This story is new territory for me. Usually I have at least half of the story written before I start posting, but this time I'll just write as I go. So don't expect updates every two or three days. I'm thinking more of updating once a week or something like that.

I'm not sure what will happen to our favourite OTP, but those who know me, will know that my stories usually end well.

I can't thank Scarletcourt enough for editing the story for me despite her busy life and Angiemaz that she allowed me to use her manip as picture for this story.

Enjoy!

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Tom Branson took a quick glance at his notes one last time before he was called to the front of the room by the elderly professor.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Mr. Tom Branson, editor of The Irish Times. Most of you will know him by name, but for those who don't, let me give you a quick introduction. Mr. Branson studied Political Science and Journalism here in London and then returned to his hometown Dublin to become a journalist for The Irish Times. He's worked as a correspondent in the middle east for many years before he became editor a year ago. He will speak to you a bit about his career as a journalist and then you're free to ask questions."

Friendly applause came from the audience and Tom smiled at the crowd. He felt drawn back to the time he was a student himself and sat in the same room, eager to learn everything about journalism and to become a writer - his dream job, everything he always wanted to be. It had been a wonderful time and he had enjoyed every second of it. Of course she had been there sitting right next to him back then ...

Tom mentally shook himself. Not the right time to think about her. Not that any time was good to think about her, but he did anyway. Here in the familiar atmosphere of the university he went to nearly six years ago, it was even more difficult to keep those thoughts away. It was here that they met after all, and here that they fell in love. At least he had, madly and head over heels. He still hadn't recovered even after five years.

Again, he shook himself. Get back to your speech, he sternly reminded himself. He told the students about his time as a freelancer. How hard it had been to get good stories and to sell articles. What he didn't tell them was that he was so deeply depressed during that time that he didn't even care what became of him. It had been the time right after she dumped him. "Too much pressure," she had told him and that she couldn't leave her parents and friends just like that to move with him to Dublin. He had been ready to stay in London if she wanted him to do so, but she refused. She had said she wanted time to think it through. He should go to Dublin and they would see if their love survived, and that had been it. Two months later she broke up with him. On the phone, crying, telling him she couldn't leave her world to be with him. He would never forget that call. It had been the worst day of his life.

For months, he had barely existed. He had worked, because work had been the only thing that kept him going, but he didn't remember doing anything beyond that. Another horrible day had been, when he heard she had gotten married. He had gotten so drunk after hearing the news that he ended up in hospital.

It had been only a few weeks later when he had gotten the correspondent job in the middle east. He told the students about his life in the middle of the Iraqi war. It had been adventurous and a dangerous time, but it had also been a time of healing, at least a little bit. He had been able to go through longer periods where he didn't constantly think of her. He had even started dating again, some other correspondent from a different newspaper. They had gone out for a few months, but it hadn't led to anything. In the end, he had broken up with her, telling her he was still too hung up on another woman, which had been the awful truth, and it still was, although he had tried dating a few times in the last years, but he hadn't been able to forget her. Not a week went by in which he didn't think of her.

Still the correspondent job had been good for him. Career-wise, it had been a huge step. He made a name of himself as a journalist and when he had returned to Ireland, he had received great offers from different newspapers and then the offer for the editor position had come. It had been a dream come true and an amazing job after just a few years as a journalist.

He told the students about his current work. What his daily routine was and what his responsibilities were. After that, he finished his speech and the audience asked quite a few questions. He hadn't time to reminiscent about his past, while he answered them as truthfully and as informative as he could. The hour flew by and the students thanked him again with a friendly applause. He stayed for a while to chat to the professor, before he said his goodbye and left.

Xxxxx

Walking through the campus, his thoughts drifted back again to the time he had been here as a student. That cafover there had been their favourite. They had met there almost every day after their lessons over a coffee, together with a few friends, before they headed home, either to his place or hers, mostly hers, because she lived alone and they had more privacy there than in his flat that he had shared with two other guys.

And privacy they had craved because they had been as passionately in love as two people could be. Tom had never before and certainly never afterwards experienced anything like it. Every time they were together, it was magical to him. He couldn't get enough of her, wanting to feel the connection the emotional bond and the physical closeness as often and as fiercly as he could. God! He still got aroused thinking about her, after all these years. Would it ever stop?

He decided to leave the campus as fast as he could. It was doing him no good to be so close to his memories. What had he been thinking, coming here again? He should have known it would have throw him back full force down memory lane. He wasn't ready for that and probably never would be.

Deeply in thought, he turned a corner and bumped directly into a woman who came from the other direction. Folders, Books and Paper were flying everywhere and only his quick reaction saved her from falling, when he grabbed her by her shoulders to steady her.

"Oh my god, I'm so sor..." he apologized when she looked up and the words froze on his lips.

"Tom?"

"Sybil..."

Instantly he let go of her shoulders, standing in front of her stiffly, his arms pressed to his side awkwardly as if he wanted to keep them from reaching out to her again as he watched her sorting her books and folders. His pressed his lips together and to his horror he felt a lump forming in his throat.

No. This can't be happening. No.

She then looked at him with the same beautiful blue eyes he had loved so much back then, still loved. Dark lashes that were fanning her cheeks, the delicate nose, the lips as full and inviting as he remembered. How he had loved to kiss them. She was as beautiful as ever.

"Tom, what are you doing here?" she asked him and he had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. "I held a speech for the journalism students."

She nodded. "Oh I see. You're editor of The Irish Times, right? I read about it on the internet."

So she had googled him? Did she think about him sometimes? Did she ever regret ... no. That was wishful thinking and he had to stop it. She had been the one who dumped him. She didn't love him enough, it was as simple as that.

He should just find an excuse and leave, but instead he found himself asking. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here, actually. I'm a poli sci prof now," she answered. "I never went into journalism after all, but stayed in poli sci and got my doctorate instead. Professor Bennet was very gracious, he gave me the opportunity after I wrote my thesis and I took it."

"Oh," he said. "I didn't know that." Or otherwise I would never have come here. Now he regretted that he had stopped googling her after he found out she had married. He had done it to keep himself from hurting, but he knew seeing her now would hurt much worse than anything before.

"I bet you're a great prof," he tried to say something sensible and couldn't help the warmth creeping into his voice.

She smiled a little bashfully and then she raised her eyes to his. "It's good to see you," she said. Hesitating slightly she asked: "Do you have time for a coffee?"

He wanted to say no. He knew it was the sensible thing, but he found he couldn't. Even after all she had put him through he was unable to deny her anything and so he heard himself say: "Sure."

Just like that.