Entering the old bar caused Trish's senses to be assailed from multiple directions, from the live band belting out the chorus of Don't Stop Believin', the tangy smell of the barbecue chicken wings on the table of the couple next to the front door, and the dim brown lighting that caused her to squint her eyes in search of Ally. It was just as it had always been.

There was one thing different, though; this was strange. There weren't many people at the bar, and after a cursory glance around the room, Trish couldn't see Ally anywhere.

She was here before Ally? Well, that was a first. She was even five minutes late!

Trish pushed her way through the men gathered at the front of the bar and ordered herself a pint of beer. Receiving said beer, she made off to the back of the bar, where there was a tiny booth that looked like it could be comfortable.

Setting her beer down and plopping into the booth seat, Trish pulled out her phone to check her messages, expecting to see one from Ally explaining what was going on. Aha, there it was.

Hey girl, soooo don't hate me but I have to admit I won't be at the bar. I told you I have a Christmas gift for you though, and don't worry, he'll be there. Xoxo

Trish felt a jolt go through her at the words on the screen, and she abruptly jumped up out of her booth. Oh, crap. There was only one person Ally could possibly be calling her Christmas gift, and he was the last person she wanted to see, despite Austin and Ally's insistence. She was going to kill Ally. She had to get out of here before … oh, there he was.

That shock of red hair was still the same, and so were those bright eyes of his. He seemed bulkier somehow, though, since she'd seen him last. He wasn't fat or anything, but where before he'd been just skin and bone there seemed to be muscle now. He looked … dammit. She squashed herself back into her booth and stared the table down as if it was the most interesting thing in the place. Trish took a gulp of beer, willing him not to look her way.

"Trish!" There it was. And he sounded so excited to see her, too, as though nothing had changed instead of everything. He had to know there was a reason she was avoiding him, right?

She didn't say anything, just took another long swig of her beer. Dez plunked himself across from her as if it was any ordinary day. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." If words were weapons, that one would have been a dagger, jagged and cutting. Dez, as always, was immune to her weapons, and seemed not to take notice of the ice in her voice.

"Great! It's been so long," he said earnestly. Why did he talk like this all the time? Like the words he had to say were from the very bottom of his heart, bared out for the world to see? Sometimes Trish felt jealous of his ability to be so genuine. It didn't come as easily for her.

"Yup. It's been a while." She carefully avoided his eyes.

"Too long." He was really trying to catch her gaze, but she couldn't let herself be disarmed by it. She took another swallow of beer. If she kept this up, her pint would be gone sooner rather than later.

"Trish?"

She finally looked up, annoyed at his persistence. "What?"

He was staring straight at her imploringly, pleadingly. "What did I do?"

This question caught her off guard. "Huh?"

"What did I do?" he repeated, setting his glass onto the table across from her and wrapping his hands around it.

"What do you mean?" she asked curtly, still not allowing any kindness to bleed through.

"You know what I mean. It's like one day we were friends and the next … we weren't."

She sighed heavily, tracing the letters J.T. that someone had carved into the table in front of her. "We were never friends, Dez." There it was, the bitchiness he'd probably come to expect from her. She knew she was being mean, but she couldn't help herself.

"Oh, really? You're going that route again, are you?" He sounded exasperated.

She glanced up and he was still looking at her with that open, honest face, and she wanted to scream at him.

"I didn't realize you hung out all the time with people you weren't friends with," he continued, taking a sip of his water. The ice cubes in the glass tinkled merrily. "What about Ally and Austin? You weren't friends with them, either?"

"Okay, fine!" she conceded, finally raising her head to look at him. "Yeah, okay, we were friends in high school. That was like ten years ago, though. Things happen, okay. People grow apart. I moved away." She glanced back down at the table, willing him to leave. She hated how looking at him made her feel things she'd long tried to stop feeling. She'd succeeded for a while, but his nearness made those emotions wash over her anew.

Dez sat back in his seat and crossed his arms, still staring her down. "I get that, but it was so, like, all of a sudden. It was just out of the blue one day. And it was long before you moved away, Trish."

He could be so dense sometimes. Did he really not get it? Could he really not pinpoint the moment when everything changed? Had it really all been in her head, all along?

She shook her head slowly, feeling things she hadn't for years spill to the forefront of her mind.

They'd been watching the newest Zaliens movie. Everything had been the same as it had always been. They were laughing and chatting and eating popcorn, sitting so close in the den on the couch that they were practically just a knot of elbows and knees and body parts, but it wasn't weird. It was never weird. Well, he was weird, but them together, like that, that part wasn't strange.

One of the characters from the movie was washing his hands in the sink, and Trish knew, she just knew, that when he poked his head up there was going to be a Zalien behind him ready to eat his brains. Sure enough, when he looked up, a Zalien met his gaze in the mirror and pounced on him from behind.

Dez clearly hadn't had the same insight, because he let out a shriek and jumped straight into Trish's arms. As cliché and dumb as it was, it was then that everything changed.

Trish laughed uproariously as she always did when he got startled by something, but the smile faded away as she became keenly aware of the fact that he was sitting in her lap, arms around her neck.

He was facing her, and he smelled so good, like shampoo and soap, and those bright blue eyes were staring into hers like they could see straight through her. It was like there was a magnet drawing her to him, and she felt herself lean into him, and then –

And then suddenly he was gone away from her, leaping from her lap straight to the other end of the couch, and that's when she became aware of Carrie standing in the doorway, smiling brightly. Simple, naïve Carrie. She would never suspect there was anything out of the ordinary going on between them, would she? Because there wasn't, right? It wouldn't be the first time that he'd been in such close proximity to her, but that time was different.

And he must have felt it too. Because if he didn't then why did he jump so far away from her like he'd been doing something wrong? Why did he quickly rise and kiss Carrie, and ask her to stay for the rest of the movie? Why did he position her between them so carefully, and why hadn't he made eye contact with her for the rest of the day?

After that it'd been easier to just avoid spending time with him. In fact, she didn't know if they'd ever hung out alone again, not just the two of them. At least, it had never been the way it'd once was. He had kept trying to connect with her the way they once had so effortlessly, but she walled herself up so tightly so that even she couldn't tell how she felt because that was what she did. She knew he was confused and sad about her pulling away, and deep inside she felt that way, too. But she could never let him see what she was feeling. Feelings could lead to weakness, and if there was one thing that Trish de la Rosa never wanted to appear, it was weak.

The worst thing was that although she at first thought maybe, possibly, he had felt it too, as time went on the crazier it seemed. After all, he was with Carrie, and he seemed madly in love with her. They never discussed it, and nothing between him and Carrie seemed to change at all. But Trish couldn't help but see them in a new light, to become almost jealous of Carrie, which was actually so embarrassing she couldn't admit it to anyone. She saw Dez kiss Carrie and she imagined herself, and then hated herself for wishing it was her.

From that day on, every time she saw him she felt his weight on her, staring into her eyes as though something was happening inside him too. The what-ifs, the does-he-or-doesn't-he became too much for her, and it simply became easier to distance herself and let all thoughts of him, and them, fade away. She'd tried, anyway.

"You didn't even come to my wedding." His face is neutral, but his eyes look sad.

Trish sighed. "I know, okay. I … I was sick." It's a poor excuse. Austin and Ally had berated her about that day as well, asking her how she could avoid Dez's wedding. She hadn't been sick. She just couldn't sit through that; she couldn't watch him pledge to spend the rest of his life with Carrie by his side. She'd stayed home and watched sappy movies on Netflix and binge-ate her weight in chocolate ice cream until the day was over and she could stop picturing him standing handsomely in a suit, waiting for his beautiful bride to walk down the aisle.

Dez drained his water and placed the empty glass on the table with a clunk. "You know you were my best friend after Austin, right? It would have been just nice to have you there."

Ugh, the guilt trip! "Look, I'm sorry," she snapped tersely. "I know we were good friends. Shit just happened and then I couldn't go. Don't take it personally. You and Carrie did fine without me there, clearly." Whoa Trish, reign it in.

He let out a short laugh. "Yeah. We're great." The tone of voice sounds sarcastic, something she's not used to hearing from him, and she looked up, surprised. Did that mean they weren't?

"I need some more water. I'll be back in a minute." He headed up to the bar as Trish watched him going, the wheels turning in her head.

She knew he was still with Carrie, because Ally told her everything about him to keep her in the loop. When he returned, she eyed him curiously. "What'd you mean by you and Carrie are great?" she asked, using air quotes over the word 'great'.

"We're great," he repeated, this time sounding as though he meant it, and Trish's heart sunk. Was she really falling back into this old trap, of trying to find meaning from his words that weren't there?

"Good," she said with a nod, subconsciously flipping her straightened hair behind her shoulder. "I'm dating a great guy, too." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Awesome, now she looked like she was trying to make him jealous. Which was crazy, right? So what if she was lying?

He raised his eyebrows at her, but otherwise appeared unperturbed. "Oh yeah? What's his name?"

"Nick." She had dated a guy named Nick, briefly, about four years ago. He didn't need to know that it was brief, though. "He's great."

"Great," he repeated, sipping his drink. His expression was unreadable. A brief moment of silence lapsed between them, and then he spoke up again. "I think I've figured it out."

"What do you mean?" she asked, pouring herself another beer from her pitcher. Her breath quickened. "Figured out what?" Oh God, oh God.

"I think I've figured out why you started avoiding me."

Trish's heart began to race. Oh, shit. "I already told you what happened. I didn't start avoiding you."

"It's because you knew I was going to become such a world-famous director that you felt inadequate next to me."

Trish relaxed instantly. She should have known that he wasn't intuitive enough to figure out what she was thinking. She let out a raucous laugh. "Yeah, as if!"

Dez's face brightened at the sound of her laugh, and seemingly emboldened by this, he continued. "It's okay, you don't need to explain yourself."

"Um, I won't, because that was not going through my head at all, thank you very much." It was so easy to just fall back into their banter, and Trish found herself relishing in it; it felt like a second skin. She had missed him so much – oh God, how she'd missed him – and it was like she'd just reclaimed some part of herself that had been lost for the past ten years. She knew this was probably a bad idea. He was still with Carrie, and for her to be having these feelings again wouldn't bode well for her. But the beer was starting to affect her judgment, and he just looked so good and was being so purely Dez that she couldn't deny she wanted to keep talking to him.

"Your first movie only got 35% on Rotten Tomatoes," she teased with a giggle. "I'd hardly call you Steven Spielberg yet."

"Pft, they don't know great art, and the next one got ... Hey…" he paused and smirked at her. "Trish de la Rosa! Have you been cyber-stalking me?"

"No, I haven't!" she protested. She definitely had. "Ally tells me everything about you, that's all."

"Hmm."

"You can hmm all you want," she retorted. "Besides, are you telling me you haven't crept me over the years?"

"Nope. Austin tells me everything I want to know about you."

She tutted and took the last swig of her pint.

"Hey, you want another drink?" He was up and out of the booth before she could say anything, and she watched him walk away. He returned quickly with a beer for her and another glass of water for himself.

"You don't drink at all?"

"Well, I do sometimes like to dabble with milk. Sometimes…" he drew the word out and leaned in for a moment, "I even make it chocolate."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and bit back an affectionate smile. It was nice to see some things didn't change. "Watch out, we've got a badass up in here!"

"The baddest," he said proudly. "Hey, are you hungry?" He eyed the plate of nachos a waiter was delivering to a table across the room. "Those nachos look ah-mazing!"

"I could definitely go for some nachos," she agreed. Dez flagged the waiter over and they placed their order.

"Have you had the food here before?" she asked after the waiter had left.

"Carrie and I had the nachos one time before. They were great."

Ah, there was Carrie, creeping back into the picture once again. Trish tried not to let the mention of her bother her. "Maybe you should bring her home some for a snack."

Dez's eyes shifted to the side before he answered. "Nah, I don't think so."

Trish narrowed her eyes. He was acting weird. "Okay, what's up?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's up?" she repeated. "You're being weird. Weirder than usual," she amended. "About Carrie."

"How would you know I'm acting weird? I thought we were never friends?"

Trish rolled her eyes and flicked a salt packet from the holder in the middle of the table at his face. "Oh stop it, you doof. Stop deflecting and answer my question!"

He heaved a sigh, and when he looked at her his face was strangely serious, as serious as she'd ever seen him. "Carrie and I are actually in the middle of getting a divorce right now."

This news was so sudden and unexpected that the only thing Trish could say was, "Um, what?"

"We're getting a divorce. Austin and Ally don't even know yet. You're the first one I've told." He glanced down at the table and tapped his fingers idly on the wood.

"What happened?" She sat up straight and tipped her head to one side.

"I … um, we… I don't want to talk about it," he said, glancing down at the table.

"Okay," Trish agreed, understanding that feeling completely because it was how she dealt with emotions. It was kind of strange for him, though; usually he wanted to pour his heart out. But this was a very big deal, and she figured that when he wanted to talk about it, he would. "I'm sorry, Dez," she added, reaching out and placing her hand on his for a moment. "That really sucks."

He looked up and smiled appreciatively, and looked as though he were going to say something, but at that moment the waiter arrived with their nachos.

They ate in silence for a few moments, as Trish's mind processed the shock wave he had just dealt her. Dez was single, after all those years of being with Carrie. But he must be heartbroken. She figured that Carrie must have ended it with him, because he seemed sad.

She took a drink of her beer and, having an epiphany, glanced at him slyly. "I think what you need is a drink."

The wooden door of the bar opened, spilling out amber light and with it, Trish and Dez. A light misty rain was falling, and Trish instinctively reached for her hair, scooping it up in a huge handful and tucking it into her hood.

"Ugh! This weather is like, the crappiest on my hair," she grumbled. It was already frizzing.

"I like your hair like that," Dez countered, noticing how the escaping strands around her ears were already returning to their natural state of curliness. He reached out and gave one a small tug.

Trish batted his hand away. "You would," she said, but there wasn't any malice in her tone. The beer seemed to have had the effect of water on a ragged stone, making her smoother and gentler, somehow.

Dez smirked at her retort, finally feeling as though he'd reconnected with the Trish he'd been sure he'd lost. She'd been angry with him, disgusted with him, purely agitated by him before, but she'd never cut him out of her life so cleanly and coolly before it had happened, and it had left him feeling disoriented in its suddenness. He'd gone from being best friends with her, able to tell her anything, to her acting like they were practically strangers, and she would never tell him why. Now it was like … it was like he had her back.

"So where do you live?" Dez asked, holding onto her arm to steady her. The two beers she'd made him drink – yuck! – hadn't had an effect on him, but she'd had significantly more to drink. Her eyes were still heavily lidded, and she was swaying a little from side to side.

"Two streets over," she slurred, gesturing vaguely to the left. "I don't need you to babysit me, you know. You can go home."

Dez began shaking his head before she'd even finished her sentence. "No, no, you're not walking home alone in this state. C'mon, show me where it is, and I'll walk with you." It wasn't like Trish needed him to protect her; in fact, if they were to run into trouble, it would be most likely that Dez would need to be protected by her. But she was drunk, after all, and he wasn't about to let her walk off alone on his watch.

"Fine," she acquiesced, nodding her head in the direction of an upcoming turn in the road. "We walk down this way, and then take a left and a right and then we'll be on my street. It's literally only five minutes."

They settled into a comfortable silence as they walked along, and Dez felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't define what it was at first, until he realized it was familiarity. It was like coming home.

"I've missed you, ya know," he admitted. It felt good to say it aloud.

Trish, being Trish, chose not to reply to this. "So, you wanna tell me what happened with Carrie?"

What happened with Carrie was that Dez had woken up one day and looked at her next to him and felt a keen sense of appreciation for this lovely human he'd married. She was beautiful, and kind, and silly. She always tried her best to make him happy. Anyone would think that their marriage was perfect.

But although he appreciated her, and was proud of her, and liked her immensely, he didn't love her. There was no passion. And it was only on this day he'd realized that because he'd dreamt the night before of Patricia de la Rosa.

Although the dream was something inane and random, something about the four of them – Trish, Dez, Austin and Ally – it was really the appearance of Trish that made Dez's heart race in a way he'd just come to realize it hadn't in a long time.

Carrie was sweet, and wonderful, and she was what he knew. It was easy to be with Carrie because they'd been together for ten years. She was the only person he knew how to be with. But after this dream, he'd come to realize that she didn't deserve to be with someone whose heart thrummed for someone else. He didn't know if Trish felt the same way, or if she would ever even speak to him again after she'd disappeared on him. But he still couldn't stay with Carrie, knowing now how passion felt, and knowing that he would never have that for her. It wasn't fair to Carrie, and it wasn't fair to him. And maybe, if Trish knew how he felt about her and how much he cared about her – maybe it wouldn't be fair to her, either.

"I guess I just … fell out of love," Dez finally voiced, as they neared her apartment door. She didn't look his way as she rummaged in her pockets for her key.

Finally finding it, she opened her door and stepped inside. "How do you fall out of love?" she asked, taking off her jacket and tossing it onto her couch. "Isn't love supposed to be a forever thing?"

"Maybe she wasn't my forever love," he said with a shrug, looking away so she didn't see his feelings written all over his face. He'd never been one to hide his emotions very well.

Trish murmured a sound of appreciation for what he'd said and turned around so that her back was visible to him. "Hey, can you unzip my dress?" She pulled her now thoroughly unstraightened hair around to the front of her, exposing her neck.

"Uh, sure," Dez agreed, unclasping the zipper and pulling it down her back. He tried to ignore the way her bra straps made him feel.

"Thanks." She turned around, holding the dress up with her hand on her chest so that it didn't fall and expose herself.

"No problem." His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her there before him, hair tumbling around her shoulders, dress half off, looking as beautiful as she always did. "So I guess I'll, uh, see you around?"

"Yeah, see you around," she echoed in a faint voice, catching his eye. He stared at her for one moment, not wanting to walk away from her again. Hesitantly he went to turn away, and suddenly she was in front of him, hands reaching up for his face, dress forgotten and puddling at her feet.

He sank down to the floor so she could reach him and then she was in his lap, running her hands through his hair, her cheeks flushed as she brushed kisses along his face.

He pulled her in closer, feeling her warmth, her bare skin against his shirt, until he realized what they were doing.

"What about your boyfriend?" Dez gasped, drawing away from her. He had never expected her to be the sort to cheat on anyone.

"He doesn't exist," she confessed with a sly smirk, her hands under his shirt and making their way up his chest. "I made it up." She lifted his shirt over his head. "I swear I made it all up." Her fingers danced sparks across his bare chest.

"I knew it! Ally said that you were single." He grinned triumphantly and pumped his fist in the air.

She shook her head impatiently. "Shut up and kiss me," she commanded.

He obliged, pulling her back towards him, running his hands through her long dark curls. He was heady from the events of the evening, but he was snapped back to reality when he felt her fingers at the button of his jeans, trying to tug them down. Reluctantly he pulled away and scrambled to his feet. "Trish, we can't do this."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, pulling the dress up protectively around herself like a shield. "We can do this. I want to do this."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't," he confessed, shaking his head slightly.

She couldn't have looked more stunned if he'd slapped her in the face. She turned away from him and curled into herself, staring down at the floor. "Get out."

"Trish, I want to – "

"Get out. Get out. Get out." Her voice rose an octave with every word. "Get out. Get out!" She was screaming now, and she still wouldn't look at him.

"Trish, I –" he tried to explain, but she continued shrieking over him.

"Get out! Get out! GET –" her voice broke into something almost like a sob. "Just get out."

Dez walked around to face her, and although her voice may have sounded like the Trish de la Rosa he was used to, her expression said otherwise. Mascara was streaking down her face in rivulets. Her mouth was open in a silent wail. She looked broken.

Dez swore he could feel his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. He had never seen her like this before, and to know that he was the one to make her feel this way felt awful. He knelt down before her. "Let me explain," he tried again, reaching for her.

She pulled away as if she'd been burnt. "Don't touch me," she spat, eyes narrowed. "You don't need to explain anything to me. It's not that you can't, it's that you won't. I'm sorry that I'm not tall enough, or blonde enough, or thin enough for you." Her eyes were glazed and angry. "I know I'm no Carrie. I don't want to hear your bullshit."

If she wasn't so hurt, if he couldn't see through her tough veneer into her fragile centre, Dez would have laughed at the sheer irony of it all. "That's not it," he promised, reaching forward and gently wiping away a tear with his thumb. "I left Carrie because she wasn't you."

She stared at him for a second, mouth agape, before finally sputtering, "Then – what? Why?"

Dez took her hands and clasped them in his. "Trish, you're so important to me. You've always been important to me. But you're drunk, and I'm afraid that this isn't something that you really want to do."

Her breathing was slowly coming back to normal, and she squeezed his hands back, tightly. "I do," she promised. Her voice sounded much smaller and ragged than Dez had ever heard it before. She shut her eyes tightly, looking as though she were trying to work up the nerve to say something. "It's not just because I'm drunk, I swear. Dez, I … you're important to me, too." She looked up at him through wet, vulnerable eyes and heaved a shaky sigh.

You're important to me, too. Dez couldn't keep the smile from spreading over his face. Hearing these words from her was only something he thought would occur in his dreams. To actually be hearing her say it, right now… She actually feels the same! "If we're going to try this, though, I want it to be right. Okay?"

She nodded, running her thumb across his hand. "Okay," she repeated.

"I don't want to just … just be a drunken one-night stand, Trish. I want to be with you, if you want that too." He paused, looking at her to gauge her reaction. The small smile that glanced across her face said it all.

"So we can't do this right now," he continued, "but I don't want you to disappear on me again, alright?"

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Pinky promise?" He removed one of his hands from hers and stuck a pinky towards her.

She rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling, and she interlocked her pinky with his. "Yes, I pinky promise."

"Good, because this time I would have to track you down and kick your butt," Dez bluffed, as though he were the type to do anything of the sort.

Trish tilted her head back and guffawed in that way she did that Dez loved, when she looked like she didn't have a care in the world. "Yeah, sure, you doof. If anyone's doing any butt-kicking, it's definitely me!"

He nodded, knowing she was right. He stood and helped her to her feet. "C'mon, let's put you to bed." He began leading her to her bedroom.

Once she was settled in her bed, Dez brought her a glass of water and some Tylenol he'd found in the medicine cabinet and placed them on the nightstand next to her.

"Here you go," he announced. "Okay. I'm going to head off now. You do want to see me again, right?" he asked nervously, hands in his pockets, suddenly seeming shy. "I mean, even if you don't really mean all of the things you just said because you're drunk, I still want us to be friends again. Because I've missed you a lot, and…"

"Dez." She cut him off. "Yes. I want to see you again." She paused. "Drunk or not."

He leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. "I'll hold you to that. Good night, Trish."

"'Night, Dez."