Even Lovers Drown

Recorded pain-filled yells blared from the television as Blake's animated character, an elven man in green, crumpled to a dead heap. Red letters reading "Game!" flashed on the screen. Match over, the scene dissolved into black before the winners screen appeared. Saylor's character, a petite princess clad in pink, performed her choreographed success move, Blake's character clapping in a box at the bottom. Jaw slacked, controller dangling from her hands, Blake stared at the television.

"I win again," Saylor cheered, taking a sip of the beer she grabbed from the cooler during a previous match.

"How does this keep happening?" Blake asked.

She lost. Again. For the sixth time within twenty minutes. To someone who had never played video games before in her life, who barely learned the game controls twenty minutes before the start of their game. It didn't make sense, no matter how many times Blake twisted the facts in her head. She lost six matches out of six. And why?

Because Saylor had no clue what she was doing.

Her strategy, or lack thereof, was to press whatever button her fingers decided to land on. It had been funny at first, when Saylor accidentally ran her character off the stage, and killing her character the first time in their earliest match had been easy enough, being that she was a lighter character. But then, Saylor learned how to morph her princess into her male alter ego. On accident. Blake's chances of winning seemed to go to hell from there. Saylor spent the rest of the matches switching between princess and male alter ego, hopping around, and pulling out random attacks. Responding logically to any of what Saylor did was impossible.

"You're not very good," Saylor answered.

"I'm not very good?" Blake asked, turning her attention to Saylor, "I'm. Not. Very. Good? What you are doing has no semblance of planning or tact and I'm not very good?"

"At least I'm winning."

Saylor meant no malice by the statement, only good-natured fun. The slew of wins had been a surprise to her, not that she would admit that. Blake had, after all, played videogames far longer than she had, knew tricks and strategies Saylor wouldn't learn in a million years. All odds had been stacked against her. But she won every full match, which meant Blake had to do whatever she asked for the rest of tour.

Oh, how she enjoyed winning.

What was she going to demand Blake do, though? Fetch her food or drinks or do her work for her or let her have her bunk on the bus for a night? Blake would do those things without the bet looming over her head, and Saylor wouldn't ask for those things. She didn't want those things. So what else could she possibly want out of Blake? Certainly nothing beyond what they already had, what Blake willingly gave her, what Saylor was willing to take.

But Blake would give her anything, would take their relationship to whatever level Saylor felt comfortable demanding. That hadn't changed. Saylor's comfort, on the other hand, must have. She was talking to Blake, joking around and picking on her a little. And wasn't the point of the date to warm her to the idea of Blake, give Blake the opportunity to get to her? Had it worked?

She knew was enjoying herself, far more than she had in any date she'd been on with Katie. Videogames were childish fun and they made her feel young again, free of any emotional burden. They were relaxing. They put her at ease. And Blake's choice of menu—pizza, beer, and candy—managed to top any fancy restaurant or expensive wine Katie could force her to enjoy. Simply Blake's company was enough for her to enjoy their date. Listening to her surprised exclamations each time her character died and her grumbles when she lost a match entertained Saylor instead of frightening her. She touched Blake occasionally, reassuring pats on her knee or nudging her shoulders to upset her hold on the controller. She yearned for more, celebratory hugs or even a kiss on the cheek as a sort of medal for winning. Or a real kiss, just because.

Maybe the comfortable date had its intended effect. Saylor's slowly relaxing mind would come up with enough for her to demand of Blake.

Groaning, Blake fell back against the cushions surrounding them. "I can't believe I lost."

"It's going to be okay," Saylor assured, reaching out and patting Blake's knee. Blake looked at her, small smile on her face as if the reassurance was needed to boost her ego. Hopeful, not quite crestfallen anymore, not like the world would end because she lost every match. "Just remember you have to do whatever I say for the rest of tour," Saylor said, a well-timed reminder asserted by her competitive side.

Blake's expression fell. "Should I be scared?"

"Terrified," Saylor said, seriousness masking her pent-up laughter.

Blake did look a tad silly, her expression void of happiness, nearly blank. Saylor wasn't sure what she was expecting her to demand, but whatever images flitted through her mind, they weren't good. None of her demands would hurt Blake, though. She wouldn't make many, and the ones she would make, Blake would enjoy.

Unless, she decided to ask her to unload merchandise boxes, take over her shift or let another merch member relax while she helped. Davy needed the rest. What better way to give it to him than make Blake help unload while he sit around and drink orange soda?

"Please don't make me wear a chicken suit on stage," Blake said.

Saylor's eyebrows drew in confusion. Her first request, her only request, was that she not be forced to wear a chicken suit on stage. Where did she even get that idea? Saylor wouldn't have dreamed of putting Blake in a chicken costume, or anything beyond her normal attire period. A chicken costume, of all things, for a performance was recipe for heat stroke.

"Why would I make you wear a chicken suit on stage?" Saylor asked.

"It seems to be some people's favorite choice of dare."

"Why?"

There were better dares than a chicken suit. As embarrassing as it had the potential to be, and it had a fair possibility of being embarrassing considering Blake's fame, a chicken suit seemed like child's play compared to other dares. After many slumber parties, Saylor had witnessed the dangers of Truth or Dare in the hands of individuals over the age of ten. A chicken suit was nothing.

"You've met my friends, you know, the ones I should replace?" Blake said, "Enough said."

Saylor laughed, the explanation more than enough. "Alright, no chicken suits."

"You're a saint." Blake grabbed her phone from its spot on the floor, where she had tossed it after her first loss for a more comfortable sitting position, and tapped the screen, lighting the display. Reading it, she pouted. "I should let you get back to Davy."

The date had ended sooner than Blake would have liked. Time flew, as the saying went, when having fun. Losing videogame matches and watching her date eat pizza was the most enjoyable experience of her life. And Saylor's fleeting touches excited her more than getting signed to a major record label did. Saylor continued to initiate touch. She was comfortable enough to do so, went out of her way to initiate the significant gestures even. Blake would venture to say Saylor liked her, too.

Those shoulder bumps couldn't have just been to remove her controller from her hold.

Saylor's smile faltered. "Oh, yeah, I guess."

Blake pushed herself up from the pillows and held a hand to the reluctant Saylor. "Come on."

And Saylor grabbed the offered hand. No hesitation, no staring at the appendage with frightened green eyes. She just took it and hoisted herself from the floor and didn't let go of Blake's hand once she was standing. The small leap of progress excited Blake almost as much as her extreme reactions to each of Saylor's touches baffled her.

"Do we need to pick this stuff up?" Saylor asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get everything later," Blake said.

"You sure? I can help. Davy won't mind."

"I have band mates to bribe for that." She had more than enough pizza and candy left to get them to help. They wouldn't pass up free food, even if eating meant cleaning up after her date. "Let's go."

With a gentle tug of her hand, Blake led Saylor from the "Employees Only" room, leaving the bubble of their date world. But reality didn't come crashing down around them, didn't destroy the closeness they had developed. Their hands remained tangled in passionate hold. Distance didn't wedge between them. Saylor didn't seem uncomfortable and Blake was happy.

Reality couldn't kill this, because this was reality.

Maybe this would continue to be their reality. Dates during the opener's performance, walking together hand-in-hand, enjoying each other's company. The innocent relationship would keep Blake satisfied till she could have more. She just didn't want anything taken away.

The nearing end of their date made Saylor discontent. She wasn't ready for this to be over, for her odd fairytale date to end. Because their time together wasn't supposed to be over yet. There was something missing. Something so important, her mind wouldn't rest until she got it.

She wished she knew what "it" was.

They stopped in front of the Say Goodbye dressing room door, the vibrant wording marking the room dropping Saylor's heart to her stomach. Whether or not she was content, this was the end of their date. This was where they would separate for the night. Blake would disappear behind the marked door to prepare for her performance, and Saylor would trudge back to the merch table, where reminders that she let something go undone would attack her mind.

Hands still clasped, Blake looked at Saylor, happiness sparkling in her blue eyes. "I had a lot of fun."

She didn't seem to realize something was missing. Maybe nothing was missing. Or maybe Saylor was waiting for the same recreation that ended her first date with Katie, the verbal beat down over her alleged inappropriate behavior at the restaurant. Maybe her mind expected the reaction, would always do so regardless of who she was around.

Saylor didn't believe that was the case but she had no other explanation to give herself.

"Yeah, this was great."

"I hope we can do this again sometime," Blake said, "Well, maybe not this specifically, but, you know, go on a date again."

"I would like that."

She would. Another date to give her something to look forward to, to give her time to figure out what they were forgetting and fix the mistake.

Excitement lit Blake's face, like a child on Christmas morning opening presents. Saylor's agreement to another date was that present, the best one under the tree, the one Blake had been waiting so long for, and that warmed Saylor's heart. So much so, she wanted to kiss Blake's smiling lips. Because she made her feel as if she were the most important thing in the world.

Realization dawned on Saylor. That was the forgotten "it." The ever-important first kiss at the end of the date. Something she thought she'd never want again for fear of where it would lead, and she wanted it more than anything.

"Yeah?" Blake asked.

Saylor's eyes shifted to Blake's lips, in what Saylor hoped was a subtle movement. Full, curved in thrilled smile, and so far away. Why weren't they pressed to Saylor's? Why was there still so much distance between them? This was the part where Blake was supposed to become overcome with excitement and forget all boundaries and kiss her.

But Blake wasn't taking the initiative to do so. She was waiting for Saylor's answer to her question, holding back for the sake of respecting Saylor's boundaries. The same respect that made Saylor feel secure was getting in the way of completing their perfect date.

Well, if her knight in shining armor wasn't going to kiss her, Saylor would have to take it upon herself to further their relationship.

"Of course," Saylor said.

"Okay, awesome. Um, I'll plan something and text you later."

"Sounds good." False agreement for the sake of moving their conversation to a kiss-worthy break. Saylor wouldn't make Blake plan another date on her own, but there was no reason to start a conversation about it. "I should probably get going."

"Still thinking about work," Blake commented.

Hardly true. She was thinking about Blake's lips on her lips and the easiest way to make that happen. Sneaking a kiss in the middle of their goodbye hug was her original plan, but at this rate, she would lose her nerve before Blake stopped prolonging the conversation and the opportunity would be lost. Plan B was looking pretty good.

"Not exactly," Saylor said.

Before another word could be spoken, Saylor leaned forward and pressed her lips to Blake's.