A/N: Hey, guys, I reposted this to ask if I should write a sequel. I've been thinking about it for awhile now, and thought I might write one. If you have any ideas for this possible sequel, leave it in a review or PM me. Thanks, guys! I love you all!
Across the street from the house where he used to live, there is a large field, overgrown with grass and weeds. Beyond that field there is a small wooded area. Through those woods runs a stream, into which the autumn leaves tend to flutter, and are carried slowly downstream by a gentle current. Across this creek lie the remnants of fallen trees, once used as bridges by long-grown children. Tied to a post on the bank you'll find a boat carved from the trunk of an old tree. A rope is fixed to the limb of one of the sturdiest trees on the bank. Neighborhood children used to swing across the stream on the rope. It remains as a lingering memory of how young and innocent they once were.
The brook runs on. It doesn't stop because people slowly abandon it. It never ceases to flow because the children it once knew become adults and move away. It doesn't slow because the people it befriended grow old and pass on. It doesn't die down due to its lack of human companionship. No, the brook surges on, but it preserves the sacred memories of childhoods passed. It clings to the secrets of its friends, and is never even tempted to disclose a single one.
On a morning much like the ones he remembered as a child, the sun rising over the trees behind the white two-story house, he found himself wandering outside, crossing that field, then weaving his way through trees and brush. He came upon the brook, finding it flowing on as if he'd never left. The only difference since he himself abandoned it when he was seventeen is that it seems as though no one had visited it in years. The children that had once laughed, playing up and down the streets, were gone. They'd grown up, moved on. The place was almost eerily quiet, and it only heightened the sadness he felt overwhelming him as he stood on the bank.
The emotion bubbling up inside of him became too much to bear, and he finally turned away from his old safe haven. He maneuvered his way back through the woods, traversed the field, and headed back toward the house. After all those years, it had been converted into a small inn. Unlocking his old bedroom's door, he found his companion sitting at the table in the room. She held up his note to her, indicating to him that she had seen it. He hadn't wanted her to wake up wondering where he'd gone.
An hour later found the two of them with bags slung over each of their shoulders, carrying a cooler between them. They crossed through the field, then the woods, up to the muddy bank of the brook. They placed their things down beside a fallen tree.
She walked to the old handmade boat, and began clearing the tarp that covered it of leaves. He strolled to her side, explaining that it was once his father's. He told her that they'd spent time making the boat over numerous summers. After his dad's deployment, he used to just sit in the boat on the water, lost in his own world, until he found himself having drifted downstream. She gave him an almost pitying look, and wrapped her arms around him briefly. She felt his body relax against hers, hugging her back.
They pulled away from one another reluctantly, both regretting the sudden lack of warmth. They gazed intensely at one another for what seemed like forever, until, before he realized it, she grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them at his head. He stood in shock for a moment, and then reached down, preparing to retaliate. They spent a good twenty minutes engaged in a leaf war. When they both finally declared a stalemate, the leaves had been scattered all over the bank of the stream.
Laughing, he walked to her and began brushing the pieces of orange leaves from her dark hair. She smiled up at him, reaching up and running her hands through his light brown hair, the remainder of the leaves falling away. He found his own teal eyes lost in her soft green ones that he could've sworn were just begging him to hold her, to kiss her.
They broke eye contact as she pulled her t-shirt up over her head, revealing the black bikini top below. He grinned, copying her actions. She never expected to see a toned body beneath his faded and baggy college t-shirt. They folded their clothes up into their backpacks, and she allowed herself a smile as she noticed his black swimming trunks matched her bikini.
For a while, they merely sat on the shore as he absentmindedly traced the tattoos on her back. They let their feet dangle into the water until it reached a point where he couldn't stand not being in the water. He reached for the rope tied to the tree limb, and took a running start, letting go of the rope as he swung over the water. Some of the water splashed up at her, and she made a noise that was both amused and indignant as he resurfaced. He grinned in her direction, nodding so as to indicate for her to follow. She hopped up to her feet, and just like he had, grabbed the rope and swung out, jumping into the chilly water. She was momentarily submerged, surfacing in front of him.
Her feet just grazed the bottom of the stream with her head above water, but she could tell he was standing. He placed his hands on her hips, helping her to stay above water. Their eyes locked once again, and he found himself unable to fight the voice in his head. He leaned close to her, pressing his lips gently against hers.
They never thought about it. They always considered it a friends-with-benefits sort of thing. They never intended for it to mean a thing. The simple kisses that they would occasionally share may have left them wanting more from time to time, but nothing compared to this. They felt their hearts stop for just a moment, as if the world decided to stand still as they waded in the water, holding each other close.
Neither of them would mention it unless the other did first, something that made communication between them fairly impossible. They tirelessly danced around their feelings for one another. It was the kind of dance that never ended and never would until one of them finally admitted it was getting old.
Every time something happened, one of them would give the other an out. They always had the option of going home without changing a thing. There was nothing to lose. They'd stay the best friends that they were. That was that.
They'd spent their share of weekends together in the time after their breakup several years previous. They didn't regret any of that time. Neither of them ever regretted any of those dinners, any of those vacations, any of those nights.
They raced one another from one fallen tree to the next. He won every time, but he never held it over her. He was like that. He'd be kind and compassionate, always worrying about others' feelings before his own. It was one of the things she loved about him. He'd always put others before himself. She liked to think that she was a part of making him the man he was.
After having raced one another for at least an hour, he dragged the boat to the water, and they both climbed inside. The seats were rough from having been outside for such a long time, but the tarp that had covered it for years had helped to preserve it. They just floated there for hours as he told her stories of his childhood. She learned just how bad he'd had it as a kid, being a complete outcast and never having his father around to talk to.
When they finally climbed from the boat, they pulled it back to the bank and covered it with the discarded tarp. He crouched down and cleared a section of the bank of leaves, laying down and reaching his hand up to her. She smiled softly at him, taking his hand and laying beside him. They were quiet for a long time, and she found herself resting her head on his bare chest. Soon, they fell asleep, the late morning sun casting down on them through the trees.
She woke a little before noon, and found her companion still asleep. She stood up carefully, not wanting to wake him. She returned to where they had left their bags, and looked toward his backpack, which was covered with his t-shirt. It was dark blue with MIT written across the chest in faded white letters. She felt a surge of pride for him. Although she constantly complained that he mentioned his degree from the aforementioned institute far too often, his intelligence had never ceased to impress her. People always told her that she was one of the smartest people they knew. Those people, she figured, had never met him.
She pulled the shirt over her head, knowing he wouldn't mind. She ambled back over to where he lay to find his eyes beginning to flutter open. He glanced up at her, smiling as he noticed her wearing his shirt. She sat back down beside him, placing a careful kiss on his lips. It seemed as though neither of them could stop smiling. They had that effect on each other sometimes.
They sometimes wondered what could have been if they had never left one another in the first place. It was years later now, as they lay there holding one another, and they were both just waiting for the opportune moment to tell each other. They both knew that they could return home, go back to their jobs and respective apartments, and not lose a thing. Nothing had to change.
He helped her to her feet and walked to his bag, pulling a small box from one of the pockets. He opened it as he returned to her. Inside of the box was a silver chain, and in the place of a pendant was a silver band inlaid with black diamonds. She gasped at the sheer beauty of the piece of jewelry, covering her mouth with her hand. She looked deep into his blue-green eyes for an explanation, an answer.
"It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to," he whispered, holding the box out for her. She silently took the chain in her hand, pulling her dark hair to one side, and holding it out for him. He took the necklace and fastened it around her neck, letting her hair fall back into place.
"I want it to," she murmured. "And I want you."
Across the street from the house where he used to live, there is a large field, overgrown with grass and weeds. Beyond that field there is a small wooded area. Through those woods a stream still runs. Fallen trees and leaves cover the banks. Tied to a post on the bank you can still see a tarp-covered boat. That same rope, albeit frayed, still hangs off that tree limb.
The brook runs on. It didn't stop because people slowly abandoned it. It never ceased to flow because the houses that once surrounded it were torn down, one by one. It didn't slow because two people who once spent an entire day upon its banks grew old and passed on. It didn't die down due to its lack of human companionship. No, the brook surged on, but preserved the sacred memories of lives passed. It clung to the secrets of its friends, and was never even tempted to disclose a single one.