if he was anything of the chatterbox you knew then you would be spending another fifteen minutes saying goodbye. Instead of waiting, you gave him a polite smile and turned your back, walking towards the chairs where you set your bag and jacket down.
You patted your jacket over, checking inside your bag as well. Not that you had anything valuable in there, but you didn't trust people in Evergreen enough, as crime in such a conservative backwater town was running rampant. You twirled your car keys in your hand, beelining towards the door with a casual wave towards your friends confused face. There were several excuses saved for later in order to justify your Irish goodbye, but currently you just wanted to drive back to your parents house and sleep on the couch for two days straight.
Just as you jiggled the keys inside the car door, hoping that the thing wouldn't give you trouble again, quick footsteps echoed on the gravel behind you. You froze and looked over your shoulder, only to meet a pair of bright green eyes.
"I need a ride."
The thick wool cardigan he zipped over his shirt made his grandmother presence more prominent, and despite being the person who always tried to see the good in people — being alone with Adrian in a parking lot unnerved you. You hated how your own brain worked against you, deciding to recall how some of the kids started rumors about him keeping around a journal with a hit list in it, and how he wrote an essay on why people who litter should be executed for Earth Day.
Your silent glare didn't make a single muscle change on his face. He was still smiling, now adding a small tilt of his head that made him look adorable. No, not adorable. You shut your eyes in disbelief at your own thoughts and charted it down to being tired.
"Well? Oh, or we could take my car. I parked right over there." He added calmly, jutting a thumb out somewhere to his left.
The suggestion made you straighten, a bewildered look on your face. He didn't see anything wrong with the paradoxical nature of your entire conversation, so you ran a hand through your hair and slowly blew out a long breath.
"Why do you need a ride if you have your own car, then?"
His smile fell and he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "Because… and there's a good reason… so, it's… can you give me, like, three minutes?"
You couldn't help the snort that escaped you, and you realized that even if Adrian Chase wasn't dangerous, he truly was one fuse short in his head. Pulling at the door with enough force to dislocate your shoulder, you stepped into your old car, giving the man before you a curt nod.
"Goodbye."
"Hey, hey, wait! I said three minutes!" He rushed forward in panic, and you instinctively slammed the door shut.
You were placing your bag and jacket on the seat behind you, aware that Adrian's pouty face was just outside your car window. He knocked on it once, twice, and you shot him a threatening look that was meant to say "fuck off", but he only smiled sweetly.
"Okay. Fine. You're the first hot chick to remember me tonight, so I really wanted to talk more to you. I hate high school reunions and I wish I could go back in there and set everything on fire, but you're actually not so bad so I don't wanna do that anymore. There."
Aside from yelling his thoughts out loud beside your car like a maniac — as if the thing separating you was made out of concrete — his reasoning genuinely surprised you. Did he just call you hot? And if he did, does that mean that he didn't remember you at all? You wanted to feel flattered at the compliment, but part of you felt unpleasant at the thought that he forgot how many times you helped him out during high school. All of the forgotten homework, bloody noses, reviewed essays…
There was also the kiss that swayed your self-esteem for the next couple of weeks. Did he forget about that too? Because you did, but being back in Evergreen made all of those old memories resurface and taunt you.
In a strange way you could relate to his need to set the entire event aflame, but your version would have him in it as well. Although you were slightly irritated, and he just made it worse as he fogged up a small circle on your window to draw a frowny face, you rolled the thing down to reveal his equally pouty face behind it.
"And what about your car? You can't just leave it here."
His eyes instantly lit up, the bent position giving away how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down whatever sound he was about to make. Instead he was already making his way to the passenger seat, a pep to his step. He opened the door without any trouble and slid into the seat with one smooth motion.
"Don't worry about that. I'll get it later. Oh, can I DJ? It's the passenger princess job to provide the tunes." He chirped, stretching up in his seat to fish out something from his back pocket.
Maybe you were equally stupid as him, because your eyes momentarily strayed to his elongated form with a twinge of appreciation. Whatever workout routine he picked up after senior year really saved his life. He was a very skinny kid back then, but he always had a solid frame.
"Well?" He prompted and you blinked away your spiraling thoughts in shame. An awkward hum left you as he waved an USB before your face. "Can I DJ?"
You fumbled with the engine, nodding along. "Sure. But why an USB?"
"I don't want the government stealing my data. It's top secret."
Ending the night on a high note in Evergreen originally included coming home to a glass of wine and a rerun on the cable. You also payed close attention that your phone was off during personal time, because of the unsavory texts you kept getting from a list of different unknown numbers. Although, you were positive that you knew who they were from and what they were implying.
Bloodshot eyes. A doctor squeezing your forearm like a vice. That was an order, Bennett.
The unsettling weight returned to your stomach at the first red light. As you blinked away the haze of automation, Gwen Stefani reminded you that she's been a real bad girl, and so did Adrian Chase as you glanced over to him mouthing along the lyrics as if he wasn't driving with a woman he didn't recognize, but rather standing with his brush in a bathroom mirror. Your lips quirked upward despite your best efforts, but you hid the amusement behind the back of your palm as the red light blinked impatiently. What were the chances of finding your mothers red wine stock still intact back home? She promised to dial down the weekend drinking, but you knew her better than anyone else.
Speaking of home — you continued driving straight ahead, but slowed as you realized that you weren't alone in your car. Not that Adrian made it hard to remember that he was there as he turned exceptionally lively at the "woo hoo, yee hoo" part of the song. You drummed your fingers under the wheel, reaching over to turn down the volume, feeling all parts your father whenever you went on a road trip together.
"You didn't tell me where I'm taking you."
"Hey, I was — oh!" He looked out of the window for a moment and then back at you. "Fennel Fields. So that we can grab a drink together on my workers discount."
The toothy grin radiated confidence of a man who didn't just perform the entirety of Sweet Escape in your car. Nevertheless, you were taken aback with his forwardness, as much as you were charmed to learn that he never quite lost his bravado. He batted his lashes at you in anticipation and yeah, even with the redesign, Chase was still the same dorky and eccentric kid you knew.
"You really don't remember me, do you?"
You blurted it out before you could stop yourself. Closing your eyes in embarrassment and allowing the discomfort of his intense once-over to pass, you slowed at the next turn until you settled this once and for all.
"Uh, of course I do. You're… we… wait, did we? Can you give me three minutes?"
A pang of hurt echoed in your chest, for no better reason than the fact that even the class weirdo deemed you insignificant enough to forget all about your existence in Evergreen. How many people approached you at the reunion to tell you that they completely forgot about you until that exact moment? Maybe it was on you for not oversharing your life on social media.
"Adrian," you started, suddenly growing impatient, "we avoided P.E together all the time. I lied about having cramps and then you used the same exact excuse. Mr. Carter made us run together for a passing grade."
He made a grimace at that and looked out of the window again. "Sorry, I don't remember my past lovers. It's simply not how I roll. My best friend barely remembers the names of all the women that wanted to have sex with him — were it not for me keeping track in my journal, of course! I'm sure it was amazing and you got to brag how you got a piece of the Adrian Chase, but… let it go. It's in the past."
Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn't this. In fact, the worst case scenario in your head was him confirming your suspicion of not remembering you and then having to reintroduce yourself. Being assumed some sort of past fling was so much worse, and you couldn't help but turn to him in shock and borderline disgust.
"Excuse me?"
"Eyes on the road." He lilted, giving you a — was this motherfucker pitying you? "Look, there's no need to go all psycho on me. I dice with death, I hustle and bustle, and that means I don't have time for love. Also, I am not good with emotions at all. I mean, I'm still up for it tonight for old times sake, but…"
"Oh." You stepped on the break hard enough that both of you jerked forwards, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. Your fingers shook with the force it took to undo your seatbelt and turn to him fully. "You think that you're getting lucky tonight? Is that where those drinks were supposed to lead to?"
He pushed his glasses back up and frowned. "No, of course not. What the fuck? You can't give consent while inebriated. I'm not some sort of rapist who leers on drunk women."
"Right! Right, of course you're not. You're the guy who works at a shitty Italian restaurant and thinks that acting smug is gonna get him some pussy. Is that right?"
You knew you were being rude, and that right now you sounded no better than the bullies who abused the fact that he was bad at picking up social cues. His certainty in the make believe story where you're some sort of desperate past hookup really grinded your gears. It also had something to do with him thinking that he was hot shit, and as his fellow comrade in being part of the "forgettable and irrelevant" high school club — it gnawed at your very bones to be the only one feeling let down at the reunion.
"Well… kind of? Smug is kind of a stretch, though, since I never overestimate my skillset, and I don't lie either. That's what a bad person does."
He missed the mark completely. His expression was a mixture of confusion and a small hopeful curve at the corner of his mouth that only made you angrier. Leaning over with (what he assumed was) a charming smile was a rather stupid decision, because now he was within punching distance. You balled your left hand into a fist in your lap, but clutched the fabric of your pants to not do anything drastic.
Whatever line he had ready was long forgotten, eyes flickering down to your posture instead. You caught a small shift, his cheeks tensing and upper lip almost curling. There was an uncanny change you could track within his expression; the childlike joy turning stiff and foreboding without losing intensity.
"You don't want to do that. I'll have to be mean if you do that." He murmured seriously, and you immediately deflated, unnerved.
"Eliza Bennett." You pitched towards his sudden change in demeanor, your voice brittle and muscles tense. He was someone you didn't see in eleven years, and no matter how much your younger self wanted to believe that he wasn't some sort of deranged killer, he was practically a stranger, in your car, in a fuck knows where neighborhood, with the strength to overpower you easily.
"Who's th…"
"Me. People called me Lizzie or Liz back in high school. We… hung out sometimes. Mostly in school. We never had sex, though, and I most certainly didn't have a thing for you."
He scrunched his brows in thought and his apologetic look was sincere. "Uh, I don't really remember, so…"
"It's fine. It's not that important."
"Okay." He mulled something over, bringing a hand up to nudge his glasses upwards. Suddenly aware of how close he was, you started to feel claustrophobic. A sweet scent caught your attention. It was closest to pancakes than any artificial fragrance. "Does that mean you don't want to have sex with me? Or at least, dunno, blow me in the parking lot?"
You opened your mouth and closed it, screwing your eyes shut. No, you're not about to get murdered in Evergreen's woods because you physically assaulted a guy you knew back when you wore a little too much denim for anyone's comfort.
"Yes, that means we're not having sex. So I can either drop you off at the restaurant, or drive you back to your car."
Adrian's expression fell into obvious dejection. You sat in complete silence for a moment, but he eventually opened your door and calmly got out. Your confused look was met by his big smile as he dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"None. I picked a third, secret option! Sorry for not remembering you or your silly little crush on me."
You frowned. "I didn't…"
"Please," he lifted his hand in a placating gesture, "don't make this harder than it should be. I want you to drive away now — you can't park here anyways, it's against the law — and forget all about me. I know it's going to be hard and it's okay to cry… if you're weak, that is. I never cry."
He continued talking, passionately throwing out advice for lovesickness that he read in a magazine. The more time you spent parked here, the more embarrassed and angry you got. Just your luck to try and reconnect with someone from high school only for it to go horribly wrong. Then again, you picked the worst person to try to bond with.
"Bye, Adrian." You clipped as you leaned over and shut the door in his face. His voice still droned on, getting drowned out only as you started the engine.
"Bye! I'm sorry for breaking your heart when you were seventeen!" He spoke over the noise, waving you off, and you pressed the gas so hard that your Honda made a noise in protest.
As you, quite literally, left the man in a cloud of dust, you thought about whether being nice in Evergreen could pay off. Maybe you were the fool for thinking that the dorky kid you actually enjoyed being around back then would turn out any other way than this. A childlike thought crossed your mind, but you pushed it down out of sheer second-hand embarrassment. He should have been glad someone wanted to be seen with him in the first place. You sounded like a teen climbing the social hierarchy with that, and you fumbled with your phone to text your friend. Without warning your brain pushed forth an image of a pouty kid pointing out how highly illegal texting and driving was.
He wouldn't let you call his mother, so you took him to the hospital yourself. To this day you couldn't understand how he managed to cut his leg so neatly, or what he meant when he said that it was "self-inflicted during practice".
"Just take it off. C'mon." He wiggled his arms in the air as you hesitated over him.
"The doctor said they'll cut through your pants."
You were already uncomfortable from the nurse regarding you as his girlfriend out in the hallway, and now he wanted you to take his clothes off for him?
"It's a limited edition Peacemaker shirt and I got blood on the hem of it! If this stains I'll kill myself and then you." He groaned, dramatic as ever, and you shook your head in dismay.
He was thinking about that stupid shirt at a time like this. You were about to respond, but a woman rushed in with all the instruments to stitch him back together.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, but you're gonna have to wait for your boyfriend out there."
Your eyes widened and you looked at him, waiting for any and all reaction. He was busy getting tangled in his own shirt, like an idiot, but he froze as you shrilly replied.
"He's not my boyfriend! We're just classmates."
A car zoomed past you and you winced, internally cursing at the reckless driver of a goddamn Subaru. Although, it was a good distraction from the past, and a reminder that you should get the hell away from Evergreen as soon as possible. People from high school should stay only as recollections in a photo album your mother kept in the shoe box above your closet. None of this was important anyways if you're not even remembered by the outcasts.