[A/N: Very sorry for taking so long to update. All my fault, but I'm here now. Whee!
The beginning of this chapter (Michael's flashback, I mean) is somewhat odd. I would say it's slightly OOC, but it depends on how you take it in. You'll see what I mean. And I'm warning you all right now, but sappy story alert, at least for the next two chapters or so. But I think you guys will like it.
And I've written you guys a much longer chapter this time, because I love you all so darn much. This is my flashback chapter, where I actually have to explain all this so you guys all understand what I'm clawing at.
This entire story will probably end up at ten chapters or so. We're more than halfway done. Bummer, eh?
Anyways, thanks again for reviewing! (micarmine05, you and your friends are just too sweet...) Happy reading, folks.]

---------------------------------------------------

Michael's POV

"Excuse me, excuse me… you will be asked to clear all your belongings within the next three days. Please keep this in mind as you prepare to leave the premises." A groan rippled through the crowd, in which packing and cleaning were the least important things on everyone's mind. The person at the podium cleared his throat, waiting for complete silence. "Ahem. But before we let you go, we would like to thank you for your service during the last four years. We hope you realize just how much your effort was appreciated. The best of luck to you in the future!"
And with those words, I was free. Absolutely free! The crowd around me whooped out loud in joy, the guys thumping each other on the back. The feeling was absolutely exhilarating. Everyone spilled out of the building and outside into the blackness of the evening, a great deal of people still screaming, and I just watched, a smile spreading across my face.
"Come on, Moscovitz," one of my (technically, now former) roommates yelled into my ear. "We're all heading down to the club, bet you don't want to miss out!"
Freedom.
I grinned and joined the rest of the crew.
It was a short walk, but just on our way there, I saw fellow guys lining up to use the pay phone, enjoying the ability to keep in contact with loved ones. I frowned, realizing that I didn't have my cell phone with me (I had never used it in the last four years, so where the heck could it be by now?) and resolved to touch base in New York after the fun.
The atmosphere was absolutely crazy. Insane, to put it lightly. I had downed three glasses of some sort of spiked beer (if that could even be possible, but I didn't completely know what I was drinking) that my friends tossed at me, and the lightheadedness that greeted me was an odd change. Colors swirled, the music thumped into my ears, and I felt overpowering. Macho Michael Moscovitz.
There was a girl. A red-headed beauty who had slunk over to where I was sitting, and began to flip her hair so that it continually smacked my head. Her voice was melodic, tinted with flirtation, and her long lashes made her eyes stand out, forcing me to just gape at her. She wore a low cut shirt of some sort and didn't bother to hide her toned midriff. It all left me speechless, and with her giggling in my face, with no space between us, my head was spinning.
"Lilly!" The attractive redhead called out to a blonde girl, most likely a friend, and pointed over to a strict non-drinker friend of mine who seemed awfully bored. "He'll enjoy your company." The two winked at each other, and the blonde jumped onto my friend's lap. I turned my head away and tried, unsuccessfully, to sort my thoughts out.
"Lilly?" I slurred, questionably. "That's my sister's name… she's best friends with someone named Mia… she's my girlfriend… Mia's my girlfriend… she's some princess…"
"Shhh…" Miss Redhead put a finger to my lips but I slapped it away. I barely noticed that her other hand was snaking up my neck and playing around with my hair.
"She was a princess!" I yelled out loud as I gulped down my fourth glass, slamming it down on the table like they always showed in the movies. The room was spinning and the redhead grabbed a shot of something off another table and poured it into my mouth. She began nibbling my neck and I gulped the strong stuff down. "I haven't been allowed to talk to her for four years, and I'm nearly crazyyyyy for her!"
The girl looked up at me amusedly, but I could tell, even when I was only half-alive, that she was beginning to get a bit bored. Her scathing eyes beckoned me to dive into the fun, to meet her halfway, instead of talking about Mia. But I couldn't.
"She's supposed to call me tonight! I'm waiting! Where the fuck is she?"
Was that right? Had we decided that she would call me first? I couldn't remember anymore. It sounded right… Mia would never force me to make the first move.
"She forgot you. But I'm here for you, now." Miss Redhead purred into my ear, and I found myself kissing her, losing myself in her, and falling onto the floor with her on top of me.

"Things have changed, Michael."

Her words were nothing more than a whisper. Was she being sarcastic? A solemn expression was stamped onto her face, her eyes honest and round. That look reminded me of the classic deer in headlights, but I shook the image away. It was much more serious than that. She quickly brightened up, however, attempting to shake off the coldness that had gathered around us, and a toothy smile lit up her face. "Yeah. Like I said. Things have changed. But it is good to see you, Michael."

Something wasn't right. Something felt empty, too bright, too cheery. But Mia was smiling.

"Same to you?" I wrung my hands together.

Mia slowly reached into her purse and pulled her cell phone out. "Do you mind," she began to ask, "if you give me your number? You know, us being 'reuniting friends' and all."

I realized how hard it was for her to ask me that.

The hangover I had experienced the next morning made me absolutely delirious. I was surprisingly relieved to realize I had not gotten into too much trouble the night before – according to the friend who had been sitting with me, the redhead had cleverly managed to unbutton my shirt, but I had fallen completely asleep seconds later. My friend, realizing that what I needed was some rest, had shrugged the blonde off his lap and had dragged me away from the redhead, much to their dismay. He had merely carried me back to the base and dumped me in my room so I could get some rest. I spent my first full day of freedom, pretty much trying to chill out and get back to normal. The morning afterwards, my former base roommates came by to pick me up. "Remember, Michael? You paid for the plane ticket to California last month. It's time to head back to the mainland, brother. Yesterday was nothing; the fun begins on the West Coast. Time to get your move on. Let's load your stuff into the car, eh? Plane's scheduled to leave in two hours."
I was still dizzy and half-conscious, but the trip to California, the real beginning of our freedom, was something that had never left my mind. And I was determined to not let the fact that I had had too many drinks the night before get in the way of my plans. I let the guys carry my things to the idling car outside, and attempted to shove my spare change, keys, and wallet into my pockets. My pockets. I shoveled my hands through, waiting for my fingers to clamp around my phone, but all I found were gum wrappers and… lint.
"Dude," I sputtered out, "anyone know where my cell phone is?"
The guys had groaned, inaudibly muttering about the lack of time, but had helped me search for it. "Can't find it," several of them muttered, after clawing through my boxes. "You sure you even brought it with you to Hawaii?"
"Yeah." I remembered that I had talked on my cell phone with my parents on the plane ride here. But, I slowly realized, that was the last time I had ever seen it. Or used it.
"Man, Moscovitz, we're sorry, but it's nowhere around here. You better cancel service on that thing, it's a goner, and just get a new one in San Francisco, eh? The deals are better there, anyways. Cheap is good, you know?"
"Aw, dammit. I need my phone." There was no doubt in my mind that I needed to call someone. The thought kept nagging at me, something about some promise I had made a while back. I shut my eyes as the car rolled towards the airport, trying to remember, but all I felt was a headache. "Damn. Remind me to never drink four beers in a row again." I cussed underneath my breath, pissed off at myself that everything felt so fuzzy.
I had no choice but to follow the advice of my pals, as we were in a hurry, and slowly began collecting money the minute we reached the mainland. Money for a new, high-tech phone, complete with a new number. And I soon got one. All mine.
I wandered around a lot during those days in California. I had no purpose, everything was pointless, and I had a sort of aimless, dozing-off manner about me. I couldn't remember half of the important things in my life-before-the-military. And I didn't try, either. I liked living in my own alternate universe, in this "don't worry, be happy" sort of fairytale. It was what I needed, and I didn't bother to go back. Waking up, finding a donut to eat, chasing girls on the beach, hanging out with friends, but always staying clear of bars and pubs. My daily routine. There was nothing else to say, except for the fact that everything was just lazy and boring.
And then, one day, a few weeks after landing in California, I saw it in the newspaper. "Princess Amelia of Genovia: Temporary Career in New York." It was like a sudden waterfall, the way things came tumbling down, in one huge rush. The memories spilled out of nowhere, and I was forced to remember. I was jarred back into reality. Back to my life where Mia meant everything. Hesitantly, as I remembered all that I had left behind in New York, I had tried to call her from a pay phone, to see if she still remembered me.
It turned out that her old cell phone number was out of service. This didn't make sense, at first, as I had always thought that we would get together again. But in all reality, I knew that I had nothing to say. 'I'm probably no longer a part of her life now.'
And the years continued to pass by, not waiting for me to catch up with the race.

I gave her my number, and she, in turn, gave me hers. It was a formal, simple exchange of seven numbers each, to be used to the caller's discretion. Like on the food pyramid or on a nutrition label – "to be used sparingly". It killed me inside.

"Well," she said, as she gathered her things and slowly stood up. "I better get going. I still need to go find a spare pair of keys so that I can be at the apartment to greet my roommate. It was… nice meeting you?"

I stood up with her. "You know," I whispered, leaning across the table to get a good look into her eyes, secretly hoping that what I was about to say wasn't too completely unnecessary, "Things happened after the four year span. I was confused. I wasn't thinking right. I didn't change my phone number on purpose, if you wondered. I tried to call, later on, I really did. The timing just sucked, Mia, it really did."

"Oh, really? That's done and over with now, Michael, you know that." Her tone was almost listless, yet almost scolding. She paused. "I don't know how else to say it, but things have really changed. And I'm not just saying that for the fun of it, you know?"

Mia looked at me, almost pleadingly, then gave me a quick hug and walked out. I clenched my fists, realizing what kind of situation I had been thrown into, and could only look down at my feet as Mia disappeared from my life once more.

---------------------------------------------------

Mia's POV

I nearly ran out of the café, unable to bear the tension between the two of us. It was maddening. It was purely insane. I quickly began walking back to my apartment, not bothering to turn around and take a look back at Michael. I needed time to think. Time to process all that had happened. Michael had reentered my life so unexpectedly, so awkwardly, and I was beyond confused.

I had wanted to leap into his arms. I had wanted him to hug me. I had wanted to look up into his eyes in admiration. I had wanted to plant a kiss on his cheek, as if the last handful of years had been one horrifying dream.

But I couldn't.

The excuses that came to mind were varied and colorful: As much as I hated to admit it, I had an image to maintain. The press would have none other than a field day if problems arose in my social life, and Grandmère would have a fit. I couldn't make such irresponsible decisions when I was still constantly scrutinized by the public. And plus, I had a great deal of self esteem (it had risen a fair deal since those days in high school), and I couldn't bring myself to beg for mercy at the heels of someone who had left me isolated after such a long time. I had been hurt. It all seemed to make so much sense.

"Mia, you want your regular order this morning?"
"Definitely." The cashier rang up one soy latte with whipped cream (and a hint of cinnamon), to go, a smile on his face. I slapped down a five dollar bill on the counter.
It was routine for me to drop by The Coffee Hut before work each day. Everything was set up perfectly: I always ordered my regular soy latte, I always ordered it from my favorite cashier, Conor, and I'd always sip half of my drink up before heading over to the legislative building to begin work. It seemed odd, but I craved consistency in that inconsistent period of my life.
The cashier that stood before me was a friendly and familiar face; he was a clever guy who had always aspired to stand out in the financial aspects of life, and had arrived in the New York scene roughly two months ago. Conor had grabbed a temporary job as a cashier, which didn't pay much, but he truly had his eyes on a business job next door at the financial building. I had first met him on his first day as a cashier, where I had ordered a soy latte from him and ended up spilling it all over my sleeve. Conor had panicked, stuttering apologies to no end, but I had smiled and shrugged it off. Most coincidentally, he became my favorite person to talk to in the morning, and I had gotten to know him quite well.
"Hey…" I snapped out of my train of thought and looked straight into Conor's stunning, ocean-blue eyes. "Mia, today's my last day here. I got the job next door and I'm starting tomorrow."
"Man, that's a bummer," I told him, genuinely disappointed. "I'll… I'll have to find someone else to talk to in the morning."
He paused, almost unsure of whether or not to say what he had on his mind. "I was wondering, though, if you… wanted… to…" He mumbled the last half of his hesitant sentence.
"Say that again?" I leaned in a bit closer.
"You want to get together sometime? Just the two of us?" He was nearly whispering, a hopeful look on his face. A strand of his light brown hair fell across his eye.
I blushed as the unexpected question hit me in the face, but I knew exactly what I was going to say. "You know what, Conor? I think that sounds perfectly wonderful."
And even though it may have sounded shallow, I knew that everything was slowly returning back to normal. I knew that the holes in my life were beginning to finally fill up.

Michael Moscovitz had once been the ultimate love of my life, but he had left me. He hadn't bothered to come back. Did he have any idea what I had gone through the first couple weeks after the date of his scheduled return? He didn't. He couldn't have known. So what did that make him now? A long, lost friend?

'Mia, you brat,' part of me scolded. 'Why is this situation all "me, me, me"? Have you ever thought of what Michael may be thinking? What he might've gone through the last few years? Didn't you truly love him back in the day? Was none of that real? And don't you still love him now? You know you do. You still have a place for him in your heart. And in all honesty, are you that afraid of your reputation? You're frightened, Mia, you're just confused right now–"

I shut my eyes.

And to top it all off, I was with Conor now. And that was what mattered. What was supposed to happen to him, then? Did everyone expect me to go cheat on my current boyfriend, a person who had made me so incredibly happy when I had been so alone, just so that I could chase after Michael? I couldn't bring myself to answer that question.

But no matter how hard I tried to forget, I found myself fingering my necklace, Michael's necklace, once more. I slowly rubbed the chain, letting it trickle through my fingers as if it were running water. A tear dripped down my face, and I hastily wiped it away.

"Michael," I whispered to the evening air, my face crinkling up. "I missed you, too, Michael, you wouldn't even have imagined how much I waited for you. I still love you, Michael, I really do." I let it all out in one ragged breath, shaking my head as my stubbornness gave way, making room for the little secrets that I had carefully guarded inside my heart.

The wind whistled through my hair, rolling leaves and gravel past my feet. Wrapping up my whisper of a message and sending it on its way. Giving me permission to let go for good.

"I promise this is for the best," I continued, knowing that he would never get to hear what I was saying. "There's not much else I can do. I'm sorry, Michael, really, I'm sorry. You'll understand, right?"

Another tear rolled down my cheek as I realized that I would never give Michael a chance to give his own response. But I knew what I had to do.

---------------------------------------------------