Page 15 of Do You Ship It

For the next two weeks, Jake goes quiet. Over text, he tells me that he’s too busy with college stuff; on Discord, I learn that he cancelled our Wednesday watch-party because his dad wanted to take him out for dinner and talk about universities. It sends me into a bit of a spiral of my own, and in a panic I order about twenty prospectuses even though I have no idea what I’m even looking for in a uni, if I want to go, or what I’d study.

There’s a little flutter in my chest that screams ART!!! , that dreams of being able to work on sets and designs like the ones on OWAR, but I shove that ridiculous notion away as soon as it rises to the surface.

Dad sits with me after my shift on Saturday, helping me look through all the brochures. Then Mum takes me for coffee and cake on Sunday morning before I go to work and we make a spreadsheet of different unis and their courses and their merits. I don’t know if they’re trying to one-up each other, if they’re genuinely working in tandem, or simply never communicated to each other how they’re both trying to help, but I don’t worry about it too much. It does help put me at ease a bit about uni, and it’s nice to spend some time with them both.

I get invited to Daphne’s house to hang out with some of the girls after school one day, and I feel firmly, solidly, One Of The Group. Now that I don’t feel I have to work so hard to keep up or make sure they really do like me, I enjoy their company even more. I don’t even mind mentioning Jake more openly around Evie, who promises not to tell anybody from our old school but tells me, ‘I always thought you two had kind of a thing going on. I’m so here for it; you’d be such an adorable couple.’

They’re fun and cool and so easy to be around, and I’m so busy basking in it that the cinema trip with the group from my old school comes and goes without me even noticing. It does make me realize maybe I don’t really miss them very much, though; and that, by comparison to the girls at college, my school friendships were very surface-level, especially because they were mostly facilitated by Jake. I was never as excited to see them as I am Daphne and the girls, have never connected with them in the same way. My feelings have a lot more to do with losing Jake than it does them , and I’m surprised by the sense of absolute relief in accepting that we’ve grown apart … and that’s okay.

It’s okay because, like Mum said, sometimes it happens. It’s okay because I still have Jake. But mostly, it’s okay because I have the girls.

And it feels nice to have proper friends of my own.

Still, I don’t mention Comic Con and the couple’s costume to Daphne or Nikita or anybody, not sure how to bring it up and aware how pathetic it sounds. Finding a costume isn’t half as difficult as I thought it might be – this time of year there are plenty of cheap black cloaks and sword belts and wigs available online, and when Mum or Dad ask about the parcels I’ve been ordering, I can pass it off as a Halloween costume without too much further enquiry.

Plus, thanks to some assistance from @runicrascal, a little further research of my own and a few pointers from fellow Discord fangirl @silversmithhh, I learn that one of Lady di Silver’s more notable outfits in the show is a green embroidered dress which she apparently wears to a ball. There’s some truly gorgeous fanart, and incredible videos from women who have recreated the look for themselves on a sewing machine which I can’t help but be impressed by. The style is very medieval, but I think a plain green dress would do the job just as well, and that won’t feel as weird to wear out in public as a full costume.

Plus, it’s a lot cheaper to find a dupe online than something more show-accurate, and I’m not made of money. The literal price of doing this in the name of romance would be a bit steep otherwise.

The Friday night before Comic Con, I lay my outfit on my bed. A brown wig styled into a braided updo that I spent hours wrestling into place with hairpins trying to make perfect, the green dress which really looks like more of a tiered midi than something medieval, but is at least the right shade of emerald, along with the sword belt (with a cardboard hilt I crafted and covered in bronze and silver paint) and my Amazon-purchased cloak.

It’s a solid costume. Cosplay . Especially for a first attempt, done on a budget and a bit of a time-crunch. It’ll look brilliant next to Jake’s costume, I’m sure of it, and the green dress won’t even be too weird to wear on the train into town.

But when Saturday morning arrives, I stand shaking in my room with the cloak bunched in my hands, not sure why I feel so sick with nerves. I imagine walking into a hall full of people not in costume; this isn’t an OWAR-specific event like the last one, after all, so what if I look completely out of place and nobody recognizes who I’m supposed to be? Or the OWAR fans (cough, Max , cough) ridicule me for grossly misunderstanding, for being such a fake fan?

And what if Jake doesn’t even go through with his cosplay? If it’s just me and Max, two weirdos together, everybody pointing and laughing and whispering behind their hands? What if I see someone I know? Anissa might be there and tell someone at school about it, or maybe a photo of me dressed up could end up online …

I can’t do it. I can get into this convoluted show with its tangled plotline, I can read the fanfiction for the romantic storyline, I can even put up with a third-wheel every time I hang out with Jake, but I can’t do this .

I shove the cloak, the sword belt, dress and wig into the bottom of my wardrobe next to a half-done watercolour painting of Lady di Silver’s tower and a shoebox of painting supplies, and throw on a pair of jeans instead. I leave the ‘BE YE A RASCAL, ROACH?’ T-shirt Jake got me in the drawer, ignoring it in favour of a woolly jumper. It’s too cold for a T-shirt, anyway. He’ll understand. I’ll just say that the dress didn’t fit, or the cloak didn’t arrive in time, or something.

He’ll understand.

I just can’t do it. I can’t be that person.

Look at Anissa. Look at Max – I don’t know if he even has friends outside of Jake and maybe the football boys, at a push. Look at Jake , withdrawing from all his old friends from school, and even from me.

When I get to the concert hall in the middle of town, I’m relieved to see that most people walking in are dressed more casually – jeans and hoodies, similar to my own outfit. At least I won’t be as out of place as I was the last time.

I arrive first, but soon spot Jake and Max. They’re deep in conversation, smiling as they talk, and Jake bumps Max playfully on the shoulder about something. Neither of them have noticed me yet.

Max strides along in the same cosplay as last time, cloak billowing behind him, his loose, old-fashioned shirt buffeting against his chest in the brisk October breeze; the long blonde wig is drawn back in a low ponytail, pointed elf ears sticking out. He’s covered in the same leather armour pieces that I’ve since learned are called a bandolier, bracers and pauldrons.

Jake, beside him, is in jeans, and I can see the glint of the circular runic pattern of his OWAR T-shirt underneath his jacket. Anger flares, hot and red, in my chest.

I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was going to flake on the costume!

Was he really going to let me show up in a medieval ballgown (or, you know, close enough) and not even at least look like an idiot with me? Ugh! I’m so glad I changed my mind.

I can’t believe he would do that to me.

But, then again … maybe this is a sign that we’re so in sync and therefore totally meant to be together?

Max notices me first, just as they’re waiting to cross the road. An expression I can’t identify tugs at his eyebrows, pulls his mouth downward, and he says something to Jake that makes my stomach knot – I get the impression it’s not very favourable.

Did Max really expect me to show up in cosplay? In the span of me saying I’d ‘think about’ borrowing his spare elf ears, did I really give him the impression that I’d do it? Is he still that much of a superior arse that he thinks I’m a fake fan for not doing it?

Then Jake looks up, smiling, and gives me a big wave that cools the anger in my chest a little.

By the time they reach me, Jake comes forward to wrap me in a big hug, talking a mile a minute about how – ‘The wings broke! I’m so gutted. We spent ages trying to get them to look right, taping them together and painting them, and they totally disintegrated as soon as I stepped outside. Max told me I should’ve used something better than craft paper and chicken wire … And we put so many hours into it, too! Getting them to fit, measuring, trying different types of glue or tape … Lesson learned: Max is always right. Especially when it comes to this stuff!’

I hide a wince. So this is why he’s been so quiet lately: he’s been holed up with Max every spare moment, the two of them building a set of costume wings. Something fandom-related that he could have involved me in, but chose not to.

It stings more than it has any right to.

I never thought I’d be so jealous of Max, or so desperate to be a cosplay guru.

I glance his way, find his eyes boring into me, and tear my gaze away instantly.

Jake doesn’t even notice when I fight to craft a more neutral expression to hide my hurt, and he’s too busy still chattering away to notice my breath tremble on the exhale.

He says, ‘The costume just didn’t look any good without them. You were right, Cer. I should’ve gone as Roach instead, or Devon. Oh well. Next time, right? What happened to yours? I thought you had a dress sorted? Didn’t you style a wig?’

I grimace, feeling Max’s dark eyes boring into me, and tell Jake, ‘Mine didn’t really work out either.’

Jake’s face falls; I’d gushed in Discord about how pleased I was to find pieces to pull the look together and how happy I was with how the wig turned out, but before he can be too sympathetic I put on a smile.

‘Next time, right?’ I repeat, and he nods, grinning once more.

‘I’ll hold you to it. Never mind. We’ve still got Sir Grayson here, huh? One of us managed it! And killed it , of course.’ He slings an arm around Max’s shoulders, admiring his outfit, and I fall back half a step, blinking rapidly as I take it in myself. The white-blonde hair, the ears of a half-elf character, the dark armour and sturdy boots and …

Oh, God.

I don’t know how I didn’t twig this before, but Max’s cosplay character is Sir Grayson – ‘the Moonwalker’ – one half of the other popular ship in the fandom, Moonsilver. As in, the Moonwalker and Lady di Silver , who I almost came dressed as.

I cannot believe I almost showed up in a couple’s costume with Max!

Thank God I freaked myself out of wearing the dress. My intuition must have been tuned all the way in this morning. I would never have lived it down anyway, but a couple’s costume with my crush’s best friend … That’d be a sure-fire way to kill The Plan.

Unless it would’ve made Jake just a little bit jealous …?

It’s too late now, anyway.

Who knew fandom could be such a vessel for romance and flirting and missteps in love?

Jake’s been saying something I’m totally oblivious to while I’ve been staring blankly at Max’s outfit, and I jolt back to reality when I hear my name. Not sure I want to have been caught staring (even accidentally) at Max, I just smile and hope Jake didn’t ask me anything that needs a response.

They’re both pulling their phones out of their pockets, though, and I catch on – we’re finding our tickets to go inside.

Jake bounds up the stairs ahead of us, so fast that Max and I get separated from him in the ticket queue by a group of uni-aged guys.

‘Guess I didn’t need to bring those spare ears after all,’ he says rigidly, and he sounds disappointed in me. Like I’ve offended him somehow. Like he has taken my own normal, everyday attire as a deep personal insult.

The tone alone makes me feel guilty, which is stupid when I owe him nothing , and I find myself spinning around to snap back at him, ‘Probably just as well – I wouldn’t want to have given everybody the wrong impression.’

He frowns, gaze darkening as his chin ticks up. He’s standing on the step below me; like this, we’re eye level. My chest rises and falls shallowly, angrily, blood thrumming in my ears.

It’s not Jake I’m still angry at, of course; I could never be, not really. This is all about Max. Max, who’s responsible for taking Jake away from me, for driving that wedge between us. For being so downright insufferable to be around, all the time .

‘And what impression would that be?’ Max asks, his voice low, almost intimate, his words prickly and curt. His jaw clenches, though he doesn’t take his eyes away from mine, and I don’t look away either. I refuse to let him win, even though I have no idea how we even got into this battle in the first place.

That I’m a freak like you , I want to spit, but even with the words on the tip of my tongue, even with Max being his usual awful self, I can’t bring myself to say them, however true they feel.

Instead, I tilt my head and smile dryly, lips pressed into a thin line, and I give him the haughtiest look I can muster before I, the ‘newbie’ he’s so derisive of, use his own beloved fandom against him.

And I tell him simply, ‘That I think there’s any universe in which Lady di Silver belongs with Sir Grayson.’

As soon as my ticket is scanned I stride forward to where Jake is waiting and loop my arm through his to enter the fray, under the guise of not wanting to get lost in the crowd.

Max falls behind, and I don’t look back.