Archive of Our Own

If you could say anything about Claribel Swanson, it was that she always got what she wanted. This was not one of her positive attributes. Claire despised when a situation did not go as expected; many times she had put herself in less than ideal scenarios just so she could assert her will. What an experience it was to watch Claire spellbind people and bend them to her desires. What a tragedy it was to watch Claribel self-flagellate when insisting on a hopeless affair.

The more observant among us would argue that this fixation was indicative of deeper issues with her character. Maybe she had been spoiled her entire life. Maybe she didn't deal with change very well. Maybe she felt entitled to other people's goodwill, and their time, and their attention, and their everything else. Maybe she was just insecure. In the end, those statements are not mutually exclusive. Most damning was that it worked every single time, and continuous reinforcement was a terrible drug for a personality like Claire's.

The Sheridan Hotel ballroom had been decorated for the special occasion of Aria's Celebrity Date Auction; a front for the fundraiser for her Save the Reef foundation. The round tables facing the stage were adorned with floral centerpieces and candles. A backdrop featured fish and turtle cutouts. The dim lighting was very welcome to Claire, who was still recovering from the hotel foyer's bright overhead lights. She could only remember pushing the doors open, having all her senses attacked, then being pulled away by Lisa.

The audience clapped when Aria scurried on stage once more, her dress flowing behind her. Claire was too busy biting her gloved thumb to join the crowd, but she leaned over to Lisa:

"Who do you think that was?"

"Definitely Chloe Mann."

"No way!" Claire scoffed. "She would never stoop so low. She like, abhors the idea of mixing with B-Listers. Can you imagine?"

"That was before Silent Echoes. Her career tanked after Silent Echoes." Lisa crossed her legs atop the chair. "I heard she's desperate. Aria told me Chloe's agent is working overtime— have you seen the ads she's been in lately? So dumb. Who cares if a jobless guy in a magazine thinks your movie is trash."

"I don't think the man in this scenario is jobless."

"Okay. That's not like, my point."

Claire rolled her eyes. "I know. But having your movie panned by critics is a big deal. She had so much potential… it makes me a little sad for her."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yeah, I hope she chokes."

Lisa cackled into her hand. "Funniest thing is no one even got that it was her. Like, the highest bid was $75? Actually— how much are you bidding on Chris?"

"However much it takes me to win it," Claire replied, twirling one of her curls. "But he told me he wrote his description in like, the most boring way possible so no one would get interested in him."

"Which isn't like, super hard to do."

Claire swatted her arm. "Omigosh— stop! Don't say that!"

"Am I lying? Can you even describe Chris in a not boring way?" Lisa flipped her pink ponytail, feigning contemplation. "He won an award for Hottest Kiss. He has a weird little necklace he wears all the time. He was ranked number nine on Starlet Magazine's annual Sexy 100. He's so sensitive."

"Actually, he was number seven. And being sensitive is not bad."

"You broke up with him because he's too nice."

Claire frowned. "No. I broke up with him because he comforted me when I crashed his Mazda."

The microphone feedback blared through the speakers, interrupting their conversation. Claire covered her ears in panic, while Lisa grimaced. On stage, Aria offered the audience a sheepish smile:

"Ooops! I'm so sorry!" Aria shifted through her cards. "Now let's go for our date number eight… oooooh! This one is exciting!"

Lisa turned to Claire. "Is this your guy?"

"No."

"Okay, everyone! This lovely bachelorette is best known for her role in the amazing— no, really— the amazing TV show Pulse Point."

"Melody Bishop. Oh my God, all these clues scream desperation! Give me a challenge, please."

Claire nudged Lisa's boot off the chair. "People are supposed to know who they're bidding on. The movie trivia gimmick is just, like, a gimmick."

"Yeah, and that's why this whole thing is dumb. This is all so fake." Lisa crossed her arms, huffing like a toddler who had been told no for the first time. "At least you and Chris are smart. You two get to go on a date for free, and don't have to do this whole thing for real. Imagine making small talk with Chloe Mann… ew. Also, Chris is hot."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"He's okay."

"What? He's not just okay. He was like, number nine in the sexy magazine."

"Seven."

"Whatever. At least you're not going to be staring at an ugly guy the entire night." Lisa pointed to some place behind her back. "What about the girl who bought Oliver Powell? She got every clue wrong. She's going on a date with Leonard Craig!"

Claire pulled Lisa's hand down. "Stop pointing. And you're talking too loud!"

"Oh my God, leave me alone." She wriggled away from Claire's grasp. The two ladies sitting by their right side-eyed them. "It's not like I'm lying! He's ugly and she was stupid. Big deal!"

"You're being unnecessarily impolite," Claire gritted through her teeth. "We're in public and everyone can hear you. Don't say things like that."

Lisa frowned. "You're being a bore. Literally no one cares."

"I care! Stop acting like you're twelve, Lisa."

"Whatever, Mom."

Claire scoffed. "Okay, there's no need for this. You're just being—!"

"$125 to the brunette in the back for bachelor number nine!"

"Oh!" Claire gasped. "Number nine—! That's mine!"

Waving her hand over her head, Claire almost pushed the silverware off the table in the process of getting up. Aria shot her a smile:

"$135 to Claire, in the fur stole!"

"I bid $150!"

"Bitch," muttered Claire as she threw a glare over her shoulder. The brunette waved back, with a pleased little smile. This was too outrageous for Claire to let go: "I bid $215!"

"Ooooh, so it's—"

"$275!"

Lisa joined her eyebrows. "What the hell."

Aria nodded, flipping through her flashcards. "That's $275 for bachelor number nine! Last bid— Claire?"

"$500!"

With her head held high and her hands on her hips, Claire triumphantly basked in the murmurs around her; in fact, she was so busy princess-waving at her rival she almost didn't catch when Aria directed her backstage. Before Claire could do anything, though, Lisa tugged her by the arm: "Oh my God— do you even have this money?"

"Do you think I'm like, this poor?"

"Ethan had to send you fifteen bucks for your matcha yesterday."

"Um. It was Matcha Thursday." Claire then dismissed Lisa with a bright smile on her lips. "Anyway, I have Chris' credit card."

Getting an eye roll as a response, Claire waved Lisa goodbye and crossed the ballroom. As she made it backstage, Claire couldn't stop thinking about that ridiculous little smirk on that girl's face. The nerve! Sure, she wanted to go on a date with Chris, and she was totally allowed to bid as well… but did she need to act like that? For an admittedly very boring participant? Claire couldn't help but wonder if the girl knew who she was bidding on.

These preoccupations were made insignificant when Claire spotted Aria chatting with a man that was decisively not Chris. He had his back turned to her, but Claire would recognize that gait anywhere. As she digested it, Claire could not hide the disgust that haunted her features; by Aria's side, with his hands on his hips, stood Professor Thomas Hunt.

Many words could have been used to describe Claire's internal turmoil, though in her opinion not a single one of them was appropriate to characterize the level of revulsion she experienced. When Claire looked around trying to find Chris, she also made a point to figure out an escape route. She was pleased to locate the red lights indicating the emergency exit. She was even happier to find the door to a restroom.

The little bugs in Claire's stomach started biting and scratching and pinching her flesh. Something was wrong. Claire's heels must have dented the hardwood floor when she clacked towards Aria and the wretched man beside her; anyone within a ten-meter radius would have been able to feel the ripples of consternation emanating from her.

Aria flashed her a bright smile: "Claire!"

"Who is this man!?"

"What do you mean? It's Thomas Hunt… doesn't he—"

"I know that! What is he doing here!? He is not Christopher!"

"I see you're getting better at your observational skills, Claribel," Hunt chimed in.

"I'm not talking to you!" Claire shrieked, dismissing Hunt with a wave of her hand. She turned back to Aria, lowering her voice to an exasperated whisper: "He's not Chris Winters. He is not, like, Chris. Where is Chris!?"

"Um— I don't understand the issue, Claire…"

"The issue is that I came to your lovely date auction— with very good intentions, might I add—! And I bought participant number nine." Claire gritted her teeth. "And I know for a fact that number nine was Chris Winters, except I don't see him here— instead, you're presenting me with this… man."

"Claire—"

"Why is he here? Did someone reject him!? Ooooh, I see! And then you decided it's me who has to suffer!? I don't take hand-me-downs, Aria. I have, like, a pound of self-respect! I have standards!"

"If I may say, Claribel," Hunt interjected, "you're not exhibiting a lot of self-respect, or any kind of respect, by shouting at Miss Sheridan right now."

"I'm still not talking to you, Poindexter!"

"You can't decide whether I get to participate in this conversation when you've already involved me in your nonsense."

"Me!? I didn't even— I didn't know it was you! And if I did, I would have warned the poor person interested in you not to make the worst mistake of their life!"

Aria flipped through the stack of papers attached to her clipboard, her brow furrowed in distress.

"Of course you would. You're very keen on inviting yourself into situations that do not concern you."

"You're literally intruding into a conversation I'm having with a dear friend of mine! Like, right now! Who are you to talk about not being— were you raised by wolves!?"

"Were you?" Hunt thought for a second before continuing, "No, I wouldn't ascribe the faults of your character to your parents. It seems much more intrinsic than that."

Claire gasped. "You know nothing about my parents! Or about me!"

"I'm very confident in my assessment of you, Miss Swanson."

"May I assess you too? Because I—"

"Since when do you need any permission from anyone to do anything, Claribel?"

"Omigosh, literally shut up! Like, shut up!"

"Um— Claire!" Aria's strangled call pulled the two of them out of their squabble. Her tight smile did not do much to ease the clear despair behind her eyes. "Here, look— see… do you see it? Chris was number six."

"No. You're wrong. Christopher told me he was number nine. Are you insinuating he doesn't know how to read?"

Aria handed her the clipboard. "No… just… look. Number six. Chris Winters. Likes skiing and dogs."

"Who wrote this? He told me he would lie about things."

"Were you two planning on defrauding Miss Sheridan?"

Claire decided to ignore Hunt. "Aria, who's number nine?"

"Mr. Hunt."

At last, Claire found the courage to examine the clipboard in Aria's hands. She tried really hard to ignore the fact Chris did not lie about his hobbies to make himself boring; or maybe it revealed he was more aware of his own person than Claire gave him credit for. Either way, she found his name right next to a very big, very clear, very legible number six. With a little line underneath it!

"You're telling me Chris confused a six with a nine?"

"Probably?"

Her gaze traveled to Hunt's face. Christopher Winters, it seemed, did not know how to differentiate numbers, nor how symbols worked. What else did he not know how to tell apart? Letters? Faces? God, thought Claire, did he think he was on a date with her at that very moment? Did all blondes look the same to him?

"Omigosh," she whispered, disoriented. "I dated a man who can't count?"

"I don't believe that's true, Claribel."

"Omigosh. How come I've never noticed this?" Her hands held her head, mussing her curls. "Omigosh. Is this why he always pays with credit?! I dated— does he even have a high school diploma? Omigosh—! I dated a man with no high school diploma!"

As Claire further spiraled into her crisis, Professor Thomas Hunt watched her with furrowed brows. When she turned away from him, muttering unintelligible woes, he addressed Aria:

"There must be a way to fix this situation."

"What do you mean?"

"How much did she pay for this?"

"Um… 500 dollars."

"I'll pay double that. Let me go home."

This brought Claire back to reality: "What!?"

"It doesn't work like this, Professor Hunt." Aria fidgeted with her clipboard, stealing a furtive glance back at the stage. "You signed a contract."

"Let me rescind the contract. I'll pay any fees."

"No!" Claire approached him once again. "You can't do that! You can't!"

"What do you mean I can't do that?" Hunt seemed almost amused. "Of course I can. Let me rescind the contract, Miss Sheridan."

"That's not how this works!" Claire waved her hands in front of him. "You can't do this now!"

"How does it work then, Claribel? It's a contract for a date auction. It's not legally binding."

"I paid for this! Didn't you hear her?"

"I'll pay you double so you leave me alone."

"No—! No! I don't want your money! Look— I came here, okay? I came here tonight expecting a date and I planned this and I paid for it and I will go on a date. Be it with Christopher, with the devil, or with you!"

If she were any other person, Claire would have flinched under the once-over he gave her. Instead, her fists were closed inches away from the lapel of his suit jacket, her nails digging into her palms. Claire must have been looking very distinguished, like the very proper lady everyone knew she was.

"Aria, let me rescind the contract."

"Aria, tell him he can't do that. I paid for this. I— I planned this. Tell him he can't do that!"

"There's a clear conflict of interest here, Aria."

"He's saying that because he has no respect for others— he has no sense of commitment!"

"I'm perfectly committed to what I deem important." He frowned. "I simply do not want to go on a date with a student, not even a fake one."

"Surely you were aware this was a possibility when you signed up for this! This is, like, unfair to me!"

"Much in life is unfair, Claribel. I'm not compromising my ethics for you, even if it hurts you."

Claire scoffed. "I'm not— I'm not hurt. Don't give yourself so much importance, Prof. But I came here expecting something, and you're already not Chris, and I'm not leaving this hotel if not to go to that stupid aquarium!"

"Miss Swanson, I don't understand your insistence on this ordeal. I was under the impression this would be as much of a nightmare to you as it is to me."

The annoying ants crawling under her skin bit and pinched her cheeks, but Claire turned to Aria once more: "Show him the contract, Aria. Do I have grounds for suing here? Because I'll sue him."

"Wait! No!" Aria turned to Hunt, the clipboard clutched against her chest, her eyes big and glassy. "Professor Hunt, please— you signed a contract agreeing to the terms of the date auction… And no one ever wanted to rescind the contract, so I don't really know what I'm supposed to do here. Plus! It would be a little rude and unfair to Claire…"

Hunt considered Claire's very shaken state for a few seconds. He checked his wristwatch before sighing:

"Fine. I'll resign myself to this so as not to cause any more trouble to Miss Sheridan."

Aria let out a heavy sigh. She removed a piece of paper from her clipboard and shoved it in Hunt's hands. "Oh, that's amazing! That's really good! You two will have a wonderful night, I know it! You will!"

Before Hunt could consider changing his mind, and before Claire had a chance of making any more threats, Aria scurried off to the stage. Once they were alone, he addressed Claire:

"Be selfless and spare me from an uncomfortable night."

"It's not going to be uncomfortable." Claire dismissed him with her hand. "We just need to follow the schedule."

"No schedule stays the same when you're involved, Claribel. I'm certain you'll find a way of being disruptive."

"I am not disruptive!"

"Do you believe that?"

Claire frowned. "Okay. Look, we don't need to do this. Okay? Like, we really don't need to do this. We can try to make this situation bearable for both of us. Let's…—"

She let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sloping down.

"Let's try to get something out of this disaster."

Hunt scanned her face before taking a look at the piece of paper Aria handed to him. He scowled. "The schedule says there's a photographer in the next room."

"Ooh, I love pictures!"

"I don't want to take a photograph with you."

"What?" Claire stopped fixing her hair. "Why not?! What's wrong with me?"

"In alphabetical order?"

She pouted in derision. "Oh, you've made a list? That's so sweet, Prof!"

"I'm not taking a picture with you. This is inappropriate and I don't want photographic evidence of it."

"I love photographic evidence… I already have a selfie— me in this outfit. And a pic of the hotel's façade. Now I need one on the date itself."

"This is not a real date, Claribel."

"Um— thank God. I'm just saying, this is the first activity on the list and you're already being difficult?" She taunted, "Must I remind you of your contractual obligations?"

"I'm aware of them. What I fail to understand is why you would want memorabilia of this nightmare."

"Oh, pleeeeease, come on." She tugged on his sleeve. "It's just a picture. You don't even have to, like, smile."

Hunt's gaze lingered on her touch. "That's far from the issue here, Claribel."

"It's going to be quick. And I spent an hour curling my hair!"

"I'm sure Mr. Winters would have appreciated it."

Her smile drooped. "Yeah, he would have."

Hunt took Claire in; from the way she drowned in the fur stole hanging off her shoulders, to her tight grip on her purse straps.

"Do you know what a compromise is, Claribel?" He lowered himself to her level. She knit her eyebrows. "I'm already putting myself through this, so it'd be nice if you gave up on the picture."

"I've been planning this for a week, Prof."

"Unforeseen events are part of life."

The gall!

"Fine," she rolled her eyes. "But I'm not giving up on anything else."

"I was not presuming you would."

"You called me disruptive, but you're the one messing everything up! Demanding I make concessions!"

"No, I just have a conscience. It wouldn't be very prudent to pose for a couple's picture with a student," he countered. "And the less time we waste here, the quicker we'll get to that aquarium you mentioned."

"Ugh… okay." She took the little piece of paper from his hand, analyzing it. "What's next? Oh, dinner! I love dinner. Do you like dinner?"

"Yes."

"I can't believe we have that in common."

They made their way out of the hotel. The cars cruising down the street filled in the silence Claire was itching to break. Every time she looked at Hunt, though, she found him with his face turned away from her, as if the night sky, or the storefronts, or the weird teenagers across the street were much more interesting than her. Rude!

Not soon enough, they arrived at the Chateau de Rose, a French restaurant almost two blocks away from the Sheridan Hotel. Professor Thomas Hunt was decent enough to open the door for Claire, and a waiter guided them to a reserved table in the corner.

"I like this place," Claire remarked. She flipped through the menu, her eyebrows creasing in concentration. "What do they have here? Can we order anything we want?"

"I don't know."

Claire eyed Hunt over the menu. "Do you like the place?"

"It's fine. The lights are too bright and those paintings are hideous."

"Oh, I'm glad you mentioned the paintings. I don't know what they're supposed to be." Claire stared at the walls, musing. "I hate yellow. Such an ugly color. I don't like how I look in yellow; it makes me monochromatic."

"I don't like the tablecloth."

"What's wrong with it? It's white."

Hunt grimaced in disgust. "It's not white. It's… beige. I dislike these lines too."

"This restaurant reminds me of a place in Miami— my father used to attend these dinner parties— for work. And I used to attend them with him. Like, as a teen." She twirled a curl. "And there was this fancy place, like, a block from the beach— I loved the dessert they served there."

"You attended dinner parties as a teenager?" Hunt's amusement was almost derisive. He pulled his sleeve up, eyeing his wristwatch. "What else did you do, Claribel? Tennis on weekends?"

"Well, my tennis classes were on Wednesday, actually." Claire succeeded in schooling her expression, but her voice wavered. "I… didn't like them very much. But my father said it'd be good for uni. So."

Hunt's eyes stayed on her, but he said nothing else. Claire tried again:

"But— um— it's okay! It was fun. It's fun! I still play it with Chris, sometimes." She nodded to herself. "He's bad at it."

"Okay."

"But I don't mind. He's, like, okay to hang out with. Um… we always have dinner together."

"Right."

"I mean, we would have been having dinner tonight too if he hadn't mixed up the numbers. Which was kinda silly, now that I think about it." She twisted her lips. "How do you think he managed to do that?"

"Claribel, I'm unsure if you genuinely haven't noticed it, but I don't want to maintain a conversation with you."

With all she had in her, Claire managed to not call him a plethora of distasteful adjectives. At least someone at that table had to have manners, and she was still adamant about having a pleasant night. Yes, something good had to come out of that terrible, terrible experience; so far, not a single circumstance had gone according to plan, and every single second that passed seemed to make everything worse. Not having Christopher sitting across from her was bad enough, but to instead be stuck with a man that was so preoccupied with his own predicament — and only his own predicament — was proving to be very challenging.

As she reflected on that for a moment, she could feel her cheeks heating up in anger. Once again, Professor Hunt proved his lack of humility. This was very clear to Claire: there she was, giving him her time, trying her best to overcome her own hindrances in regard to him, and he wasn't even making the slightest effort to appear affable. She wasn't expecting him to change his foul personality on a whim, but was it too much to ask to at least pretend not to be disgusted by her? And she was being so nice! Her little bugs forced her to speak:

"What's your problem?"

Hunt shifted his eyes to her. "Excuse me?"

"You're being unnecessarily rude. And you're like, covering your face with your hand and being weird. So what's the matter with you?"

"What's the…–? My matter is you, Claribel." He leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice. "Every time you wonder what is wrong with a situation, know the answer will always circle back to you."

"I don't want to be any of your matters, Prof." Claire smiled. "I told you, we don't need to act so acrimoniously. Let's just have dinner."

"I do not want to be seen with you."

Her smile faltered. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad. I know I'm very pretty."

"This isn't about you being attractive or not. I do not want to be seen fraternizing with a student."

"Fraternizing?" She giggled. "We're not fraternizing, we're having dinner."

"You know what this word means, Claribel. This act is not charming."

She shifted her gaze. "I'm just of the opinion you could make a little more effort. You're making this miserable out of spite."

"No, I am miserable. I can't wait for this night to be over already so I can go home and try to forget I even know your name."

"Oh my gosh, you're acting as if just being in my presence causes you pain."

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Claribel. Either you don't or you're willfully acting oblivious, which I wouldn't put past you."

"I get it, you dislike me, whatever—"

"It's irrelevant whether I dislike you. There is a strong conflict of interest here, and it baffles me you seem unable to comprehend this." He frowned. "I'm your professor, and you are currently a student in one of my classes. This should not be happening."

"But it's fake. It's not, like, a real date. We're just having dinner."

"It doesn't matter if it's fake. I refuse to believe you're dense. If someone walks in through the door and sees us here, in this establishment— they're not going to presume I'm being forced to be here. I'm getting called into the dean's office first thing in the morning."

"Gosh, don't be so dramatic. You can just explain I bought you by accident in a date auction and everything will be alright."

Hunt leaned back in his seat, annoyed. "It's always an accident with you, Claribel. Everything you do is an accident. I'm surprised you managed to get where you are in life."

"But it— it really was an accident! Christopher got the numbers like, mixed up, and I was talking with Lisa so I didn't hear the announcement!" She then shook her head, scoffing. "And why would I even buy you?!"

"I have no idea. I just find it very interesting how you always find a way to materialize in places I am, and then you also always find a way to target me with your schemes."

"What schemes!? I already explained to you what happened— it was a coincidence! How was I even supposed to know you were in a date auction?" Claire couldn't hold in a laugh: "Look at you! You're the most like, dejected, disagreeable, pathetic man I know. And I know lots of men, Prof."

Hunt bristled at her words. "You're always so kind, Claribel. Unfortunately, I do not believe anything is a coincidence when it comes to you. This could have been an honest mistake if you hadn't already tried to dupe me before."

"Are you— omigosh, are you still hung up over the masquerade? Get over it!" Claire scoffed. "I already told you— I had no idea it was you. And if I had suspected it, I would've left without a second thought."

"It's very hard to believe that when you are, at this very moment, forcing me to endure an entire night with you, with the complete knowledge of how inappropriate this situation is— just because you are too spoiled to accept when things don't go your way."

Claire's bugs gnawed her guts. "I am not spoiled! And these are like, two completely different circumstances. You signed a contract when you accepted to take part in this stupid date auction, so you made a commitment and you— you can't just decide to not go through it because you dislike your date."

"For the fourth time tonight, Claribel. The issue is not my personal feelings toward you. Which, incidentally, are in no way positive—"

"Oh, I don't want them to be positive, Prof! God help me if I were ever seen in a good light in your eyes." Claire frowned. "You really seem to be under the impression I'm desperate to have your approval. Nothing could've been further from my thoughts."

"I am not under any impression. Once more, I attempt to make everything very clear since you indulge in misrepresenting people's words."

Claire scoffed. "And you are very partial to your belief that you comprehend everything better than everyone else. You're the most conceited, arrogant person I know— make it clear to me, seriously?"

"You desperately need everything over-explained to you. My words don't seem to make sense to you. I keep repeating the same again and again and it seems like you're hearing something else."

"I got your point just fine. I wish you were someone else too. But we are here now, and I'm just asking you to… I don't know. I just want to have dinner, and then go to that aquarium. Really, it can't be that hard for you," Claire sighed. "We can make this work."

"I don't understand your insistence on trying to make everything have a good outcome, Claribel. You pestered me until I gave in at the masquerade, and now you're trying your hardest to maintain an illusion when both of us are uncomfortable. This is masochism."

"I didn't pester you at the masquerade. I felt bad for dropping my drink on you." She joined her eyebrows, fidgeting with her stole. "I didn't want you to go the rest of your night…— I just wanted to make it up to you."

"I understand your intentions. It doesn't negate that you seem unaware of how obtrusive you are. You push your wishes on other people and expect them to fold and do as you say."

This made Claire pause. Her voice came quiet, "But you liked me, right? When you didn't know it was me?"

Hunt frowned, puzzled.

"That's irrelevant."

"It's not irrelevant. You said I was pestering you, but you didn't push me away completely… You didn't leave."

"I didn't because it would've been rude to leave you there."

"I… Is that true?" Claire lowered her gaze. "Did you really not like having me around? I— I didn't mind. We can accept that we had fun together, don't you think? We were both unaware of each other's identities... It's not like we did it on purpose."

"I don't see the point you're trying to make."

Claire's face was burning. "Look, I'm really, really asking you to be normal with me. Just for tonight. I had planned this with Chris, and it didn't work out, and I— I just want to have this date. Let me have this."

"When do you ever not get what you want, Claribel? That's the crux of this argument— I am already putting myself through this because you stomped your feet until I had no option but to appease you."

"No. That's not what happened! You said you didn't want to cause more trouble for Aria."

"Fine. I'm here because I couldn't rescind that contract. It doesn't mean I can't be highly uncomfortable with the position I'm in."

"Omigosh— you're so confusing!"

"You have no idea what it's like to hear you speak."

After that, Claire refrained from arguing any further, as she realized they would only talk in circles and never get anywhere. Having a conversation with Hunt, she found, was akin to talking to a brick wall; it was almost as if her words came out crossed, out of order, missing half the letters. He was able to confound her in a way she had never experienced before. Why couldn't he understand she just wanted to have a nice dinner and finish that night in peace?

The rest of the dinner went without any disturbances. In other words, the two of them remained in silence for the rest of the 42 minutes they spent in that restaurant. Claire couldn't recall what she had for the main course, as she was too busy trying to count five objects she could see, four people who would love to murder her, three sounds she could hear, and then she forgot how the rest of the technique went. She had a chocolate soufflé for dessert, though, and it was the highest point of the night to her.

When Claire was done with her dessert, they left the restaurant. Outside, the chill breeze caught her by surprise and she made a comment about it raining later. Hunt only hummed in return. Once again, they abstained from conversation until they arrived at the aquarium sponsored by Aria's foundation, which had been kept open after hours. Claire couldn't hold in her excitement as she got inside.

"Oh, this is so nice!"

Hunt followed her through the first exhibit. "It's admittedly interesting."

"What do you think we should see first?" she asked as she grabbed a pamphlet on a stand. "Ooooh, they have sea turtles. I mean, of course. They have a Tropical Pacific exhibit… penguins… frogs! Do you like frogs?"

He checked his wristwatch. "We can see all the exhibits you want to see as long as it doesn't take more than an hour and three minutes."

Even though Claire's smile dropped, she chose not to make any remarks. She had waited the entire night to visit that aquarium, and by God he wasn't going to ruin it for her. Claire kept reading the leaflet as she walked further into the exhibit.

The brightly colored fish were very beautiful to Claire, but her eyes were focused on the lower part of the water tank. Corals were one of the most interesting animals in the world to Claire, though what really caught her attention were the small purple creatures attached to a rocky patch.

"Oh, look at that," she tugged on Hunt's sleeve. "Sea urchins!"

"That's a very intense purple."

"Those over there are babies. Do you see the green spines?" Claire pointed it out to him. "These are so pretty… You often only see the red ones."

"They don't really look like animals."

Claire turned to Hunt, smiling. "Isn't that amazing?"

"Don't you want to see the sea otters? Or the—" Their arms brushed as he peeked at the leaflet in her hands. "The dolphins? I can take a picture of you with them."

"Oh, no. Not yet. I'm trying to find a sea spider."

They walked for a while longer, with Claire pointing out the anemones, barnacles, crabs, and snails. Hunt didn't want to see the sea turtles, as he found them boring, so they skipped ahead to the stingrays. Some minutes later, in another exhibit, Claire spent a good while watching the large, purple-striped jellyfish swim by.

"They're not that interesting, Claribel."

She side-eyed him, frowning. "Stop. They're super cool. They have no heart. That's like, awesome."

"That's not awesome."

"Their life cycle is fascinating. They start attached to the ground, kinda like those corals we saw. They're only like this as adults," Claire told him. She pulled him towards the glass. "Oooooh. Look at that one. It's almost transparent… so pretty."

Hunt hummed in agreement, eyeing her, then taking another look at the jellyfish. Claire also pointed out the sea nettles before they moved on. A moment later, they were both standing in a glass tunnel within an enormous tank. The water brimmed with coral, kelp, iridescent sardines, and color-changing kelpfish. Claire sat on a wooden bench, eyeing everything with wonder.

"This is my favorite exhibit."

Hunt took a seat by her side. "You've been here before?"

Claire smiled. "Yeah. I used to come here all the time when I first moved to LA."

"Long ago?"

"No. Not really. Um— like, two years ago. I used to work at— I worked graveyard at a diner. No one wanted to work graveyard and that's why I even got the job in the first place— and I was renting this disgusting little room, like super tiny and cramped—" Claire shook her head, dismissing herself with her hand. "Anyway. I had some time during the day and I'd use it to get to know the city. You know, it was summer and I had, like, three months until I could move into my dorm, and I had nothing to do… so I'd come here."

"I didn't take you for one to work graveyard."

"Should I be offended?"

Hunt tilted his head. "No."

"It was… fun. I mean, I was used to it already— I worked at a drive-in diner back in San Francisco because I could… watch movies and skate at the same time." Claire giggled. "Okay, it's silly saying that, but it's true."

His lips curled up. "What was the best movie you watched while working there?"

"Um… they used to screen a lot of these… I wouldn't call them B movies, because they were truly terrible but— there were also a lot of silent films. Like, over and over. I watched, um… Fine Manners more times than I can count."

"I'm assuming you didn't get a large number of clients if you were screening silent movies?"

"Oh. No. Only, like, old people. Who's going to a drive-in anyway—? There were just me and two guys working." She looked down, fidgeting with the lace of her dress. "But sometimes… my manager would screen some Audrey Hepburn movies because he knew I liked her. I really liked watching Charade, if that answers your question."

"It does." Hunt seemed amused. "A screwball suspense movie, Claribel."

"What about it? Audrey is fabulous in that one." She twirled a curl as she beamed: "I love her outfits. She's heartfelt, earnest, comedic. Funny last line. Um. I don't know. I hope you're not evaluating me now."

"I'm not."

The lights from the exhibit in front of them tinted Hunt's features in blues and greens as he mulled over her words. She was close enough to see the little bump on the bridge of his nose, and to note he had not unfastened his suit jacket before sitting. Claire averted her eyes when Hunt faced her again.

"Why the aquarium?"

"Huh?"

"You told me when you moved to Los Angeles you'd visit here all the time. Why?"

"Oh— um… I just like aquariums."

Hunt turned in her direction. "Is that all?"

"Does it need to have an ulterior motive?"

"You know I'm of the opinion you always have a hidden agenda, Claribel."

This time, Claire did not take it as an attack. She, however, deemed her fur stole much more interesting than the expression on Hunt's face. "I guess… it was some kind of tradition, to me. When I lived in San Francisco, I had a… roommate. And I— I once joked about how I had never visited an aquarium despite living minutes from one all my life… and then she made it her mission to take me to every aquarium in the Bay Area."

"Did she succeed?"

"Yes." Claire looked up, smiling. "It was, like, our thing. She'd always get a discount on tickets— I don't know how she did it. But she would listen to me rate my favorite fish. And disagree with my ranking because there were too many arthropods."

"It seems like she cared a lot for you."

"Yeah. She did." Claire fidgeted with her gloves. "But I wasn't a good… friend. I think— I took her for granted, you know, I— when I think about her and that time… I wish I had done a lot differently."

A quick moment of silence transpired before Claire sighed:

"Anyway. When our lease was up, we went our separate ways. The end."

"Is that when you moved here?"

"No. A lot happened between that… and here." She shook her head, but opened a small smile. "But I guess… being in a new place— I wanted to keep our tradition alive, in a way. I liked coming here, seeing the fish; thinking, fantasizing about Hollywood U. Crying when an audition sucked and the casting director called me bloated and told me my acting was subpar… it was like she was here with me. And it got a little easier."

"With all due respect, Claribel, you must have had a terrible agent if that's the caliber of the auditions you were attending."

"Prof. Please. I was removing my apron and hoping the director didn't notice the coffee stains in my dress. I did not have an agent."

This seemed to amuse Hunt very much, and it even won Claire a chuckle. She smiled back. As they went back to watching the kelp, she couldn't help but notice Hunt seemed lost in thought.

"I see why you like this place, Claribel," he said, after a while. Claire tilted her head. "The water, the animals, the quiet. It really is a good place to think."

"And what are you thinking about?"

His eyes were downcast. "Hearing you talk about your friend reminded me of someone. She also would have liked it here."

"What's her name?"

"Yvonne."

"Yvonne. That's a beautiful name." Claire smiled. "What was she like?"

Hunt measured her. "The most lively person I've ever met. Nothing seemed to shake her. Adventurous to a fault."

"She sounds like your polar opposite…"

"Not entirely. Yvonne and I had our differences, but… they were of little importance, most of the time." Hunt watched the glint of Claire's earrings before continuing: "She was… She had a way of picking you apart, and she wasn't very kind when doing it. We were inseparable."

"Were you in love with her?"

Hunt joined his eyebrows. "Don't you think that's an inappropriate question, Claribel?"

"Oh, please—! It's only natural to be curious." Claire rolled her eyes. "She was clearly on your mind, since you've brought her up. You have some emotion in your tone when you speak of her… Is it not reasonable to wonder?"

It took him longer to answer this time. "Yes. I was. We were."

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened, and I suppose that was the issue," he told her. Claire frowned, but scooted closer when he started talking again. "We were both film students. She had transferred from Spain for the year, and we became friends. Quickly. She was— God, she was the most interesting person I had ever met."

"She had a very interesting life back in Spain, though she would only give me glimpses of it. She had two younger siblings, she loved horses, her parents couldn't wait to see her first billing." Hunt hummed. "Lucky. She had a boyfriend, too. They were engaged, and I wanted her to run away with me."

"You? Run away?" Claire giggled, but covered her mouth when he shot her a glare. "Where to?"

"Claribel, I don't know. I had everything planned but that. We were supposed to meet at a bus stop near campus the night before her plane left." He looked down, in thought. "We'd get to Sacramento and think of something. My bag was packed. I left the house. But I didn't show up."

"Why?"

"My career was too important. I was about to graduate, I had projects and opportunities… and I couldn't risk it all for something I wasn't even sure would work." Hunt turned to face Claire fully. "I couldn't throw away everything I had worked for— ignore all the effort I had put into my career for… a whim."

The lack of faith was obvious in Claire's voice when she spoke: "A whim?"

For the first time in a while, they fell into a prolonged silence. Hunt did not avoid eye contact with Claire, but he also made no effort to explain himself any further or even dismiss her provocation. It was then that she did the unthinkable: with trembling fingers, Claire tugged on the hand resting on his lap and placed hers over it. This made her cheeks tingle, her bugs bite, and Hunt's eyebrows furrow; she very quickly moved her gloves to the buttons on his sleeve, as if they had been her destination all along.

"Um— for what it's worth…" she found her voice. "I don't think nothing happened. It clearly did. Sometimes… life doesn't go in the way we expect it to… I guess."

A quiet, nervous laugh escaped her lips.

"I think your time with her was valuable just because it existed, you know? And you'll always have that. Not an issue." Claire smiled, but couldn't hold it very long when her eyes threatened to sting. She looked away. "Well, that's how I like to think, anyway."

Since Claire had occupied herself with fidgeting with the buttons on Hunt's suit jacket, she did not notice the look on his face at first. When she did, however, she found herself puzzled by the emotion hidden behind his eyes; Claire could only assess he looked very uncomfortable, as if he had just uncovered a truth that discomposed him. Hunt searched her face, his eyebrows furrowed, and pulled his hand away as he got up.

"That's enough." He checked his wristwatch. "I believe this date is over now."

"What? No, it's not." Claire fixed her fur stole over her shoulders, barely disguising her nerves. "I'm still watching the kelp."

"That's what we've been doing for the past half-hour. I'd like to move along."

"Omigosh— you're such a strange man!" She rubbed one of her eyes. "You were fine just now! Literally, what happened?!"

"Nothing happened, Claribel. I just want to get out of here."

"This is the last exhibit— leaving here means leaving the aquarium, and I do not want to do that."

"Do you see what I mean when I say you have no regard for others, that your wishes will always trump everyone else's?" Hunt straightened his tie. "You are selfish. The only thing that matters to you is what you want, and nothing else."

"Where is this coming from?! We were just…" Her voice wavered. "I— I waited all night to come here! Is this— is this some kind of sick punishment?"

"Punishment? The only one who's being punished for anything here is me."

"Look— I'm sorry, but it's really not my fault if you have like, unresolved matters you have never gotten over!" Claire frowned. "I was just trying to be nice. Clearly, I made a mistake."

"It has nothing to do— this is about you." Hunt grimaced, struggling with his words. "You keep… forcing yourself onto people. You keep— are you like this, with everyone you know?"

"I—"

"Do you often wonder if people around you are just tolerating you?" He scowled. "Because I tried tolerating you tonight, Claribel, and I can't imagine anyone putting themselves willingly through this."

With glassy eyes, Claire blinked a few times. She choked: "That's really lovely coming from you, Prof. The guy who was just whining because, boo-hoo, fifty years ago a girl said no to him. Haven't you found anyone else since?"

Hunt stepped back. He joined his eyebrows, surprised. Claire pulled on her gloves.

"I take back what I said. It's really good you didn't meet her and didn't curse her to a lifetime of putting up with you. I can't imagine a worse fate to be bestowed upon anyone."

The buzzing from the water filters was the only noise either of them could register for a while. Hunt stood a few feet away, still towering over her; as much as he tried to keep his expression closed, the corner of his lips twitched. Claire waited for him to come up with a response, but was taken aback when he turned around and walked out of the exhibit.

"Where are you going?"

When no answer came, Claire got up from the bench and scurried after him. Her heels echoed in the empty aquarium, and she was able to catch a glimpse of his head as he pushed the exit doors. Once on the street, Claire called out:

"Um, you can't leave me here! It's not midnight yet!"

"It's fifteen to midnight. I am leaving."

"You signed a contract! You— um, you can't leave me!"

Hunt turned to face her. "It's not a real contract, Claribel. There's absolutely nothing keeping me here. We have done every activity in that schedule of yours, and I'm not putting up with your nonsense anymore."

"But—"

"I shouldn't have even entertained you and this… nightmare. I don't know what came over me, but I know it will never happen again."

As she watched him walk away, Claire was filled with an emptiness she had felt on very few occasions in her life. The burning in her chest was quick to spread to her face, and she couldn't control her trembling lips anymore. The leather covering her purse straps crackled under her fingers as she pulled and twisted them.

"Why are you so mean to me?!"

The strangled scream that escaped her lips surprised not only Claire herself, but it also made Hunt stop in his tracks. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she let out a strange sob as she tried to control her breathing.

"What?"

"Why are you so mean to me!?" she repeated, still stuck in place. "I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment from you. I— I don't know why you hate me this much! And— and look, I dislike you too! Very much. Very, very much. You are the most wretched— Gosh! I tried so, so hard to act cordial with you, but you didn't extend the kindness to me."

Hunt opened his mouth, but Claire choked a laugh between her tears: "Kindness! Here's a word you must not know the meaning of. Do you think— Professor, do you think I wanted it to be like this? No. I just wanted to have a nice night out with my friend, and then everything started going wrong, and then it didn't stop going wrong. And then— every time I tried to make things bearable you would find a way of… being mean to me. Why?"

"Don't put this on me. From the very start I tried preventing this from happening because I knew it wouldn't be pleasant for either of us. You insisted on this. You got what you wanted."

"I know! And you were right! And I wish I had listened to you!" She held in a sob. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The silence persisted for a few long seconds as they stared each other down. The ringing in Claire's ears had subsided and she could then hear the cars cruising down the avenue. The chill breeze covered her skin with goosebumps, to the dismay of her already distressed bugs.

"Goodnight, Claribel."

Left behind in the middle of the deserted avenue, Claire watched Professor Hunt walk away until he disappeared around the corner. She held on to her fur stole, as if it could hide her from the world, and from herself, too. Then, Claire slumped down on a nearby bench.

In an attempt to cease her sobs, Claire opened her purse and counted every single item inside twice. Then again, and again. She wouldn't be able to tell a passerby how much time she spent on her little ritual, but at some point she got her breathing under control and her hands weren't shaking as much as they were before.

What a disastrous night that had been! When Claire left home earlier that day, she would never have imagined she'd end up crying on a dirty street bench. It was true still: Claire did not have the words to properly describe her inner turmoil, and she doubted she would find them any time soon; but the mites, and fleas, and the many other crawly bugs that inhabited the deepest parts of herself told her something rotten had awakened. If a clinical description was out of her grasp, a profound explanation was—

"Claribel."

Claire's vision was still blurry when she looked up and found Thomas Hunt staring down at her. The little wrinkle between his eyebrows made her swallow a sob:

"What— what are you doing here?"

"It's going to rain."

With a sniff, she returned her attention to her purse. "Go away. Someone might see you with me."

"No. It's past midnight," he told her as he checked his wristwatch. Hunt looked around. "I can't in good conscience leave you here alone."

"As if— as if that would be hard for you."

No response came from Hunt, but he let out a heavy sigh. Claire couldn't ignore him any further when one of his knees dropped down and he lowered himself in front of her, his slacks scraping against the concrete. The line between his eyebrows was still there as he took in her features and, for a moment, her little occasional sobs were the only sound between them.

It disturbed Claire to maintain visual contact for so long, though she could not bring herself to avert her gaze. The street lights cast their warm, yellow glow against the right side of Hunt's body; she tried hard to take no notice of the creases in the corner of his eyes, or how his lips pouted in slight consternation, or the gray hairs poking at his temples, or how their proximity was reminiscent of that one night in July, on that balcony. No, Claire paid no attention to such trivial details, and she wasn't so absorbed in them that she flinched when Hunt raised his hand.

The warmth of his thumb against her mascara-stained cheek was dizzying, and Claire almost pushed his hand away as a gut reaction. Instead, she blinked away the tears still clinging to her eyelashes; an attempt to make sense of the gentleness of his touch. She did not have much time to dwell on it, since Hunt retracted the soft pressure against her face in a swift gesture. He rubbed his fingers together, as if the mere contact with Claire's skin made his own burn.

Hunt's expression betrayed nothing; his eyebrows were still furrowed, his fingertips paled with the force he applied against his palm. When he finally spoke again, his voice was firm. "Let me walk you home."

"It's… too far," she hesitated. "Just call me a taxi."

"I insist."

A stubborn 'no' was on the tip of her tongue. The cold wind reminded Claire of her predicament. "Okay."

The thin straps of her heels dug into her feet when she got up, still somewhat off-balance. Claire twirled two of her now-mussed curls around her fingers, trying to force them back into shape; Hunt's lips curled up, barely, when she failed at it, but he made no comment. Then, the two of them began to stroll through the dimly-lit streets.

Claire found herself appreciating the quiet walk. For once, she did not know what to say. It was uncomfortable, she thought, to realize words had failed and escaped her many times that night; uncharacteristic for a person who prided herself on having opinions about every topic imaginable. It probably meant nothing. It was just silence. People stayed in silence. Besides, if there was something to be said, she was sure the man by her side would have already done so. He was always, like, saying things.

Soon enough, they stood in front of Hollywood University's dorm building.

"You didn't need to walk me inside the campus."

Hunt crossed his arms behind his back. "I forgot something in my office."

"Oh. Okay." Claire looked around. "Well. Thank you."

And with one awkward wave from her and a short nod from him, Claire scurried into the dorm building. She tried to gather her bearings as she walked through the halls, passing by a group of students still up. Not a single one of her bugs seemed interested in making sense of anything. So, after locking the door to her shared room with Addison, and crossing the pitch-black corridor, she decided she would leave it to future Claire to figure something out.