Frankly, she's a little ashamed of herself.
When she twirled away from her ex-boyfriend and walked out the giant lobby glass doors last week, she knew she would be sad. She had been attached, after all. There's going to be an inevitable season of mourning. There's going to be ice cream and stress and maybe a night or two of crying herself to sleep. There may even be a pleasant dream of him that she won't want to wake up from.
But she's done all that, and she's checked off every single item on the list of things she knows she may possibly want or need to do before she can finally move on from her false yet oh-so-real relationship.
And yet, here she is, alone on her sofa with puffy eyes and a huge clump of tangled hair under her fingers as the credits roll on her laptop screen. It's funny how even the funniest movies become tear-jerkers when you're break-up fresh.
And it's not okay.
It's not okay to be this wrecked by a break-up she initiated. It's not okay to behave just like every fictional helpless heroine she's criticized over the years.
She will function without a man, and she will be her own person even after she's basically been forced to carve out a piece of her heart and trample it on the ground.
Shakespeare may never have meant it in a romantic way, but this whole ordeal really has cost her a pound of flesh.
Her doorbell rings.
And she just knows it's probably some kind of food delivery that she's ordered in a trance and forgotten about right after. She's lucky she earns a good paycheck. Not everyone has the luxury of spending this much on stress eating.
Judging from the beautiful collection of coats she's stuffed into her closet over the last few days, retail therapy is a thing too.
The doorbell rings again.
"Coming!" Lizzie sniffs away a threatening runny nose. She pulls the blanket off of her bare legs, grabs the wallet beside her laptop, and shuffles towards the door in her Hello Kitty night shirt. She may be a mess, but she's pretty sure most delivery folks have seen a lot worse than -
"Lizzie."
Her jaw drops.
And she regrets every single grooming decision she's made in the last six hours.
She's been to the office, in nice if wrinkled clothes, and combed hair and decent make-up. She's even worn heels just this morning.
But, of course, he had to come see her when she looks like this.
"Will."
He nods. He doesn't look great - well, not that great. The stubble on his jaw looks a day or two past due. His collar lies unevenly on his shoulders. His eyes, despite the dark circles, look mesmerizingly at her.
"May I come in?"
She hesitates. She hesitates, because she's not sure if she wants to say yes, not sure if she wants to give that pound of flesh any chance to shimmy its way back into her life. She hesitates, because she's not really sure what's happening is happening.
"Liz - "
"Of course." She steps to the side. He nods and wanders in. She bites her lip while shutting the door behind them.
"Have you had dinner?" He asks, turning.
"I - " She frankly doesn't even know. "I'm not hungry."
"I see."
"Yeah."
They stand silently, facing yet not facing each other. She looks up whenever he looks up. Then someone always breaks eye contact to stare at the floor, or the wall, or anything before it starts all over again.
"Why are you here?" She blurts, when it's taken far too long for her to care anymore.
He sighs. He's obviously nervous. It's the same look he had on his face before his speech, the same look he had when she's first met Georgiana. It's beyond clear to her that his showing up here is a result of some kind of extensive deliberation. It's just not very clear what conclusion his deliberating has led him to.
"I know it's not an airport," he says.
She's instantly confused.
"And I know I've driven over instead of breaking into a run," he adds. She listens quietly. "I don't have a big speech prepared, or some sort of grand gesture. I know I've done every single rom-com trope wrong - as Ms. Collins has magnanimously informed me. I haven't stopped traffic or put myself in danger. I don't have some kind of trinket or token to show you to remind you of our time together. I don't have anything, really."
She blinks. "Alright."
"I - I'm not a romantic guy, Lizzie, and I frankly don't know what I'm supposed to be doing half the time." He steps a little closer. "But I know that I'm in love with you. And I know that this past week has been utterly miserable without you. I know I want to eat all my lunches and my dinners with you. I know I want to have you next to me to squeeze my fingers when I get nervous right before a speech, or when I need help with a prying aunt or a swooning sister. I - I love you, and I want to do everything I can to be for you what you've been for me since Ms. Collins set us up last year."
Lizzie gulps. She's trying not to cry.
She's failing.
"I loved being around your family. I loved talking about my day with you. I loved buying takeout and eating on the couch as we talk about everything and nothing. And I guess it's just taken me the long way round to realize that I loved all of those things because I'm actually in love with you."
She holds her breath as he strays even closer.
"And I guess what I want to know - what I came over to ask - is if it's okay - for you to be in love with me too?"
It's not eloquent, and it's not grand. It's not even properly phrased as sentences go.
But for some reason, the clunkiness of his confession and the simplicity of his stuttering sincerity are far more potent than the most gratifying rom-com grand gestures on screen.
Slowly, she slides her hands on his shoulders, and she whispers as gently as she can, "I suppose it's okay - given that I already am."
It takes a second, but his face breaks into the most handsome grin on the planet when her words finally sink in. She smiles too. And when he kisses her hard, on the lips, with wandering hands and teasing lips and bodies bending to accommodate each other, she figures a Hello Kitty nightshirt can be as good as a dress.
The telltale sounds of fumbling bags and jingling keys are what wake him the next morning.
He winces a little when the light from the window hits his eyes at an awkward angle. Sprawled on the couch, with Lizzie's dead weight draped all over his chest, isn't the most orthopedically efficient way to fall asleep in.
But, hey, he's not complaining.
More huffing and grumbling echo through Lizzie's closed front door.
Darcy blinks. Who exactly would be visiting his girlfriend - at least, he thinks she's his girlfriend now - this early in the morning?
Given the way that Lizzie is practically snoring over his mostly-unbuttoned shirt, it doesn't seem like he'll get any answers from her anytime soon. He can't deny, after all, that they did sleep pretty late last night. And even when they did, things had unfolded in a less-than-deliberate sort of way.
Darcy shifts slightly, just to keep his eyes away from the assault of direct eyesight.
"Lizzie!" The scratching outside stops just before the loud, female voice starts barking. "Did you change your locks again?"
Now, Darcy is mostly sure who's standing outside.
"Lizzie?" He nudges her by the hair, his free hand on her back. He kisses her forehead. She just snuggles closer. He smiles. "Lizzie, I think your moth - "
"There!" Mrs. Bennet bursts into the apartment, eyes roaming all over the mess of plates, utensils, and strewn outerwear. "What is - "
Her eyes land on Darcy for one whole second before the screaming starts.
"Lizzie! A man! Are you serious!"
Darcy takes the punch in the gut helplessly as Lizzie, freshly awoken, elbows him in the ribs to pull herself up.
"What is - "
"Have we taught you nothing, child! You said you would be good in the city, and we believed that you would - "
"Mom? What are you even - "
"And to find you on the couch with a boy!"
"Mom, you know Will! And it's not what you think - "
"His tie on the ground and your shoes all over?" Mrs. Bennet plants her fists on her hips. "Do you think I'm blind, child?"
"No," Lizzie huffs. Even red in the face, she's gorgeous. "Mom, look, I don't even know why you think it's remotely alright to come here unannounced."
"Well, I am glad I did! Oh, what would Pastor Ron say!"
"I don't care what he says, Mom, because nothing happened!"
"How can you - how can we - "
"Mrs. Bennet," Darcy tries to intervene. Lizzie looks helplessly at him. He takes her hand. "Mrs. Bennet, I hope you understand that I only have the best intentions in - "
"You!" Her mother screeches, eyes zooming in on Darcy again. Both he and Lizzie stare hollowly back. "You have better marry her now, young man."
Of all the things that Mrs. Bennet could sputter - she goes for the least expected.
And Darcy, with a glance at a blushing and chuckling Lizzie, looks back at the outraged woman with a smile of his own.
And he replies, with every sincerity, "Maybe I will."
A/N: I hope you liked the resolution! I couldn't resist throwing in a screeching Mrs. Bennet. I don't know why. Just one short and fluffy epilogue to go :)