Okay, here's the deal: this universe is canon only up to Drop the World, part two, all the way back in season 10. After the accident and the breakup, Eli transferred upon Bullfrog and Cece's insistence. Interested in the theater as a writer and director, Eli got into NYU. Clare graduated at the top of her class and double majors at Columbia.

I steered my bike onto the sidewalk just in time to avoid a particularly crazy cabbie's idea of driving. As luck would have it, though, my shitty bike's chain decided it was the perfect time to disengage from the gear, and I was pitched unto my side, knocking into several people in the process.

"God dammit, fucking shit, ass muffin," I grumbled to myself, righting the bike and flipping off some of the more obscene victims of my misfortune. "It clearly wasn't my fault." I called over my shoulder, tugging the useless hunk of metal behind me.

Fuck, I needed a drink.

Glancing at my watch—the time had just crept past 8:30, almost unacceptably early to be getting a drink—I propped my bike against the alley wall. At that point, I was almost hoping someone would steal it. If anything, it would give me an excuse to look for a slightly better means of transportation. Maybe I could really own up to my douchebag status and learn how to skateboard.

Chuckling darkly and forcing the hair out of my eyes, I rounded the corner and entered The Cat's Pajamas—a cheap and nearly-dingy establishment far enough away from NYU's campus that it was my favorite drinking spot.

The bouncer, Sterling, was once a professional tightrope walker until he decided to move to New York and pursue his calling as a novelist. Occasionally, I'll give him tips like I actually think he's talented.

"Eli!" He slapped my back as I wandered in. For a man who's five-one, Sterling sure knew how to knock you off balance. "You've got to stop wearing so much black. I swear you blend right in to the background!"

"I'll get right on that." I retorted under my breath.

I went to the counter for some beer, and glanced around at the slowly-filling, dimly-lit room. There was a dart board and a pool table tucked away in the brightest corner, directly under a hanging light that gave off an unsettling yellow glow. The counter snaked all the way around the tap and reserve of liquor, and it was always sticky. My favorite part was the ever-growing collage of graffiti that covered nearly seventy percent of the wall space.

I had this booth in the corner that was perfect for wallowing, so I slipped in—drink in hand—and started unraveling my scarf and unbuttoning my winter jacket. Out of my messenger bag, I pulled my laptop and started drumming my thumb on the table, waiting for the Wi-Fi connection.

Three and a half beers, a few hours, and only three additional pages to my play later, a jarring voice caught my attention.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Claaaaarrrrrre, happy birthday to you!"

My head snapped to attention so quickly, I felt my muscles resist and tense. My heart had started pounding loud enough that I felt my pulse against my eardrum, and suddenly my palms were slick with sweat.

No way, nuh uh, it simply could not be.

But what if it was?

I was frozen with my indecision: fight or flight. If Clare Edwards was actually in the same room as me, there should be no question. I had to run. I had to hop on my shitty bike and pedal back to my hideous dorm and lock my door and forget everything.

But the only reason my mind had jumped so quickly to her was because I had taken note of the date as soon as I woke up.

February 2nd—Clare Edwards' birthday.

Also Groundhog's Day, which was as good an excuse as any for why the date was stuck in my head.

Plus, it wasn't like I spent all my time thinking about what happened to her anymore, coming up with every hypothetical in my head—some benevolent and some downright childishly evil.

But I'd be a rotten liar if I didn't admit to dwelling on fleeting thoughts every once in a while. I had grown a lot, but I was pretty fucking far from perfect.

Flight it was.

I hurriedly shoved my scarf and laptop back into my bag and was in the process of putting my arm through my coat sleeve and rushing toward the door when the source of the jarring voice slammed right into me. All four-foot-ten of her.

"Eli Goldsworthy!?" Alli Bhandari scoffed, her high-pitched indignation carrying despite the din and the terrible acoustics. Suddenly, I could feel her stare tickling my skin, and it took every ounce of my feeble, pathetic willpower not to look.

"Yup, thanks, scream it louder."

Alli sneered, clacking her long nails against the plastic case of her cell phone. "What are you doing here?"

"Not that you actually have a right to know, but I go to school around here, short-stuff."

"Cute: I've definitely never heard that one before. Why don't you take your dark cloud of doom elsewhere?"

Being the prick I was, I seriously considered reclaiming my booth just to spite Miss Snooty, but my skin was still prickling with the knowledge that Clare Edwards was close by. And that was dangerous.

But I couldn't quite tame the confrontational beast. "I see you haven't changed a bit since high school." I quirked a meaningful eyebrow at her and straightened my coat before slinging my bag over my torso.

"And you have? I thought by now you'd have at least branched out to wearing grey or red or something."

"Sorry I don't mindlessly consume the profit-driven crap spouted by the fashion industry." I shot back, pushing past her toward the door.

I had just made it to my shitty bike when I heard the crunch of boots approaching me from behind. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that maybe Sterling was right. Maybe I could just blend into the darkness.

"You're leaving?"

Fucking Christ, why did she have to sound so sad about it?

I spun around too quickly, almost losing my balance, and kept my eyes trained firmly on the sharpie-colored tips of my Converse. "Only because your friend asked so nicely: sugar on top and everything."

"Alli's just…" Clare trailed off, knowing that starter only led to minefields. "You weren't going to say hello?"

"I thought it would be better if…" I sighed, trailing off, too. There was just too much to discuss, like we were on opposite ends of the galaxy and neither of us had enough time to cover that much distance. "Happy birthday," I offered after a painful pause.

"Thank you, Eli."

At the sound of my name, painted with nostalgia by her tongue, I chanced my first look at Clare Edwards in five years. She had gotten this charming pixie-cut and her hair—curly as ever—swooped across her forehead. She looked kinda punk in her tan leather jacket and long black boots. And her eyes were still that piercing blue: vibrant and glowing in the darkening gray light of the falling snow.

Goddammit, she was beautiful.

I wanted to hurl.

"So what brings you to the city?" I asked, trying to cover up my ogling.

"I live here; I go to Columbia."

"Shit, really?" Clare laughed, and I felt my blood rush to my face. "I just, this is my fourth year at NYU. I'm surprised it took us this long to bump into each other."

"Yeah, me too." Clare suddenly cast her eyes away, like she wanted to hide something.

"Okay, well, this has been terrifically awkward." I clapped my hands together, trying for some levity. "But I really should be going."

"We could get coffee some time. Or something."

I couldn't tell if my ears were playing tricks on me, but she seemed nervously hopeful. I pounded my fist against my thigh. "Sure. Good. Yes."

Again, Clare laughed bashfully and then pulled out her phone. "What's your number?"

I fed her my cell number, and confirmed when she repeated it back to me. "Alright, like I said, terrifically awkward, but the library is shouting my name. Big project due soon," I lied.

"Okay." Clare took a couple steps back toward the door. "I'll text you."

"Looking forward to it," I assured her, trying to keep my voice in check. And then she disappeared back into the bar.

"You are a smooth, smooth man, Goldsworthy." I reprimanded myself, lugging my bike along behind me miserably.

The walk back to campus took forty minutes, and by the time I jiggled my key in the lock just-so in order to get the damn door open I was soaking wet, fucking cold, and covered in snow.

"Don't you just love winter in New York?" I asked sardonically, dumping my bike in its designated location behind our broken futon.

J.J., my roommate, looked up from his complicated-looking Music Theory textbook. "Yup!" He answered enthusiastically and earnestly.

I seriously hated him sometimes.

Rolling my eyes, I wandered into my room to change into sweats. We had a suite-style room, so J.J. and I both had our own living space as well as the common room. And then, of course, the bathroom we shared with two theater majors, Ricky and Blake, who also happened to be dating.

"Almost forgot, Goldman, Lenore came by looking for you about an hour ago!" I froze. "She really is a fine specimen of the female gender."

"You're gross." I informed him, grabbing my bag again and making sure my keys were in there. "So, I think I'm going to head to the library and get some work done."

J.J. frowned at me, well aware of what I was doing. "I don't understand why you're avoiding her."

A knife twisted deep in my stomach. "And I'm not going to explain it to you. See you later." I called, pulling the door shut heavily behind me.

Just as I was exiting the warm sanctuary of my building, my phone started to buzz in my pocket.

I pulled it out as I pushed through the double doors into the cold.

Unknown Number: It was really nice to see you. I'm sure this crosses some kind of boundary, but I've missed you, Eli.

Oh, Clare Edwards, if only you knew all the boundaries I've crossed in the past week.

Deep, deep in the pit of my stomach, the knife seemed to twist again—a sharp aching pain.

Eli: Yeah. I've missed you, too.