“No,” said Imogen, swallowing hard. “It’s cool. Lena, you’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

It didn’t matter that they’d fought last night. The way it felt like they fought every night. Lena wasn’t a gossip.

Lena let go of the door, decided to stay in the alleyway for better or for worse. “No.”

The door clattered shut in the background. Imogen tried not to look at it, tried not to look away from Lena.

Jo stood. She waved her hand in the air across her face—must have been another mosquito. “Lena, why don’t you come back later? Or at least, go inside and, like, swear on a stack of whatever book you find to be holy not to tell anyone. And then you can talk to Imogen later.”

Lena waved her hand in the air, and Imogen saw that she was holding one of Imogen’s old, worn leather jackets. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. I don’t break promises.”

Imogen winced. Lena noticed.

Jo hung her head in her hands. “This is a disaster.”

Lena clearly didn’t have a verbal argument for that, but she crossed her arms and began positively fuming. And Imogen was tired of watching Lena fume.

It wasn’t Lena’s fault.

It wasn’t either of their fault, really, that they were like oil and water together. How they had ended up dating was anyone’s guess. Attraction had been a messy thing, in Imogen’s experience. She was drawn to the beautiful and the uncompromising. She loved Lena’s spine of steel. But steel was supposed to sway with the wind. Lena bent for no one, not even Imogen.

“No,” said Imogen. “It’s cool. She can stay. I need to talk to her.”

Lena looked like a satisfied cat after a territory war over a particularly desirable box.

Jo looked at Imogen. “You sure?”

Not really. “Yup. I’ll be back in soon. This won’t take a minute.”

As Jo left, Lena turned to Imogen. “What do you mean, this won’t take a minute?”

“Lena, we can’t keep doing this.” Imogen’s voice didn’t break.

“Doing what?”

“Fighting.” Imogen kept away any show of nerves. Kept her voice steady.

“We’re not only fighting.” Lena reached out, trying to grab Imogen around the waist.

Imogen flinched away. She had to stay strong here. Touch would loosen her resolution.

Lena’s eyes hardened. She pointed at Imogen’s shaved head. “Fine. Are you going to blame this shit on me, too?”

Imogen closed her eyes, shook her head. It was a show of weakness, but at least Lena had already agreed. “It’s not your fault. Maybe it’s not even my fault. I don’t know. It’s shitty. Everything is shitty.”

Imogen opened her eyes. She looked into Lena’s. She needed Lena to believe her, she needed Lena to understand.