Chance Encounters

twenty-five

[a/n: guys thank you so, so much for all the support you're giving this story. also, i apologize in advance, as i wouldn't be able to update this coming week. however, i hope the #restin conversations in this chapter would make up for it. :) oh, and i also wanted to apologize for the fact that i seem to have a problem keeping the pace up of a story, as they always tend to be somewhat slow-paced (in terms of plot development). bear with me for a while, but i promise i'm working on it. sam xoxo]

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Chapter 25

"Seriously?" I looked at him in surprise, trying to refrain from raising my voice too much. "How is it possible that you have read all through Lord of the Rings, but you haven't, not even once, tried to read any of Arthur Conan Doyle's books?"

"I don't really see the connection here," Austin pointed out.

"Well, I just assumed you'd be an avid reader or something."

"I am an avid reader," he argued, giving me an irritated look. "I just... haven't had the chance to get a copy of his books yet."

I shook my head. "Well, you're missing out on a lot."

"Hey," he protested. "You're the one who still hasn't watched the Star Wars here."

"How does that even fit in the conversation? We were talking about books."

"We were talking about missing out on things. And Star Wars is a classic!"

"It's not."

"How can you say that if you'd never watched it before?"

That, I didn't have an answer to, so I just scowled and looked away, crossing my arms over my chest as he proceeded to ramble on about Luke Skywalker or whatever it was he was going on about.

If someone were to ask me how we'd gotten here, I wouldn't have the slightest idea, but there we were, me and Austin, Austin and me, walking around the deserted park like it was nothing out of the ordinary, and even though I knew that in all the things that had happened tonight, this was the one thing that made least sense of all, I didn't mind.

Almost by some unspoken agreement, neither of us brought up what he'd just told me moments ago, as well as what I'd told him. And, to my relief, he had also chosen not to discuss why we'd chosen not to go home and part ways when we could have already done that minutes ago.

Instead, we began to talk, and while it didn't seem like what we were talking about actually mattered, I didn't seem to mind either.

I told him about how much I hated The Notebook and how I'd "accidentally" cracked Tori's DVD of it after the fifth time she made me watch; he told me he once pretended to be asleep for a whole night because he wanted to spy on his toys to see if they'd move like Andy's from Toy Story when he was a kid, and we continued to exchange stories as we walked deeper into the night.

"Occupational Therapy?" I raised an eyebrow, sliding my disbelieving gaze to his. "You. Taking up Occupational Therapy."

"What's wrong with that?"

"But it's not like you at all!" I'd said, waving both hands in exasperation. "I don't know. You kind of seem like someone who'd take up a business course or something."

One corner of his lips lifted into a small smile. "And here I thought you were going to say you thought I'd be majoring in Assholery or something."

"Crap, I should've gone with that."

He let out a laugh—hearty and full and somewhat pleasing to hear. "Seriously, though," he said. "I'd always wanted to take up OT. I mean, I know it wouldn't be easy, but I don't know. It feels right."