Our coming of age has come and gone

Nearly four months had passed, and the weather had changed from scorching hot to the in-between of autumn and winter. Cloudy days brought gloom and dread for the future. With each day that passed, the date of Trigon's plan crept closer and closer.

The months leading up to it had been filled with planning, training, missions, and even the occasional television interview, which continued to solidify the public's faith in the group of vigilantes. Most of the interviews featured Robin, perhaps with some of the others, but Raven was always absent for obvious reasons. As serious as the entire situation was, Gar did think it was kind of cool that some of their interviews had millions of views on YouTube.

While many things had improved, Gar's condition hadn't. He was now going to his doctor multiple times a week and still managing to keep it from everyone. Dr. Freeman was super disapproving of the clear damage Gar was adding to his body (his excuse for all the bruising was a newfound interest in boxing). Despite it, he didn't tell Gar to stop, probably because it was just accelerating the inevitable. The doctor couldn't even predict when Gar would drop dead. It could be in mere days, it could be months. They simply didn't know.

Because of this, Rita and Steve wanted him at their side whenever possible, not knowing when their final moments with their son would be. Gar wasn't complaining either, spending time with them and little Mila—who was growing more and more every day—was exactly what he wanted to do. Rita was broken up about everything, and sometimes, when she didn't think Gar was around, she cried to Steve. Still, Gar refused to let his last days with them be tainted by sadness.

It was saying goodbye to them tonight that tore his soul apart. Sure, he was due for death regardless, but tomorrow might bring around a death, not by illness.

They stood at the doorway when Gar was ready to leave for Wayne Manor. Rita held Mila in one arm while the other hand covered her face as she cried. Steve had his hand against his wife's back to comfort her.

"Mom, please don't cry," Gar begged, "I promise I'll be safe."

"Come now Rita," Steve said gently, "You don't want to say goodbye to Gar like this, do you?"

Rita sniffed loudly and rubbed her eyes, trying to quell her cries as Mila looked at her with a curious expression, wondering why her mother was upset.

"A—alright, I'm sorry."

A lump was present in Gar's throat, threatening a similar reaction to that of Rita's, but he did his best to smile instead. Rita didn't need to worry more than she already was.

"This isn't a goodbye," Gar lied, his parent's fully aware of this but not calling him out on it because they desperately wanted it to be true, "But I still want to thank you for everything. You opened your home to me almost four years ago and I'm so happy you did. I never thought I'd be able to consider anyone else my parents after mine died, but you guys really do feel like my family."

Another tear fell from Rita's eyes as she gave him a watery smile,

"And we're so blessed that you opened your heart to us. I couldn't love you more if I had given birth to you."

Gar wrapped his arms around Rita in an embrace, and he felt her body shake, sobs finding their way back to her. He held on tight, like it would be the last time. It might. She peppered kisses against his cheeks, she'd never done anything like that before today, but it might have been her last chance to so the woman took every opportunity.

A pudgy hand pressed against his other cheek and Gar pulled away to look at his baby sister.

"And you, little Mimi," He said, cradling her head in his hands before placing a kiss on her forehead, "Take care of Mom and Dad. They're a total handful."

The child stared at him, not understanding but smiling when he stuck out his tongue at her. His heart squeezed painfully at the innocence she held and the idea that he wouldn't be there to watch her grow up.

As much as Gar said this wasn't a goodbye, he sure was talking and feeling like it was.

At last, Gar turned to Steve, who held his hand out for Gar to shake. His adoptive father was a man of few words and subtle affections, but the look of sadness in the older man's eyes was obvious. Gar took it and gave it a sturdy shake.

"You've grown into a real man," was all Steve said, giving him a nod and a slight but proud smile. Warm feelings filled Gar's chest as he heard those words and let the man's hand go. The boy who had come to live with Steve four years ago had been a weak child who played video games as a replacement for living a life, but Steve's current acknowledgement made Gar realize how much he'd grown. There was danger in his future, but he was facing it, afraid, but unwavering.

"Thanks, Dad."

There was a moment when they all looked at each other in a sad but loving silence, but it was cut off by Steve, who said,

"You better get going. You have people counting on you."

Gar nodded and opened the door to leave. He spared his family one last glance to drink in the memory of his family. They made a beautiful picture, the two parents holding each other as the adorable infant cooed in her mother's arms. They'd be alright without him. They would survive.

He had to force himself to shut the door.

Once he had driven out of the driveway and was on his way to Wayne Manor, he let the lump in his throat take over and cried the whole way there, the image of his family never leaving his mind.

I never had the courage of my convictions
As long as danger is near
And it's just around the corner, darlin'

Vic hadn't spoken to his father since they had argued. Silas had called him multiple times and sent him multiple apologetic texts, but they were all ignored. Until the man left a voice mail or text that said 'I have a problem and I need help' Vic had vowed not to speak to the man.

That vow was about to be broken. Honestly, Vic hadn't expected his father's stubbornness or the hold that booze held over Silas, he'd underestimated how truly sick his dad was. In his expectations, Silas would reach out before the day of Trigon's plan. Now that there was a very real possibility that Vic could die tomorrow he was breaking his vow to see his father for what could be the last time.

A knot was present in his stomach as he pulled up to the lab his father worked at. Vic was picking up Pam tonight as well, who had readily agreed to be a part of the Titans' plan.

As the years passed, Vic's hatred of this lab had only grown, there were no good memories that had occurred in it that could outweigh the shit that had happened to him there. Whether it was the accident that killed his mom and blew his leg off or the dozens of encounters with his drunk father, it was all bad and made it as if the happy memories before it all had never happened.

Hopefully, this would be the last time he would have to step into this damned place.

As he made his way to the elevator, Pam was there waiting for him. Her red hair was flowing and wild, very unlike the ponytail she normally wore while in the lab. She waved to him,

"You ready to head out?"

"Not yet," Vic answered, "I want to check in on my Dad first, y'know, say goodbye and all that."

Pam's expression turned to a mix of discomfort and concern,

"Vic…I don't know if that's a good idea. He's...y'know...and I just want your last memory of him to be good."

"My last memory of him currently is pretty shit so I may as well remember him as he was, even if that's drunk."

"You really don't have to Vic."

"I want to."

Pam's face said she thought he was crazy, but she nodded despite her clear opinion on the subject,

"I'll wait down here."

"Thanks."

Vic took the route he'd taken for years and years, it was so familiar he was almost going in autopilot. The enamel white walls were bare-save for the occasional sign-and the doors were dull and unassuming.

When he reached the door with the nameplate 'Silas Stone' he stopped. For a moment he prepared himself, a deep inhale and exhale entered and exited his body as his hand hovered over the knob.

If someone asked, he'd say that he wanted to see his father before he left, but deep down, it scared him. To think that maybe the last time he'd see his dad would be when Silas was drunk wasn't exactly a comforting feeling. Still, for the sake of his dad, he needed to see him now. Vic would say everything he needed to say, and if he died, then at least maybe his father would recall his words and remember his son for that moment, rather than the argument they had months ago.

Biting the bullet, Vic opened the door and laid his eyes upon a familiar scene. Silas was surrounded by bottles and cans, some empty and some half-full. His head was facedown on the desk and his arms cradled it. Some of his research was also present, but it was clear the booze had taken priority.

"Dad?" Vic called out, wondering if Silas was even conscious.

Silas stirred and looked up from the desk blurrily. His eyes looked like they were struggling to even open halfway, there was a faint sense of recognition in them, but was too inebriated to fully comprehend what he was seeing.

The man grunted and made a whining sound, like a teenager having the lights in their room turned on before 10 am.

The pit in his stomach was heavy, but he was hardly surprised. Deciding it didn't matter, Vic resolved to say only what he needed to say and go.

"Hey. I know you won't remember this, but I hope you do. I'm gonna go fight some criminals and honestly, I might die. I hope that even if I do, you'll be able to pull your shit together. Mom would want that, and I do too. So, don't forget that my last wish was for you to be okay. I'm sorry about everything I said and if Pam lives and I don't, I'm sure she'll tell you everything that happened. Love ya."

It was an awkward speech, but what was he supposed to say?

Vic didn't cry. He wasn't usually a crier and he felt no tears coming on, but the dull ache in his chest was becoming less dull and more prominent. If Vic was being honest with himself, if he died tomorrow, his dad would go further off the deep end and hit rock bottom. That only made Vic's determination to live even stronger. He had to be there for Silas.

Clasping his father's shoulder affectionately he could barely manage a smile before he had to go.

"See ya later."

Silas merely stirred and showed no indication that he heard or understood what Vic had been saying. It was frustrating, sure, but what was he expecting at this point?

Letting out a sigh, Vic went out to the parking lot to meet Pam.

Pam was leaning against the car with her arms crossed, deep in thought.

"You good?" Vic asked as he approached her, "You seem distracted."

"I should be asking you the same thing," She replied, "Was your Dad lucid enough?"

"Nah," He shook his head, "It's whatever."

"Sorry kid."

"It is what it is," Vic shrugged, pushing down his disappointment, "But seriously, are you alright?"

"Conflicted."

"This have to do with Quinzel?"

"It's hard to get through to someone like Harleen. I'm not sure if I'll be able to," Pam admitted in an uncharacteristic moment of emotional honesty.

"You'll never know if you don't try. Maybe your history together will help."

"I just hope that's enough," Pam said, displaying a hint of sadness in her voice, "It wasn't the first time."

"Doesn't mean you give up on her." There was some irony to that statement. It felt like for the past four months he had given up on Silas…no…Vic had given up on his father years ago by letting him indulge himself all that time and not trying to get him to change. That needed to change if Vic survived the next few days. It would change. He was determined.

"You're pretty optimistic," Pam a huff of laughter escaping her mouth.

"Not really," Vic denied as he unlocked the car, knowing all the time that she was right. It was his best and worst trait.

Your integrity makes me seem small
You paint dreamscapes on the wall

Almost everybody had arrived at the hideout in the underground of the Wayne Estate. Kori had been here for a while, arriving that morning. While Gar and Vic had wanted to say goodbye to their families, Kori had no one to say goodbye to. Her blood family was now estranged from her, and Galfore—her former guardian—was out of town. She had given him a heartfelt phone call earlier, but still came to the meeting place hours before the expected time.

With little to do, Rachel had suggested a sparring session at one point. Kori's friend's gunshot wound was no longer causing the girl issues, which left her itching to train, and Kori still needed practice on utilizing her strength in combat. After a few hours, they called it and went back to doing nothing. Rachel retreated to her room, and Kori lingered in the meeting room.

In the early evening, people started trickling in. Vic and Pamela were the first to arrive, then Gar came in shortly after. While Vic and Gar joined Kori immediately, Pamela said she was going to look for Bruce and left nearly as soon as she arrived. Everyone seemed on edge and depressed. Kori could sympathize, she was so nervous she thought she might throw up, and the plan wasn't going to be put into action for another twenty-four hours.

There was some weak conversation, but it seemed that even the chattiest of the Titans were in no mood for the idle talk that would normally delight them. At some point, Rachel joined them, not even sparing them a verbal acknowledgement. Her mind appeared to be a million miles away.

Eventually, Richard entered the headquarters with a tired and serious expression on his face.

"Hey guys," He raised his hand in a casual wave, "Everyone good?"

He received minimal responses, either silence, shrugs, or grunts in acknowledgement. Richard rubbed his eyes, that rubbing naturally progressed to pinching the bridge of his nose. He appeared to be quite stressed.

"Is everyone coming tonight or is it just us?" Kori asked.

"I think Selina and Barbara Gordon are coming tomorrow. Barbara is prepping police forces and Selina…well she avoids Bruce when she can. Terra is with Deathstroke, but she knows the plan inside out so it should be a problem that we won't communicate with her before everything."

Kori nodded in understanding.

"I still don't like Terra going back to him," Gar frowned in disapproval, "Even if it is part of the plan."

"A little late to change that now, isn't it?" Richard sighed.

"What about Jinx?" Kori inquired, "Will she be here at any point?"

"She'll be with Trigon," Vic answered, "I talked to her earlier, she said she would go over a couple things with you Richard. Did she end up calling?"

"Yeah," Richard nodded, "Her, Gizmo, and their gaggle of freaks are ready when we are."

"Ah. Good."

Silence fell over them again. No one seemed to be looking at each other in the eyes and Kori could empathize. Normally, the group of them could find something to say, whether it was a joke, insult, question, or comment. Despite that, they had never been in this kind of situation before. Kori had no idea what to say. What was appropriate? That was unclear.

Richard, as usual, was the one to speak to the nervous room.

"Look, I know we're all on edge here and probably scared. But…I…" he seemed to debate his word choice before settling on one, "I promise that we'll be okay. Things might go wrong, but it'll all turn out…I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens."

The dark-haired man hardly seemed to believe his own shaky and drawn out words. His expression was tight and worried, but also was trying to convey a comforting aura. Like a father trying to comfort a child while both were in danger.

"Thank you, Richard," Kori said, a genuine but small smile emerging into her expression. He turned to her when she spoke and returned her expression with a gentle and grateful one of his own. His smile lightly tugged at his lips, simultaneously tugging at her heartstrings.

"I know everyone wants to go and do their own thing to prepare for tomorrow, but I need to tell you guys something first."

"Go ahead dude," said Gar, "We're all listening."

Richard's expression seemed pained, but also remorseful, as if he carried a lot of guilt on his shoulders,

"I…I'm sorry."

"What for bro?" Vic asked, "You've been working like crazy these past four months on all this, harder than any of us. You couldn't have done any better."

"It's not about tonight or the plan or anything!" Richard groaned, an inner-conflict surfacing as he ran his hands through his messy mop of hair, "I'm sorry for the shit I was planning to pull!"

Oh. Oh yeah. That.

Rachel said nothing, but crossed her arms and gave him an analyzing gaze with one eyebrow raised.

"Dude…" Vic started, "We ain't mad about that anymore."

"Speak for yourself," Rachel snapped, then realized the tone she'd spoken in. She sighed and closed her eyes, "I'm sorry Richard, I didn't mean to snap, keep going."

"No Rachel, it's okay," Richard answered angrily, upset at himself rather than at her, "I have been a total moron and I could have fucked everything up. Fuck! I was so selfish when I was supposed to lead us all, and I let all of you guys down." He looked over at Kori, his clear blue eyes met her bright green ones, "Especially you Kori."

She opened her mouth to say something but found herself too stunned to let out anything other than a pathetic 'oh'.

For that moment in time when they gazed at each other, it was like they were the only people in the world. Hearing an acknowledgement of the immense pain he'd caused her, it was unexpected and had a profound effect on her.

No one knew what to say either, except Gar who asked,

"Soooo…. just to clarify, you don't want to murder Slade anymore?"

Gar's words broke the trance Kori and Richard seemed to be in, and the two broke eye contact abruptly when he spoke. Kori coughed awkwardly.

"Oh, I want revenge more than ever," Richard admitted bluntly when he put his attention to Gar, "But does a recovering heroin addict ever not want heroin?"

No one in the room was a heroin addict, so Kori suspected that was why they didn't answer his question. Still, looking around the room at the reactions to Richard's confession, she thought maybe they forgave him. Even Rachel.

Something about his unprompted, honest apology—acknowledging his wrongdoings, while still admitting his struggle—made Kori think maybe she had forgiven him too.

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm
If your cascade ocean wave blues come

Gar's eyes shot open and he groaned in frustration. He was met with a dark room and an intricately designed ceiling. His eyes were already adjusted to the navy coloured darkness because he hadn't fallen asleep yet. He was in one of the many bedrooms in Wayne Manor—the one he usually slept in when he was staying over, which had been happening frequently during the past four months.

Reaching to the side table by the bed, Gar flipped his phone over to see the time.

2:38.

A groan escaped his mouth as he covered his eyes with his forearm. Sleep was escaping him despite his attempts to find it for nearly four hours. It wasn't like Gar was anxious or anything, he had been earlier, but surprisingly, a time passed he slowly became calmer and calmer. Despite all this, it was still nearly three in the morning and he was awake.

Giving up, he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. His head was pounding and he felt like shit, courtesy of his illness.

A walk. A walk would help him relax. The Wayne Manor grounds were huge and had a ton of scenery. That would be perfect.

Opting not to change from his draw-string pyjama pants and college hoodie, Gar grabbed his coat and threw it on.

The night was crisp and clear, no clouds were in the sky and the autumn air nipped at his nose. The grass which was always green during the day, was now a deep navy and the trees nearly black. Gar walked aimlessly and without thought, vaguely following the river that flowed throughout the ground, and listening to the crickets and the water.

Eventually, Gar found himself and the foot of a waterfall, the same one that led to the Titan's hideout.

In the black darkness, in front of the roaring falls, there was a hint of an even darker silhouette. Squinting his eyes, Gar could make out the outline of a person standing by the river. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be Rachel.

"Rae?" he called out, but not loudly. Volume wasn't needed in the quiet of the night. As he came closer and the moon shone a dim blue light downwards, he could see more clearly that it was Rachel standing there and she was staring at the sky.

Rachel turned her head to look at him when she heard his voice. She wore something very similar to him, her sweater engulfed her petite frame, and had her arms folded around herself like she was cold. Her short, dark hair was tied back, some hair escaping the knot.

"Gar?" She asked in a muted surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep," he answered as he to a place next to her and faced the river.

"Me too."

"Is your wound bothering you again?"

"No, it's feeling mostly better. I'm just…" she trailed off.

"Just what?" Gar prompted.

"I don't know."

"Yeah you do, you just don't want to tell me."

"Don't pressure me Gar."

"I'm not," he assured her easily, "Just speaking the truth."

Rachel let out a huff of humourless laughter,

"You do that a lot."

"Yeah."

"The moon is nice tonight," She said, completely transfixed by its image on the black blanket of sky above them, "It's easy to forget that there are such beautiful things in the world when I'm always keeping my head down."

"I don't know, you seem to be looking forward—even upwards—lately. You're hardly the same person I met in Science class."

"I should say the same about you."

"Duh, I got way hotter," he winked.

This time Rachel's chuckle rang genuine,

"Did Rita tell you that? Or did you figure that yourself?" she countered.

"Neither. You did."

"I absolutely did not," denied Rachel.

"Oh please, you can't stop checking me out when we're training. I know my sex appeal is strong, but your ogling is embarrassing," Gar indulged himself in some teasing.

"You have a beautiful imagination," Rachel said with a sideways smirk.

"If you say so."

"Are…are you alright?" Rachel asked, changing the tone of the conversation. Gar glanced at her face and though it was dark he could see the awkwardness in her expression and the discomfort (shyness?) in her body language.

It was kind of sweet that she found it hard to show concern. Sad? Sure. But it was touching that she still tried.

"Honestly, I was a little shaken after saying goodbye to my family, but I'm weirdly chill right now? Not sure why."

"It's kind of like how when your body is in so much pain your pain receptors stop working so you don't die from the shock," Rachel observed clinically.

Gar let out a bark of laughter,

"I mean, I guess, but that's freaking weird comparison, Rae."

"Rachel," she corrected.

"Come on, you're still not going to pretend you hate that nickname, right?"

"I do hate it."

"…Do you really? Because if you're being serious, I'll stop. It's fun to tease you, is all. Making you uncomfortable isn't something I want."

Rachel met his eyes and gave him a look that Gar couldn't deceiver. It seemed completely neutral, but also investigative and complex. He wished it was light enough that he could see her eyes clearly, they were his favourite thing about her. They told him so much without any words, they showed everything that Rachel was too scared to express, truly the windows to her very soul, as cliché as it sounded. She broke eye contact and looked back up.

"I guess not. I'm just weird with familiarity. Nicknames kind of imply that."

"Rachel," Gar said in a quiet but surprisingly firm voice.

She turned her head back to him, a little taken aback by his atypical tone.

"Yes?" she answered softly.

"You're one of the most important people in the world to me. Please don't say we aren't familiar, I…I would die for you if it meant you could live."

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but it seemed like words were failing her. Her brows were angled upwards in worry and she almost seemed scared. Gar felt a little bad for being so serious, but it was true. After everything they'd shared, of course, he would die for her. Admitting that was probably the most honest he'd been with anyone lately.

They stood there a few minutes, words unspoken flitted around them like floating dust, and their eyes couldn't seem to break from the other's. Gar's stomach flipped like a pancake as he swallowed hard.

The moment was broken by a gust of wind that caused Rachel to hug herself for warmth even more.

"You cold?"

Still flustered by the moment prior, Rachel averted her eyes from him, looking to his side.

"A—a little. I've been out here a while, so I might just try and sleep again."

"I'll walk you in," Gar offered, beginning to walk towards the entrance behind the waterfall.

"You don't have to," She mumbled.

Gar shook his head with a smile then nodded in the direction of the cave in an invite for her to follow.

Rachel gave him a look and pursed her lips before sighing in resignation and trailing behind him. They shimmied behind the waterfall, the spray lightly dusting them.

Gar continued walking down the cave. Heat was spreading across his face, and he was sure that if it wasn't red from the cold air, it certainly was now. It was embarrassing how the tiniest things about Rachel affected him so strongly—he really should have been desensitized to it by now—yet here he was, with his heart beating like a drum and completely floored by how beautiful she was with her monochromatic features bathed in moonlight.

Shit. Being poetic really didn't suit him.

Eventually, Gar stopped when he noticed that he couldn't hear a second set of footsteps behind him. He turned around to see Rachel's dark silhouette standing in front of the cascading water, facing it. If he had a camera, he would have taken the shot. The light was pouring through the translucent water and creating lights and shadows on the cave walls.

"Rachel?"

All these people think love's for show
But I would die for you in secret

She hardly registered her name being called. Her ears were pounding like she was underwater and she should hardly distinguish the water in front of her flowing into the river from the tears that pricked the edges of her vision. Blinking them away was proving more difficult than she thought.

Dammit.

"Rachel?" Gar repeated. Footsteps came closer as he walked back towards her.

Why was she being like this? Scratch that, why was he being like this? Did he think that saying he'd die for her gave her any comfort? Because it didn't. Putting aside the surge of affection she'd felt for him when he'd uttered those words, only sadness and fear remained.

Sadness that he'd attached himself so strongly to someone as destructive and undeserving as her, and fear that he'd do something stupid that left her in a world without him.

"What is it, Rae?" Gar inquired softly, walking right behind her and trying the bold move of taking her hand into his.

Not allowing herself the pleasure of the physical contact, Rachel broke it. Not hard enough to call it a wrenching away, but it wasn't without force either. Rachel's hand then swiftly went to cover her eyes, both because she wanted to wipe any tears in her eyes (she refused to cry), and because she knew that if she didn't cover them, more tears would form when she looked at him.

"I'm fine Gar. Just go back to the house."

"Stop pushing me away," he said, that serious voice from earlier was returning. Did he know what that tone did to her? She didn't think so.

After taking a few moments to compose herself, Rachel's hand fell and she adjusted her neck to look at Gar, who was now standing at her left side and facing her. His eyes didn't have its usual playful spark, and it was replaced with an expression of something that made her wonder when exactly he had grown up from the immature boy who had poked her repeatedly to get her attention in class years ago.

"Gar…please don't say you'll die for me."

"Why not?"

"Because I hate you when you say that," she said, trying to be as cold and curt as possible.

"Well I love you, and that's why I would."

Rachel's breath caught in her throat, her heart couldn't decide whether to soar or sink.

"Don't say that either."

"Why Rachel," Gar asked, voice deep, "You can't pretend that you didn't know. I've told you that a million times without words."

"Of course, I knew," Rachel despaired, voice catching as well, "It tortures me."

"It tortures me too."

"So why bear it?"

"Because every burden you're carrying would be a pleasure for me if you'd put them on my shoulders instead."

Looking away and downwards Rachel smiled sadly,

"Being poetic doesn't really suit you."

"I know, but I'm serious. Rachel, your pain has been apparent to me for so long. For years, I've known that you'll be plagued by it for years, and I can't take it away, but I think...I can be a help to you."

"I…I'm scared," Rachel admitted, never feeling smaller and more vulnerable than she did speaking those words.

"You don't have to be," Gar said in a near-whisper, "You think you're alone Rachel, but you're not. You haven't been since the day we saved you in that detention room. It's not just me you can rely on; you can rely on all of us. We all love you; I just do…a little differently." He chuckled softly and scratched the back of his head shyly, "Am I making any sense?"

Rachel looked up again and froze a moment, a thousand words danced on the tip of her tongue but none of them escaped. Communicating through words was never her strong suit, so she just let her actions say everything.

Suddenly, Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. Her eyes squeezed shut and her grip on him tightened as if it would be the last time, she could do this.

Who knows, it might have been.

Rachel inhaled deeply and let the breath go, he smelled like…himself. The light musk of cheap shampoo and his natural scent. Gar was stiff for a moment, but when his shock wore off his body relaxed and she felt the pressure of his arms wrapping around her middle, returning the embrace. It didn't erase the weight on her shoulders, but she thought—very deep in the back of her mind—that maybe it felt a little more bearable.

Rachel pulled away slightly to look at his face. The moving light making its way through the wall of water illuminated one side of his face in a cool blue light. There was a softness to him, but a hardness that had been there for as long as she'd known him—probably since his childhood. It was a beautiful sight. A bittersweet moment.

Her fingers were folded together behind his neck, and his palms still lightly gripped her sides. Without thinking much about it, Rachel's hands separated from each other, and grazed his skin until they met his cheeks. Both of the two's faces weren't far from each other—mere inches—and Gar's eyes widened at the intimacy. He seemed to be holding his breath completely.

A smile fell on her face, barely there, but gentle enough that his nervousness melted away and he mirrored her smile himself. She stroked his cheek with one of her thumbs, absentmindedly, getting lost in the feeling. When Gar finally breathed again, she was reminded of their closeness.

A desire in her heart emerged from its depths, it defeated all anxiety and apprehension and made its way to her surface. How long it had been there, she couldn't guess. Years? Seconds? It was indecipherable.

Tentatively, Rachel angled her jaw upwards and closed the distance between them.

It was hardly a touch, a ghost, a mere breath of contact. From the little she felt, she could feel the slight chapped texture of his lips, but more than that, pressed up against him, she could feel his heart in his chest, beating wildly.

They lingered there for a few moments before slowly they broke the kiss.

The eye contact they made was too much for Rachel to handle after that intimate display, she felt overwhelmed. Gar must have thought the same because—practically in unison, they turned their heads quickly to the side to avoid eye contact. Rachel's hand made a fist and placed it over the bottom half of her face in an attempt to cover the embarrassed expression on her face. Gar had something similar in mind, covering his own mouth and cheeks with his forearm. Her face felt hot and she was glad it was dark so he couldn't see it.

They couldn't look at each other for a few moments, too shy after what had just transpired. Plucking up her courage, Rachel's head remained turned away, but set her eyes back to look at the man in front of her. Gar did the same.

Five seconds of frozen and timorous staring at one another passed, the awkwardness was practically a physical entity, then Gar did something that startled her.

He threw his head back and laughed. A lot. He clutched his stomach, his smile bright, and his eyes turning to half-moons as a result.

At first, Rachel only stared at him in frozen confusion, but watching his candidness made it so she couldn't help herself when her own smile spread across her face, and laughter came forth from her own throat. It was more reticent than Gar's, but it was there.

Why they were laughing, well there were a few answers to that. Rachel could only speak for herself, but it was a combination of their identical bashfulness, her finding Gar's reaction genuinely amusing, and the happiness she felt spreading through her gut and into her whole body. All those combined made it so she couldn't stop the reaction.

For some reason, people described love as a feeling of falling or soaring. Wild. Uncontrollable. Like being on a roller coaster. Rachel disagreed. If love was indeed what she was feeling—and still she wasn't sure —it felt nothing like that. It was a feeling of calming and contentment…a feeling of reprieve.

And what a lovely thing it was to experience.

The devil's in the details
But you got a friend in me
Would it be enough
If I could never give you peace?

- Taylor Swift (Peace)

Well, that last moment only took 7.5 years and over 120 000 words. Truly the slowest of burns.

Again, thanks for the reviews and support. They keep me writing. Next chapter we'll get the beginning of the climax and some action. Home stretch my friends.