Setting in living room, evening, crowd outside famous dudes house, she enters, smiles,

I am scared that I will slip again. I only want the best for everyone around, but I am scared of my humanity. I feel thoughts coming back up again, I don’t know what is real and what is not. I have forgotten.

She soothes him, runs her hand over his head.

It’s alright. Here, do you want a drink?

He shakes his head, knowing it would break promises.

Come on, it isn’t breaking the oath if a pretty girl forces you no? I’ll have my first drink too. I know you want to, don’t be so hard.

She winks, offering him the glass again. He smiles coyly, takes the glass.

Okay one drink, and you can’t touch me.

She puts her hands up

I would never take advantage of a drunk person no matter how sweet they are.

They both smile.

I missed you, I missed you more.

Can I hug you?
She holds her arms open, I thought you’d never ask- but hey this is platonic, don’t go about falling in love with me.

Shut up.

Do you think this will make the headlines?

Most likely. Why?
Should we screw with them?

What do you propose?

Let’s wear all white clothes and go into mourning.

Who died?

That’s exactly the question!

Well if that works, then the answer is journalism.

One way to find out.

Bet.

The fire goes on. They stay huddled. She smells his hair.

What shampoo is that?

Moroccanoil, why is it bad?

No it’s pretty good actually, soft smell.

Yeah and no condensation either.

Condensation?

You know that thing people say shampoo leaves?

She chuckles, you mean build-up

That’s the thing!

She feels his hair a bit more, confirming his proclamation.

You can borrow it sometime.

How generous.

Though your hair isn’t half bad.

He runs his fingers through it, takes a few strands and sticks them up her nose. She sneezes.

Weirdo

Takes one to know one.