You're Everything

by Tarafina

"Maybe a couple of New Yorkers can fall in love in a busy night club, over a couple bottles of water and a whole lot of catching up…" :Puckleberry:

Title: You're Everything (That I Can't Stand To Live Without)
Category: Glee
Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance
Ship: Puck/Rachel
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Coarse Language
Prompt: "I know this is random. I just… I miss you. I miss you so much." by gabi_in_wndrlnd - puckrachel drabble meme (Part 7)
Word Count: 5,680
Summary: "Maybe a couple of New Yorkers can fall in love in a busy night club, over a couple bottles of water and a whole lot of catching up…"

You're Everything (That I Can't Stand To Live Without)
-1/1-

Rachel argues with herself for what seems like a lifetime. If she was being honest, it was ten minutes, with three years of reaching for the phone and then walking away. It's a long shot, really. That he would even have the same number after all this time… Because she's almost certain he's not in Lima anymore and the roaming charges would just be atrocious. But she's making a dent in a bottle of wine, she's feeling nostalgic, and she thinks about him far too often for it to be dubbed at all okay. So there she is, phone in hand, twirling the chord around her finger because she thinks these old-style rotary phones are rather fun and have so much more personality to them, and it's pink of course, and she's chewing her lip as it rings. When she realizes that it is, in fact, ringing, she gets nervous. Because that means the phone number works; that he might pick up; that she could possibly hear his voice for the first time in three years.

"Hello?"

Her eyes are so wide they almost hurt and her jaw hangs open as she gapes, trying and failing to reply.

"Hello?" he repeats, disgruntled now. "For fucksakes," he mutters. "I'm hanging up if you don't—"

Stupidly, she beats him to the punch, slamming her phone down so hard it rebounds off the cradle and lays against the bed. "Oops, sorry," she murmurs, though it's not as if she hurt the phone, before reaching down to put it back in its place, gently this time.

She draws a leg up to her chest, foot curled around the edge of her couch, and rests her chin on her knee, just staring at the phone and considering another glass of wine. Perhaps she'll attempt it again… And maybe this time she'll say something. Deciding she obviously needs more liquid courage, and briefly flashing back to a time when she called Blaine Anderson (then referred to as Blaine Warbler) in askance of a date and needed pink champagne to get the words out, she fills her glass now to the very brim with a cheap but tasty red wine.

It sloshes a little, hitting her toes when the phone rings with an incoming call.

Dramatic as ever, she peers at the phone like it's foreign to her. It's not as if she doesn't receive calls, but having it happen so close to her own botched attempt makes her suspicious. And because of her love of the much more stylish rotary phone, there is no call display to help her out. Chewing her lip, she wonders if she shouldn't pick up on the off-chance it's a call back for one of the many shows she's been auditioning for. It's late and that's unlikely and even buzzed she knows she's just making excuses.

His voice sounded good though; familiar and warm and even now it sends a shiver down her spine. She reaches for the phone and plucks it up. "Hello?" she says, a little too loudly, and possibly too cheerfully.

The line is quiet. Her brows furrow. She did let it ring awhile; perhaps they hung up. She tries again, "Hello?"

"So it was you…" his voice hits her like a bucket of cold water.

Her spine straightens and she's sitting up so stiffly it almost hurts. "Oh, um…" Her eyes dart around, but there's nobody to help her with this predicament. She has a cat that does nothing more than crack an eye at her, roll over, and go back to sleep. "Wrong number!" she declares and then hangs up quickly.

It's ridiculous and she curses herself under her laughing breath, dropping her face to her hand. "What is wrong with me?" she wonders aloud.

Her cat meows.

She glares at him. "You are of no help, Beauregard!"

His tail swishes at her absently.

She scoffs and then eyes him. "Do you think I made the right decision?"

He doesn't move.

"It's been three years, obviously whatever we had between us is long over…" She chews on her thumb nail. "It was high school… We—We were children!" She stands up and starts pacing, sloshing her wine as she goes; it's a good thing she has a dark carpet. "And it's probably just overcompensating on my part…" She takes a long drag of her wine. "He was my first, so… So I'm probably romanticizing, right? I mean… E-Every girl feels that way when they're with a boy the first time..." She nods, waving her finger around in a pointed manner. "And he's very well practiced, so of course he made it very good for me. And…" Her brows furrow. "And so what if I haven't felt that cherished in my entire life? That no other man has ever even looked at me like he did that night and the next morning and—and later that day when the gleeks waved goodbye as I got on the plane…" She stops suddenly, her expression stricken. "It's perfectly normal to have residual feelings for a boy who—who whispered he loved me into my hair when he thought I was sleeping…" Her eyes filled with tears. "A boy I left behind because—because I had dreams that were bigger than my heart and—and he never asked me to stay, you know!" she reminded defensively.

Stomping her foot, she wipes a hand under her nose and drains her wine glass. "Santana was right… I'm going to be an old, bitter spinster who talks to her cats…"

Beauregard rolls onto his back and shows her his white, fluffy belly, like he thinks that's a wonderful idea.

She rolls her eyes and takes her seat again, reaching for the phone and dialing the number because that idea is entirely too likely in her inebriated state and it scares her; it really does. It's not as if she hasn't dated since she got to New York. There were perfectly nice boys at Tisch, all of whom had the same plans for their future that she did; they were nice and talented and dreamed of the spotlight just like her. But they weren't… They weren't like him. They didn't make her laugh like he did. A smile didn't tug incessantly at her lips whenever they used one of their petnames for her. Their voices, though good, never sent shivers down her spine or goosebumps over her skin. They didn't kiss her like he did; meeting every slant of her mouth, growling when she bit his lip, fingers gripping and tugging at her hair, fighting to get on top, chuckling in defeat when she won dominance. They weren't insufferably cocky like he was, or at least not in the same way. And at night, when that ache fired to life between her legs, it wasn't their name teetering on the edge of her lips when she snuck a hand down to relieve the tension. It wasn't their face she saw when she fell asleep dreaming of love and sex and acceptance, all in one attractive package.

It rings three times before he picks up. He doesn't say hello this time, he just sighs.

Her eyes fall closed; that familiar, exasperated exhale makes her toes curl into her carpet. "I… I'm sorry."

It's silent a long moment. "For which part?"

She leans back into her couch and picks at the fabric of her nightgown. "I'm not sure," she admits. "There's a part of me that's sorry I left, but at the same time I know it was the right thing to do… I—I wasn't leaving you, I was leaving Lima, and I hope you understood that." She licks her lips. "As for hanging up repeatedly, I'm not so much sorry as I'm embarrassed… I… It was stupid, I know, but…"

"But what?"

She shakes her head. "I know this is random," she admits, laughing under her breath at the understatement. "I just… I miss you." She closes her eyes tight. "I miss you so much, Noah…"

He doesn't reply right away and she fears he's hung up on her; she wouldn't blame him.

"S'been three years, Rach…"

"I know… I know and I wouldn't blame you if you told me to just leave you alone. I wouldn't… I wouldn't even be surprised, but…" She swallows tightly. "But I made a mistake three years ago…" She runs a hand through her hair nervously. "It wasn't… It wasn't sleeping with you, because… That was beautiful and I've never— I'll never regret that. It's not leaving Lima, because I belong in New York…. I—I belong on the stage, beneath the spotlight, hearing the roar of the audience…" Her heart beats rapidly in her chest. "My only mistake was not asking you to come with me… It was not telling you I loved you when you whispered it against my ear that night and I…" Her eyes burn. "I do regret that, because… because I felt it then and I still feel it now…"

It's quiet again and her nerves are frayed; her chest aches. "Noah?" she asks breathlessly.

"I've got a gig in twenty," he tells her.

She nods, shutting her eyes tight. "No, of course, I understand. I—I don't want to keep you."

"It's on East 13th," he tells her. "Red sign, green door, lots of people smoking out front, big bouncer… You'll know it when you see it…"

"O-Oh…" She stands, hopeful, walking to her bedroom, wondering what she should wear.

"Set should be two hours, tops, and then… We'll talk, all right? Figure this shit out."

She swallows thickly. "Okay," she agrees. "I-I'll see you there."

"'Kay, good…" He's quiet for a long second and then, "Hey, Rach… I, uh… I'm glad you called, y'know?"

She smiles. "Red sign, green door, right?"

"Right."

"I'll be there with bells on," she tells him brightly.

He laughs. "I'll be the guy on the mic."

She's grabbing out a dress from her closet when she tells him, "I want to know everything… I want to know every last detail of the last three years."

"You sure you got enough time for that?"

She stills, playing with the end of her red dress from where it lays across her bed now. "I'll make time… I've wasted enough of it." Before she can delve too deeply into it, because she wants to say these things to his face, she says, "Okay. I'm going to shower and catch a cab and… and I'll be the girl in the red dress, shoving her way to the front of the crowd."

"I'll keep an eye out."

When they hang up, she's already wondering if there's enough coffee in her house to sober her up. She puts a pot on and then hops in the shower, her stomach jumping excitedly. As she's scrubbing shampoo into her hair, she remembers that night in vivid detail and she bites her lip so hard it nearly bleeds. He was so… careful with her. His hands, rough with playing his guitar, glided across her skin like he thought she was breakable; like she might shatter if he held her too tightly. He stripped her panties down, kissing every inch of naked skin as he went, and he made her quiver… Made her shake and writhe and plead his name until he was sinking between her thighs, trying to move slow, to make it not hurt, and then he was there, completely insideher, and it was overwhelming and full and painful, but then—Then he was moving and he was stroking her breasts and between her legs and his lips were kissing along her neck, and it didn't hurt anymore so much as it felt—It felt right. And it took her nails digging into his shoulders for him to take her seriously, but when she said, "Harder, Noah, please. D-Deeper!" he got the message and he stopped holding back; stopped treating her like a china doll.

Three times. He made love to her three times before she passed out some time around dawn, only minutes after he kissed the shell of her ear and stroked her ear and rasped, "I love you," assuming she wouldn't hear him.

Her fingers have stopped moving as she stares at the shower tiles, remembering the feel of him; of his hands on her skin, of his breath against her neck, of his teeth on her lips. A throbbing begins low in her belly and she shakes her head; this isn't about sex. Mind-blowingly phenomenal though it was. It's about getting back the only boy – man now, she reminds herself – that ever looked at her and saw just Rachel. The only boy who's ever loved her for all her crazy and her too-large vocabulary and her dreams that she refuses to, even now, give up on. And she remembers how, just before she left, he just sort of smiled at her, in that way of his, like he was saying it was okay for her to go, that he wanted her to go. Because a part of her knows that if she tried to stay, he would've pushed her away. In the end, he supported anybody who wanted out of Lima, because he knew the feeling well. And in those last two months before graduation, with Finn making not so subtle hints that she should stay around another year, see how Lima fit, Noah was the first to say, and loudly at that, that she should get her 'fine ass' out of Lima and never look back. Because Finn didn't get it, she broke up with him early, and a month later she willingly and happily gave her virginity to Noah before boarding a plane the next day to New York.

She rinses her hair and hurriedly conditions it. If she keeps getting caught up in the past, she'll miss the future that could be as close as getting in a cab and down to East 13th street. She didn't even know he was in New York… And how long has he been here? How long has been so close? How much time did she waste when she could have been with him if she'd only just plucked up the courage and called him?

Hopping out of the shower, she wipes her fogged mirror with her hand and squints at her reflection. Brushing and flossing her teeth, she combs her hair out and then walks to her room, toweling herself off quickly before donning her red dress and her favorite set of underthings. Grabbing up a pair of heels that will bring her closer to his height, she rushes to her kitchen to down a hot cup of steaming black coffee. She burns her tongue and the roof of her mouth before rethinking her plan and putting it in a to-go mug before leaving her apartment, locking it behind her. She's already called the cab and she hopes it'll be downstairs soon. She puts her shoes on in the lobby, holding herself steady with one hand on a wall as she peers out at the street for the familiar yellow taxi.

She wasn't expecting this. Okay, so she hasn't planned much past the initial phone call. She didn't really know what she was going to say then either. It'd been more about hearing his voice than anything. But now she's said what she needed to and he's giving her a chance, hopefully.

She's half done her coffee when the cab pulls up and she runs outside, her hands shaking as she pulls open the door and tells him where to go. He seems to have some idea where she means when she says it's the club with the red sign and green door. It's a ten minute drive and she can feel the overwhelming situation and her frenzy of thoughts just at the tip of her tongue; they burst out with little regard to who's listening.

"I'm going to meet someone," she tells her taxi-driver.

He glances at her, nods. "Figured that. You're pretty dressed up…"

She looks down at herself. "Do you think it's too much?"

He quirks an amused brow. "Depends on who you're meeting."

She's not sure what to dub Noah. He wasn't exactly her high school sweetheart; she would think Finn more aptly suits that moniker. He wasn't just her friend, although they'd been friends for some time, especially after he and Lauren broke up the summer before senior year. He was always there when she needed him; always willing to listen to her complain about whatever complications had come up between her and Finn. And she watched Puck mature too, sticking up for him when anybody thought to question his progress. When his one year probation meeting came around, she stood up and told anybody who would listen that he had come a long way and she'd never been more proud of him. And that whole year, when others were making bets on whether or not she'd stay with Finn in Lima or go to New York, or if she'd come back from Broadway with her tail between her legs, Noah told her to ignore them, that she'd get everything she wanted and deserved. He was her biggest supporter, besides her dads, and she rather regretted not realizing earlier that his feelings for her had always been more than friendship. That even though she was with Finn, he was always right there on the edge of her life, waiting his turn, being exactly what she needed.

"He's… It's…" She frowns. "It's complicated."

Her driver grins. "Good ones always are."

She raises a brow. "Good what?"

"Stories."

Her head tips. "I imagine in your line of work, you hear a lot of them."

He nods, taking a left with practiced ease. "Too many to count."

Rachel fiddles with her purse, the jangle of her keys offering a little distraction. "I want this story to have a happy ending," she finally tells him.

"Guess that's up to you."

She peers over at him thoughtfully. "I'm the one who ruined it."

"Takes two in every couple."

She blinks. "Yes, but he was doing what was right for me. I… I was being selfish."

"Is it selfish if he agrees it's the right thing?"

She frowns, sighing. "I cut him out of my life… I should have called… I-I should have asked him to come with me."

"He could've called. Could've followed you."

She twists her hands in her purse. "So I'm making the wrong decision? He doesn't want me as much as I want him?" She bit her lip. "I did romanticize the whole thing…"

"Don't know…" He shrugged. "Did he ask you to come tonight?"

She looks over at him, tucking her damp hair behind her ear. "Yes."

He grins. "Then I guess he wants you here, doesn't he?" He pulls up to the curb and hits the button on the timer.

She pulls out the money to pay him and then pushes her door open. "Thank you," she tells him, thinking it might have been for more than just the ride.

He looks up at her, leaning over the console of his car. "Good luck on that happy ending."

She smiles back. "I might need it."

Closing the door, she walks toward the club; she can hear the music pounding against the brick walls, beating against the closed green door.

Noah was right; the bouncer is quite large. She sees a line of people waiting to get in and knows it would be polite to move to the end, but she's got a happy ending that needs a beginning and so she walks right up to the bouncer and raises her chin, like she might just fight him on it if he motions her to the back.

He raises a dark brow, smirks, and opens the door.

"Thank you," she says, walking past him and inside the thick fray of people.

The room is too warm, stuffy, and the noise makes her wince. It's bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside, and filled to capacity. She's not sure her coffee has quite kicked in, but she's steady enough on her feet. She feels overdressed; most of the other patrons are in jeans. But she's never let her wardrobe choices hinder her before, so she just keeps moving, sliding in between bodies and making her way closer to the stage. The band is set up, but the music hasn't begun yet. She wonders if she's early.

And then somebody strums an electric guitar and everybody seems to turn in unison to where the spotlight falls on the figure walking to the mic, his own guitar slung to his side.

Her breath catches a little when she sees him; she's not even half way across the club and she can't quite make out his face, but she knows that body; knows that swagger. Just the way he's standing gives him away. She doesn't know his band mates, or at least not from this distance; none of them seem to be jumping out at her as familiar.

He readjusts the mic and then says, "Hey, welcome to Late Night at Staccato's. You don't already know us, then you're a newb; initiation is hell, you heard it here first." Lighthearted laughter answers him. "We've got a packed house tonight, so try not to step on each other. You start a fight, Cody's bouncing and he doesn't play around… You got a request, go fuck yourself we don't take those." He raises a brow as if challenging anybody to question him on it. "Main rule here at Stucky's is to have fun; get loud, get rowdy, keep it clean." He half-smirks. "On a final note, I've got a special guest in the crowd. Try not to step on the midget in the red dress."

Rachel rolls her eyes, purposely avoiding eye-contact with anybody who might be looking in her direction.

"Rach, I've been waiting three years for tonight…" He leans back from the mic and nods at the band to start.

Heart in her throat, she starts pushing again, making her way closer, and the moment he sets eyes on her she can feel it.

His lips stretch in a faint smile as he starts singing, his voice washing over her warmly.

Thank you for coming,
Please won't you come in,

His hand grips the mic tightly and he winks at her.

You look… so beautiful…
I am the same man,
I haven't changed much,
I'm still…

He nods earnestly.

In love with you.

The words hit her so hard in the chest, her eyes blur with tears and she smiles back so brightly, her cheeks ache.

And when you first arrived,
I saw your tears begin to hide,

But it's alright,
I'm hiding too…

She sniffles, wiping at her eyes quickly, her throat burning. Clasping her hands, she holds them to her chest, swaying a little side to side as his eyes burn into hers.

And now I think it's time,
Say what we've always tried,
You need someone,
I'll be someone… to… you…

Guitar in front of him now, he strums his fingers down across the strings a little harder as his voice deepens and he leans in with the force of his voice.

'Cause I'm still standing here for us,
Still trying don't give up,
You're everything that I can't stand to live without,
I'm still standing here for us,
Still trying don't give up,
I'm nothing without you…

She was moving again, shoving past dancing people, getting caught in the back and forth rocking of the crowd.

As the guitars fade away, his eyes fell to hers again and his voice softens while his expression is so torn.

I am a stranger,
You're like a poem,

That I've heard but don't understand…

His brows furrowed with intensity and she can't help but think that this is element; that he belongs there on the stage, wowing the masses.

Distance is thieving,
Don't want you believing,

That I don't love you the same…

Her breath catches in her throat, her knees are weak, and she lets herself be pushed side to side, squashed in on either side. Her eyes never leave his.

And when you first arrived,
I saw your tears begin to hide,
But it's alright now…

As he starts the chorus again, his eyes closing as he belts it out, a man near to her shouts, "Hey you're the girl!"

She nods. She's the girl. She realizes, standing there, that all this time she's never forgot him, always wondering, he's been doing the same. She's not sure if she should be thankful it wasn't one-sided or sorry that he had to go through the same turmoil.

When his eyes open and land on her again, all she cares about is that she's here now; that they've found each other again.

Did we fall and never land?
Did you come to kiss me for the last time?
To see what you'll find…

O-oooh…

She shakes her head. Not the last time. The first time, in a long succession of many times to come.

To give a hint,
To get an answer,
Well here we are,
I'm looking at you…
Someone that's so hard to lose…

Everything goes quiet; every guitar, every voice, people come to a complete stand-still.

His jaw ticks and then he throws himself into the chorus again, leaning into the mic and singing down to her, and the crowds roars its support. She can feel eyes on her again; like the crowd's found her and they know what it all means. But they can't, not entirely, because it isn't just a song; it's not just an emotional declaration for all to hear. To them, to these on-lookers, it probably looks like a sweet shout-out to his girlfriend. But it's more than that; it's a girl and a boy who lost each other in translation, who became who they are now separately, only to miss each other and what they had for that brief time. And now she's back and she wants it again. Not like it was, not exactly. Something bigger, better; something longer… Something that will last.

I'm still standing here for us,
Trying don't give up,

I'm nothing without you,

I'm nothing without you…

And she thinks—No, she knows that he wants that too.

So when it trails off and he's panting and just staring at her, she nods, she motions to the bar, and she silently tells him she'll wait as long as she has to. He nods back and then starts up their next song.

She stops at the bar, gets herself a bottle of water and finds a table to settle into.

Thanks to a few calls for encores it's two and a half hours later before he lays his guitar down and steps out from beneath the lights. He stops at the bar for a towel and a bottle of water before joining her at her table. Every step he takes closer, her stomach clenches tighter. When he finally sits down, her eyes are looking at every inch of him she can; from his wide shoulders and arms that seem even more toned than before, to his shaved head, his 'hawk quite absent, to the face that has haunted her dreams for some time now.

"So you have a band," she says as an icebreaker.

He grins. "I do…" He nods, looking proud, as well he should be. "Been together a little over two years… I was with some other guys before, but we weren't working out. They wanted to go a little more punk and…" He raises a brow. "Not really me."

She smiles. "You always were genuine to yourself."

"Turned out okay… These guys—" He points a thumb back at them, some of them still fiddling with things on stage. "They're awesome. They bitch sometimes and Joey's a manwhore whose most recent ex always shows up at shows to bring the drama, but…" He shrugs. "We're a good team."

She rests her chin in her palm and lets her eyes fall to the table top. "How long have you…?" She cuts herself off, not sure if she wants to know.

"I've been in NYC as long as I've been in the band," he admits.

"Oh." Two years. He's been this close for two years…

He licks his lips. "I thought about callin' you, but… It'd already been a year and… I didn't wanna get in the way of whatever you had going on, so…"

"So New York was just… a place to you." Her brows furrow. "I wouldn't think it'd be the first place to go as a musician…California makes more sense than New York…"

"Depends on if you wanna label or if you just wanna play…New York's music scene's pretty epic…" He picks at the label on his water bottle. "But if you're asking me if I came here 'cause of you…"

She looks up then, staring at him searchingly.

He grinds his teeth a little and when he looks at her, his forehead is creased, like it's hard for him to admit. "It's always been you for me, Rachel…" He shakes his head and laughs humorlessly beneath his breath. "And after that night… Watching you go was the hardest thing I've ever done…"

She swallows tightly. "When I left, I told myself New York would be worth it… And ever since then I've been telling myself that missing you is natural. That what I felt that night… What I feel every time I think about you…" She ducks her face. "I told myself that I romanticized it; that it was my first time and like the drama queen that I am, I was making it out to be more than it was… That maybe… maybe I even just imagined you telling me you loved me, but…" She raises her eyes to him. "But when I looked back on all of it, on our friendship and the time leading up to that night, I realized that… You said and you felt it and I… I didn't know until too late that I felt the same way…" Her brows arch together. "Three years later and I still—I still think about you and I wish… I—I just wish that I'd stayed to explore that or—or let myself see that I could have had love and New York…"

He nods slowly, frowning at the table. "We're not the same kids we were in Lima…"

"I know…" She inhales deeply. "Because if I were in the same situation as the person I am now, I'd fall in love with you without ever second-guessing myself and I'd never let you go."

His lips quirk in a smile. "Let's see how tonight goes… Maybe a couple of New Yorkers can fall in love in a busy night club, over a couple bottles of water and a whole lot of catching up…"

Her whole body warms up to that idea. "I'd really like that."

He reaches for her then, taking her hand in his and squeezing. His thumb rubs along her knuckles and he says, "So what's been up with my hot, little Jewish-American princess?"

A smile tugs at her lips even as she fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Where to begin…"

He quirks a brow. "Exactly where we left off."

So she does.

And when closing time comes, they call a cab, standing just outside Staccato's, his leather jacket around her shoulders to keep the chill away. A familiar cabby picks them up and brings them back to his place, giving her a thumbs up when she leaves. He takes her up to his apartment; it's small and very masculine, but it's his. He strips her dress off and leaves it pooled just inches from the front door before he picks her up and takes her back to his bed, where he puts that night they shared together as a couple of teenagers to shame.

She lazes in his bed long past noon, her body aching in the best of ways, and for a moment she's disappointed to find he's not there, that she hasn't woken up with his arm wrapped around her waist or his snoring in her ear. She doesn't brood long before he walks into the room with breakfast in hand.

"Not really sure what vegans eat, so I hunted and gathered fruit," he tells her, smirking as he passes over a bowl of mixed fruit, every kind she could think of.

She hugs the bowl in her lap, his sheet pulled up around her noticeably naked body. With unattractive bedhead and morning breath, she almost cringes to see he looks as perfectly handsome as ever.

Her fears wash away when he plops down next to her, kisses her bare shoulder, and says, "So how about round four of our amazing record attempt for most orgasms in a twenty-four hour period and then we'll run lines on that new role you're gonna score this weekend?"

Honeydew between her teeth, she looks back at him over her shoulder, sprawled lazily against the pillows, and smiles. "I like the way your mind works."

He smirks. "I like the way your skin tastes."

She flushes, but rolls over to straddle his waist, letting the sheet fall. "Does the rule book have anything against enjoying food while attempting this record of yours?"

He squeezes her thighs and shakes his head.

She holds out a strawberry for him. "Let round four begin!" she declares.

Laughing, he nips her fingers lightly as he takes the offered berry.

It's the first morning of a lifetime. One she'll never have to look back on and wish had played out differently. Because this is exactly as it should be. It's them. In New York. Living their dreams. And most importantly, doing it all, together.

[End.]