8. When Tomorrow Comes

It was kind of hard to believe how things had turned out in the span of just a few days. Clark Deveraux, that mouthy kid she'd used to know as a constant pain in the ass, had someone turned everything upside down, a long overdue visit to the homestead into a daydream. She lived and breathed this intoxication, this attraction that had appeared out of nowhere and grown into something potent.

For the first time in years it felt easier to walk, to talk, to just be – All because he made her heart flighty, her legs too heavy for the wind to carry. In the past it'd been easy to overcome the impulse to stay, to enjoy the silence, but with him it was so damn strong after just a few days. So she had to wonder if it'd really been there all along, this spark that hadn't quite matured into attraction back then? Or was it simply timing? Did he feel right because she was so weary of making the wrong choice in life? Because for once she didn't just want someone, she wanted him.

Stef realized she was counting the hours to each new encounter quickly enough. Rumors flew, people gave her glances in the street, and when she saw Mouth's mother at town she got an approving look. Monday turned into Saturday in the blink of an eye, and half the nights she didn't even wake up in her own bed, but back at his place, this calm fortress where she could just be. Not that Mouth complained, no, he kept tightening his tendrils around her without much effort.

She pushed aside the knowledge that this rapture could only last for so long, and embraced it wholly while she could; fearing it would end abruptly, leave her stranded before she knew it. It didn't mean she could continue brushing these fears aside though. Stef simply chose to stay silent, just for now.


More moments of magic, seconds onto hours etched into his memory followed. He threw himself into it, enthralled by her more and more, even when he'd thought he couldn't get any deeper into this enchantment. And everyone was voicing their approval of their hook up, speaking of their wishes – everyone but Stef.

Mouth sensed it stronger with each encounter, how she had part of herself locked away, how she was always anticipating a backslash of some sort for her actions, no matter how subconsciously. Stef was slippery, hard to grab a hold of. Those four years away had taken something from her, run off with it, and he didn't know if she'd get it back. He tried to ask about it, this unspoken hole in her chest, but couldn't find the words, as crazy as that was.

"I have to say I'm surprised," Mickey commented, flicking popcorn into his mouth lazily. Mouth actually needed to shake himself a bit to catch the words, to return to the moment as he'd drifted off somewhere completely else in the middle of their movie hour.

"I actually thought the whole deal with Stef was doomed."

Mouth rolled his eyes in boredom. "I told you she needed time," he claimed cockily, grabbing a handful of popcorn from Mickey.

"But she's still kind of reserved, don't you think?" Mickey asked.

Those were Mouth's thoughts as well. Reserved was a good word. She'd get enthusiastic, banter like they'd used to, delude him with closeness, but there was that strange barrier in place that he didn't seem to overcome.

"People change," Mouth responded with unusual sensitivity. He didn't want to voice his doubts, not now. It'd been just a few days since she'd succumbed to his charm, and he'd spent pretty much every moment he could with her since, knowing he might not have all the time in the world.

"Fair enough I suppose," Mickey mumbled back, seemingly unconvinced. He didn't want to challenge Mouth though, not if his friend wasn't actually willing to talk about this now.

Mouth noted the way Mickey backed off immediately, how he seemed to sense the sensitive subject. They'd been friends for over a decade now, shared practically everything, even the hurtful things. The only thing Mouth had kept from Mickey, ever, was his father's progressive illness, and that wasn't his secret to tell. Everything else, no matter how big or small, he'd always shared, making no big deal of the habit.

He adjusted his position on the sofa, a sudden feeling of discomfort penetrating his easygoing façade. The uncertainty showed on his face, a shadow that he couldn't shake. Mickey saw it as clear as day but didn't want to say anything. He waited for his friend to be ready, to talk about it when he wanted to.

"I don't know if it's doomed or not," Mouth then said, realizing how good it felt to say it aloud to someone at least. "We haven't really talked about her leaving."

"Why?"

Another excellent question, Mouth noted, munching on the popcorn. His skin felt tight at the thought of Stef leaving again, especially now that she finally returned his feelings. Would this end in tears with him watching her leave all starry eyed, and then realizing one day she hadn't come back?

"She kinda keeps distracting me."

"Ugh, please, no details," Mickey groaned, collapsing on the other end of the sofa, his whole posture just replaced by a boneless mess.

His voice was laced with irritation for he'd had to bear with Mouth's obsession for almost a decade now, and even though he was glad things were finally looking up, he just couldn't treat Stef like Mouth's other flames, girlfriends and conquests. Aloofness was impossible when the girl in question was a friend, a mentor and just someone he too cared about deeply.

Mouth snorted at him, grabbing more pop corn for himself.

"I have no interest in divulging the details," he said convincingly enough, his mouth drawing into a straight line that conveyed nothing in particular. Usually Mouth was the most emotive of them all, his gestures and moods easily categorized. Lately Mickey had caught him with an odd expression more and more, like he was actually caught in some complex thinking.

"Honestly though," Mickey coughed, claiming eye contact, "How do you vision this ending?"

"A house, two point five kids, a dog and a white picket fence," Mouth joked, a sparkly smile suddenly on his lips. Something told Mickey he was probably being a little serious about it too.

"So you'll be in a long distance relationship with her for awhile, and then she'll move back here, and you'll live happily ever after?"

No, he couldn't see that. Stef was tricky; she was like a force of nature, always going where the wind blew, vanishing in a second. He wandered if she was truly a drifter at heart and whether he could actually tie her down. So far things had just followed the amazing chemistry they felt between them, that feeling of being wholly rejuvenated when you were close. He couldn't imagine it would continue like this, no matter how much he needed it to.

"Look, Mickey," Mouth drew in a heavy breath, preparing to say the words, the light-hearted denial, but it was caught in his dry throat.

Mickey shook his head. "Just tell her you love her already."

"Whoa, I never said I was in love with her," Mouth hurried to his defense nervously. He wanted to brush off the comment, to deny it. And yet the way his insides quavered at the sound of it just proved how right it was.

"Everyone and their mom knows you love her."

"Dude-"

"-and if you don't, which I don't believe for a second, then what the hell are you doing with her? She's a friend Mouth. You don't get involved with a friend unless you're pretty damn sure."

Mickey's speech was somewhat sobering though. They were all bound – the people on that beach that day – by unseen forces, a kind of unique experience. It was sacred, pure. You didn't mess with that.

He recalled writhing in pain when she'd left Astoria, beating himself over not doing anything to stop her, to tell her how he'd felt. He remembered the joy in learning she was coming back, and the way she'd taken his breath away when he'd seen her first, sitting on that bench, scanning her surroundings. And even after the kisses and promises, the exhilarating moments with her in his arms, he still craved for more. If this wasn't love then what the hell was?

"OK, I see your point," Mouth mumbled self-consciously, unwilling to admit it aloud.

"You need to tell her," Mickey advised softly, sinking his hand into the paper cup absentmindedly, grabbing some popcorn and then releasing them back into the cup. "Otherwise she'll miss it – Again."

"So your advice is to pop that in there after just a few days?"

"Not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but Mouth, you need to do this before she leaves."

"No wonder you're still single."

At this point though, Mickey grabbed some pop corn and tossed it at Mouth's head. Mouth took in the first wave calmly, barely registering the rain of pop corn, but when he realized Mickey wasn't stopping there, he quickly picked up the nearest newspaper for a shield and tried to dodge the next attack.

"I'm just saying," he announced loudly, "-that in my experience that's the tactic that gets you kicked out naked in the street."

"And how many girls have you turned down after they told you how madly they were in love with you?" Mickey scoffed back with doubt, not believing for a second that Mouth was doing anything but making up excuses here.

"A few. But I did it with tact!"

"Knowing Stef, she'd just bust your balls."

"Precisely. I'm very fond of my balls!"

At this point, being already covered in popcorn and salt, Mouth made a quick attack towards Mickey and grabbed the cup from his hands, finally ending the childish stalemate. Once he'd secured Mickey's weapon of choice, he grimaced and started to rake through his hair with his hand to clean it from the pop corn pieces and salt.

Mickey was still caught in their conversation though, his expression growing more adamant. "Isn't she worth the gamble though?" he asked with almost childish faith, being the romantic he was.

Mouth didn't pause for long before he admitted it, "She is."

They were sitting on the sofa now, both leaning their elbows over their knees, barely registering what was happening on the TV. Mouth continued to ruffle his hair in a vain attempt to clean it, and Mickey just sat in silence, thinking about what Mouth had just said.

"She looked happy though," he finally commented, his words bringing Mouth to a halt. "On the beach with you, I mean."

There was a tingling on his skin, something in him thinking that it was possible; that he could actually have that effect on her.

"So either she feels something for you too, or she's been popping too many painkillers. Just saying."


It was raining outside. Stef stared out of his window, disappointment enveloping her too tight, leaving little room for recovery. They had promised to go out together, eating like regular couples, or whatever the hell they were. But the downpour was quick and strong; it looked like nothing could escape its path unscathed. She was wearing just a summer dress – precisely the kind of thing you didn't want to get wet in public so that you and everyone else could see the shape of your underwear beneath.

It was a strange kind of rain though; the sun still shone through it bright, made the grey raindrops into silver and the puddles of water everywhere into an ocean of light. The sight was captivating, and she was stuck here watching it like a kid, trying to figure out how this was possible.

But then Mouth blocked her view by pushing the curtain between her and the window, closing them in the twilight, a strange look on him.

"I'm not getting out there," she said dryly, hands wrapped protectively around her chest.

"We can talk here as well," he replied, setting her blood aflame, pleasurable licks of heat emerging in her.

"Are you sure you want to talk?" Stef asked mischievously, passing him by and moved to the bed.

He watched her place herself there: legs spread, hair still messy, the shoulder strap of her dress falling to her elbow, as if begging to be stripped completely. He needed to make a mental note of how gorgeous the red dress looked on her. The material was soft; the fabric cut just the right way to enhance her bosom and waist.

Mouth followed her, made him comfortable, lying on one side, his gaze set on her, those lively eyes that radiated excitement. Neither was moving in to kiss, to touch. The rain was drumming outside to an almost tribal beat that served as background music.

"Tell me about college," he said to her surprise, watching as she discarded her seductive pose, heartbreak suddenly visible on her face, awkwardness in her body.

She avoided looking at him for a moment, gathered herself in silence, feeling her own heartbeat grow thicker. Just thinking about it was enough to set her off. She struggled with a starting point, between telling the lie and the truth, even though she knew he must've seen a glint of it already, had begun suspecting something. Why else ask about it?

"Why'd you leave?" Mouth asked her, trying to dig into this pain in her that clearly wanted to combust, but which she kept contained, in check. "I mean, you didn't have to go so far. We had schools right next door."

Stef glanced at him again, his face that was so close to her, a foot away. She moved her arm beneath her head, seeking for a comfortable position even when she knew she wouldn't find one. Nothing could make the maelstrom inside subside.

"I was silly and childish," she admitted, thinking back on those days, at age 20. She'd thought she knew everything, that she could do anything. "I wanted to be somebody."

Although she didn't say it aloud, the insinuation was she'd thought she could only do that by going somewhere with a name, somewhere big on the map.

Mouth moved just an inch, his hand touching hers reassuringly. It was thundering outside, her chest heaved more noticeably at this, but he wanted to show her she was safe here.

"So I went, I saw, and I wasn't good enough."

It stung like a bitch to say that now. She didn't cry though. She was just pissed off.

"I was just a country girl there, a second class citizen at best. I needed to change everything I was just to get by."

So she'd become Stephanie: The woman who wore skintight skirts, knew French, could debate like a pro and didn't need anyone to tell her what she could or could not do. But this was just some kind of twisted superhero fantasy, not a real person. This woman laughed at the appropriate jokes, bought her coffee from a shop and wore heels everywhere.

"Why do all that?" he asked her, unable to grasp how anyone could think she wasn't perfect just the way she was.

She rolled her eyes; it seemed all so silly now, but back then she'd been desperate to fit in, to succeed.

"I'd come too far to fail. And the worse it got, the less I wanted to come back here," she paused for a bit, swallowing a painful lump in her throat, actually overcome by its weight for a moment. He could see the tears in her eyes, how they struggled to emerge despite her iron resolve to keep them at bay.

"Brevity is the soul of the wit," she recited, making it apparently clear how deeply she resented those words. Had it been her code to live by? Was that why the sassy, take-charge Stef he knew had been buried beneath what was proper?

"I guess I just got cast in another part along the way," she concluded bitterly, fingers curling into his as he joined their hands. Coming back here had only reinforced her belief that she could never be Stephanie, that it'd been an illusion.

"Consider that part recast then," he told her softly, squeezing her hand. "Stay here."

"I can't see a future here for me, Mouth," she tried to explain, although his suggestion made her feel warm and wanted.

"I can. It's with me."

She was suddenly ferociously awake, his words digging into her flesh forcefully. Her gut was telling her to run again, to never look back. It had been so easy to take off in the past, to fidget and play dumb, yet with him it wasn't like that.

She hadn't said anything yet, and here he was bearing his heart, but Mouth didn't care. He recalled Mickey's words, how it'd be too late soon, so why not make this the point of no return?

"I don't just like you, Stef. I love you. I always have," he confessed, hand still holding hers, his eager heartbeat detectable against her palm. She was mesmerized by this moment though, truly taken aback.

"Eight years is hardly always, Mouth," she finally breathed in response, disbelieving, a little flustered by the attention. Suddenly she was feeling incredibly hot and bothered.

"I know what I feel," he insisted.

"Well I don't!" she revealed, her voice breaking, tears shining in her eyelashes as she blinked furiously to keep from crying. "I don't know what I feel."

But it wasn't a kick in the nuts, or a rejection really, he noticed with relief. Stef didn't know what to say after just a few days, barely a week into this thing.

"You will," he promised her, placing his free hand on her cheek that was moist from tears now. And she pushed against him, head buried into his chest, his arms holding her safe.

Mouth held her close, nose buried in her puffy hair, fingers tickling the exposed skin over her shoulder blades. Stef wasn't sobbing, she didn't break into tears. Instead the hurt vanished in silence as she steadied herself; put these secrets back behind locked doors. They felt a lot easier carry now somehow, as if sharing them had helped lift their weight.

"I want to be with you for now," she told him, "to see what this is."

He didn't object. Even if this was everything he'd get, it'd be something to remember, something to conclude the decade long crusade to tell her how he felt.

TBC