A Little Time To Change It All

by smc-27

Her eyes lock with those blue ones across the room, and for a moment, it's a blur of colours and lights, and she only sees him. His lips form a nervous, tense smile, and he nods his head just subtly. He thinks she should wear red more often. LP Oneshot

A/N: I don't know. Just a oneshot I've had mostly written for a while. Pulled it up and finished it tonight. Review if you read; it's the nice thing to do.

----

She doesn't want to be here, and suddenly, she wishes that she wasn't such a supportive girlfriend. He'd asked her if it would bother her if he made that particular novel into a movie, and she'd flat out lied. She said he should do whatever was the best business move, and he'd made a cheeky joke about showing up to the premier with the lead female on his arm.

How he didn't know it would bother her, boggles her mind. It makes her wonder if he really knows her at all.

But she doesn't need to wonder, because she already knows he doesn't.

So she's in her hometown, in a pretty dress, on the arm of the man she's been with for the better part of a year, standing in the home of the man who's in love with her first love's mother. As she tries to sort that all out in her head, even she gets confused, and it's her life she's talking about.

It's a large house with a room that could be considered a ballroom, and her boyfriend was thrilled when the space was offered to them for the party she didn't want to go to. She didn't want to take that trip at all, but she couldn't say that to him. It would have raised too many questions.

So she'd said she would love to go with him, and that it'd be great to see everyone, and that she'd be fine, and he held her hand on the plane when they touched down and he heard her take an audible breath.

She spots her two best girlfriends across the room, standing with her first real boyfriend, and the girls are laughing and he's grinning proudly at having made them both smile. And she has to smile herself. She catches Brooke's eye, and the two share a moment that could only be shared between best friends.

Brooke's first thought when she met Julian was 'he's cute'. Her second thought was 'he's L.A's Lucas'. He's rough around the edges and doesn't like to shave. He's cute when he needs to be, and has a smirk that no woman is immune to. He's maybe more charming and more Hollywood than Lucas, though. No, he's a different kind of charming, and he's definitely more Hollywood.

The third thing Brooke thought, was that if they'd gone to high school with Julian, one of two things would have happened. She and Peyton would have fought over him, or one of them would have him, and the other would have Lucas.

She knows, though she knows that Peyton's somehow blind to it, who would be with whom. In an alternate universe, she somehow knows that it'd be her and Julian, and Peyton and Lucas.

Because it's always Peyton and Lucas.

Peyton glances around the room again, and she sees him. Her heart flutters a little. It's not supposed to and she knows that, but he's always done that to her.

But she has someone else and he has someone else. She's in love and he's in love.

For the first time in a long time, she gets caught up in thinking and wondering who loves who and how they're all connected through misunderstandings and miscommunications, and she tunes out of the conversation and watches that beautiful blonde boy as he stands 100 feet across the room, sipping scotch like his father used to do, not that she'd ever tell him that.

And she won't tell him anything, because he's not hers to speak to, and she doesn't know what she'd say anyway. Somewhere along the line, they became strangers, and she thinks that might just be the one of the biggest losses she's ever felt. But Julian places his hand on her back and whispers something flirty in her ear and she's brought back into the moment. The moment where she supposed to love someone new and Lucas is just a man her new man is doing business with.

She laughs at an intended joke that isn't funny in the least, and then her eyes wander again. She's not trying very hard to fake interest, and she can't find it in her to care. Normally, she'd clutch Julian's arm like a good girlfriend, and laugh at all the appropriate times, and make wry comments about his work ethic. This time, she just can't focus on anything but the man standing in the same room as her for the first time in far too long.

Peyton's eyes lock with those blue ones across the room, and for a moment - a split second, really - everything else fades away. It's a blur of colours and lights, and she still only sees him. His lips form a nervous, tense smile, and he nods his head just once, subtly.

She lets the corner of her mouth tug upward, and she tucks a curl behind her ear like she's always done when she's nervous, and she wonders how different things would be if things were different. Would this glance be filled with love and pride? She knows them, and she knows that the glance would be a silent conversation, each telling the other that they'd rather be standing together than so far apart.

She wonders if maybe that's what that glance was anyway.

She is proud of him.

She wants to stand next to him.

She does love him.

That last realization knocks the wind out of her, and she places her hand over her heart, knowing that only one person in the room will know what that action really means. But he's looked away by now and he doesn't see her falling apart. She doesn't know if that's the best thing, or the worst.

"You OK?" Julian asks with a furrowed brow, cupping her elbow with his hand.

She nods, though she's not OK, and she suspects he knows that. There's a lump in her throat and she knows she's about to cry, so she excuses herself and assures him she just needs air, and she walks away from him, the red fabric of her dress swaying as she makes her way out the door.

Lucas watches her walk away from the man he's secretly inappropriately jealous of, and he thinks she should wear red more often. He wants to tell her that. But maybe she wears red all the time, and he just doesn't know. The thought kills him. Knowing that he hasn't seen her every day for four years tears him apart more than anyone else knows.

He sees his girlfriend across the room, in her 'classic' grey dress, and he wonders if it's not the most boring outfit he's ever seen. She's nursing her second glass of champagne as she talks and gestures with her hands, and he should be proud of her for how successful she is, but all he can think is how Peyton's so much more than that.

She's red dresses and unruly curls. The silver necklace he knows she's had since her father gave it to her for her 12th birthday, and black patent leather heels. She's traditions and new experiences, and some of the best memories he's ever made. She's secret smiles and subtle movements, and he realizes that he needs to see all those things right now.

One last glance at the woman he should be thinking about, but isn't, and he excuses himself from the conversation he was faking interest in and makes his way to the door he just saw her walk through.

He doesn't expect to find her sniffling and dabbing her eye carefully with a napkin. But even when she's crying, she's still stunning, only now all he wants to do is hold her like he's done so many times before, and whisper that it'll all be alright, though he doesn't know if it will be, and he doesn't know what has her upset.

"Hi," he says softly, and she jumps a bit because she wasn't expecting anyone to speak to her.

"Luke," she manages.

He'd forgotten how much he loved to hear his name from her lips, but he's certainly reminded now. He's got goosebumps on his arms, and he's glad he's wearing a suit, or she'd see and no doubt ask him about it.

"What's wrong?" he ventures, though it's not his place to do so. He doesn't care because she's Peyton, and a part of him will always wish she was his Peyton.

"Nothing," she insists, shaking her head and letting her curls move as she looks to the ground between them.

She's always been a terrible liar, and she eventually stopped trying with him. He'd always seen through it anyway. But enough time and space and distance has been put between them, and she thinks she just might be able to fool him. Part of her hopes she can. If she can, their connection isn't there and she has nothing to worry about. She doesn't love him and he doesn't love her.

If he can still read her, she knows she's in trouble.

The fact that he followed her outside lets her know she's already in trouble.

"I might believe you if you weren't crying," he says, flashing that smile that always made her melt.

"These things are always just painfully boring," she says in an attempt to joke and take the attention away from herself.

"You do these a lot?" he asks, and they both know that what he's really wondering how long she's been with 'him' and how serious they are. That's just not something she wants to get into. Because that'll turn into questions about his relationship, and she just can't listen to him talk about the woman she's seen him with.

"At least every couple weeks," she says vaguely. She's well aware that they're talking about nothing, really, and it hurts her that they can't just fall back into that rhythm they'd always had.

She leans forward against the railing of the balcony and she bends one of her legs, and his mouth goes dry because she's still just the sexiest woman he's ever seen. He'd never even deny it if you asked him. He mimics her stance and they're quiet. Just a boy and a girl in the silence of a May evening in their hometown, looking out over a vast lawn towards nothing. Darkness and a few stars, but nothing more.

But they both know this moment is theirs and they don't want to ruin it. They don't even know what it is, but it's theirs. And they need this.

Brooke passes the door as she tries to track down her best friend, and she stops in her tracks and looks out at them through the glass. Watching them watching nothing. She smiles because they still look so good together and she just wishes things were different. His broad shoulders and her tiny frame, and his crooked smile and her intense eyes.

The Lucas and Peyton from his book who vowed to love each other forever.

Deep down, she knows that they are those people.

Brooke tugs the velvet curtain across the door, because she sees Julian on one side of the room, and Lindsey on the other, and neither of them need to see what's happening, though they're naive if they think those two blondes will ever really be over. She knows what it's like to be between them and it's not fun. She knows people are going to get hurt, and maybe it's a little selfish, but she's glad it's not her this time.

"You look nice," Lucas says, breaking the silence after a few minutes.

"You just like the red dress," she jokes, alluding to the other time he spoke those words.

"I love the red dress," he insists quietly, looking over and watching her cheeks turn pink.

It's a loaded statement, but he doesn't care. Rules never applied to them, and they still don't. They're older and wiser, and he should know better and she shouldn't blush, but he just can't stop himself and she can't control the way he makes her feel.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks. He's in a suit and he's feeling the breeze. It's unseasonably chilly, and he'll gladly drape his jacket over her shoulders if she wants it.

"No," she says, watching as he raises an eyebrow. "I mean, yeah, but I like it."

"You like it?" he asks, turning so he's facing her, and leaning against the railing on his elbow.

"It's different than home. L.A., I mean," she amends.

"You feel at home there?" he inquires, though her correction to the statement has already given him his answer.

When she looks at him and shrugs her shoulders, he knows that only one place can ever really be home for her. He wants to believe that he has something to do with that, but it's probably just wishful thinking.

"So why were you crying?" he finally asks, because it's killing him that she's hurting and he doesn't know what it's over. It's not his place to console her, but he doesn't care.

"It's nothing," she says.

But she's thinking that it's everything.

"You really expect me to believe that?" he asks with a smirk.

"No," she sighs, smiling over at him.

They're quiet for a moment and she gets lost in him for just a little bit. Those eyes boring into her own weaken her resolve and she tells him the truth before she even realizes what she's doing.

"I miss you."

He feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest because he really hadn't expected her to say that, no matter how much he wanted her to.

"I miss you, too," he says softly.

And all he wants to do is gather her in his arms and take her away from this place and from everyone, and just get to know her again. He feels like he somehow doesn't know her, and he hates that she has secrets that she hadn't told him and a life she's been living without him. He knows it's all his fault, and he can't ignore the harsh reality of knowing they'd be married by now if only he wasn't such a fool.

"Lindsey seems nice," she says, trying to change the subject to something less dangerous.

She knows if they get into I miss you's any further, they'll quickly become I love you's, and then it's secret kisses and looks that mean even more than they should and two perfectly innocent hearts behind that door getting broken in the wake of everything.

And even if those I love you's aren't spoken, she knows they're true. On her part, it's true, and she can see in his eyes that on his part, it's true.

"Yeah," he mutters absently. "She's nice."

They're quiet again because he's not giving her any more information on the woman he's brought to this gathering, and he's not saying anything about her new man, and she's not sure if that's because it hurts him to do it, or if he just doesn't have anything nice to say.

It's both.

The man is almost crass, and far too Hollywood for Peyton. He's not good enough for her, but Lucas knows that if he points that out, it'll only anger her. So he says nothing.

"How are your mom and Lily?" she asks eagerly, both wanting the information, and thankful to have come up with a neutral topic.

"They're great," he replies, wearing that smile he's always reserved for those two people. They're his family, and she knows they're everything to him.

She nods and smiles, but says nothing more, and then she feels herself tearing up again, because she's thinking of how they could have - would have and maybe should have - been her family, too. She turns away from him and dabs her eye again as subtly as she can, though it's no use because she knows how well he knows her.

He places his hand on the small of her back and moves a little closer to her, and she lets out a quick breath that would have been a sob if she'd let it. He doesn't ask her what's wrong; he knows her better than that. He just hopes that a simple touch will comfort her. When she leans her head against his chest, he pulls her closer. He closes his eyes, and he can picture a life with her that he isn't living. Wedding bands and Sunday dinners with their family and a shared last name. A baby and happiness and that comfort that's eluded him for the last four years, until this moment.

This moment, with her, smelling that familiar perfume, and the reminder that she fits perfectly against him. He doesn't know how he's lived without it, and he wonders what he'd have to do to hang on to it. He knows the answer is more than just breaking up with the woman he no longer loves. He's hurt this beautiful blonde so much that he wonders if it's wishful thinking to even consider that they could be happy together if they tried.

But then she turns in his arms and she's flush against him and her arms are wrapped so tightly around him that he wonders if she's thinking all the same things as he is.

She doesn't care that it's been 15 minutes since she came outside and there are goosebumps on her arms, or that she really shouldn't have had that third glass of Champagne. She cares that Lucas still smells the same and feels the same, and he's holding onto her as tightly as she's holding onto him. She feels his heart beating against her and she's reminded both of the time she almost lost him, and the time she actually did. A heart attack that had her sitting at his bedside, and that last night they spent together, sleeping in their clothes with her hand on his chest.

And she realizes that, though she doesn't really have him, she doesn't want to lose him again.

She wouldn't speak if she didn't feel like she absolutely had to. She needs to talk to him, because she's missed that most of all. She misses everything about him; touches and kisses and those sidelong glances across a class room or a hallway or a party. But she misses just talking to him, because he's always understood her more than anyone.

"Do you remember when we were younger?" she asks, her head still resting against him as his hand moves softly on her back. "When it was just...easier."

"Yeah," he sighs. He knows exactly what she means.

"I wish it was easy again," she admits, pulling away from him just enough to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says shamefully, and she knows he's placing blame solely on himself, and he shouldn't.

"Don't," she says harshly. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is," he says. There's almost anger in his voice, but it doesn't scare her, because he's still holding her and she knows he's just mad at himself.

She places her hand over his heart, and that gesture is a significant one, and when he closes his eyes, she knows he's thinking of all the other times it's been done.

"It's not," she whispers after a moment. His hand comes up to rest on hers, and then he raises it to his lips and presses a kiss to her palm, and he doesn't want to let her go.

He knows he never should have.

"I still want you."

He knows he could have said he loves her, but he doesn't know how she'd react to that.

He knows that this is just a safer way of saying the same sentiment.

She closes her eyes and a few tears spill over, and she just nods, and he knows that she wants him, too.

She loves him, too.

They both realize it's crazy. This is the first time they've seen each other in ages, and the last time they spoke was a short phone call. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that she's got a job thousands of miles away or that he's got a woman who lives with him. None of it matters.

"What now?" she asks timidly.

"I really want to kiss you," he admits with a smirk. She rolls her eyes, though he can tell she wants it, too. "What? It's tradition with us to kiss while we're with other people."

"Not funny," she warns.

But it is funny, because this is them. They joke and play, and they tell each other things they wouldn't say to anyone else.

"It's a little funny," he insists.

He reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear, and then his hand rests on her cheek, the same way it always used to, and he's looking down at her as if he's waiting for permission. He feels her heart rate speed up, and he feels like that's the most amazing thing he's ever experienced.

"Luke," she pleads. She's not pleading for him to get serious or to stop whatever he's about to do.

She's pleading for him to just kiss her already.

And so when he presses his lips to hers, it's familiar and perfect, but it also feels new. It feels like they've grown up and, though they were apart, they've grown together. He pulls her against him a little more, and the last thing - the absolute last thing - he wants to do is ever not be kissing her. Her hands clutch the front of his shirt just as they always used to do, and when he pulls away, she lets out a little noise that's making him wonder how quickly he can get her out of there.

She regrettably pulls away, and she immediately misses him. He's still clutching her waist and his hand is still on her cheek, but she misses him. She can't even imagine - can't begin to comprehend - being without him now. Maybe she never could. She doesn't want to walk away from him long enough to even tell Julian that it's over.

It's definitely over.

She wonders if she knew that even before it ever started.

She's about to tell him that she does need to find Julian when he whispers the perfect phrase she's secretly, perhaps unknowingly, been waiting all night to hear him say again.

"God, I love you."

She smiles, really smiles, for what feels like the first time in ages. He's changing her life again, in all the best ways, and she doesn't really think he understands that. She knows he doesn't really need to.

She closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip gently, and he knows she's doing her best not to cry. And so is he. He's got this beautiful woman - the woman he'd always wished was his - in his arms, and she's silently promising him they'll try again, and it's almost too much.

Almost.

But in a lot of ways, it's still somehow not enough.

"I have to..."

"I know," he interrupts. He knows what she was about to say, but he doesn't even want to hear the man's name.

"I'll go...and then you can...and," she says, stumbling over her words.

His hands are still firmly planted on her hips, and she's somehow lost her ability to speak in full sentences. All she wants is him, in every way that that implies.

He stops her speech with a light kiss to the lips, and she smiles up at him afterward. She's always loved looking at him from there.

"You have my number?" he asks quietly, making her chuckle.

"I know where you live," she teases. He rolls his eyes before leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

Part of him doesn't want to believe this is happening. He doesn't want to think that this is all real, only to wake up and find that it's not. He's afraid that he'll wake up in his bed next to a woman who isn't her, and it'll all have been another reminder, though he doesn't need it, of all he's let go.

But then her knee brushes against the inside of his thigh before she steps away from him, and not only is this all real, but it's making him absolutely crazy. He feels like a teenager again, barely able to control himself. The simplest of touches, and his mind is racing, and he wants her. He still wants everything with her, and he was a fool to ever try to deny that.

That thought is so similar to the words he wrote in his novel - the very novel this movie is based on - that he wonders if he always knew. He wonders if everyone else knew. He wonders how naive Lindsey and Julian are to think that 'always' would ever go away.

She's walking towards the door, and he doesn't ask when he'll see her again, because he knows he will see her again, and even knowing that is enough for him.

Well, it's not. But he'll take it.

"Luke," she calls just before she gets to the door.

He turns to her and looks at her with a half a smile, and it only grows at her next words.

"I've always loved you."

He doesn't know how she knew he was thinking that very same thing only moments earlier, but he doesn't need to ask because it doesn't matter. She said the words, and it's like his soul is set on fire; brought to life again.

It's everything he didn't know he was waiting for since she last said the words.

She disappears through the doors, and he can't find it in him to be sad about her departure.

----

Lindsey left in a swirl of tears and curses and anger and sadness and absolute heartbreak. She claimed that she knew something like this was going to happen. He'd tried his best to explain, but she told him that she had it all in black and white, bound and printed on his bookshelf.

She threw her things into bags, and spat hateful things, and he really couldn't blame her.

But he really didn't feel as badly as he should have.

Maybe he should have tried to calm her down and placate her, but she wasn't the one he was worried about at all.

He was worried about that girl, staying somewhere in their hometown and going through the same thing.

And now, he lays on his bed in the room he grew up in. There aren't any traces of Lindsey ever even being there, and he wonders if that's because they both knew, on some level, that it wouldn't work. She didn't nestle herself too far into his life and his world because she knew she was only there temporarily.

There are no framed photos of the two of them, or shirts she bought him, or things she left behind in her haste. He doesn't know her opinions on his linens or paint colour because he never asked. She didn't have an office space because she'd never cared to set anything up.

And now, when he looks around, all he sees is Peyton, though she hasn't set foot in the room in years. He sees her favourite books on his shelf. Her favourite albums in his CD collection. His old basketball uniform hanging in the closet, a reminder of the night he told her he wanted them to be together.

His entire life screams Peyton, and if he's being honest, he really can't see it any other way.

He doesn't want it any other way.

There's a knock at his door, and he sees that it's 3:30 a.m., and he doesn't even know why he's awake, let alone why anyone else would be.

But when he pulls open the door, he sees that girl he's always wanted standing there with a suitcase at her side, and he doesn't waste time pulling her and her things into his home.

And his home finally feels like his home.

"Hi," she says in a small voice.

"Peyt..."

"Sorry it's so late," she offers from where she stands. There are tears on her cheeks and her voice is feeble enough that he wants to panic.

"What's wrong? Did he hurt you?" he asks urgently.

She shakes her head from side to side, and her curls sway, and he still thinks she gorgeous, even when there are tears on her face and her lips are a little dry and her voice his hoarse. She's wearing torn, faded jeans and a sweater from some band he's never heard of. She's absolutely breathtaking.

God, she loves him. That protective side of him is not only absolutely the most endearing thing she's ever experienced, but it's also sexy as hell.

But now isn't the time for that.

"I hurt him," she says softly.

He doesn't know what to say, so he just nods his head. He knows what it's like to lose Peyton, and he doesn't wish that on anyone, no matter how much he wants her to himself.

"I didn't know where to go," she admits, brushing the tears from her face.

"Here's good," he says, making her let out a strangled laugh.

She can't forget the look on Julian's face when she told him she couldn't do it any more. Absolute devastation, surprise, heartbreak, and confusion. He asked how things could go from fine, to them breaking up so quickly, and then it hit him. He'd asked her if it was about Lucas, and she could only shrug her shoulders, and he just shook his head and told her he should have known.

She told him that she never meant for it to happen, and that she didn't want to hurt him. She looked in his eyes as he told her that it was too late for that, and she saw tears threatening to fall. She'd never seen him cry before, and it hurt knowing she was the one to bring it out of him.

But there was an underlying worry for Lucas. She supposed it had always been there. She wondered how things were going in that house across town, and how his girlfriend - ex-girflriend - was taking the news. She assumed not well. She's been the one to lose him before. She knows that feeling.

But as she stands in front of him now, none of that matters. Past mistakes and regrets, and promises and hearts broken. None of it matters.

Because she's standing in front of him now, and he's looking at her like she's all he's ever wanted, and she knows, on some level, that maybe that's true. She has no clue how that is, but she doesn't question it. She won't.

"Are you OK?" she asks.

She's the one crying, and she's asking him if he's OK. She's amazing, he thinks. He's always known it, but she keeps reminding him.

"I'm perfect," he says softly. "You're perfect."

"I am so far from perfect," she says, looking away from him, only to have him place his hand on her face and force her to look at him.

"Perfect," he whispers, looking into her eyes.

And she really believes him.

"I love you," she says, nearly breathless with the weight of that statement.

"Always?" he asks, recalling her words from earlier.

She can only nod. Always sounds about right. It's what they'd always said, and what she'd always meant, and what was torn away from them by fate, or hurt, or whatever it was that came between them. She honestly can't remember. And she has him how, so she's not going to question it.

He kisses her, then, and he's sure he should have waited, but there was no way in hell he was going to wait. She's there, and she loves him, and he's going to kiss her if he wants to.

She pulls away when they part, and she tugs off her sweater and kicks off her jeans, and she lays down on her side of the bed. She sees him staring at her, in just her boy cut underwear and tank top, but it doesn't bother her at all. She needs sleep, and she needs him, and his bed is the best place to get both.

But sleep is the last thing on his mind after watching her shed her clothes. She always used to do that. They'd be mid-conversation, or trying to complete homework, and she'd pull off her top, or change in front of him. It was the reason both their grades dipped a bit at the tail end of their senior year.

But two can play at that game.

She watches him tug his tee shirt over his head, leaving him in just his pajama pants, slung low on his hips, and she's thinking maybe she doesn't need sleep after all.

She lets out a breath intended as a laugh, and rolls onto her side so her back is to him. When he lays down next to her, he doesn't reach out for her or cuddle up with her. He's thankful that they're even in the same place, and he's not going to rush things, no matter how much he wants to feel her body curled up against his.

It's a half hour later, and he's still wide awake, a million questions in his mind. The one he keeps asking himself is 'why me?'. She's this beautiful, amazing, absolutely breathtaking woman, and she's chosen him, of all people. But maybe it isn't a choice at all; it just is.

He knows she's asleep next to him, and he's laying on his back, looking over at her, and she rolls over and gravitates to him. Her arm drapes over his stomach and her head rests on his chest, and she lets out a little noise that sounds a lot like contentment.

And all he can do is hold onto her. He brushes her hair away from her face, and his hand falls to her waist, and he feels that sense of peace that's eluded him. He didn't even know it was missing until he found it again.

Until he found her again.

The feel of her breathing in his arms lulls him to sleep a little while later, though he would have been content to just stay awake and watch her.

He wakes in the morning, and she's sleeping like a rock next to him. Somewhere in the night, they must have drifted apart, because her back is to him again, and he can see, without really seeing, that her hands are tucked up under her cheek like they always used to do.

He sees the curve of her waist and the bare skin of her neck, and it's all just far too tempting. He's a man, and the love of his life is laying in his bed, and he knows that if he doesn't reach out and touch her, he'll go crazy.

He places his hand on her waist, and he kisses the side of her neck, and when she stirs to life and rolls onto her back and smiles up at him, he's pretty sure he hasn't felt this amazing since the last time she did the very same thing.

Her eyes lock with his, and she knows that this is it. Lucas is it, and this town is it, and this life is it. This bed, and this man, and this feeling.

Happiness.

She doesn't want it to go away, and she's certain that if she stays with Lucas, it never will.

But it shouldn't be that easy, she fears, and when she tells him that, he just shakes his head.

"It should be," he insists. "We've had enough of difficult."

She's got a life in L.A. An apartment and a job and friends. She doesn't know how she's going to let go of that. She is, though.

Tree Hill has so much more.

She looks at him and smiles, and she knows that even if it was difficult, even if it felt impossible, she'd still do it. It doesn't have to be easy to be right, and it being easy doesn't make it wrong, and...

He kisses her and stops her from thinking all those silly, serious things, and she laughs when he's pulled away again.

"12 hours," she says, shaking her head. "12 hours to change it all."

Sure, he could argue that they've been a lifetime in the making, or that they were never really over, or that it was years and years and then 12 hours. But those are just a lot of details that suddenly really don't matter at all.

-Fin-