As always, it starts with a sudden burst of light. I don't think I'll ever get used to it, but at least over the last few months I've learned not to be distracted by it.

I don't need to see what I'm doing. My motions are as familiar as they are precise, practiced over and over again. My arm is already curled around her slim waist. It's easy (or at least, it's become easy) to lift her phone out of her stylishly concealed pocket and turn it off without her realizing it.

I'd make a hell of a pickpocket, assuming every situation was exactly like this one down to the smallest detail.

I subtly drop the phone into the potted plant behind us, where the soft soil cushions its fall; it doesn't make a sound. With it gone, I can afford to take a second to absorb the sensations around me. The warmth of the room, the lavender in her shampoo, the smooth satin of her dress under my fingertips. They're comfortable and familiar and for a fleeting second I can actually tell myself that I belong here. That I'm not an intruder, stealing a few sweet minutes that don't belong to me anymore.

I know I shouldn't do this. However much I tell myself that this is what's been keeping me sane, it might actually be the single most unhealthy thing I can imagine. It isn't real. Or at least, it isn't the kind of real I'm allowed to have. I'm just torturing myself, but that doesn't matter when she turns to smile at me.

Smiling back, I give her hip a small, affectionate squeeze and turn to Mom and Dad. "Hey, could you guys give us a minute?"

I almost gave up today. I got scared about something I had (almost) no control over and for a second I was ready to walk away from it all. That's why I need this. I need to remember.

"Of course, sweetheart," Mom laughs, taking Dad by the arm and leading him to the kitchen. Pausing at the door, she turns back to take in the sight of us. "You two just look so lovely together."

"Thanks, Mrs. C," Chloe says, not taking her eyes off me.

"Thanks, Mom," I echo. No matter how many times Chloe looks at me like that, it always makes my heart do a little flip. "Now could you..."

"Alright, alright. I'm going," she laughs, adding, "Just don't get distracted and miss your dinner reservation."

"Mom!" I groan, and she laughs again.

The second she's out of sight, I begin silently counting to eleven. That's how long it takes for her to reach the kitchen and close the sliding door that separates it from the hall. I want that door to be closed, and I hear it do so the second I reach eleven.

Just like last time. And the time before that. I've pretty much got this down to a science.

"Well then, cutie," Chloe murmurs, her lips curling into a salacious smile as she draws me closer. "You've got me all alone. What're you going to do with me?"

I gaze into those crystalline blue eyes, but I don't say anything. I can't say anything. Not yet.

"Max?" She gives my hips a playful squeeze. "Earth to Caulfield. You in there?"

I keep my silence, reaching up to gently brush my fingertips against her pale cheek. This moment of innocent affection never lasts long.

Her brow furrows, just slightly. "Hey, you okay?"

I want to nod and watch the worry lift from her face, but she's too smart for that. I want to shake my head and tell her everything, but once she realizes what I've done, she'll won't let me get out more than a few words. All there is to do is savor the seconds before that happens, and I can already see the pieces coming together in her mind. It never takes her long; she was always so clever.

Sure enough, it's just a few seconds before she leans away from me. Her eyes dart to the camera on the table, then back.

"Max, did you..." And she's there. "Oh god, you didn't."

I don't bother admitting or denying it. There's no point either way.

"It's Valen-!" she stops, lowering her voice. "It's Valentine's Day, Max. That picture was supposed to be special. Please tell me you didn't use it to break your promise."

I don't tell her that. I don't tell her anything, but for Chloe my silence is as good as a confession.

"Motherf-" Chloe cuts herself off again, glancing toward the hallway. Then, in a furious whisper, she says, "You gave me your word, Max. You swore on the lives of everyone who died that you'd never, ever go back in time again." She glares, waiting for me to offer up some reasoning or justification. "Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

I don't.

"Damn it," she hisses. "Say something."

I hate this part but, like everything else, it has to happen.

"Max?" There's the tiniest hitch in her voice now. "Please say something."

Very slowly, I shake my head. Angry, she throws her arms up, stalking away. She comes up short not far away, looks back at me, then opens her mouth to ask a question. Without waiting for her to speak, I point to the line she can't see. The glowing border that marks the edge of this memory. It's only a foot in front of her, but I knew she wasn't going to cross it. She never does.

Startled, she skips back a couple of paces and turns to glare at me. She wants to feel angry with me - she wants to feel furious - but she doesn't. She feels betrayed. I don't know how obvious it would be to other people, but to me it's written all over her expression. No matter how many times I experience this moment, it'll always be the first time for her.

"I guess we've had this conversation before," she says, flatly. It's not a question. "How many times has it been, anyway?"

I've had to accept that there's no way I can answer that question that doesn't make things way worse. Instead I move toward her, one slow step at a time, eventually coming close enough to reach out and take her hand. She doesn't pull away.

"Are..." she hesitates, looking at me searchingly. "Are you really not going to tell me why you're here?"

She always lets me talk after this point, and I've tried to explain things to her so many ways. But no matter what I say, it always comes back to her one unshakeable belief; that her life isn't worth the risk. We don't agree on that. I doubt we ever will. This moment in time is Chloe at her most obstinate. That's why I don't try anymore.

I just stand with her, drinking in her presence, basking in the love we have for each other. I can actually feel it sometimes, like a thrumming energy inside me. A force that seems to draw us together. A physical pull I never noticed until it was gone, leaving me untethered and lost in a world I barely cared about anymore.

That's what keeps me coming back here. A chance to feel that connection again, if only for a few minutes. Just being with her makes me feel stronger. More focused and grounded. Like I'm back where I belong.

I don't care what someone else might think of that. I'm at peace with the idea that I might've gone nuts. Because I know my powers are real, so that makes her real, at least in this moment. And if losing my mind a little is the price of feeling the touch of her skin against mine, it's a small price to pay.

"Max?"

I should say something. She doesn't like it when the silence stretches too long. "Hey."

Her entire body seems to shudder with relief. "Fuck me. I was starting to think you'd deleted your own brain or something."

I lift my free hand to tap the side of my head. "Still here."

She gently squeezes the hand holding hers and takes a second before saying, "You are from the future, right?"

I nod. "Mhm."

Her features harden a little. "So you came back to change something?"

"No."

That definitely isn't the response she expected, and it leaves her off-balance enough for her to ask, "Then why...?"

I respond before she has a chance to stop me. "To see you."

"To see...me?" she asks. I don't respond, letting her draw her own conclusion. Like before, it doesn't take long. "Because I'm dead."

I nod, once. Trying to do anything more than that never goes well.

"But...you're not here to try and save me?" I can't help but flinch at the slight accusation in her tone, and she immediately takes hold of my other hand. "Shit, I'm sorry! That wasn't...I didn't mean that like it sounded!"

"It's okay. I understand." I rise up on my toes a little, pressing a kiss to her cheek, letting my lips briefly linger there before pulling back. "But no, I'm not here to try and save you."

Technically, it's true. I'm not here to save her. I'm pouring everything I've got into saving her somewhere else, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Oh." She seems to consider it. I don't say anything, because there's no right thing to say. I just try to offer a comforting presence while she works through her feelings. "Is it fucked up that I don't think I'd be strong enough to do that. If I were in your place, I mean."

"You would be," I assure her, even though the idea makes me sick. "You're the strongest person I've ever known."

"Naw, I'm nothing special. Just blue hair, a bad attitude, and a killer bod," she adds with a wink. "You're this incredible, beautiful, passionate actual fucking superhero. It's not even a contest."

"Stop it, Chloe." She always did that, deferring praise and brushing off complements. I know she thinks she's just kidding around, but I still hate to hear her put herself down, even as a joke. "You're so much more. You're amazing."

"Come on, Max," she snorts. "Seriously, I'm a high school dropout with a shitty truck and a fuck-ton of abandonment iss-oh!"

What? Am I supposed to listen to the love of my life say shit like that about herself and not kiss some sense into her?

"W-whoa...goddamn, Caulf-"

Shush, Chloe. Not done kissing you yet.

"...okay. Down, girl." She pushes me back a bit, panting. "Your parents are in the next room, remember? I think we traumatized your mom enough the last time."

What? What's that supposed to...oh. The side zipper on her dress is undone. I guess I got a little carried away. Looking up, I smile sheepishly. "Sorry."

I notice the mischievous spark in her eyes a half second before she grabs my waist and pulls me flush against her, ducking her head to nip lightly at a certain spot on my neck. The one just beneath my ear that practically makes me melt. I feel a rush of heat wash over me, pooling delightfully in my belly, and I can't help the soft moan that escapes my lips. "O-ohh..."

Suddenly pulling away (because she's evil), she gives me a wicked smile. "Sorry."

You know, I don't think she's sorry at all.

"Would it help if I said that the Max you're - possessing, I guess? - is definitely gonna get lucky tonight?"

"No," I growl.

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't," she admits, smiling impishly, and it takes all the strength I have not to kiss her again. She has the same thought, I guess, because she lifts her hands off my waist and takes a deliberate step backward. "You...er...you should probably get going before we start getting frisky again. And don't worry; I won't tell my Max you were here. I'll think of some way to cover for you."

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just left things this way and went back to my own time right now. Would it change anything? It's tempting to go see, but not tempting enough to actually do it. I can't imagine it changing anything worthwhile. Chloe still doesn't know she has cancer, so it's unlikely she'd get diagnosed any earlier. Not enough to make a difference, at least.

The most likely thing to be affected would be the email she sent me. It could be as simple as the wording, or she might not send it at all. Either way, that email is a important enough event that I'm not willing to risk fucking around with it. I have to change this moment back. There's a certain way it has to go if it's going to set me on the right path; working to get back to Arcadia Bay and the love of my life.

"Bye, Chloe," I murmur. "I love you. So much."

I flick my wrist before she can respond, rewinding this tiny, captured piece of my own life back to its beginning. I've had my moment; time to put things back as they're supposed to be, even if it means dealing with that fucking flash again.

"That's a keeper!" Mom says, as always, and I start to go through the motions. Just as I have every time, I spin in place and wrap my arms around Chloe before she can react. Bringing my lips to her ear, I whisper, "Photo rewind."

She gasps, like she always does. Her posture turns rigid, like it always does. Then she lets out that delighted (but fake) laugh, and I let the whole scene play out. I know my lines perfectly, and I recite them like a pro.

This final run-through needs to go the same way every time. Who knows what effect deviating from the script might have? If I want to return to the world I came from, where I'm working to save her, then the timeline has to be preserved. I know all of this, I've done it dozens of times, and I always look away at the end. I tell myself it's because I'm 'maintaining the sequence of events' but really it's because I can't bear to see her vanish.

I guess if I don't watch it happen then a part of my brain is still able to pretend it never did.

That doesn't mean I'm not tempted. There's always that urge to call out to her at the last second. To say she means more to me than I could possibly describe. To tell her that I love her too much to ever let her go.

But this time is different, though. This time I'm going to force myself to watch, because I almost gave up today and I guess I feel like I deserve a little punishment. Just a little after-dinner emotional masochism.

I treasure that last chance I have to tell her I love her, and I try not to cry when she speaks what will always be her last words.

"I love you, too, smartass," she says, smiling warmly. "Now get out of here before I have to explain to my Max why I gagged her." She's almost at the barrier when she pauses, looking back. "Oh, and do me a favor? Check your email when you get back."

This time, I refuse to look away. This time I return her smile as best as I can as she takes that last step...and then it happens. She stops, already partially wrapped by the burnt orange light, and glances back at me with an oddly piercing expression. A heartbeat later she's gone, and I'm left wondering if I'm imagining things.

A quick gesture rewinds me back about twenty seconds.

"...email when you get back."

She turns away, takes the step...and pauses, just like before. I rewind again; she does it again. And since this is the first time I made myself watch her go through the barrier, she may well have done that every single time. And to be honest, there isn't much to it. Just a brief pause and a half-second glance, neither of which would be strange under the circumstances. The expression on her face is odd, though. There's a quality to it, to her entire posture, that tickles at the back of my mind.

Rewinding again, I try to see the whole picture. I look for anything unusual, any motion that might catch the eye.

Turn, step, pause, glance, gone.

What am I not seeing?

Turn. Step. Pause. Glance. Gone.

I bet it's right in front of me. Probably so obvious that my brain keeps dismissing it.

Okay. One more time. Pay attention.

Turn...Step...Pause...Glance...Gone...

...there! That's it. It wasn't her expression that stuck with me; it was her necklace.

Chloe's three-bullet necklace was one of the handful of things that still connected her to Arcadia Bay, and she almost never left the house without it. Not even on that Valentine's Day, when she'd somehow managed to make it work with her slinky satin dress. And in that brief second before she passes through the barrier, she reaches up to clutch those bullets with more meaning and conviction than Kate ever lent to her crucifix.

But why? Why did she look at me like that? What was it about her necklace that was so important in that moment? The questions rattle around in my head as the burnt orange light crashes in around me and gravity seems to wobble strangely for a second. Blinking, I shake my head as the present-day world reasserts itself.

Looking around, but nothing seems especially different. I'm still in my room in the house Victoria and I share, sitting on my bed. My bag is still next to the door, ready for tomorrow's unexpected trip to Arizona. My phone is still on my desk, right where I left it after calling my parents earlier. Most importantly, though, Chloe's necklace is exactly where it's supposed to be, right across the room and hanging from the corner of my mirror. I climb off the bed and, despite myself, approach it carefully, as if it might be booby-trapped or something. Of course, my reflection does the same thing, showing me exactly how stupid I look.

I've had this necklace nearby since Chloe died, but I don't think I've ever taken a really close look at it. When I pull it down to inspect it more carefully, it doesn't take long to discover that the back of each bullet unscrews to reveal a tiny hidden space.

Naturally, the first one I check contains a small, dried-out joint. She had an entirely legal prescription, but somehow still felt the need to have weed hidden on her person. Walking to the window, I lift it open and flick the joint out into the bushes. Happy smoking, little squirrels!

At first glance, I think the second one contains another joint, but a closer look reveals that it's actually a small rolled-up slip of white paper, about half the length of a cigarette. The paper looks smoothly cut on one end and raggedly torn on the other. Placing it on my desk, I move on to the third and final bullet to find another piece rolled up paper.

Unlike the last one, it's bright yellow instead of white. A familiar yellow, actually. Sticky-note yellow. Curious, I carefully unroll it to reveal (shockingly) a folded sticky note, and I unfold that to find the words 'I'm sorry' written there. Sorry for what? I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. It's definitely old, though, and I'm pretty sure that's not Chloe's handwriting. The longer I look at it, the more it feels like it should be stirring a memory.

Going to the paper from the second bullet, I notice the UW Medical Center logo on the side. Between that and the ragged edge, I'd bet that Chloe tore this off of a sheet of hospital stationary. Knowing her, it was probably part of her own patient chart. She was always driving her nurses and doctors insane with that, scribbling little notes and drawings all over her own official documents.

(Anytime anyone made a fuss about it, she'd laugh and say something like 'get with the digital age' or 'papers are for rolling, yo'.)

Chuckling at the memory, I carefully begin to unroll it. I recognize Chloe's distinctive scrawl a half-second before I read what's written, and a full second before it rocks me to my core.

I don't know what you're planning, Max, but I trust you.

What?

What?!

Has this been here the whole time? Did I inadvertently do something in the past? Change some small thing just enough to change Chloe's mind as well? Or was it just me? Have I changed so much that, even in the body of my past self, Chloe could recognize the difference? Enough, even, to realize that I wasn't going to let her go? But, if that were the case...

I rush to my laptop and bring up Chloe's email. It's easy to find; I've got copies in my inbox, saved to the hard drive, and in cloud storage. I didn't want to run the slightest risk of losing it. I read it carefully, then I read it carefully again. I memorized the words a long time ago, and I can say without a doubt that they're no different now than they were before. But that doesn't make any sense. Why would Chloe send me an email saying one thing and leave me a secret note saying basically the opposite?

Except it sort of does make sense. The answer was in that strange expression of hers in the past and in the paper the note is written on and right there in the first three words. It's because she couldn't be sure who she was writing to.

The email was for the Max who went through a photo barely a month after Chloe died. A girl filled with grief and uncertainty, who needed to be told she was loved and maybe even given permission to move on with her life. That Max would have kept Chloe's necklace as a memento, put it in a box or a drawer, and eventually she'd have forgotten about it.

And if that had been the path I'd eventually chosen, Chloe didn't want to stand in the way. She wanted me to be happy, even if it meant giving up on her.

But the note?

It was for the Max who couldn't give up. The one who'd keep going, keep searching, keep trying until she found a way for us to be together again. The one who kept her eyes up, right to the bitter end. Chloe hoped, even then, that I would eventually find my way back to her. Then she hid a message in a place only her partner in time would ever think to look.

Ready to let me go, if I chose to move on. Ready to trust me, if I didn't. Partners all the way.

God, I love her so much.

Letting the note fall from my fingers, I walk back to my bed to pick up the photo. I regard it thoughtfully for a long moment. Chloe is right there, in the past. But she's in my future, too. And I can't get to her if I keep hiding in old memories.

Then, taking a deep breath, I rip the photo to shreds before I can lose my nerve.

Going to the window, I cast the pieces out into the dark and slam it shut. No more living in the past, and no more holding myself back. I've got one goal now. One guiding point, waiting for me in Arcadia Bay in 2013.

I'm coming back, Chloe. I swear it.

And there isn't a goddamned thing on Earth that's going to stop me.