I sat early Wednesday morning, swirling the remains of my coffee, staring at my phone without blinking. I felt a tug in my heart, then my stomach, and finally in my hands. I opened the photos again, sliding a shaking finger back and forth across the screen, reliving the moments, those agonizing moments that Vanessa had texted me. I appreciated the thought, as we all knew I'd never see them on Twitter, and she'd had the foresight to assume that I would be bombarded with texts and have not the slightest clue what people were referencing.

I felt a weight on my shoulder and another around my waist, and momentarily allowed myself to sink into the embrace before sensing the roughness of stubble against my neck and the callouses of years of baseball pressing through my shirt.

"Hey babe. What are those from?" His voice was gruff from sleep as he inquired at the photos he'd seen, now resting a safe distance from me on the counter, rather than in shaky hands in my lap.

"Vanessa sent them. They're from our last day of shooting all together. You know, me and Naya being Sugar's moms." I tried to force a chuckle, but it came out strangled, and unsurprisingly, Taylor didn't notice any difference between this laugh, and the melodic one the woman in the photographs provoked.

"Well, you look beautiful, as always, and it makes me wonder what you'll look like with our baby in your arms," he replied, charming as ever, his words drowning in hopes and dreams for the future - our future. I could faintly remember fantasizing about those days; an unexpected rush would flood me when we spoke about buying a house, getting married, and having children. The rush had come back when I felt safe in his arms every night, and couldn't imagine my life without him in it. That was a long time ago though, and now the answers to those interview questions were outright lies. They may have been truthful at one point, but that point was before my safety net became a pair of caramel arms and eyes as black as the coffee she drank.

I simply nodded, a wan smile gracing my features, as I stood from the stool I'd been perched on and headed into our bedroom to change for a run, hoping the pounding of pavement would drown out the incessant pounding of my heart, that the wind on my skin would wipe away the remembrance of her hand covering mine with nothing short of utter gentleness, that the sweat would mix with the tears I could feel bubbling over already. When I finally walked out of the front door, I hadn't the slightest idea where I was heading, but my feet seemed fully in control, and I allowed them to drag me through cross walks and side alleys until I ended up at a small dance studio I'd begun to frequent. The owner never told anyone I was there, and more times than not, he'd have a free space for me to clear the clusterfuck that was my brain.

However, the universe clearly had other plans for me, as my phone buzzed in my hand when I reached to plug in the auxiliary cord from the speaker system.

"Do you miss it?" The four words broke me in two, and it took every ounce of strength I had to keep my feet planted firmly on the floor and my hands steady enough to type a response I was sure to regret later. Of course she would know I'd seen the pictures. She'd notice the look on my face in each one, and would sit and carefully analyze every expression. She would know I wasn't handling it well, if at all.

"Every day Nay." My three word response was enough to send pangs through her chest, and I knew it, but it didn't stop me from hitting send, and impatiently awaiting the text back.

"I'll be back in LA tomorrow. Can we talk?"

Part of me didn't want what happened next to happen. A stronger, larger, more violent part of me did, and that part won, when my fingers casually hit keys, sending back "What about Di?" Three more words to further break her.

"What about Lady? I don't even know what she and I doing, if we're doing anything Hemo." I was simultaneously consumed with a tempering rage and a tiny flinch of victory, but was unsure which to act on when my phone buzzed a second time. "Please, just come over so we can talk. I've missed you."

That was all it took to send me to my knees in body wrenching sobs, clutching at my own jacket and running my fingers through my hair again and again, hoping to sooth myself into a false sense of security, if only for another twenty four hours. I stood shakily, sending a text to say that I would go over the next evening, to talk, before plugging my phone in and searching for a song to flood my limbs, pulling me out of true reality for a short four minutes.

"Okay. :) Have a good day at the studio." The fact that she knew I was here shouldn't surprise me, but after all the time apart, it still does. I respond as I always do, with the title of the song I'll have on repeat for the next few hours, hoping it's not crossing any boundaries.

Hitting play, I let the strumming of guitars coat my bones and muscles and skin, hoping it will dull the ache of want coursing through my body, but as I expected, the lyrics still manage to cut through that thin layer of safety, hitting me square in the chest.

Can't take away those nights we stayed up and we talked all night -
Chain smoking cigarettes and three bottles of red wine
Falling asleep together holding your body close to mine
And in the morning your eyes open, so innocent
The sun is blazing; we are sweaty; you look lovely
Nothing else matters anymore, cause you're in my arms again

I push through the sobs wracking my body, clenching my stomach, and shaking my every atom. Each minute motion or grand gesture is pushing the hurt further out of my body, through my fingertips and into the stifling air of the studio, despite the fans running on high. I'm caught up in my own head, desperately trying to run from myself, and failing miserably. The further I ran, the more easily she caught up with me. With the lyrics flooding the forefront of my conscious, I thought back to the morning after Paley Fest, her warm caramel limbs enveloped into mine, sleep coating her skin. I connected every inch of my body with hers, pressing my lips softly to the corner of her mouth, tasting the remains of far too much wine, a full package of menthol cigarettes, and the dream that maybe this could be every morning.

AN: I want to thank everyone for the overwhelming response to this fic, first of all. Second, I want you all to know that Heya is end game, as it should be. That does not mean however that there will not be hints of other relationships, as it seems key in order to work things out usually enough. I will not however write smut scenes (if I do - because do y'all even want them? haha) between anyone but Naya and Heather.