thank you, part 3.5

December 2087. Vicky Garth is 23, Vale Akiyama is 27.

previously: thank you part 1 // part 2 // part 3

It wasn’t that Vale slept peacefully. No, in fact, he got into bed and lay there, listening to angsty music and thinking about things. He needed to make a decision. If she didn’t want anything from him, what should he do next? So, yes, he slept finally, heavy and rock-like, for maybe six hours. He woke up early—early for Vale—at the bright and hazy hour of nine a.m. And he did expect to find something from Vicky on his phone in the morning—an angry apology, probably, or an excuse. But he never expected a song.

He had to listen to it a few times. 

First, completely stunned to his bones, because Vicky had the truly most enchanting voice. He knew that already, of course, but it never ceased to amaze him when he heard it. 

Second, because the song was good. Original, musically viable, and catchy. He wondered if she’d ever be brave enough to record it. 

Third and fourth times, finally, he realized that she was trying to tell him something. These lyrics were not just a song—they were a song for him. He listened to what she had to say, then he listened again.  

Fifth, finally, because he wanted to hear the part where she said she longed for him again. He had to admit he wondered about that. 

Holy shit. This girl—this incredible, explosive, volcano of a girl—she wrote him a song. And what the song said was exactly everything he needed to hear.

Then, he had to dance a little. And grin like a fool. And jump around. Because wouldn’t you, too, if someone wrote you a song—not just any song, but a song like that? Wouldn’t you, too, if that incredible song proved that you weren’t just being stupid, and maybe you were right about everything, and, if you read between the lines, you were possibly even more right than you could have hoped?

He took a photo, because he wanted to remember this moment. He didn’t Instagram it. Although he absolutely wanted to tell the whole world, it was still too private a feeling. For now. But he would definitely have to text Asher later, and his mom, and probably Blossom, too. 

But first, finally, he supposed he should call Vicky back.

Vicky’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Her heart jumped out of her chest.


It was him. Fucking finally! 

“I… oh… shit!”

He was up early, but not early enough. She wanted to hug him and scream at him at the same time.

Angelo chuckled into his coffee. “Did you just say you shit yourself?”

“Ugh, no.” Vicky sneered at him. “Um, Beau, I need to take this. Can I have a few—ten—twenty minutes?”

Beau sighed without looking up from his work. “Go on lunch, Vicky.”

She stepped outside onto the back deck. It was cold, but she didn’t feel chilled. Her hands were hot and sweaty. She was excited and angry and happy and exhausted. She was nervous, but also furious! The heat of a volcano of frustration and uncertainty bubbled up inside her. It spilled over.

“You giant asshole! You epic stinking turd! How could you do that? You can’t just dump all that drama on me and then disappear for ten hours! That is shitty. It was awful!”

“I’m sorry,” Vale said. 

“You should be.”

“Vicky. Vicky, wait, that song was incredible. It was powerful. It was honest and touching and, um, angry.”

“Well, inspiration.”

“But I never said you were a throwaway girl. Why would you write that?”

“Oh. I know you didn’t say that,” she said. “I was feeling it all, I guess. It’s not the first time somebody ditched me. Not the first time by far.”

“I wasn’t ditching you. I went to bed. I was, I don’t know, trying to get some perspective.”

“And, did you get some? In ten hours, I hope you got a lot.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Vicky, I’m not trying to freak you out, but… I’m just so crazy about you. For real, I’m not playing games. And I know that’s my thing to deal with, but I just don’t know how to read you. Sometimes I think we’re playing, then I worry you might genuinely hate me, then you say you don’t want anything from me, then you send me a song like that? I can deal with indifference, and I can deal with it if you just want to be friends, but if you actually really hate me… I don’t know if I could deal with that.”

“Vale, I don’t hate you.” By which she meant, I actually really like you. So heavy a feeling for so few simple words.

He chuckled. “Well, thank god.”

“I’m not indifferent, either. And I do want… things from you. I mean, I don’t like have a list ready or anything.” 

“It’s okay, you can get the list to me by Monday.” 

She laughed, but she also wondered if it might be helpful to them both if she thought about it. 

“I’m kidding,” he said. “You don’t have to make a list.” 

“I just want you to know,” she said. “I never wanted you to think that I hated you. I’m sorry. I’m just not good at feelings.”

“You sent me fourteen texts, six voicemails, and a song. That’s a lot of feelings. I’d say you’re probably okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I’m sorry, too, if I’m the reason you wrote that. Or not sorry, because it was a good song, and maybe you needed to write it. I feel like I owe you a hug or something.”

“Yeah, or something.”

“And you dream of my touch?”

“Oh my god, I created a monster! Your ego is the size of this planet. Stop, or I’ll take it all back.”

“You can’t take it back, I have the recording.”

She laughed, feeling nervous and desperate. “Shit, what have I done? You got me.”

“Do I have you?”

“Oh, boy, I think this might be what a panic attack feels like.” 

“Vicky, I’m teasing. You don’t have to say anything. But what do you think about coming out here? No panic attacks, I promise. It’ll be cool. We can, you know, hang out, talk about things. I mean, not that these phone calls aren’t absolutely exhilarating. Or we don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to. We can hug or not hug—it’s up to you. We can just watch movies and eat food and listen to music. But, I really want to see you. If you don’t think that would be too miserable.”

“How long do you think we’d make it without fighting? An hour? Ten minutes? Would we find something to bicker about as soon as I get off the train?”

“We can get it over with right now if you want.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Me, either. We don’t always fight.”

“No, not always.”

“Sometimes, it’s actually pretty great,” he said. “Sometimes it seems like maybe you think it might be great, too. Or, well, at least pleasant?… Tolerable? Are you gonna make me beg? Because I will.”

Maybe most normal people didn’t dwell on the end of a relationship before it even began, but Vicky did. And this, some day when it eventually ended, was going to be very bad. Maybe it would destroy her worse than all the others. Maybe she’d never recover. What sane person signs up for this voluntarily?

She wasn’t sure if she was very brave or very stupid, but she really wanted to see him, too. 

“Vale, I’m coming. Remember you promised me garden centers and vegetarian curry? And no panic attacks, and a hug?”

“I did, and I’m a man of my word. Let’s do it.”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

Vale was excited. Vicky was coming out to see him. He had so many ideas, so many plans. He was trying not to get his hopes sky high and failing miserably. 

But then he looked at the state of his apartment and it brought him back down from the clouds. 

Oh, yes, he had a lot of work to do here first. 

—

gameplay notes: if you turned your attention to their profiles, you would find that he is a slob and she is neat. Can't wait to see how that plays out, lol! 

I also did their MBTI's and was not very surprised to find they're almost complete opposites, except they're both feely types.