AN: Hey there! Long time no see. I know it's been maybe three and a half years since I last updated, but I do go back to my old writing every once and a while and wonder what would happen if I finished. I'm not really in this fandom anymore, and I'm sure a lot of you aren't either. But I always did like this story and these characters, and looking back, there were some aspects about how I told the story that I don't agree with anymore. So I'm going to try to wrap up these last three chapters, for any of you out there who might have wondered what became of this tale, while also doing somewhat of a 180 on Dave and his behavior. I hope all of you have grown and been happy these last few years! I'd love to hear from any of you - my Tumblr is thisturtleisneon if you want to drop me a line.

Friday rolls around before you know it, your head spinning giddily after a week of time spent with John. You've been pulling out all the stops recently, trying your darnedest to achieve your goal by Day 30. But what with John's recent confession, not to mention the kiss (oh good lord the kiss), you're left wondering what the goal is anymore. John loves you, or so he says. Well, that's it, isn't it? Still, things feel...incomplete, somehow. To be blunt, John isn't yours.

Not yet, you think sometimes. Not yet. But those thoughts feel wrong. As things get easier, as John becomes more willing, you can't help but wonder if it's all too good to be true. Looking back to where you started, with the resistance and the anger and the fear flashing in John's eyes, it's a marvel you got to where you are now. And you have to admit, it wasn't from a lack of stubbornness on your part. Immutability. Insistence.

You don't like thinking that you forced John into things. So you vow to let things proceed at their own pace, from now on. That's why, when you flip open your notebook on Friday morning to Day 28, you scribble your notes quickly and noncommittally, with the acceptance that it all might soon be rendered irrelevant. And with the way things are going with John right now, you care very little about whether you're on a schedule or not. You've salvaged your friendship with him, and with Rose and Jade for that matter, when just weeks ago it seemed like you'd fractured those relationships for good. It means enough to you now to just enjoy your time spent with John, and it's important to you that he's the one to choose what your next steps are and when you'll take them.

After school, you hurry outside and practically leap onto your bike, tasting the crisp spring air on your tongue along with the possibilities of a brand-new weekend. As you sail down the street, you notice your three friends pushing open the front doors to the school and exiting into the bright sunlight. Jade cups one hand to her eyes and points at you with the other, John's head jerks your way and he immediately waves with both arms while grinning from ear to ear, and Rose dons a wide-brimmed sunhat dramatically. You give them all a cheeky salute and turn to pedal away just as John breaks from the group, dashing down the street after you.

Surprised, you circle back, letting him catch up, and then end up screeching to a halt as he barrels into you and gives you a bear hug. You struggle to keep your balance on the bike as his weight pulls you to one side, but just as quickly, he lets go and hops blithely onto the seat behind you.

"Where are we going?" he asks in your ear, and you can't help but smirk.

"Couldn't wait?" you ask coolly, and you don't have to look back at John's face to know he's blushing. But he pipes up behind you, without skipping a beat.

"Maybe I couldn't."

Now it's your turn to flush red as you pick your feet off the pavement and force the bicycle forward. John wraps his arms around your chest and rests his chin on your shoulder as you shoot back the way you came, past Jade and Rose who give two thumbs-up and a wink, respectively.

"So, I don't have any particular plans," you admit as you round a corner and head towards the center of town. "I thought we might just...play it by ear?"

"By ear, huh?" John repeats, a teasing lilt to his voice, and he presses his lips to the shell of your left ear, causing you to stop breathing for a moment and almost swerve into the curb. John's laugh rings out, echoing around the neighborhood. "Strider doesn't have it all planned for once?"

You regain your outward composure but grip the handlebars like your life depends on it, and you're pretty sure your cheeks are about as crimson as your eyes. "How about a movie?" you suggest, your voice audibly straining in an effort to sound casual.

John almost certainly doesn't buy it, giggling over your shoulder as you desperately try to focus on the road. "A movie sounds great, Dave."

Hearing John say your name like that, right in your ear, has you distracted for the rest of the ride. Ten minutes later, you come to a slow stop in front of the old downtown cinema, the only local theater that still uses real film, and therefore the only one that John will tolerate on most days. You fumble with the bike lock in a daze, partly because Bro gave you his old one only yesterday after learning you'd just been propping your bike up against walls, and partly because you're still reeling from John's words and actions. Hell, you don't know how you got to the cinema in one piece.

You take a deep breath and straighten up, and when you turn, John is right behind you, hands in his pockets and grinning. He stands there, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet for a moment, before you finally ask, "What?" He points excitedly at the marquee with one arm and plucks your hand out of the air with the other, intertwining your fingers together as he drags you towards the theatre. Just before you're pulled under the marquee, you look up and get a glance at the first title: the sequel to some dumb ghost movie that came out last year. You chuckle, lost in the warmth of John's hand. Of course.

John gets to the ticket counter first and insists on paying. You protest, but he wedges his body in front of yours and is having none of it. So you put up both hands in surrender and stand to the side to watch John's face as he laughs and jokes enthusiastically with the employee behind the counter. It doesn't occur to you at first that you're grinning like an idiot just from watching John smiling and having fun. When he finishes paying and turns towards you, you have to forcibly wipe the stupid look off your face before he takes your arm and steers you into the theater.

He's gabbing the whole way to your seats and well through the commercials, catching you up on the plot of the first film and engaging you in his thematic analysis. You're able to lose yourself in his eyes and his contagious excitement, but as the lights dim, somewhere in the back of your mind, alarm bells are going off. You haven't been on a movie date in a while, and never with someone you cared this much about. To add another layer to the anxiety rolling through your head in waves, you certainly have no idea how to behave on a movie date with John, someone you've been to movies with practically infinite times before. You glance at his hand, dangling off the armrest. Are you supposed to hold it?

You try to breathe deeply, reminding yourself of your earlier promise. This will be just like old times. Letting John set the pace is what's important to you now, so you settle on watching the film (no matter how bad it is) and not counting your chickens before they hatch.

All that goes out the window, however, as John's hand comes to rest on your thigh.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment you can't feel anything except the electricity of his touch shooting out over your skin in every direction. After a few long seconds, when you dare to glance over at John, he gives you a cheeky smile and looks back at the screen. You swallow hard and do the same, but you're watching his face out of the corner of your eye and your thoughts are racing.

Instinctively, you rest your hand over his. He shifts immediately, and you panic that you've done the wrong thing, but he only turns his hand upwards to slide his fingers between yours. You've already mostly lost the plot of the film, if there was one to begin with, but you forget everything completely when John starts tracing little circles on your thumb.

You groan inwardly. A movie was supposed to be low-stakes, casual, a break from the intensity of your pursuit. You wanted to lift the pressure off of John's back and make sure he felt comfortable. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that John is setting the pace. Hell, he chose the movie, he paid, he put his own hand where he damn well pleased.

That sends a whole new thrill through your core, to know that John is reciprocating your interest wholeheartedly. That John is making the moves, that John wants...you? It seems almost impossible, and yet here he is, lowering his head onto your shoulder, and the world comes to a stop.

You become singularly aware of every point of contact between you: the side of every finger, John's hair tickling the crook of your neck. Suppressing a shiver, as well as a frenzied longing that threatens to rear up in the pit of your stomach, you take a few deep breaths and lay your head down on top of his. You focus on the warmth of him tucked against you, and fall into a comfortable haze of John, John, John. The pad of his thumb brushing against yours, the smell of his shampoo, the not-so-steady rhythm of his inhales and exhales.

Ah. So he's feigning his nonchalance, too.