Chloe was lying alone in her room crying softly — what the hell else was new — when she heard a soft knocking at her door.

"Chloe? I have something for you," Joyce said, sounding… perky. Happy, almost.

"I don't care," Chloe called, stifling another sob. She actually felt irritated at her mother's chipper tone. What the hell was there to be cheerful about? Dad was still dead. Max was still gone. And after two more weeks with no contact despite the plea in her letter, it was looking more and more likely that Max really did want nothing to do with her after all.

Stupid, she chastised herself for the millionth time. She probably didn't even open it.

"Oh, I think you'll care quite a lot about this," Joyce said, her tone not even slightly dampened by Chloe's attitude."You've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

Waiting for… does… does she mean…

The knob shook as Joyce tried to open the locked door. Instead of demanding that Chloe unlock it like she might have normally done, there was the soft scratch of something sliding across the floor. "I did tell you not to assume the worst, didn't I?"

Chloe managed to lift her head as her mother's footsteps echoed down the stairs. Something had slid under her door. A thick white envelope, with faint writing in black ink.

Her heart missed a beat.

She leapt out of bed so fast her legs got caught up in her blankets and brought her slamming to the floor. She shook off the pain and crawled the rest of the way to the envelope. She snatched it off the floor and held it in shaking hands, her eyes getting teary again as she read the familiar handwriting, from a return address in Seattle.

She actually made me wait for snail mail for her reply… Asshole, Chloe thought with a broad smile.

She didn't even bother going back to her bed to tear the envelope open. Several sheets of notebook paper fell out, along with a thick rectangle that Chloe instantly recognized as a Polaroid. She took that first and spun it around.

Max. There she was.

It was a selfie, of all things; she'd never wanted to take pictures of herself without Chloe in them before. She still looked basically the same as the last time Chloe had seen her, with her brown hair in a ponytail, her face full of freckles, and her sense of fashion wildly in need of outside care. However, there were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes — she'd obviously been sleeping poorly, and crying somewhat recently. The small smile on her face didn't reach her eyes, which were almost pleading. In her free hand, she held up a small note card with a simple message scrawled in black marker: I'M SORRY.

Chloe's mind immediately went into overthinking mode. Sorry? Sorry about what? Could it mean "Sorry that this is the last time you'll ever hear from me because this letter is actually telling you to fuck off?"

She had an easy way to find out. Still sprawled out on the floor, she took the pages of Max's letter and held them above her head, slowly reading through every single word of her best friend's writing.

Dear Chloe,

I am so, so, SO fucking sorry. Get used to reading that, I'm going to be saying that a lot. No amount of saying it can ever express how sorry I am. And it won't fix things between us. But it's a good place to start.

Before I say anything else, I need to state the explicit intent of this letter, because if I know you as well as I think do, your mind is definitely going into overthink mode right about now. You're probably thinking I'm saying sorry because this is like my breakup letter to you, right? Give me an "Aye aye, Captain," if I'm right.

Chloe gave a shallow chuckle and a mumbled "Aye aye, Captain." Damn it, Max did know her too well.

Wow, I could hear that from Seattle.

Well, your Captain orders you to stop overthinking. This isn't like a breakup letter. I am, in no uncertain terms, still your best friend, and I always will be. Forever DOES mean forever, even if I haven't been the best at showing that recently.

I say again in case you skipped the last paragraph: I STILL VERY MUCH WANT TO BE YOUR BEST FRIEND, THIS IS NOT ME TELLING YOU GOODBYE. GOT IT?

Okay. Now. Anyway. On to addressing the elephant in the massive pile of elephants that might once have been a room.

I'm so so so sorry for being the shittiest excuse for a best friend on the face of the Earth. You've needed me and I haven't been there for you when I should have been. I just left you high and dry for six months without even so much as a call. You have every right to be pissed at me. I know you thought parts of your letter were harsh, but I'd argue it wasn't harsh enough. It shouldn't have been on you to get in touch, with everything you're going through right now. That's all on me. I regret every single day of those months more than anything else in my life. Even more than asking out that cute boy in science class.

Chloe managed a full laugh this time. She'd never let Max live down how flustered she'd gotten when that happened, back in third grade. The happy memory was exactly what she needed in the midst of the heavier shit.

Let me preface this next part by saying that there is NO EXCUSE for me neglecting you like that. I'm going to try to explain what shitty brainflows of mine led to that, even though it's NO EXCUSE. Full responsibility is still on me, I have NO EXCUSE.

Losing William… it was hard on me too. It still is now. With how much time we spent at your house instead of mine, how amazing he always was at encouraging us and keeping us in line while still allowing us our freedom to explore and be ourselves… He was like a second father to me, Chloe. I still have no idea how to process that. I still cry myself to sleep thinking about him. And if it's like that for me, it must be ten times worse for you. You needed me through this now more than ever, and I failed you.

I guess… Subconsciously, I was still trying to deny that it happened. That back in Arcadia Bay, very far away from me, he was still alive and well. If I had to face your grief as well as mine, I wouldn't be able to keep thinking that. It would become real. No more pretending.

Yes, that's right. I didn't call you doing your darkest hour of need because I wanted to play pretend. I'm the shittiest best friend ever, maybe the shittiest person ever.

I think I stopped pretending a while ago, but by then we hadn't talked in months, and at that point it was anxiety at getting in contact after so long. What could I say to you to make up for that? Would you even want to hear it? Did you hate me? All those thoughts and so many more kept me from getting up the strength to make the call like I should have.

And now that I'm done explaining my shitty brain's shitty reasoning, I again say that it's all NO EXCUSE. What I did hurt you, and that's unforgivable. It hurt me a lot too. It's like you said, I've just been waiting. I don't have any friends here in Seattle. You know me, always the introvert. I just go to school, do my homework, come home and lie down and cry. I barely even do photography these days. The selfie with this letter is the first picture I've taken in weeks.

I can't express how happy I was when your letter came. I laughed and smiled for the first time in a long time. Even your harshest words were precious to me. Chloe Price, going to the trouble of handwriting a letter for me? All that passion in all your words. I could just feel how much you cared in every single line on those pages. I may have gotten a few more tear stains on it. Regretful tears mostly, but happy ones too.

You shouldn't have had to do it, but thank you so much for sending that letter, Chloe. It gave me a much needed wake up call. This bullshit ends now. We're Max and Chloe, and I'm going to start acting like it again.

I suppose I should apologize for the extra time you had to spend thinking I hated you while you waited for this letter to arrive, but after seeing all the effort and passion you put into yours, I just had to return the favor. It may be sentimental hipster bullshit, but I do believe there's something special in words written by someone's hand. They say so much more than spoken words can ever hope to.

So let me make the most of it by saying what I would be too chickenshit to say out loud. Chloe, you're a light in my life that I don't know how to see without. I've missed you every single hour since I had to move away. You're my best friend, my partner in crime, and I would do anything for you. I swear to you now, I'll never let you down like that again. The Arcadia Bay pirates WILL sail together again, someday. Until then, we're going to keep in touch in every way that we can.

As soon as you're done reading this letter, I want you to call me. Or, whenever you're ready to, I suppose. Maybe you're still a bit too pissed at how long I made you wait for a reply. If you are, please, call me and yell at me for it. I can take it, I deserve it. Or wait until I've had to wait just as long as you did, if it'll make us even. I know I know, asking you to be the one to call is a real dick move after you sent the first letter, but it's the only way I can be sure you've gotten this. If you haven't called by the end of the month, I'm calling you. I NEED to hear your voice again.

Once that first call is made, there's nothing stopping us. We can talk each others' ears off until our mothers get sick of listening to it. But… this is presumptuous as hell of me after the bullshit I've pulled and what you're going through right now… Can you still write a reply to this letter and send it to me? Like I said, there's something special about having your written words in my hand. I hope you get what I mean. I'll send a reply back, with more pictures if you want them! Hopefully some happier looking ones.

And now this has turned into a full novella, and I see what you mean about the hand cramps. I have so much more I'd like to say, but there's not enough paper in the world. The rest will just have to wait for our phone call. I'm literally counting down the minutes until I can talk to you again. I really hope that's soon. Nothing would make me happier.

Once more, for the people in the back: I'm so fucking sorry. Never again, I promise. We're Max and Chloe forever. Can't wait to hear from you.

Your (definitely still) best friend,

Max

Chloe was sobbing again. This time, they were happy tears.

She wasn't religious, but thank god. Max didn't hate her. Max wanted her back. The only thing keeping them apart those months had been a mixture of grief, anxiety, and stupidity. Not anymore. Max wanted her back. She hugged Max's letter to her chest and cried on her bedroom floor, overcome with such overwhelming relief that she had no other way to express it.

There's a much better way to express it: to HER you dumbass!

She scrambled to her feet, pausing only to carefully lay the pages and the photo on her desk, then bolted for the door. She took the stairs down three at a time, nearly crashing into the wall next to the front door. Joyce said something from the kitchen that Chloe ignored as she dashed to the phone. She swore as she dialed the number incorrectly and had to start again. When she finally hit dial and put the phone to her ear, it was shaking against her head.

The seconds of ringing were agonizing. When they finally ended and a voice greeted her that wasn't Max's, she nearly swore again.

"Caulfield residence," a man's voice said.

"Hey, Ryan," Chloe said softly, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. "It's Chloe. Is Max around?"

"Good to hear from you, Chloe," Ryan said, sounding much more upbeat. "She's been waiting. Hold on."

She could hear his voice faintly yelling for Max. Barely a few seconds later, there was a commotion on the other end of the line, followed by distinct heavy breathing.

"Chloe?"

She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. "Max…"

"You called," Max said as if she didn't believe it.

"Of course I did, you idiot," Chloe chuckled. "You told me to."

"Chloe, I'm so, so sorry, I was an idiot, and a terrible friend, I swear I'm never going to—"

"Shut up, just shut up," Chloe snapped, to which Max obeyed. "You already said all that in your letter, okay? You don't need to say it anymore. I forgive you. Completely."

"O-Okay… It's… really good to hear your voice again, Chloe."

"Yeah, yours too," Chloe said, trying not to make her next round of tears audible. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again. Not even written words could express that.

Joyce peaked out from around the corner. She had a knowing smile on her face as she gave Chloe a thumbs up. Chloe gave a shaky one back. Chloe had her ray of light back again. Perhaps with that, she could be a ray of light for Joyce. Perhaps they could start to heal.

"Well, don't just breath at me all night," Chloe said in the characteristic snark she reserved for Max. "You already know what Arcadia Bay is like, but you've got six months worth of the Seattle experience to catch me up on! Start talking, Caulfield!"

"O-Of course!" Max said, a bit startled, but all too happy to start talking again. "Well, it's probably not the experience you would have, introvert that I am, but there are some cool things…"

They talked like that for literal hours. Chloe didn't bother keeping track of time. The smile never left her face as she listened to the tones of her best friend's voice. She'd never take that sound for granted again. Max traded stories about Seattle, and Chloe in turn talked about the local drama Max had missed out on. They didn't talk about anything heavy like Chloe's dad yet. That could wait for another time, another call. Right now they were just happy to be together again, if only in an incomplete way.

They only stopped when Max's parents forced her to hang up and go to bed. Their goodbye was prolonged, with many promises for another call the next day. When Chloe finally set down the handset, she was tired, but still beaming broadly. The void of the last six months didn't seem quite so big anymore.

Tired as she was when she got back to her room, the first thing she did was start looking for more notebook paper… and some colored pencils.