Friend One continued (ignoring the fact that they are now locked in the amphitheatre), “And since I’m going to go on a whim and say you accept my apology and offer of friendship. You are without a doubt the most awesome, insightful, artistic, and vibrantly beautiful young woman I have come to know - reknow.” She began to blush a little as he was still on one knee, “And before some random, giant random thing comes to bring comedy to this down right romantic bliss,” he reached for her left hand - she speechless and red. “May I ask for your hand in…” her free hand tried to grab the escaping air “…merriment and help me up? My left side kinda just gave out one me, probably too much blood loss,” he asked pranking-ly.

      Friend Two smoothly retracted her hand, seductively moved in closer, and pushed him over.

      With a smile, “You didn’t think I would actually ask, didja?”

      Crossed hands and look colder than the emptiness of space.

      Trying to balance out the unevenness of blood in him, “Wu should’ve known that a proposal from me - of aallll people - would be equivalent to reading an encyclopedia dedicated to the endless, nerdy ice breakers and references known to our generation while at the same time watching the most romantic movies at a drive in theatre. And I’m not saying anything for certain, but it may also include costumes, extras, no cameras, and a more random series of events than has been unfolded in the past few months.”

     She raised a shoulder, leaned to the opposite side of said shoulder, and gave the look that I am unable to express as a male writer.

     “You know,” hesitantly, “for old time sake. You do know what they say about old theatres after closing?”

     Unimpressed.

     “Well, I just happen to all of a sudden see my bag of gear.” Short pause, “We could always open an unopened door and scope it out.”

     Slight shifted.

     “And now that we’re out of formal clothes and into what we used to do this in (jeans and tee)…” mustering an english accent, “…What say ye?”

     She speaks, “I finally accept your apology and agree to be friends again and what is the first thing you do!?” She leaned in and glared, “Ask for my help. If I have to be the man of this relationship then at least start wearing a dress.”

     Perplexed, but just as quickly picked up her origin - he shifted, “Well dresses ar…”

     “Leave something to the imagination,” she interrupted, grasping to try and help him up.

     Making sure he was good on two feet, “So since I’m the girl in this relationship,” He grinned victoriously-sweetly. “One, make me a sandwich jerk. Two, ground rules?”

     Loosely holding him, “Are you asking me or seeing if I have input.” He opened his mouth to speak, “And if you ever again ask me for a sandwich. I will put a large mouse trap between two pieces of bread with lettuce, tomatoe, vinegar, and lemon concentrate.”

     He checked to make sure his tongue was still there and pouted his understanding. “Well, I was doing both, but I suppose we should work on crossing the first bridge being friendship. Then, once we’ve relaxed for quite some time in the town of best friends again, we could maybe see about rebuilding that second bridge that leads to the gardens?”

     Judging his ability to stand, “Sounds good. I may ask for an explanation of what the hell you just said, but for now let’s see if we can’t find some oj?”

     He blacked out.

      “Yep, you fit perfectly as the girl.” She ‘love tapped’ him with her foot in his gut, then bandaged his finger. Having checked for a way out and giving up, a room appeared around them with pjs, bed, and nightlight. Already being in the pajamas, she turned the night light out and slid close to him to keep his tone from losing anymore shades of white.

      “This would probably be a good time to say thank you.”

      “Jerk,” as she rolled to the other side.

                                           Epilogue

He rolled off the bed.