It was worth the wait.

She barely spoke to Joel in the following month. With essays and projects and readings and finals, she was swamped. Some nights she barely had the time to text him goodnight before she collapsed into bed, but he never pushed her.

He told her he missed her, and he counted down the days 'til summer break started.

When there were three days to go, Helga extended the celebration of her final-final – held the previous day – by spending all day lying in bed reading.

When there were two days to go, Arnold had his final-final. The bunch of them waited outside his exam room for him to finish, cheering when he finally came out. They then dragged him out for an incredibly decadent night of food, booze, and booze.

When there was only one day to go, they suffered through their hangovers. Trying to get everything packed for the long summer holidays, while bemoaning their nausea and aching heads.

Then there were finally no days to go. Nothing but a plane trip standing between her and three months of Chicago summer with Joel. She couldn't quite believe it. Three months? A quarter of a year? Madness.

Arnold wasn't totally happy with it, but he was supportive. He bear-hugged her goodbye, kissed the top of her head. "If you want to leave Chicago, come to Hillwood, OK? Don't just go back to the flat."

"OK." She nodded into the front of his shirt.

"Promise?"

"Yup."

Those next hours, sitting on the plane with a book open in front of her, paying no attention to the words on the page, seemed immeasurably long, but somehow went faster than she was expecting. Her stomach was fizzing with excitement, and trepidation. She was at once hugely happy, and nervous.

But when she finally stumbled out into the airport, elbowing away from the crush of people to see Joel just standing there, watching the crowd for her face… she almost felt like she would cry.

Her, Helga G. Pataki… who had infamously stayed dry-eyed through every sappy romantic movie she'd ever been subjected to, who had last cried over a year ago, at Phil's funeral… she was getting misty-eyed in an airport.

"Finally." He said simply, before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him.

Nothing was better than this. His hands on her, his easy touch and his easy smile. Their time together flew past. During the day, while he was at work, she would explore the city. He'd meet her in the evenings, and they'd spend the long summer twilights together, talking and eating and talking, before falling into bed and each other's arms.

More often than not they'd talk afterwards, too. Naked and sweating in the humid summer air, his fingers twining through her hair, her palms roving over the planes of his chest. They talked about everything.

Their histories and their futures, their triumphs and their disappointments. Things Helga would never have thought to say out loud seemed nearly easy in the almost dark of his bedroom, with his heartbeat in her ears.

He asked her all the difficult questions – about sex and contraception – and she answered them, desire arcing through her at the thought of finally consummating the last six months of anticipation.

It was a Saturday night, three weeks after her arrival, when he lay her down.

There was a little scar on the inside of her arm, a firm ridge in her flesh where the contraceptive rod lay under her skin, and he touched it, his eyes dark as he asked her if she was sure.

She'd never been more sure of anything, and she told him, asked him, almost begged him. Panting with want, even though he'd barely touched her.

But even then, he took his time. He ran his hands over her, kneading her flesh, awakening every nerve ending from her toes to the tips of her fingers. He gripped her pale skin in his hands, then followed his harsh touch with his soft lips.

He groaned when she groaned, his hands claiming every part of her. He told her in a thousand different ways that she was beautiful. He worked her with deft, determined fingers right to the brink, made her beg "please"… before he wound her legs around his waist, took her face in his hands, and held her gaze as he pressed himself into her for the first time.

They were both trembling, breath ragged. Her back arched, her hips rolled, she pulled at his hips, aching to take him all. He kissed her, bit her lip.

"Come with me." He growled, before he began shifting in and out of her. She jammed her hand between them, working at herself, building back up to the high that he'd almost taken her to.

She'd known it would be like this, this unrelenting rhythm, his body pressed hard against hers, using his hands to curve her to him, his legs to force himself into her. Tempering exquisite sensation with the sweetest pain, pushing just a little too hard, making her feel everything. It was beyond pleasure.

Her thighs shook as they tightened around him, the familiar clenching building low in her stomach as she keened against his mouth with an insistent moan. "Now." He demanded, his drives becoming more urgent, more fevered, as he got closer and closer.

He rammed into her, three, four, five rough thrusts in a row, when she threw her head back and shuddered in climax. He shunted his hips forward, swore, and bit down into her shoulder as he released inside her.

He held himself up long enough for her to relax, before dropping his weight onto her, pressing her into the mattress as he breathed her in.

They lay for a long time, her legs around the back of his thighs, his face buried in her neck. Their thumping hearts gently quieted, their heavy breaths slowed. Her fingers trailed up the back of his neck, stroking at his soft hair. His lips pressed kiss after kiss to where he'd bitten her shoulder.

Eventually, her straining ribs demanded that he take his weight from her. They moved hesitantly, slowly, with soft, dopey smiles on their faces. They cleaned up, shy as he threw a towel across the large damp patch that marred the sheet.

He pulled her over him, her head on his chest, his hand on her face, murmuring quietly to each other about nothing in particular, as the sounds of the street came through his open windows, lulling them into silence.

Her eyelids were heavy, sleep pushing at her when she pressed her lips to his skin and freed the words that had been gathering at the back of her throat for weeks. In the softest whisper she could manage, half hoping he wouldn't hear, she told him she loved him.

His fingers stilled on her for a moment, before his chest rumbled in contented laughter. "I love you too."

Before she could catch her breath, summer was over.

They'd done seemingly everything they could do in the city. Visited every museum, sampled huge amounts of food, seen three shows and traipsed around the zoo.

But as much as they did, they also spent untold hours together in his apartment. Some nights just eating whatever they could scrounge up from the fridge, so that they didn't have to leave the house. Joel had inherited Dyna's enthusiasm for books, and they'd happily ensconced themselves away from the world, devouring words.

She was so happy. It reminded her of that last summer of high school, when her and Arnold had spent so much time reading in his room… but at the end of the night, instead of walking her home, Joel would take her to bed.

Well, sometimes not at the end of the night…

Sometimes not in bed…

Sometimes not even in the apartment…

They had sex in the desperate, opportunistic way that came from knowing their time together was finite. In his car, in the park, at the movies, on the roof of his building, even on his desk at his work.

They'd build each other up with light touches and pointed looks, with whispered promises and lingering kisses, until the want was unbearable and they succumbed to desire.

More than once he'd been late for work, after pulling her over to straddle him as soon as his alarm sounded in the morning… and more than once they'd woken in the middle of the night to reach for each other.

And now they were facing down their last night together.

It was muggy. He was just in boxers, she was only wearing one of his t-shirts over her panties. But she could still feel sweat forming on their skin where they touched.

They sat on his window seat, leaning back against the glass, his arm around her shoulder, listening to the city move below them.

Slow tears leaked down her face and she didn't bother wiping them away.

"I'm not looking forward to missing you." His voice was low, gravelled with emotion.

She just hummed in agreement. It wasn't like she could say anything that would stop tomorrow from coming.

"I looked in to transferring to California…"

Her breath caught in her throat. Had that been an option? Didn't he love this city? Would he move into Dyna's?

"… no openings."

Inexplicably, she felt relief alongside her disappointment. "You want to move back?"

He chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. "Not really."

"Then why?"

"Why do you think?" He pulled back slightly to look at her, frowning at the tears as he stroked his thumb across her cheek. "I don't like Cali, but I'd consider moving back if it meant that I'd get to see you."

Her heart did a weird jolting flip in her chest. Almost like panic.

"Don't."

He just blinked at her, his frown deepening. "Too much?" He asked, slowly.

She nodded. Trying to make sense of her own reaction to the idea that he'd move home.

His fingers trailed down the side of her face, down her neck. "OK." Down to her collarbone, tracing the neck of her t-shirt. "But you're my girlfriend, Helga… I do want to be near you, y'know."

She didn't know what to say. She chewed on her lip. She wanted to be near him too, but… "It's just too big… too big a gesture…" more tears spilled over, and her heart lurched at the pained look on his face when they did. "If… if you were already living there, or if you were moving back for any other reason… but not just for me. It's…" she faltered, taken aback at the absolute tenderness in his eyes. "It's too… big."

"Oh Shirley." He leaned down to kiss her. "I love you, you idiot."

She sniffed, feeling like a complete moron. Ruining their last night together. "Sorry."

"It's OK. I get it." He dropped his head, leaning his forehead to hers.

And when he smiled, she almost thought he did get it. Maybe even more than she did herself. He rubbed his nose against hers, butting at her cheeks like a cat, until she managed a chuff of laughter.

He pulled her close, slid his hands under her shirt to grip at her hips. Sighed with satisfaction when she hefted herself up to splay her thighs across his lap.

She loved him for not making her talk about it. She loved him for how confidently he wanted her. She loved the look in his eyes when she lowered herself down onto him, and she loved how he trusted her.

With her palms flat against the glass and his hands curved around her ribs, with the slanted, warm light of the setting sun on their hair… they made the most of the last of their time together.

She didn't find the note he'd tucked into her book until she was on the plane.

The few tears she'd managed not to shed were still swimming in her eyes when the folded paper dropped out from her bookmarked page.

She leaned over to pick it up from the floor, and smoothed it out against the cover of her paperback. Her eyes welling up as she read his neat, square handwriting.

Shirley

You're asleep right now. I can see you through my bedroom door, all naked and beautiful under my sheets.

I should be in bed with you, really. But I need to tell you some things, and writing them down will probably be the easiest way for both of us.

I know you think other people don't really see you, but I do.

I love you. But not in some bullshit fairytale way where I think you're flawless, or that I'm perfect, or that we'll never fight. I know you have "issues", some of them are the same as mine. If you'd met me a couple of years ago, you'd know why I can see what I see in you.

You're incredibly intelligent, but sometimes completely oblivious. You're amazingly determined, but sometimes painfully fragile. You're silent when you cry, which is heartbreaking.

You told me you didn't want me moving back to California because it's "too big", that I can't move back "just" for you. If this "us" thing is going to go further (and I want it to. I wouldn't subject myself to all this waiting/torture if I didn't think it was going anywhere) then one of us is going to have to move sooner or later.

If I do move back, and it doesn't work out, you don't have to feel guilty or that it wasn't worth it for me. Because having you with me this summer has been the best time I've ever had, and I want more of it.

I'm not trying to pressure you into changing your mind, I'm willing to wait a bit longer. I'm just telling you how wrong you are when you think you're not "big" enough to move for.

I hope that makes sense. It's almost 4am and I'm very tired and very much looking forward to getting back into bed with you. You've rolled over, and I can see your foot. You're so fucking cute. I'm so fucking lucky.

We'll decide about all this stuff later. Just think (but don't stress) about it. Have a good flight, and I'll talk to you tonight. I promise that by the time you read this, I'll be missing you.

I love you.

Claire.

Helga closed her eyes, forced herself to breath normally. She wanted to press the note against her face, but her damp cheeks might have made the ink bleed.

She read it, and re-read it. Amazed not only at what he'd written, but that he'd bothered in the first place.

He was unlike anyone she'd ever met, and it elated, confused, and scared her.