A sharp knock on the door pulled Naya from the depths of the third wine glass she was nursing, the image of Matt pressing into her frozen on her television screen. The feelings from that night had been washing over her in cycles for over an hour, reliving her excitement, her accomplishment, her pride, and then subjecting herself to the familiar puncture of that positive ballooning. She had swirled the dark liquid in her glass each time her eyes flickered to the screen, remembering the seizing in her gut, the feeling of rough hands against her chest, and her immediate embarrassment at his actions. They hadn't spoken since that night, and she had no intention of procuring a conversation anytime soon. She'd drawn lines in their "relationship," and that was a hop, skip, and jump over that line, with no regards to the negative fall out it could have on her life. That negative fall out was standing outside of her front door, arms folded impatiently across her chest. Setting down the wine glass and standing shakily, Naya furiously wiped at her cheeks, hoping they weren't still blotchy and reddened from the tears she'd lost her fight against not long before. She tugged at her over sized hoodie, allowing it to swallow her hands and sinking into the protection it provided before opening the door and taking in the quivering blonde in front of her.

"Why Naya?" she whispered, her words thick and raspy. Scanning Heather's face, she took in the tell tale signs of her tears. Her cheeks were flushed in patches, her eyes blood shot, and her eyelashes stuck together. "Just tell me why," she pleaded, pulling her arms more tightly around her body as she fought against crying again.

"Baby, please come inside so we can talk about this." The blonde tucked her chin to her chest, further folding in on herself. Her defenses were armed and ready, and the strength of her upset was tugging at every heart string in Naya's chest. "Please, Heather." She finally nodded, but didn't unfold her arms as she crossed the threshold, freezing when she saw what the television screen was focused on.

"Turn it off," she saw in a surprisingly even voice. Her words were like gravel scraping at her girlfriend's knees, as if she'd fallen from her bicycle without even knowing she had been riding it. "Please, just - " Naya moved swiftly across the living room, seizing the remote control and pressing the power button so the screen flickered off almost immediately. "You've been drinking."

The brunette noted the lack of lilt at the end of the sentence, knowing it was more of a disappointed statement than an inquiry, and she nodded, wishing she could return her glass to her hands and allow herself to slip further into the foggy haze she craved. "We were going to talk tomorrow."

"I saw the awards show tonight." Her words were plaintive, stated as simply as if she were reporting the time to a stranger in passing. "I can't do it anymore Nay."

"Do what exactly?" Her words were tentative, hesitant, and wholly unsure. She wasn't certain she wanted the answer, but her curiosity reared its head and she had no choice in the matter. Her tongue, teeth, and lips acted of their own accord, and her brain didn't have a shot in hell of censoring them.

"Any of it," she whispered. "I can't watch you with him, but I can't come out with you. I've worked so hard to fly under the radar, to do what I love without worrying about the paparazzi invading my life." Her arms were slowly pulling away from her torso, and she ran one hand through the top of her hair, buying a bit of time before she spoke again. "They wouldn't leave us alone Nay. I'm not strong enough to handle that. I don't want people knowing about every breath I take, every inch I move, every word I say."

"Heather - "

"No, Nay." The blonde's breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed at the tears building again behind her eyelids as she held her hand up to keep her girlfriend at arm's length, both physically and emotionally. "I love you, more than I think you understand, but right now, I just can't do it." She felt the hot tears she'd fought against embracing her cheeks, and wiped at them halfheartedly before continuing. "And I'm not going to let this affect your career. No matter what you tell me, I won't do it. You've worked far too hard to lose it over falling in love with me."

Naya nodded, well aware that there was no chance of changing her girlfriend's mind. "I didn't want him to kiss me."

"I know," Heather managed to whisper, "but that doesn't make it any easier to watch."

"I know," the brunette echoed. "You shouldn't have to watch it."

"I'm not strong enough not to."

It's a universal moment in the collective unconscious of society - that moment when you fall to your knees, quite sure that your heart is literally cracking, pieces of it catching on your ribs, bouncing off of your organs, until the only portions of it left are fighting hard to keep beating, as much as you occasionally wish they wouldn't. Your breathing is ragged, your chest aches with the effort of living, and you're blinded by the desire to lock yourself away, refusing to love again. Your hands shake, your legs are numb, and you're sure that you won't ever feel whole again. The loss you've experienced invades every crevice in your body, filling you to the brim with desperation and an overwhelming amount of undeniable pain. You don't want to leave your bed, much less your house, and the efforts of communication from those closest to you are in vain in the worst way. Your soul craves just one thing, one thing you know you won't get back. The last words play repetitively in your mind's eyes, accompanied by retreating footsteps and slammed doors. You can feel nothing more than the pressure of a last kiss on your lips and see nothing but the color of their eyes - swirling blue, flecked with gold and green - surrounding you.

And when you're finally dragged from the dredges of that depression, that whole body collapse - everything is them, all over again. You turn your head at the sight of blonde hair no matter where you are, despite the constant disappointment in realizing it doesn't belong to the person who's no longer yours. You can no longer listen to certain songs without the familiar crushing sensation infiltrating your lungs. The places you went together are off limits, and the things you did together are now so different, because you're doing them alone.

It can take months, or years, but it gets easier. That feeling, that buzzing high you felt when your skin brushed against theirs may fade, or it may haunt you forever. Their voice may still send shivers down your spine, and their innocent glances may seem like much more, but it begins to hurt less. You come to accept your fate, accept the fact that they've gone, and there is little to no hope of them returning. You convince yourself you're better off, and that this is for the best. You repeat mantras in your head to get through the day, and maybe you find someone who isn't everything, but is enough.

But that mark, that burn that they've left on your heart, it doesn't fade. Two or ten or twenty years from now, you'll think of them, and you can finally smile at the memories that their name provokes. You allow yourself new happiness, and you can celebrate their victories with them without that tugging in your stomach. It isn't perfect, but it will do. You learn to move on with your life and you learn to create dreams that no longer certain around the person you thought you'd never lose. You may crumble, or bury yourself in work, or write copious amounts of terrible poetry that you'd never allow another soul to read - but you learn to move on. You learn to move on, but you hold them in your heart with you wherever you go.

"What does this mean for us?" Again, her lips refused to contact her brain for approval before speaking, and she fisted her sweatpants in one clammy hand, the other settling anxiously against the back of her neck.

"I don't want to lose you all over again," Heather whispered. "I don't think I could do that. I want us to still talk, and hang out, and be friends." The last two words were low, lower than anything else she'd said thus far, because they both realized the gravity of that suggestion. It would be quite possibly the most difficult thing to do in their relationship - to move from talking seriously about a future to falling back into a pattern of platonic normalcy, while still having to convey romantic feelings at work.

"I don't know how to be your friend," Naya returned.

Heather scrunched her brow, cocking her head to the side. "We were friends before."

"We were never just friends."

The silence after the brunette spoke was palpable, the heartbeat of the room pulsing in both women's ears as they stood stoically, observing one another. Naya was the first to move forward, a single, tentative step toward the blonde just feet away from her, and moments later, neither could fight the magnetism they were so accustomed to. They surged together, tangling their fingers in one another's hair as they'd done hundreds of times before. They fell backward onto the couch in a mess of battling tongues and breathy gasps, unceremoniously tugging at each other's clothing until their mouths were inches apart, their breath colliding, without clothing or pretenses or other people between them.

Heather pressed forward again, her lips molding into Naya's mouth as her hands traveled familiar pathways to the warmth they'd been frequently enveloped in. She relished in the feeling of the brunette arching against her, into the pressure building in the apex of her thighs. She swallowed each breathy moan, refusing to shut her eyes as they moved together, memorizing the sheen of sweat against Naya's body, the slight furrow of her eyebrows, and the way her lips parted slightly as she tried to catch her breath, though she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She pressed into the brunette as if each thrust could make a promise she knew she couldn't herself necessarily keep. Everything will work out. We can do this. I will never love another person like I love you. As Naya began to shake violently against the blonde's fingers, her core's muscles clutching at the digits as if willing the body connected to them to stay forever, Heather finally allowed herself to focus on the tumultuous storm of emotions within her own body, rather than dedicating her energy to remembering every detail of the moment, and she promptly fell forward, into the brunette's chest, sobbing. Naya's arms immediately wrapped around her, pulling the woman impossibly closer and cooing as she ran her fingers through her long locks for the last time.

"This is it," Heather whispered meekly into caramel skin.

"This is it," the brunette echoed, her tone hollow.

Thinking back to moments before, the dancer realized one of her promises could be kept, no matter what happened between them, or who came into her life later. "I will never love another person like I love you."

Nodding before pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head, Naya fought back her own tears as they lay tangled within one another. "You're my best friend," she murmured.

"Yeah, me too."

AN: There is literally no excuse for the length of this chapter, so I sincerely apologize. I'm fairly caught up on my school work, so I hope to have this finished off this weekend, or early next week. The next chapter will be the epilogue, but don't worry your poor shipping hearts. Heya is endgame, and I'm not going to deny you guys a happy ending. :)

As always, thanks for reading!