This story belongs to and was written entirely by keepdreaming93.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to James Patterson.

ELLA POV:

"I will not live here if I wake up every morning to barf colored walls," was the first thing Max said when we moved into the new place. That's what she does, though she won't admit it, with everybody but Fang, who she pours her heart out to. She pretends around the pain.

"Paint job?" I questioned, dropping a heavy box inside and then following her out for more.

She grinned at me, dropping a box.

"Oh hell yes."

MAX POV:

After two weeks the kill-me-now colors of the apartment were gone, replaced with blues, soft, black, grays. At one point I thought about saying, "Fuck it" and painting the whole thing rainbow, but I was thinking mom might take back her generosity if I did so.

Another week after that we were settled and getting used to steady routine.

During the whole moving into a new place process, I was overly stressed. I knew that it was supposed to be expected, branching out or whatever, but I was overwhelmed. The house was a mess for a month as we got used to moving our things and putting them away, our routines, our neighbors, and I spent a lot of my time in the cute little coffee shop downstairs. Our apartment was constructed more like a hotel than what it was, with beautiful halls and workers. It wasn't exactly cheap, it was actually very pricey, but totally worth it.

Anyway, at the coffee shop I met a guy named Ethan.

He was sitting at the table next to mine, typing on his laptop frantically. His fingers were moving across the keys at an inhuman speed, but he was leaned casually back against his seat, yawning, and even looking around. I wondered how he did it, appeared nonchalant and uninterested and yet typed so fast. I peaked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of his essay, and it was very well written, extremely intricate and professional.

He glanced at me.

"You're new," he said, stopping his typing and looking at me, turning in his seat and leaning toward me. "Just move here?"

Okay, fine, so he's really attractive. But it's not like I really noticed the way that his eyes gave the ocean a run for its money and how dirty blond hair swept perfectly above the eyes like a teen heartthrob or the way that when he smiled, there was the most adorable dimple that decided to appear in his cheek.

I said, "Yeah, for about two months. Do you live in this building?"

He nodded slightly, taking a sip of his coffee and closing the screen of his laptop.

"Fourth floor," he said.

"Me too."

His mouth twisted to the side, studying me. "Nineteen-ish? Who'd you move with? A boyfriend?"

Nope. Single for three months. Another thing about moving out that was expected was the missing Fang deal. Even when we were fighting his presence was there, beauty passing in the halls or sitting on the porch outside, his breath when he passed, his scent lingering in the family room. He wasn't here now, and it helped. I would never get over him if I was constantly reminded of him, and being...away from him for awhile was reminding me that he didn't have to be my entire world.

But I think I wanted him to be.

"No boyfriend," I said. "My sister. I just graduated."

He nodded. "Where are you going for college?" he asked.

I let out a sigh. "Nowhere for the time being. I got accepted to a few but haven't gone. I'm not ready. I feel like if I was to go now, sure, I'd be in college, but I'd probably fail."

He stared at me for awhile, long enough to make it hard for me to breathe, and then said, "I'm Ethan."

"Max."

He smiled, showing rows of teeth on toothpaste commercials, then said, "Max. Sit with me."

I did.

Ethan and I went to the coffee shop at the exact same time, 7:50, every morning of the weekdays, and sit at the same table, drink the same drink. His first class started at 9:00, and so did my work, so we departed at the same time, too. We talked about whatever we wanted to, and then the flirting began to mix into our casual conversation. He would kick me underneath the table, I would hit him on the chest, he'd trap it there. I'd smile and he'd let it go, we'd continue.

I liked him a lot.

I liked his eyes, his hair, his smile, the way he laughed, the way he touched my hand, the jolt of electricity that was sent through me when he did, and the way he made me forget that Fang didn't love me. The way that he made me so fucking happy.

I went to dinner with my family a few weeks after Ethan and I met, and I was excited, I suppose. The family had come to visit, so I didn't miss them too terribly, but you know what's funny? Fang never came. Not once.

At dinner, even with Fang sitting across from me, Ethan was all that I could think about. How he was smart, how effortless he appeared, how he understood the abnormal dynamics of my personality, of my mannerisms. How he laughed, how I laughed, and how he skipped his first four classes the first day we met so that he could spend time with me.

I was in a daze.

Fang kicked me under the table, and fury shot through me unexpectedly. Why did I get mad?

"What?" I snapped harshly, and his eyes widened in surprise.

E very body stared at me, and I hushed an apology before gulping down my whole glass of pomegranate juice.

My mom cleared her throat. "So, Fang, how's college?"

College?

Jesus, it hadn't been that long since we'd moved out, had it?

"Good," he said, staring at my left shoulder. "Hard, but good."

"And your dorm?" she continued.

"You moved out?" I blurted. What? How could he move out? He's lived here forever!

He nodded at me. "With Iggy."

It was then that I finally noticed that we grew up.

After dinner, I was sitting on the porch swing, staring at the night. It actually looked different here than where Ella and I lived. This was more clear, where our sky was penetrated by lights and fog. It felt different, too. This was my home, the feeling was still there somewhere, and there felt temporary. The scent was different, here was homey and familiar, there was new and exciting. I wouldn't choose which one I liked better, but this felt good at the moment.

My phone buzzed, a text from Ethan appeared on the screen.

Party tonight, my room. Come?

God, did I want to. I didn't want to be here, with Fang. I wanted to forget us.

I'm at dinner with my family. Sorry. Next time?

It's gonna end around 3. I'm sure you can still make it.

I'll ask my sister if she wants to. We're a package deal. K?

I hope you can go :)

"Go where?"

I almost fell off of the swing.

"None of your business," I snapped as weight sunk into the seat next to me and Fang appeared, almost as black as the night. He was looking at me, a smirk trapped in the straight line of his mouth.

I leaned back against the seat and slipped my phone into my pocket, closing the message.

"College, huh?" I asked. "You never told me about going to college. Never struck me as the type."

"Well I wasn't planning to go. I was planning to be with you."

Ethan was forgotten, just like that.

"Oh," I said softly. "Well."

"Yeah," he said, equally as light, like I'd made any sense at all. "Anyway, how's living by yourself?"

"Great, actually. It would be too hard to live here, after..."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad you left."

Aaaaaaaannnndd Ethan was remembered again.

"Let's not talk about us," I suggested. "Let's talk about us...as friends. What's been going on?"

But really, I knew we weren't best friends anymore.

"Nothing much," he answered, nonetheless. "College is hard."

"What are you studying?"

He sighed. "I'm going to Juilliard."

"In New York?"

He nodded, looking at me. Fang, god, he was an amazing guitarist and singer, but I never thought that he was so serious about making a future in the arts. I didn't know that he applied. I didn't know it was an option.

"So you flew out here?"

He shrugged. "I missed everybody, and we're on Thanksgiving break anyway."

I wondered if he missed me, but I couldn't ask such a thing.

"You need to cut your hair," I said instead.

He smirked. "You don't like my hair?"

"It's too long," I said, instead of I fucking love your hair. It's devilishly perfect, and I want to pull on it, I want to weave my fingers into it, it makes you look even more sexy.

"You've always loved my hair!" Fang defended.

I turned in my seat and touched the ends of it. "Yeah, but you need to cut it. Just a bit."

Instead of answering, he leaned into my touch like a puppy and I wove my fingers further into the silk, holding his face in my hands. He leaned further until I was cradling his head against my chest, and he was a child again. He breathed my scent in and I rested my cheek against the top of his head as his arms slipped around my body and held me close to his. My palms were against his neck, and his cheek was on my breastbone. I realized that the porch, the sky, the chocolate chip cookies...that's not what was home. This was home. His body with mine was home. His cheek on my skin was home. Our lips on each other was home.

Fang was home, and home slipped right through my fingers.

"Oh, my god," he whispered into my skin. "I miss you so much."

I felt wetness on my neck, and I gasped in a quick air of breath, yanking his head up so that I could be sure.

I broke down with him, and we drowned in the unexplainable feelings, that we didn't have the strength to overcome what we were going through. The obstacle was the superior, and we weren't strong enough.