So Close

by Smilesfornow

Love is one of the strongest bonds a person can have. It binds, it blinds, and at times... It bites. Really hard. On a particularly melancholy night Sophie takes a literal walk down memory lane. This is a story for Sophie Foster. Modern day AU.

1. Chapter 1

This story was a labor of love, so please enjoy. There WILL BE A PART TWO.

Rights go to Shannon messenger. (Who else? XD)

Story inspired by the song "So Close" by NOTD, Felix Jaehn & Captain Cuts

Thinking about you

Then and now

Love is one of the strongest bonds a person can have. It binds, it blinds, and at times... It bites. Really hard.

It's not something to take for granted, so if you happen to stumble upon it—I'm begging you to cease it, hold it, and cherish it. Maybe the boy with cute hair before you in line at Starbucks pays for your order, and after pressuring the cashier for who done it, the poor guy points to the culprit.

The boy leans up against the wall, scrolling across his phone, rapidly typing a few times before a small smile plays at his lips. Your breath stops when he looks up and catches you staring, but he doesn't look away. Instead he locks your gaze and smiles wider. Heat begins to creep into your cheeks, flushing down your neck and you decide, what the heck?

As you walk towards him, he shoves the phone into the front pocket of his jeans, and pushes off the wall meeting you in the middle.

"Hey," he says, voice crisp and warm. He blinks bashfully and rubs the back of his neck looking down. Your lips tug into the beginning of a giggle.

"Hi," I say. His eyes snap up again. "Uh, were you the one who payed for my coffee?"

The boy cleared his throat. "Yeah, it seemed like your day could use a little unexpected kindness." The cool thing? It did.

School had you completely booked, literally. For science there was a 7 page paper waiting on soil agronomy (which was due in three days). In English you had to finish a character analysis of Ophelia from Shakespeare's Hamlet, and in math you were behind eleven days in assignments, and on top of all that you had to wait tables at Red Robin.

You desperately needed coffee.

So this guy? He's your Tuesday savior.

"Well thanks," you brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "I really needed it. I've had a crazy week between school and work, and sleep has been a luxury. I'm practically living on caffeine at the moment."

He snorted. "That much was very clear from your order. Five espresso shots is a tad excessive, don't you think?"

You giggled. "Not when you're running on non-existent sleep, its not. What did you order?"

"Earl Gray with cream, no sugar, and a croissant."

"Ah, so you're a tea man. I would have pinned you to be more of a slushy guy, but whatever floats your boat I guess."

His eyebrows scrunched together and his white teeth flashed. "Slushy?"

You tilt your head."Blue-Raspberry, to be specific."

He throws his head back and laughs, a deep chuckle from the back of his throat. In that moment you decide his laugh is one of his best features, that along with his eyes. He looks at you again and asks, "What's your name?"

"Sophie. And yours?" You extend your hand.

"Fitz." He clasps your hand, and tingles shoot up your arm as he gives it a slight shake before pulling away. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"For me as well." The smile you return him threatens to spill off your face, and you couldn't bring yourself

to care. Much less scrape it off the floor.

That my friends, is how an unexpected kindness, a random act of human goodness, can turn into a blossom of friendliness, and maybe even loveliness. Until, you know, its not.

As I'm lying next to someone else.

Now

I stopped typing. Was I really writing about my first encounter with my ex for this English narrative assignment? Over a year after our breakup no less? Next to my current boyfriend, no less? I closed the lap top, sighing.

Keefe noticed the movement and turned to face me as he put a mark in his book, tossing it onto the bedside table. "Done already? Can the mysterious Ms. F talk now, or am I still on hold." He ran a hand through his unruly blonde locks. "Not that I mind being on hold, I'd hold forever if it meant getting a chance to converse with Sophie Foster."

I giggled and snuggled down into the covers to face him. His bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously, as he reached out, fingertips grazing my cheek startling a thousand nerves to life.

"So are you going to tell me what's happing up there," his pointer finger tapped my forehead. "To cause this?" He shifts to lightly rub the crease between my eyebrows with his thumb.

I bite my lip, thinking of a way to avoid this conversation. You see, Fitz and Keefe used to be best friends— incidentally that's how I met Keefe—but after Fitz made the terrible, life shattering decision to follow his original dream to join the Marines, we broke up.

It wasn't like a I disagree, so you know what? This is over! Type of break up, we had honestly tried to work it out, but... In the end, it came down to my ultimatum: go to the Marines to pay for college and please your perfect family, or stay and start a new, scary, and uncertain life with me—in which we will be beyond broke and scrambling to pay off student loans.

After a lot of tears, fierce kisses, and yelling, he left.

Stay!

Wait for me! I won't be gone forever.

And I won't watch you get injured, or come home with PTSD, or what if—

Sophie, trust me! It'll be okay—

No, it won't!

Sophie, I love you too much to keep fighting...

Then stop.

I love you.

And I love you.

That was four and a half years ago. And Keefe was the one to pick up my broken pieces and put them back together, using himself as glue. Without him, I don't know what I'd do. He was furious with Fitz for breaking my heart, and while I always suspected jealously between the two, I never imagined it would blow up over me, ending their friendship.

Things cleared up in the few weeks before Fitz's deployment, and they decided to stay civil for my sake. Fitz and I's relationship instantly turned into this hesitant platonic wave-at-each-other-from-the-opposite-side-of-the-hallway foreign kind of friendship.

It was excruciating.

Keefe was my savior. His flawless jokes, kindness, and over all patience with my out of control emotions brought us closer. And closer. Till the night he finally kissed me on the roof of my apartment complex, and Fitz officially became a thing of the past.

Mostly. There are still nights I'll pull out my tiny, golden heart necklace Fitz gave me for our two year anniversary, and set it onto the counter. Staring at it. A bowel of mint chocolate chip ice cream melting in-front of me. (Mint chocolate was his favorite flavor.) But those nights are becoming fewer, as nights having pillow fights with Keefe become more frequent. Which is fine with me.

"This," I finally said, pointing to my forehead where Keefe was now checking my temperature. "Is from my stupid English assignment."

Keefe flashed me a teasing smile. "It can't possibly be that bad."

"I have Mr. Rudgard, try me."

"Ouch, can't blame you then. I've never had him, but word is his assignments are terrifying."

"They are," I confirmed, choking on a laugh. A comfortable silence passed between us as Keefe stroked my hair, watching me. Moments like these, I can't possibly imagine why I fell for Fitz and not for Keefe immediately.

He broke the silence. "Okay, so what's actually wrong."

I groaned.

"Sophie come on," Keefe started, pulling my hands away from my face. "What's going on that you can't tell me?"

I sat up and turned to get out of bed. "Nothing important Keefe, don't worry about it." I fixed my hair into a ponytail and went to the bathroom to change from pajamas into something more presentable. Opening the door, I found Keefe staring at the wall intently, like it could solve all his problems.

I lean against the door frame. "I'll be back, I promise."

"It's eleven thirty, Sophie."

"I know, I just need some air."

Keefe bit his lip, "Can I come with you?"

"I'll be okay, see you in a little while." I turned, and walked out the front door.

Drinking without you

I don't drink. Alcohol has never really been my thing, I'm more of a coffee kind of person. Plus, alcohol smells awful, and can have horrible outcomes, so I prefer to steer clear from it. Instead I inhabit coffee shops, feeding off their WIFI and chugging down their drinks like a grumpy vampire. Keefe has tried to drag me into a few bars for a dance and round of shots, but after declining several times he got the memo and hasn't brought it up to me again.

Maybe I shouldn't be as adverse to nights out, throwing back a fruity schnapps with my cute boyfriend, but...

The last time I was in a bar, Fitz pulled me out. It was two weeks after we first met, and I had honestly thought I was never going to see him again, but of course we had to meet again in the most embarrassing of circumstances.

I realize you're all like, what the heck does this have to do with the story line? I thought the story needed a little something, so here *slaps short story on table*

Read it. Cry, laugh, whatever.

Anyway.

Then

I was at the end of my sophomore year of college, and had been twenty one for one too many months having never drank a drop of alcohol in my life. Solution to this problem? Go to the local bar I'd seen people my age walk in sober and stumble out ridiculously drunk all the time. I thought, eh, you only live once, right?

That evening I dug around in my abyss called a closet, and for a frantic five minutes I couldn't find anything that didn't scream: I have no idea what the heck I'm doing, and, I am practically under age. Kick me out.

The pitiful outfit I found was just that: pitiful. Paired with light wash jeans and warn gray converse, I had a cheep, Walmart bought blouse. I had honestly forgotten all about it. The shirt was a deep purple, flaring out at my waist, light weight, and looked good on me.

Really good. Not bad for two dollars on the clearance rack. I would be lying if I told you that I wasn't fantasizing about randomly meeting my high school crush—who I knew was going to school across the country, no where near me. If only I knew what events my night would bring. If I did, I never would have grabbed my purse, applied one last layer of lipstick and left my apartment.

I heard my destination before I arrived. The sound of laughing, loud music, and stools screeching in protest as their bearers scooted across the floor filtered into my ears. In that moment, chickening out was looking more and more like the desirable option. I gritted my teeth, opened the door— and the smell was a literal punch to the nostrils.

I'll save you the details, just know that gross feet, drunks, sweat, and alcohol did nothing to help me hold down my Cesar Chicken salad. I was about to turn around, and leave for real this time, when a familiar voice came from my left. "Sophie?"

I turned, my eyes widening. Before me was Fitz, the Tea Man himself.

"Uh, hi." I responded lamely. He made all thoughts of my High School crush fly out the window, down the street and to the next state. He was, to say the least, extremely attractive. Dark brown, slightly mused hair, movie star grin with all the right smile lines, and those eyes. My goodness, how had I not appreciated them more when I first met him? In this light they were a mysterious teal; passionate, charming, and held a depth, full to the brim with life and secrets he was waiting to share.

My heart began to pound.

Fitz cleared his throat and broke the silence. "Getting a drink?"

I nodded as he smiled.

"You know, you could have chosen any other place. This one is normally booked with drunks at this time." He paused and seemed to consider his words. "All the time, now that I think about it."

I chocked on a laugh. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm the Bouncer." His face pinched into a scowl. "It's not the best occupation, but I, like the majority of other college students, am absolutely broke." He glanced at a lady blowing bubbles in her martini with the straw stuck up her nose. Her maniac laughter floated across the bar.

"Hey... Gary!" She said slowly, over pronouncing each syllable, so it sounded more like: "Hey... Ga—R—eY!" Then Straw-up-the-nose-lady dived face first for her martini, giggling the whole way. I don't know who Gary was, but he apparently didn't care, because the lady just sat there, splashing in her spilt martini like a toddler.

"I should probably take care of that," Fitz mumbled and stalked off to be the bouncer he was hired to be.

I looked around and found a stool by the counter that seemed relatively clean and took a seat. Before I could blink, a bar tender was there, asking what I'd like.

My gulp was audible.

"Uh..." In a panic I glanced at the menu on the wall behind the bartender—who's name was apparently Gary according to his name tag—and requested the first thing my eyes landed on. "Old Fashioned, Please."

Gary nodded and went about making my drink.

I drummed my fingertips against the counter, trying to swallow back my nerves, when the stool beside mine screeched and a heavy figure sat on it. The guy had greasy black hair, and the faint sent of wet dog—not pleasant. Unfortunately I knew it too well from my Tuesday dance class. Valin.

I turned to the sound of him slapping the counter and requesting a Cape Cod. He noticed me and his sloppy face twisted into a grin.

"Sophie Foster?" He slurped. "What cha' you doin' here?"

"Oh," I picked at a spot on the counter, refusing to meet his eyes. "Just out for the night. Are you a regular here?"

Valin grinned. "Yeah, ever' Friday," He looked up at the ceiling in thought for a moment. "Tha' was a lie, I come ere' more often then tha'."

That explained a lot.

"Well," I responded. "This is my first time here, normally I'm working or studying."

He swiped at the drool making its way down his chin. "Tha' sounds like ya."

Gary saved me from having to come up with a polite response by setting our drinks onto the counter.

"One Old Fashioned for the lady." He slid me the small tumbler glass, liquid sloshing. "And one regular, for the Regular."

I nodded to him in thanks and attempted to kill my conversation with Valin with silence. The attempt failed.

Valin turned to me and raised his eyebrows at my drink. "Ya like da strong stuff?"

I glanced at the small glass with the quarter cup of liquid and thought, but there's barely anything in here. How can this be strong? Compared to Valin's Cape Cod, this was innocent. I tried to plaster on a face of confidence and nonchalance.

"Guess so," I shrugged like it was no big deal. "Cheers."

I tossed the drink back, bottoms up.

I might have just swallowed fire. A strangled scream got caught in my throat as I pressed a fist to my forehead. Exhaling shakily I shook my head once, lips puckering, before turning to Valin again.

He just looked at me. "Ya der realize," he said. "Yer supposed ta sip hard liquor? Slammin' it back will burn yer insides up."

"Yeah, I got that. Thanks." I wheezed again, and opened my eyes. "You know? That wasn't so bad," I said tapping the counter.

"Grows on ya doesn't it? Or should I say," Valin looked at me. "Burns on ya."

It wasn't that funny, in fact it wasn't funny at all, but I started to laugh. My glass was filled again, and I tossed back anther gulp. A warm feeling began to kick in; filling me from the inside out, making everything hazy and seem not quite real. So this is what people meant by tipsy.

The rest of the story is a blur—I can't exactly recall all the happenings, what I said to make Valin laugh or why... other stuff happened. Not bad stuff, in fact it turned out to be good stuff...

Okay, OKAY I'll tell you. Jeez.

My giggles bubbled into snorts, and at one point I think I was hiccuping. Beside me, Valin was absolutely raked with drunkenness, and he was saying something. I could only hear bits and pieces, but whatever he suggested I agreed to.

"Want..." He said. "Ger... place?"

I laughed again. "What?"

He sneered and took my arm, pulling me up.

"Oh..." I swayed on my feet, everything was spinning so fast. In a flash of dark blue and minty cologne, a Knight in shinning armor was there.

"Get your hands off her," he said, crisp voice laced with steel. I turned my head to look up at him, but the action made me stumble, just as Valin released me. I fell into the Knight's arms, trying with all of my drunken mind to stay upright. Harsh words were passed between my Knight and Valin, and after a short outburst from Valin, he left.

My Knight led me to the door, tossing a hurried phrase to the Bartender, "I'm taking the rest of the night off. I need to get her home." Gary nodded.

The door bell dinged as we left, and Fitz (or my Knight, I was begging to think they were the same person) led me down the sidewalk a little ways until we got to a older model of a CRV. Fitz/Knight shifted me to his other side, so I was leaning on his left as he dug for his car keys.

"There's a step, careful." He murmured into my hair. I nodded, sliding onto the worn black seat. Fitz reached across me to buckle my seat belt, and as he pulled away I caught his arm.

"Thanks."

He swallowed. "Yeah, anytime."

"I..." I fought to clear my head. "I'm not sure what..." I took a deep breath, desperately searching for words.

"I know. Trust me, I get it." His voice was soft and understanding as he carefully put a hand on my shoulder. "Let's get you home." Fitz closed the passenger door and walked around to the left side of the car, getting in.

For no reason at all I began to laugh in a somewhat terrifying manor, and poor Fitz just shook his head; not surprised in the least at my out burst. He'd probably seen this a million times.

"So," he said. "Where do you live?"

"I don't haha know, heh." Yes, I was positively drunk.

"Well thats helpful," he muttered. "Do you have someone I can call to ask where you live?"

"Hmmm..." I patted my pockets. "Phone?"

"Yes Sophie, phone."

I snorted and raised my arms in an I don't know gesture. "Phone gone," I mumbled, the words like marbles in my mouth. Unbeknownst to me, the phone was in still in the bar where I had been sitting, and Fitz would eventually go back for it while I was in a alcohol induced coma.

"Okay, so you can't direct me to your place. Great." He sighed. The thoughts whirling in his head were probably along the lines of, should I trust her to stay in the car if I go to find her phone? Or do I just take her to my place? I looked over at the beautiful girl next to me, too out of it to hold a conversation. Awful visions flashed across my mind and in that moment I decided: I was never going to leave her, not in this state.

Guess I'm taking option number two, then.

Fitz shook his head again. "Can I take you to my place?"

"Mmmm?"

He brushed a curl of dark hair out of his eyes and huffed. "Okay." Fitz put the key in the ignition and drove.

Doesn't fix me but it kinda helps

Now

Tonight, the cool wind wraps itself against my cheeks turning them a rosy pink. At midnight the streets are dark and empty, with an occasional car zipping by. Normally when I'm having a rotten time a walk calms me down, returning me to my place of zen, so to speak.

Not tonight.

It's as if the memories of my past have been stirred and are living, breathing in time with me. Fitz could almost be beside me, not overseas fighting. I take comfort in that alternate reality. I love Keefe—don't get me wrong—but I worry. Where is Fitz? How is he? He may have broken my heart, but I would never ever wish him pain.

A little voice inside me whispers that he is in pain, the majority of it caused by separation from me. Another voice agrees (I think it might be my own) and says I too am in pain for the same reasons.

Which is ridiculous.

This walk thing is not working for me, it doesn't fix me; I want to be fixed. I feel so broken.

What is wrong with me? I'm being completely and totally unreasonable, if this walk was intended to show me that I might love Keefe but I still love Fitz at the same time—it's wrong. I'm over Fitz, if I feel broken its because of him. There. That's better.

Maybe the walk is working.

Oh, I wish we could go back to where we started

And I swear it was.

Until my feet brought me to a small house at the corner of Watson and Florida—Fitz's place. Well, technically it was his old place before he went over seas, and now it has a new owner, probably some young family.

Wow I'm off topic. Anyway, this is where we officially started for me, if that makes any sense.

For him it stared at the bar when he saved me (of course) but officially we started when I woke up in a strange place, on a strange bed—the bed had all the right smells just to be clear—with a strange boy washing his face in the adjoining bathroom.

To put it simply: I freaked.

Now I know what you're thinking, Sophie! Why can't you just be like every other fanfiction of the scenario: girl-wakes-up-in-strange-boy's-room-after-an-ordeal-she-can-barley-remember and is all cute and confused so we get some adorable Shipping action!

Because that is exactly what happened, minus the shipping action. I can assure you, there was shipping action, but it was certainly not adorable. Awkward, would better describe the situation.

Do you want to hear the next portion of the story? If you don't, to bad.

Red Bravo, you have the command.

Thank you, Gold Leader. Flash back (ha I think I'm funny, you don't have to) resuming, stand by.

3...2...1...

Then

My head hurt. Like a lot. You know that stage when you wake up but you're not quite awake, so everything's hazy and still feels like a dream? Yeah, that's what I was going through.

Soft humming was floating into the room, surrounding me in a warm embrace, dragging me back into the arms of sleep—when I realized my dorm's walls weren't navy blue. And my bed normally wasn't this comfortable. And it most definitely did not smell like my bed. My eyes flew open, and I started to panic for real this time.

I heard water shut off in the bathroom—also where the source of humming was also coming from—and debated pretending to still be asleep. The door squeaked in protest to being opened, and revealed a very lean, very muscular, very tall, and very shirtless boy meandering into the room.

I swallowed hard and shut my eyes in an attempt to look asleep, but I peeked from underneath my eyelashes.

His back was turned to me as he rummaged through the dresser, pulling out a dark gray tee-shirt. He sniffed it and made a face before throwing it into a corner where other dead clothes were piled, and repeated this process twice before settling on a pine green sweater, which he still didn't seem all that happy with, but I guess it was clean.

He drummed his hands against his jean clad legs, then picked up a book sitting on a desk and sat down, opening to a marked page. Oh, no. He wasn't staying in here, was he?

The boy crossed his ankles and got comfortable in his chair. Yeah he wasn't leaving anytime soon. Well, I thought, no time like the present.

I opened my eyes, blinked them once, twice, then started to sit up. A yawn was climbing up my throat, and I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The boy—who I could see much clearer now—put his book down. "You're up," he said, and I finally placed who he was.

Fitz Vacker. Paired his name came a flood of memories of the previous night, from the moment I tossed back the Old Fashioned, to the moment I fell asleep in Fitz's car. Oh my gosh, how did I get here? I'm in his bed.

He must have carried me from the car...

Heat flared into my cheeks, and I broke eye contact with Fitz—if death from embarrassment was a thing, I would be dead as of five seconds ago. My headache soared. "Um, yeah. I am," I replied hesitantly. "What time is it?"

He smiled, "Six."

"A.M.?"

His smile grew, "No, P.M."

"You're kidding right?"

"Nope," he popped the "p" as my anxiety rose. I had no idea what day it was... oh no. What if I'd been here not just for a night but for several days? I cleared my throat. "What's the date?"

Fitz's eyebrows scrunched together, but slightly lifted, realizing what I was asking. "Sophie, you're fine. You've only been here for a day," He paused to consider and finished reluctantly, "and a night I guess."

"Ugh," I flopped down onto the pillows and hid my face with my hands. "Kill me now. Why did I ever decide to walk into that bar?"

"You are nothing but questions today." Fitz said grinning.

"What?"

"See! There you go again, answering me with questions and giving no answers," he breathed a laugh and leaned back in his chair. "But your panic is valid, did you have plans?"

I swallowed, "No." Thank God.

Fitz nodded, then reached across the desk to unplug my phone. Where did he get it? "Do you need a ride home?" He handed me the phone, disappointingly careful not to let our hands touch.

"Yeah," I cleared my throat, looking up to smile at him. "If you're offering I'd love one."

"Sweet, lets get you home," he tilted his head towards the door. "Meet me down stairs when you're ready."

As soon as the door was shut, I threw off the covers, frantically searching for my shoes. Which I didn't find. So the entire world (Fitz and who ever else lived here) knew I was wearing little kid unicorn socks, complete with glittery horns. Now I faced the dire question, should I take them off and stuff them in my pocket, subjecting my bare feet to a nasty male bunkhouse? Or, leave them on and possibly face ridicule?

I left them on, my mind filled with the horror that if Fitz carried me here, then he took off my shoes, and had already seen my gag worthy socks, so I couldn't hide them anyway.

Whatever.

The door handle was cold, and the hinges squeaked as I opened it. As I tiptoed down the narrow hallway, the boards creaked. The place would have made a lovely haunted house if not for the picture filled walls, I thought.

Most of the people in the photos were boys, the same group from middle school to what seemed like recent times; high school graduation, senior prom, beach photos, and car rides. Fitz was strung throughout them, a smile here, a striking pose there. One large photo consisted of a choir concert in which the boys were standing in a semi circle, mouths open mid song, and all in tuxes.

I kept moving to the stairs.

A muffled bang echoed from downstairs followed by laughing, and quiet curses—the curses definitely belonged to Fitz.

"Really, Keefe? It's not that funny," I heard Fitz say as I rounded the corner into what I assumed was the kitchen. The scene was strange to say the least, but in an enduring way.

Fitz had his hands plunged into an ice box taken from the freezer, and a boy with messy blonde hair was siting crisscross apple sauce on the floor beside a still open oven, and an upturned cookie tray. The blonde boy was forging for whatever destroyed baked goods were on the floor, hunched over and stuffing his mouth. Whatever fallen must have been truly life changing if someone was willing to eat it off the floor, long past the 5 second rule.

I cleared my throat, shuffling my feet awkwardly, as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Both boy's heads snapped up and turned toward me, and I might have imagined it, but I thought I saw Fitz's eyes light up. The other boy just sat there looking confused, then as if something had dawned on him, he raised his eyebrows at Fitz.

The blonde spoke first. "Who are you, and are you the reason Fitz locked his door—"

Fitz interrupted him with a sharp glance, then smiled at me. "Hey, Sophie. Do you want anything to eat, or do you just want to head out?"

"Uh," I leaned on the counter. "It depends, what do you have in the way of food?" I picked up one lonely apple in a fruit dish and held it up. "I doubt an apple and floor pastries are the only sustenances you have here."

The blonde hesitantly laughed then turned to Fitz, eyebrows launching off his forehead.

"Where did you find this girl?" He asked.

Fitz rolled his eyes, faking indifference, but a faint blush was spreading across his cheeks.

"Shut up, Keefe," he muttered.

When I left my t-shirt at your old apartment

A different event that happened THEN

"Oh no."

"What?" Fitz glanced at me, but the car swerved into oncoming traffic, so he immediately refocused on the road. I could only imagine what the other drivers on the road were thinking, Stupid millennial trying to kill me with his smart phone, I'm late!

Outside the car, fields rolled past, checkered with lonely houses and red barns blinking by every now and then—we were most certainly in the middle of nowhere. The sun was especially radiant today, warming the atmosphere with its bright rays, perfect for a wedding.

I bit my lip nervously and looked at Fitz. "I think I forgot my top at your place." His eyebrows scrunched together in a cute way that made me want to rub the creases in between them. Whoa, whoa, where are these thoughts coming from? Go away, I don't have time for you.

"Sophie," Fitz said cautiously. "You do have a shirt on, right?"

I smacked his arm as he laughed. "Idiot. I meant I left my dress shirt for the wedding at your apartment."

"Oh," He said. "Well that's not so bad, I wouldn't mind."

"Fitz!"

He sent a mischievous smile my way. "Kidding, but seriously, trust me. I'm sure Bi has something you can borrow, I swear for every outfit she has like three back ups plus a spare."

I giggle and snag his hand away from the steering wheel.

Yeah, Fitz was definitely right, per usual I admit to myself. I remember when his older brother, Alvar (who is currently in a maximum security prison in Colorado) got put on parole the first time and came to stay with the Vacker family. He was sweet, and mild tempered: picking flowers and going on and on about how grateful he was to have such a wonderful, supportive family. Everyone bought it except Fitz, so when Alvar burned down the house and tried to kill Fitz and Biana for witnessing the crime, Fitz didn't hesitate to return the favor. Because of him, Alvar is locked up, sustaining life long injuries that will always remind him—and his family— of the wrath his little brother can inflict. Oh, and that Fitz is normally right—if he's wrong you have to move a mountain to prove it.

Such a stubborn boy, I would've called it a flaw, but I'm the exact same way. Ever since he fought Alvar, Fitz has been more grounded in himself, but at the same time more intense, in good ways and bad ways, I supposed. It's nice to know he has flaws too, you know? Those qualities combined made him just that much more attractive to me, which I didn't think was possible at the time.

I glanced at him, appreciating his side profile for a moment, wondering how in the world did I end up with such an incredible guy, when I heard my favorite song begin to play. I laughed, the hopeful and upbeat toon filling the car as Fitz smiled and turned up the radio. I opened the sun roof, and crouched on the middle consul, making Fitz yelp.

"What the heck are you doing?" He asked.

I laughed again. "Fitz, there is no one on the road, and no one to care,"

I kissed his cheek and stood, holding onto the hood of the car as the sun and the wind drowned everything else out. I inhaled as much as I could and crowed for joy. This was what it felt like to be young and alive. Free.

Have you ever wondered if you loved me harder

Now

I keep walking, following my feet to whatever destination they wander, as Fitz's old house faded into the scenery, mixing in with all the other suburban houses in this neighborhood. Memories continue to swirl, along with the autumn leaves, crinkling against the pavement.

Tonight the wind seems to be singing, chilly and melodic, melancholy and wistful; almost a manifestation of my emotions in nature. A perfect night to clear the head, or muddle it more I guess, filling it with long past memories that do me zero good. They're just making me heart sick.

Oh gosh, is that what I am? Heartsick? For what, a kiss from my Ex boyfriend? I want to scrunch my nose at the thought, because seriously, Keefe is amazing and I love him.

Yet... Fitz was my first love. How could I not think about our more, uh, romantic moments occasionally?

Just like that (imagine my fingers snapping) I was lost in another memory.

Then

"Fitz—mph." He stopped my sentence with a gentle hand. I stared at him with wide eyes, a laugh bubbling up to meet the hand he still had over my mouth, but it sputtered out when I saw his face. Oh. Oh. His green flecked irises gleamed teal in this light, and the intensity of them made it hard to swallow. Fitz leaned down, holding eye contact until we were nose to nose, then he glanced down at my mouth, eyes flicking back up to meet mine. A question.

I answered, with hopefully the right response, as I pressed my lips to his. We were statues for all of five seconds, drinking each other's presence before he pulled back just enough for warm air to slip between us. A charged silence ensued, and I begun to worry I had answered wrong, when he kissed me again, causing tingles to shoot throughout my entire body. His hand brushed my cheek, as his other soothed across my waist, pulling me closer. A hungry fire erupted in my belly, as my fingers grew minds of their own, running up his chest and digging into his hair. I leaned back slightly and Fitz leaned with me, supporting my back with both hands, completely encompassing me in his arms. Limbs melded together, not really our own, but definitely ours all the same.

Our lips never left each other's as Fitz pressed me up against a wall, lifting me up as my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. My arms tied themselves around his neck, and I smiled into the kiss. This could be a forever...

We were so lost in each other, that neither of us heard the knock at the door. Or the voice asking if everything was alright. Or the threat they gave if I didn't open up they would come in and preform CPR, but only if the sight of their hair didn't cure me on spot.

When the door slammed open Fitz and I finally immediately disentangled, but it was already too late. A shocked Keefe stood in the doorway, gaping like a fish, the plate of my favorite dessert in his hand forgotten.

Keefe stammered an apology. "Um, sorry. Didn't mean to, uh, interrupt." He jacked a thumb over his shoulder and tried for a smile. "I'm going to be downstairs, you kids don't get too carried away. Fitz are you, uh, prepared?"

In that moment, my face was literally made of blush. I don't think it is humanly possible to be as red as I was, but I could literally feel the embarrassment in my toes.

"Keefe?" Fitz said.

"Yes, buddy ol' pal?"

"Shut up, and go downstairs."

An expression flickered across Keefe's face, but it was gone before I had a chance to decide whether or not it was real.

Keefe flashed his classic trouble maker grin. "Have fun kids!"

When the door clicked shut I breathed out a sigh of relief and chuckled in the back of my throat, leaning my head on Fitz's shoulder. He was about to say something when Keefe's voice called through the closed door, "Seriously, Dude! If you need any supplies, I gotcha. Just remember safety first and consent!"

"Keefe, just please go downstairs? We'll be right behind you." I pleaded.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Lovers got to love and all that. The car leaves in ten minuets, be there, or you know. Not, I guess."

We didn't move or say anything else until the thump of footsteps faded.

Fitz kissed me softly. "Keefe has the worst timing, doesn't he?"

I laughed and pulled away, but not without smoothing my hands over his chest and straightening his disheveled tie. I sent him a flirtatious wink. "We have plenty of time to finish this later though, right?"

He grinned. "Your place, say after the concert?"

"Absolutely."

Where we'd be, oh where we'd be now

Now

The memory was so sweet and incredibly ironic that it made me cough on a little laugh. At that point Fitz and I had been dating for over a year and a half, and we were so in sync that we'd finish sentences, practically read each other's minds. We were inseparable, unless there was an ongoing argument, then it was all our friends could do to stop us from ripping the other person's throat out.

Good times.

Actually, now that I think about it, normally Keefe would be the person to mediate between Fitz and I's spats. He's always right there, waiting for me when I needed him the most, and I never really appreciated that until Fitz and I broke up.

My phone buzzed in the pocket of my rain jacket. I pulled it out to check the screen (probably Keefe wondering where the heck I was) and low and behold it was Keefe checking in on me.

Hey, where r u? If u want to talk, I'm here. Stop sulking and come home, it's freezing out there.

I sighed. I am so leaving him on read, was it really so hard for him to just leave me alone in peace? And I wasn't sulking, I was merely... contemplating life. Diving throughout my brain looking for holes in my decisions, longing for what could have been, and at the same time letting go. Of what, I wasn't sure, but it'll come to me.

Honestly though, if Fitz hadn't gone into the military, what would my life look like? Would I finally have my teaching license and in the process of starting my career? Or would I still be where I am now; attending the university.

But is my life really so bad? I have an amazing boyfriend, who sooner than later might earn the title of fiancé (in full honesty I'm not sure how I feel about that) I'm at the tail end of my fifth year, I have a good paying job, and I even have a dog. What more does a person need to feel complete?

Closure with Fitz would have been nice, but seeing how he is on a totally different continent than I am kinda screws that thought into oblivion.

A sudden chill scrapes up my spine and I long for a good, warm cup of coffee. Yeah, that's not happening, its after midnight. Maybe Shari's is open... Can you say pie and coffee? I am so there.

I pull out my phone and look up the closest Shari's to my location... and success! It's a fifteen minute walk from where I am, and the fact that it's midnight means the place will be relatively clear of people and it's the last place Keefe would look for me.

You see, I have this thing about Shari's after I got food poisoning a couple of years ago, and let me tell you, it was bad. So I've sworn it off, until now. I still remember Keefe convincing me to go, I had been refusing because a certain Ex boyfriend, whose breakup with me still made me want to curl up and cry, was going to be there. It had been two months since our break up at that point, and it couldn't have been weirder. Our lives had intertwined so perfectly, and everyone had known us as; Sophie and Fitz, the couple who practically invented the term "soul mate." Not, Sophie and Fitz, just two friends.

So the fact that Keefe could convince me to go...

Then

"Shari's, are you sure?" I asked into the phone. "Why can't we just go to Red Robbin, they would probably give me a discount."

"No way, Shari's famous pie is the entire reason we're going." Keefe said, and I could practically hear his eye roll. "You won't have to sit next to him, I promise."

"Keefe," I whined.

"Sophie, have I ever, ever, ever, broken a promise to you?"

I didn't even have to think about my response. "Yes."

"The Great Gulon Incident doesn't count!"

I sighed into the receiver. "Okay, pick me up at six o'clock."

"Yeah, see you then. Oh, and Sophie?"

"Hm?"

"It won't be nearly as bad as you're imagining. You'll be surrounded by friends, and there won't be an opportunity for things to get too awkward, you hear? If it does, I promise to do something totally irrational, like last Fourth of July irrational."

I laughed, "I look forward to your humiliation."

"All for the cause."

It turned out that Keefe took me to a completely different Shari's than where the others were meeting, and it was just the two of us. The unofficial-official-date-that-I-never-actually-consented-to ended up an epic fail due to food poisoning. Shari's freakin' poisoned me.

Yeah we got so close, so close to love

Now

Originally my time at Shari's was normal. Expected.

When I pushed open the glass door, a warm burst of air assaulted me in all the best ways possible. It was absolutely freezing outside, and I was a literal Sophiesicle. I felt like a piece of meat set out on the counter to thaw.

Rubbing my hands together I approached the end of the empty waiting area and sat down. In front of me where beautiful pies of all different flavors and kinds, and I tried to contemplate which one would find my plate when I ordered.

"Hello, Miss." Said a pleasant voice to my left. I looked over and saw a middle age women wearing a tired smile. "If you follow me I can get you started."

"Oh, thank you." I said as she led me to a corner table with a couple chairs. She handed me a menu with another smile and left me with my thoughts. I was debating between a warm cup of tea or cream coffee when I heard the door bell ring as a new costumer came in.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder and got a glimpse of Camouflage, crutches, and a duffle bag. Another soldier home from war. If he passes me, I'll have to thank him for his service, I thought. Maybe ask him where he was deployed.

I heard the hostess greet him, not quite making out his muffled reply, and focused once again on my menu. If I don't decide on something soon I'll have to give the waiter that awkward I need a few more minutes reply, which in this situation is double awkward because there are only two customers in the entire restaurant.

"Right this way, please." The hostess beckoned costumer #2 and sat him down at the table next to me. I watched from beneath my eyelashes as the soldier hobbled to his seat, and was surprised when I got the impression that he was young, around my age, and quite tall. At first I couldn't see his hair (it was obscured by a military hat of some sort) but when he removed it I saw messy chocolate waves, like he was due for a hair cut but decided the hat would cover it up.

He struggled with his crutches for a moment before sitting with a sharp inhale, and rubbing a hand over his chest right where his heart would be. Does he have some sort of internal injury? I reached up to tug out an eyelash, trying to gather the nerve to say something to this young man.

"So," I began without looking up. "You here for the pie too?" I mentally scowled at myself—what a lame conversation starter. I lifted my head to see his reaction.

Well, dang.

Fitzroy Avery Vacker blinked back at me, surprise evident in his handsome features. We drank in each other's presence, the tension in the air palpable.

"Sophie?" He whispered.

"Fitz?" We were speechless, gaping at one another. I ducked my head and trained my eyes on the table. This is not happening.

So, in true ex-lovers fashion, we ignored each other for the duration of our time at Shari's. I ordered Marion berry pie and a coffee, as he ordered chocolate cream pie and a cup of tea (cream, no sugar). I inhaled my food while Fitz took his time.

Someone had to leave first, and I decided it was going to be me.

I would glance up periodically to peek at him, but was caught in every attempt, and vice versa on his end. As time wore on the waitress seemed to realize the tension in the air, but stayed blissfully silent— until she passed me my bill with a sad smile. Those were the loudest words expressed all night.

I responded in a tight smile, and murmured thank you. She nodded and moved to Fitz's side to deliver his bill, giving him the same sad look I'd received. Grimacing, I shuffled through my wallet, not caring to have exact change, and paid with a twenty, scribbling instructions for the waitress to keep the change. The act would be considered generous if I had been doing it out of kindness, not of cowardice.

The door bell dinged as I swept out of the restaurant.

And here I am, running away from my problems. Again. Good Lord, I suck at relationships; maybe I don't deserve friends, maybe I'm unable to keep friends because I'm awful. Maybe I should cut all contact with this life, move to a state across the country, change my name and start over. Okay, I'll admit that's a tad dramatic, but you get the picture. I'm done with who I am, and who I've become. My life in general up to this point.

But Keefe...

My train of thought is interrupted by a chatter from my mouth. Was it this cold earlier? I wrap my arms around my torso in an attempt to garner warmth as I shiver.

Then I notice that I'm not wearing the jacket I started the night in, and promptly remember that in my rush fleeing Shari's I left it on the seat next to me. I mentally kick myself. There's no way I can go back, Fitz is still there!

I'd rather risk frostbite.

A frustrated groan climbs up my throat, but cuts short when I hear the click of crutches on pavement. I falter mid step. I don't look back, instead curling tighter in on myself and move forward.

When I was a child playing hide n' go seek, I would constantly choose the worst hiding spots, but if I couldn't see the seeker then he couldn't see me. Right? My four year old logic was flawed of course, but Mom would always play along, pretending to not find me.

That same failed logic is what my brain has resorted to now. If I can't see Fitz, then he can't see me—but I honestly doubt he'd play along like Mom did.

"Sophie!" He calls out. I slam my eyes shut and hunch in on myself. I hear him shout again and swallow. Why is this so hard? How many hours have I agonized over, and dreamt of this moment? Couldn't it be less isolated? Why does this confrontation have to happen when we're alone on a cold night, with nothing but each other and the occasional car to bear witness?

Fitz is behind me now, I can hear his labored breaths harmonizing with my panicked ones. I spin on my heel and turn to him, making a stop motion with my hand. He freezes a few feet away. I sigh, might as well get this over with—maybe it'll be quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

Asking in a clipped manor I say, "Why are you here?"

Fitz opens his mouth several times without sound. Finding words he ventures cautiously, "You left your coat at Shari's."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He hops forward, "Here you go." He hands me the garment without much ceremony and swings around, hobbling back in the direction he came from. I stand there like an idiot watching him go, not even thanking him.

Tension builds in my chest, pushing and pulling my heart at the same time.

"Wait!" The word rips out of me. My feet suddenly free themselves and move toward Fitz, almost at their own accord. He swings around, his face unreadable. I stop right in front of him, far enough to be platonic, but close enough to see his faint freckles.

I swallow the lump in my throat and speak to the ground, "Thank you." I shuffle my feet, anticipating his reaction. Will he scoff in disgust? Hug me?

Instead his reply is much less extreme than my imagination, because he only says, "Anytime, Soph." The ache in his voice is unmistakable; the soft caress of my name causes something in me to still.

My eyes slowly find his, and I finally see him.

I take in his visible injuries, the crutches, and the scar above his right eyebrow. I wonder how many more are concealed under his neck to ankle uniform. We may have broken up, but seeing his physical condition makes me feel like a hand is crushing my windpipe.

I choke back the sudden tears filling my eyes. "My God, Fitz. What happened?"

"It's been a rough couple of months." He ducks his head as an effort to hide the haunted expression glazing his bright eyes.

All of a sudden, worries from long ago spring up in my chest and for a moment the last four years cease to exist. I keep my hands pressed to my thighs in an effort to stop them from doing something irrational—like brushing my thumb against the scar above his eyebrow, as if my touch alone could make it disappear.

Instead I simply stare.

He clears his throat to speak. "It's easier now that I'm home, and for the time being I'm staying at my parent's place until I'm out of my cast." Fitz's eyes drop to the side walk as he dips his head, causing a wave of hair to fall across his face.

"What about the other injuries?" I ask, biting my lip in anticipation for his response. He catches my eyes and the right half of his mouth turns up in a self deprecating smirk.

"What, the mental ones or the physical ones?"

I narrow my eyes.

Fitz shrugs. "Some wounds never completely heal. I'll live with them for the rest of my life," he paused mid sentence and tosses his hair back. "How did you know anyway? No one can tell."

It's my turn to shrug. "I just knew." We absorb that statement for a second. The two of us used to be so close, how could we ever go back to that—platonically? Were we still so in tune that I could tell he had a heart condition just from body language alone? I killed the idea before it sprang up and created a colossal disaster in my own heart.

"Will you ever walk normally again?" I hedge.

"Oh, yeah." He said. "My leg will be fine after physical therapy, but I can't go back into combat even if I wanted to."

"Why?"

"Adrenaline sets my condition backwards, I'm in counseling and have to take sleep sleep aids, and Soph..." His voice trailed off as my insides leap at his use of my nickname. "I'm a mess." He whispered.

I smile and try for a joke. "Welcome to the human race, Fitz. We're all a bunch of messed up losers." I step closer. "You know what the best part is about everyone sucking?"

"What?" He plays along.

"Being broken isn't bad, it's normal. Everyone is broken in one way or another." I reach for an eyelash, silently realizing that I've forgiven him. I don't know when, only that it was long over due. Fitz bites his lip.

"I'm sorry." He says.

"It's in the past. We forgive and move on," I pause. "Hopefully learning from our mistakes."

Fitz nods his head and looks away, internally processing my words. Another gust of wind picks up, and I quickly shrug on my coat, trying to hold in as much heat as I can. I look at Fitz and realize he doesn't have his duffle bag with him, he probably left it at Shari's in his haste to catch up with me. I consider what I'm about to do for all of three milliseconds (why do I have to be so impulsive?) and ask, "Do you want to go back to Shari's? It's freezing out here."

"Yeah sure," he replies. "I left my bag there anyway, and Biana is picking me up there."

I search for something to say and try for a little humor. "You're letting Biana drive you? Isn't that asking for more injuries?" I laugh to my self hoping Fitz will too.

His laugh is small, but a bright sound all the same. "Desperate calls come for desperate measures."

"No kidding. Hey, remember that time when Biana turned into oncoming traffic on a one way road? I seriously thought we were about to die." I say in an attempt to keep the conversation rolling.

Fitz rolls with me. "Just be glad you weren't in the passenger seat," he says. "I was like 'Biana turn left!' And she was like, 'Whats left?' And instead she pulled into the DMV parking lot."

"Oh my gosh, and they were all staring at us! Freaking Biana, how did she manage to pass her drivers test?" I laugh and begin to walk back to Shari's.

"I'm pretty sure it took her like three tries, and even when she finally passed it was by the skin of her teeth. The guy who tested her looked like he regretted it when he gave her the license."

My laugh gets lost in the wind, but the smile that twists my mouth stays firmly planted as we continue to our destination, rain beginning to fall upon us.