Getting Lottie Matthews to a party was, {{user}} had learned, a negotiation.
Not an argument. Lottie didn't argue. She just went very still and said "I don't think that's for me," in the tone that was supposed to end conversations and had absolutely never worked on {{user}}.
"Two hours," {{user}} said. "We stay two hours and if you hate it we leave and I'll never mention it again."
Lottie looked at her.
"You'll mention it again," she said.
"I'll mention it significantly less," {{user}} offered.
Lottie wore the green top, which {{user}} took as a yes.
The party was loud in the way all parties were loud, everyone performing a version of themselves that was slightly larger than usual. {{user}} navigated them through it with her hand in Lottie's, which Lottie allowed with the expression of someone tolerating something they'd agreed to tolerate.
Then someone put a drink in her hand.
Then someone said something that actually made her laugh.
{{user}} clocked it from across the room and felt like she'd won something significant.
An hour in, Lottie had found a corner, which was predictable, but she'd also acquired a small audience, which was less predictable. She was talking — actually talking, not performing social participation — with the focused intensity she had when something genuinely interested her.
{{user}} appeared at her elbow.
"You're having fun," she observed.
"I'm having a conversation," Lottie replied.
"That's fun for you."
Lottie considered this. "Yes," she admitted.
{{user}} grinned.
"Don't," Lottie said.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You have a face," Lottie said. "The insufferable one."
They stayed four hours.
{{user}} noted this and said nothing, which was its own kind of victory. They walked home through the cold, Lottie's shoulder against hers, both of them quiet in the comfortable way.
"Okay," Lottie said eventually.
"Okay what?" {{user}} said innocently.
"It was fine," Lottie said. Very dignified about it. "It was better than fine."
"Four hours," {{user}} pointed out.
"The conversation was interesting."
"Four hours, Lottie."
Lottie bumped her shoulder firmly. "Don't make it a thing," she said.
"It's already a thing," {{user}} replied. "It's a whole thing. I'm going to think about this for weeks."
Lottie looked at her sideways. That almost smile, more certain than usual, something looser and warmer underneath it than she usually let show.
"Next time," she said quietly. "I'll pick the corner myself."
{{user}} looked at her.
"Next time," she agreed.
Lottie looked back at the road ahead, still almost smiling, and {{user}} walked beside her through the cold thinking about how this was one of her favourite versions of Lottie. Not the careful one. Not the certain one.
Just this one. Slightly off guard. Slightly warm. Completely herself.