Hey guys! :)

As you had inferred from the summary, this story is set in an alternate universe where all the characters are human. Originally intended to be a Christmas oneshot, clearly I hadn't made the deadline, although y'know the Christmas season doesn't end until the Feast of the Three Kings. ;)

I hope you guys can forgive me for only proof-reading this once. :3 If you see any grammatical errors or misspelled words, please let me know!

The expansive roads blanketed in snow and the alternating scenery of low buildings and thick copses of trees looked the same, though Nick didn't really expect much to change within the last three years.

Although he had a lot of coursework to finish and was tempted to decline his family's invitation to come home for Christmas, he hasn't spent it with them since his last year in high school, and he did missed his family dearly. Now that he was back in his old town, sleeping in his old bedroom with his posters and pictures from high school still intact on the walls and all his novels filling his bookshelves, and waking up and coming home to his parents and his younger siblings as he did for the first 17 years of his life, he was glad he decided to come. Nick wasn't completely eager at the torrent of past memories that re-opened old wounds, but there were still a lot of things that were worth coming back for.

So far, his vacation had been going smoothly. Slowly, Nick had been catching up with his brother and sister, both of whom were now in high school and had many stories to tell. He'd always been close to the two of them despite their age gaps, and they'd never lost contact with one another even when they were states apart, unlike someone else he knew. Nick had also been helping his mom out with the Christmas preparations, running errands and doing all sorts of favors; and even his dad was being extra pleasant and talkative around him. He was always closer to his mom than his dad, especially after he'd told them he wanted to major in English Literature and not Medicine, but he figured absence does makes the heart grow fonder.

After spending the first three days of his break cooped up in his house and working on his term paper like a nerd, he decided now would be a good time to buy presents for his family, seeing as Christmas was only four days away. It had escaped his mind, even with the elaborately decorated Christmas tree standing tall in their living room and all the holiday decorations strewn about; his coursework and organization duties a pathetic alibi. Nick also hasn't bought Christmas gifts for his family for so long, usually sending them gift certificates and greetings at the last minute.

There was a mall a few minutes outside his neighborhood, and it didn't take long before Nick got everything he needed and was driving out of the parking lot with the trunk of his car full of wrapped packages, on his way home. He knew exactly what to get them, and he had the savings to pay for it.

As Nick took his time cruising on the boulevard, mindful of the icy road whilst taking in the familiar surroundings in nostalgia, his eyes landed on the upcoming side street that led straight to that one particular establishment.

Of course Nick knew what coming home meant. A lot of the things he's seen have already reminded him of her, but that was a place where even the coldest winter days felt like summer, where it felt like just the two of them in their own personal haven, and where time did not exist.

His memory was as clear as day, as if it were only yesterday that he drove her there as they always did after school and got their usual orders of cappuccino. He could still hear the constant buzz of the quaint coffee shop, and the sound of her laughter; still see the dim lighting, the bookshelves that lined the walls, and her beautiful smile.

And before he even knew what he was doing, Nick took a right into the side street and drove all the way down until he reached that same coffee shop from his memories, all glass and dark wood.

He had no business there and he knew it would only hurt more to see such a place when he was dating her once upon a time, and yet Nick found himself sitting idle in his car in the parking lot, justifying grabbing a drink before heading home. It wasn't a crime to take a break from his work, and no other coffee shop could compare when it came to their cappuccinos. All weak arguments aside, Nick was over her. He didn't even know why he was internally freaking out about it; it's been three years after all.

After adjusting his beanie and locking the car, he jogged across the street and entered the shop to avoid the biting chill of the weather. Once within the homey threshold of the coffee shop, he stuffed the beanie in his jacket pocket, ran a hand through his dark hair, and took in the surroundings of what used to feel like his second home.

Not much has changed in the coffee shop either, Nick mused. The same hues of dark brown, maroon and forest green could be seen all around the place, from the tables and chairs, the plush couches, the desk lamps on side tables, and the grand bookshelves pressed against the walls. As he sidled forward to join the line of people waiting to order, he couldn't help but notice that even the counter and all the inner workings of preparation and machinery still had that unorganized fashion going on as the baristas scrambled to heat cinnamon rolls or blend drinks. And the checkerboard floor was the same, something that never really matched the ambience of the place but worked anyway.

Soft soothing music circulated the room through the speakers, and everyone there conversed in hushed voices. He didn't even realize how much he missed the scent of this place, tinged with a mix of coffee beans, caramel and cinnamon, unlike any of the other coffee shops he's been to. And as he was breathing in what was once his favorite place in the world, longing for that same feeling of contentment he'd felt in the past as his eyes skimmed the rest of the shop – a group of friends there, a woman on her laptop huddled on an armchair, a young man scanning the selection of books on the wall – his sight had eventually come to land on the cozy nook nearest the back of the room, the moss green loveseat vacant and painfully exactly the way he'd remembered it.

Nick could picture how his 15-year old self would always sit on the left against the corner, with her seated right next to him in an unofficial agreement. With their matching cappuccinos on the table on front of them and their backpacks thrown at their feet, they would hang out there – just the two of them – almost every day after school.

His mind's eye could still recall her and her adolescent self; tangle-y, blonde hair up in a simple ponytail and her face free of make-up because she could never quite put it on right. She was often in band tees or monochrome tank tops, depending on what she can get her hands on first, and never failed to wear a pair of worn out jeans with her trusty beat up Chucks.

She had the slim fingers of a pianist as he touched or played or held her hands, remembered the stubby nails she had bitten when anxious. She had a dimple on her right cheek, and her mouth would tilt a little more to that side when she grinned, and he would always think of ways to see that lopsided smile on her face because it would make him smile too.

And one of the physical features he remembered most about her were her eyes. She would look at him with her almond-shaped brown eyes – this rich shade of brown, like the color of the delicious hot chocolate they served here, flecked with molten amber. It was admittedly nothing special, but it was special to him – how she would look at him, how their eyes would connect in a crowded room, how they knew what the other was thinking in a single glance.

That little alcove was the setting for a lot of things. It was where they'd talk, as though there were never enough words to say. There were short meetings, when one or the other had plans or errands to do; and there were long hang outs when their drinks had long since run cold or they'd just finished their third drink as the night sky descended upon them and served as their background through the glass windows. They would talk about philosophical nothings, pretending they knew what they were talking about; or conversed about shallow topics like socks, and cheese, and which superhero was the best Avenger.

Sometimes they would even fight – both the joking kind and the fuming kind; or write; or do their homework together; or sometimes they wouldn't even need to talk, because she would be too engrossed in texting her friend JJ and he had to be the best boyfriend, or she wanted to finish the book she was reading and he still had to be the best, most understanding boyfriend, or simply because she wanted to stay with him, and he can't help but think that he must have the best girlfriend as he memorized the shades of light brown, caramel and bright blond in her hair with her head in his lap as they talked and stayed in each other's' company for however long they wanted.

They may have properly met by their neighboring lockers; and they may have fallen in love in their shared classes and lunch periods together; but it was in this coffee shop where they fell deeper, where their relationship flourished into what they believed would be forever. They had believed three years ago that all that had occurred in their private utopia was concrete enough to last their relationship…

…but then college happened.

The rest of their story – or rather non-existent story – was hazy in Nick's memory, most of it suppressed in the hopes that one day he would completely forget about it. It was painful to remember all the empty promises, the unanswered messages from one another, and the dull longing that still threatens to swallow him.

After they'd graduated high school and went off to their dream universities in different states respectively, she and Nick had promised they'd work things out and continue their relationship from a long distance. They truly though that they were not like other couples who would claim to love each other one second, then forget one another the next. They were much stronger than that – years of misunderstandings, drama, quarrels, and even other people who'd tried to come in the way of their relationship had made them the longest lasting couple in their high school.

The first few months were difficult, but it was nothing they couldn't overcome. They could no longer meet after school in their special place now that they were miles apart, but they could always talk through video calls, e-mails, texts, and other forms of communication. Within their first semester of college, they'd contact each other constantly, enthusiastically responding to one another as they were that familiar someone in the midst of adjusting to a new environment. Before college life got to them, they had each other to hold onto.

Only in the second semester was it seen how they slowly started to write each other out of their lives. As they made new friends, and joined extra-curricular activities, and got swamped with an increasing amount of schoolwork among other things that made them busy, they began contacting each other with less frequency. It was both their fault – how a call each day got reduced to three a week, how four-hour long video calls got cut down to 30 minutes, how the lengthy e-mails exchanged about their days or their thoughts became short paragraphs, and how their once rapid exchange of text messages turned into occasional, awkward what's-ups and how-are-yous.

It started with a postponed e-mail left as a draft for a week, then an unreturned call. Some nights one would be too tired to try to keep the conversation going, or would forget entirely that they'd promised to go online after class. She would tell herself she would respond after she has dinner with her friends but forgets, and he would sometimes be unable to reply due to a crappy internet connection. There were conversations left hanging, and unresolved arguments, and stories never told, and then absolutely nothing.

One day, she and Nick just stopped…talking.

He couldn't remember exactly when it happened, or who among the two forgot to reply, but it didn't matter because he never got back to her, and she never got back to him, and neither of them cared enough that there was no longer an 'us' to speak of.

She and Nick still kept each other's numbers, and were still friends on Facebook; but they no longer spoke to one another if they both caught each other online, and only got fleeting ideas and abstract assumptions of how the other was doing through their posts and pictures.

Nick could see aside from her success and popularity in college that she'd become very good friends with some others guys and had even tried dating a few, but it seems none of them were ever worthy enough to become her boyfriend. And even Nick himself had close friends who were girls, and had attempted to court the nice ones he'd met in college, but none of them seemed right for him.

None of them made him feel as happy as he used to feel with her.

How does one move on when they'd never really broken up? There was no closure, no establishment that they were no longer together. Nick didn't know what his heart was telling him, if he still loved his high school sweetheart; but surely they were not like other couples who would claim to love each other one second, then forget one another the next, because Nick could never forget the girl he once believed he'd spend forever with, and he hoped she felt the same way about him.

"Excuse me?" The withered voice of an old lady snapped him out of his daydream. Nick flushed warm with embarrassment, feeling even warmer in his thick layer of clothing, at the thought of standing there like an idiot for the longest time when in reality it had only been a few minutes. "Are you standing in line?" she asked nicely, indicating the short space he'd left on front of him as the customers inched forward in their line.

"No, sorry," His reply was curt before he turned around and headed for the double doors of the coffee shop.

Who was he kidding? Nick wasn't the type of guy to get all caught up in his emotions – on the contrary, he was quite the 'emotionless brick wall' in high school up until college – but the sudden influx of sadness and yearning wasn't something he could handle right now. It's been three years since they've broken up, but it may as well just happened yesterday. Nick only felt strongly for the things that mattered, and of course she still mattered. She was the only girl he ever loved, the only one who broke his heart.

As he nimbly side-stepped a couple on his way out, and moved out of the way of a running child at the last second, he'd accidentally bumped harshly into someone's side. Nick was intent on keeping his eyes on the checkerboard floor in fear of glancing at the corner one last time; but he immediately turned around to apologize to the person, and lifted his gaze to meet the warm brown eyes of her, flecked with amber exactly the way he remembered it.

Nick was face to face with her – Max Ride.

Suddenly, he couldn't understand why he felt so uncomfortably hot and unbearably cold at the same time. His face and neck burned as if he were facing a furnace, and it didn't help that he was wearing three layers. Simultaneously, he held back the urge to shiver, imaginary iced water being poured down his back and running through his veins sluggishly like poison. He couldn't move, and he couldn't think straight, and he just couldn't breathe.

He only knew that Max was standing right on front of him, here and now in what used to be their favorite place. After not having heard from her in three years, the girl that he loved was here in the flesh, staring at him with this look in her eyes that he could no longer, and would probably never, understand.

"Max-ine…" Nick greeted awkwardly after the initial shock started to wean off. On the outside, he still looked as calm and collected as he always did, his cool demeanor with his hands in his jacket pockets and this laid-back look in his stance made it seem like he totally runs into his not-so-ex-girlfriend on a daily basis. He didn't miss the way her eyebrow twitched at his shift in nicknames, but the line on their relationship was blurred a long time ago, and he didn't know whether to call her Max – her nickname in high school, or Maxine – the name her college friends call her, as well as her higher-ups and seniors. She goes by Maxine now.

"Fa-nick…I mean, Nick." Max looked about to hug him, like she wanted to hug him, but though better of it and leaned back on her heels. She looked to her feet and bit her lip at her tiny slip-up, and the reminder of the nickname only she would call him – Fang – made his heart constrict in his chest.

Nick took a step back to keep her at arm's length, and were it not for her familiar eyes, he wouldn't have recognized the girl he once knew.

Max's old messy hair was now sleek and silky as it fell past her shoulders and down her back in soft blonde waves, looking like a golden ocean as it delicately framed her face. She was wearing make-up – smoky eye shadow and black eyeliner further making her irises more prominent, with a bit of blush on her cheeks, and her full lips a light shade of pink.

She had always been one of the tallest girls in high school, but she was not gangly and lanky now as she was then. Clearly, Max was a late bloomer and had fully matured in college, developing curves in all the right places.

Currently, she was clad in a cream-colored sweater, with a light pink pea coat over it. Her neck was draped with a scarf, something she would've deemed as over the top or too girly for her taste three years ago, and was sporting a huge beige leather purse on the crook of her elbow. Gone were her frayed, ripped jeans, replaced with a pair of khaki ones that were probably designer. And the only article of clothing that remotely resembled the old Max was the fact that she was wearing boots, only these were knee-length, and brown leather, and way too pristine than what Nick was used to.

"You look great," Nick said, still wondering how his tomboyish Max had evolved into this woman. He smiled kindly at her, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Thanks," she said breathily, her smile matching his, "You too."

Another stilted silence ensued, flashing one another tight-lipped smiles and subtly scuffling off to the side, away from the line of customers.

Nick's shoulders were relaxed in his usual slump, but beneath his hoodie, his arms were flexed, fists clenched tight in his pockets. He was so conflicted, whether he wanted to continue talking to this familiar stranger, curious to know about all the things he'd missed in her life; or if he was better off leaving this damned shop and continue his coursework unperturbed, trying to forget this encounter ever occurred.

He was saved from the difficult decision when Max picked up the conversation again.

"So umm… how are you? I mean, how's college treatin' ya?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"It's good. In fact, I came here just to take a little break from my coursework. Umm…how 'bout you? How's the pre-law coming along?"

"Well if these eye bags aren't any indication, I swear it'll be the death of me," she joked lightly, rolling her eyes.

That was another thing Nick didn't understand. He couldn't fathom why Max even wanted to become a lawyer in the first place.

He used to dream that they would major in English together, taking up Creative Writing or American Literature in the same university and nothing would change. They shared the same passion for reading and writing, always the top of their Literature class, always showing their work to one another. They were each other's co-writers, and editors, and betas, and critics. This was what they loved to do.

So it came as a big shock to Nick when Max had chosen the university she applied to for kicks, taking up Political Science of all things as her pre-law before pursuing her law proper in Yale or Stanford. She was the last person he expected to become a lawyer – Max Ride: always challenging authority, always defying the rules – but she had retaliated that she wanted to help better the justice system, even if she herself was just a small step to accomplishing it. Although she was a great public speaker, Max just freakin' hates politics. Or at least she did. There were a lot of things he didn't know about this new Max.

"So do you always spend Christmas with your family?" she continued, going through the standard questions one asks when met with an acquaintance after so long.

"No, this is actually my first time since college. You?" Nick politely threw the question back again.

"Same here." She smiled, exposing her straight white teeth. "What a coincidence running into you here then."

God, she sounded so pleasant compared to the old Max. And he didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"Somehow we always find a way."

His mind flashed back to when they first met in the 6th grade, Max bolting down the hallway and accidentally colliding with him. She had been to one to get angry at him for her sprained wrist when they fell, even if it was her fault, and they were both surprised to find that their lockers were right next to each other that school year, the place where it all started.

Nick didn't know if she was reminiscing the same thing, or if she had even remotely connected his statement to something from their past. She just smiled at him again, her breath-takingly beautiful smile, but she didn't laugh.

"So how do you plan on spending the holidays? You staying here the entire break?" Nick could see that she was trying to keep up the conversation, but clearly they were running out of things to talk about.

"Yeah, and I plan on finishing my coursework before New Year's, maybe even edit some of my personal writing," he answered, secretly trying to gauge her reaction when he'd mentioned writing. Does she still write herself? Does she miss it? "Read some books, sleep, I don't know. What will you be doing?"

If he hadn't been paying close attention, he would've missed the slight frown on Max's face before she quickly covered it.

"Spend time with my family, I guess. Finish reading some of my damn textbooks. Go window shopping since I spent all my money on buying other people's gifts." Her last statement was said with humor, but both had glanced at each other after a pause. They used to do that together – strolling from shop to shop, fooling around, trying on things without actually buying anything. "Nudge wants to take me shopping," Max continued unfazed. "You remember Nudge, right?"

Faintly, Nick could remember being introduced to a pretty African American girl through one of their video calls in their first semester of college. She was quite memorable, considering Max's first friend was named Nudge and she could talk a mile a minute with no interruptions.

"Oh yeah. I remember her."

After that, conversation quickly died down.

They were both just standing there side by side, with Max looking at everything else in the room but him, probably trying to think of another lame question, and Nick staring at his sneakers in silence. It wasn't because he didn't have anything to say; it was because he had a lot of things to say, but didn't know how to.

'I really missed you, Max.', 'You clean up well, Ride, but you didn't need to polish up to impress me.', 'You don't seem like you're enjoying Political Science. Is law what you really want to do in life?', 'How are you parents? And Ella and Ari?', 'I read this really great book a few weeks ago. You should read it.', 'Holy shit, have you seen the fifth season of Adventure Time?', 'Remember that time we played tag in the mall and we got thrown out by security?', 'So…any boyfriends in the past three years?', 'What ever happened to your audition for the school newspaper? You never told me if you got in or not.', 'Why didn't you ever reply to my last e-mail? The one about my book project that I was really excited about.', 'Look, I'm sorry I never called back that time I had to hang up…', 'Why did we stop talking to each other anyway?'

'Why did we stop caring for each other?'

'What changed?'

'How did we fall out of love, Max?' He was desperate to know.

But Nick would never ask.

It even made his heart a little harder, seeing how much she's changed. Max didn't care about appearances; and she hated politics; and she loved writing too much to give it up; and she was always this headstrong, sarcastic, rambunctious girl unlike the poised and pleasing one in front of him; and she hated shopping even more than she hated politics; and she always laughed that obnoxious, adorable laugh of hers; and it wasn't this difficult to talk to her; and this just wasn't the Max that he'd fallen head over heels in love with. Nick was disappointed and sad that she's changed so much because without his say so, it seems his heart was already letting her go.

His goodbye was on his lips, ready to go back home to work on his term paper, ready to suppress this event just like the rest of their memories together, but just as he was about to say the one thing he could say – a courteous farewell – Max's phone began to ring from within her coat pocket, and she held up a hand to Nick as she answered it.

It would be rude to leave without properly saying goodbye (he owed her at least that), and he was in no rush to get home, so he simply stood by as Max slightly turned away from him and talked with the person on the other line.

Without anything to do, Nick gave one last long glance at the entirety of the coffee shop, knowing that he wouldn't be coming back here for a long time. Although he enjoyed the ambience of the place and thought they served the best cappuccinos, three years was apparently still too soon for him. He wasn't going to deny that it still hurt even after all this time, and he wasn't going to pretend that it didn't really matter.

This was Nick and Max's old favorite place; this was special to him. He wasn't going to act like it was nothing, because it once meant everything to him.

He will come back in the future, but for now, Nick drank in the scene in front of him one last time, with the perpetual line of customers, and the brightly-lit glass display of pastries and cakes next to the counter. He observed all the people happily drinking, eating and talking in the plush seats, beneath the weirdly-shaped light fixtures and the brown swirls painted onto the ceiling. The grand collection of books on their shelves, the warm-colored artworks that lined the wall, the scent of this place, the jazz music, and Max.

He'll remember standing next to her, like they always did before, side by side as they waited in line to give their coffee order. He'll remember their awkward conversation and the fact that they tried to keep it going and that it was better than nothing. He'll remember that he liked talking to her, even if it hurt, and that it'll become nothing but a memory. Nick was looking at her now, this mature, changed, different Max – Maxine.

As he stared at her profile, at the way that her eyebrows drew together, her lips moving as she spoke, the dimple on her cheek appearing and disappearing as her mouth moved, the way he still knew every feature of Max like the back of his hand; Nick drew back from his gaze to look at something moving by her ear. Upon closer inspection as his eyes focused on the object, he sucked in a silent breath as the realization dawned on him.

Hanging on her phone was a silver trinket, a simple pair of wings no bigger than an inch. It was old, with the left wing chipped at the tip and the surface not quite as shiny as it used to be.

It was old, because Nick had given it to her in their sophomore year of high school.

It was nothing special. He could vaguely remember buying it for her during one of their spontaneous trips to the mall, the trinket less than a dollar and among dozens of other replicas. He'd purchased it for her because he knew Max had a fascination with birds; and that it would make her happy, even if only by a little bit at his thoughtfulness.

Nick looked at her again, better this time, and watched as she argued with someone on the other line. The Max before him, dressed in pastels and heels, was nothing like the teenager who always sported graphic tees and sneakers and a dirty backpack slung over one shoulder. She was different now, but she certainly felt like the old Max as she spoke with an attitude, a ferocity that he hadn't seen in years. It was like Max embodied her 17-year old self – the way she would cock her hip in defiance and speak as though she were superior to you, this condescending look in her eyes that only she could pull off –, or maybe that was just one thing that never changed.

Nick was convinced that Max would've retained that characteristic about her; she was going to be a lawyer after all.

But she was so like Max, and he sighed heavily, thinking that he was crazy. He was driving himself crazy over one girl – critical of her new appearance, scrutiny of her words and actions, disappointment from the change, and the pathetic piece of hope he felt fluttering in his chest at the display of her old self. Nick hated that he cared so much, confused that he didn't feel betrayal but rather entertained his pull to her.

Just as he was about to turn away and rub his temple from all the mixed emotions roiling through him, Max took notice and faced him with a trace of concern in her eyes.

And that did it.

Nick couldn't imagine that he'd mused her eyes had dulled over the years when in fact, they remained that gorgeous shade of brown in the fall, if not intensified all the more. They were the color of hot chocolate during cold winter days, the rich brown oak tables before them as they conversed in their moss green sofa – the almond-shaped brown eyes of Max that would look at him and tell him everything in a single glance.

And even if he could no longer decipher her look with clarity like he could in the past, he still got lost in her eyes as he did before.

And Nick knew that there were some things that will remain the same.

Max had then ended the call and shoved her phone back in her pocket, turning towards Nick with a roll of her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes.

"Oh God, would it kill him to let me breathe for a few minutes? It's like he keeps forgetting I'm 20," she complained to Nick as naturally as breathing, and without having to ask, Nick knew that Max was talking about her father, Jeb.

He had been about to respond when a much louder voice resounded throughout the shop.

"Cappuccino for Max!"

Max grinned. "That's me," she announced briefly before strolling towards the claiming counter, Nick watching in a daze as the barista did a double-take, said a few words to Max that were doubtlessly about the certainty of her name, and Max taking her sleeved cup of coffee with a small smile.

She didn't give her name as Maxine, her college self that spent all her afternoons in the library amongst textbooks, or hung out with her block mates that engaged in intellectual conversation about school. She didn't give the name that her colleagues, and her professors, and her higher-ups call her.

She said her name was Max, because she's still Max.

She came back, drink clasped in both her hands to warm her long fingers. Nick only stood there as she shifted her bag to her other arm and looked up at him curiously through her eyelashes.

"Umm…aren't you gonna order one too?" She indicated the drink in her hands, and he grinned slightly, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chest.

He'd removed his hands from his jacket pockets and awkwardly hooked his thumbs on his jeans' pockets instead, hoping he'd looked subtle. "Hey, would you maybe want to stay and catch up…Max?" Nick asked, a shy smile on his face.

"But I—" Max began as quickly as she cut off, glancing at the door. Nick held his breathe at her expected rejection, about to convince himself that it was no big deal, but he saw her glance at their corner in the coffee shop and suddenly a smile lit her face too.

"I'd love to, Fang."

Closest to that side of the shop, Max led the way to their comfy dimly-lit nook, still vacant as fate would have it. She sat on the right side of the loveseat and he on the left, and he ordered a cappuccino to match hers, and they talked in that charming little coffee shop for hours until the sun had long since set.

After three long years of silence, they simply picked up where they left off.

fin.

Let me know what you think!

Without Wax,

.: Tiffany :.