I have so many feelings towards Elias. Seeing him again after so long makes me so nauseous for some reason. I feel like throwing up and crying and laughing all at once. Nasty, I know. It's horrendous, and I hate him! I lost my chance to sneak away ages ago, and as Jon and Martin trudge away with their triumph, our triumph, I know he is going to turn his attention to me. My eyes flicker between him, both of him. The decaying living corpse that is him, and the remnants of him that wear whatever was once Elias. It's been so long. I have played my role well, I think, but I don't know if I can face him. I am so enamored with him, and I don't know if I can handle the games today. I turn on my heel fully intending to stomp out and make a scene. I stop. My footsteps are instead quiet. My feet betray me as they drag. I pick up my pace. I can feel tears clustering and pooling against my eyes. Knowing you is pain, Jonah. His shoes click against the ground, he is approaching.

He doesn't even allow me the grace of leaving. His hand sinks into the back of my shirt, and my collar tugs a bit too tight against my neck for a moment. He yanks on my shirt with a bit of force, but I am able to backpedal before anything causes me any lasting pain. My collar slackens and releases its grip. His arms cinch around my waist, and he pulls me into his chest. I don't think he could hold me any tighter or have me any closer. I hold my breath. I feel like if I breathe everything will vanish, and this moment will be over, and I can almost imagine that he feels the same.

He clings to me, and breathes out, "It's good to see you like this again," his breath drifts into the top of my head, sending a trickle of warmth throughout me. My heart is quick against my ribcage, a betrayal.

"And I thought I was supposed to be the clingy girlfriend." My words are a veil as usual, they don't reflect the hummingbird in my chest, or the twirl in my stomach.

"You love me." The gall! Why must you say it so plainly?

"I certainly feel something I suppose. I don't know if it's love." I have been fighting with the very idea of this for some time, and this is what I was waiting for? I try to pluck at his fingers clasped to me. Let go of me! I hate you. You're the worst thing that could ever happen to me because I never knew love before you. I should have just suffered. His fingers are warm beneath mine.

"I feel it too." I need more than that. You can give me more, can't you? I have been so patient and worked so hard. That is not enough for me. You know it isn't. How can I believe you when you are you and I am me?

"Will you tell me just one time that you love me? That's all," my voice cracks, and that is something I cannot cover up with a quick lie. My very heart and my voice give way before him. I can only hide so much of myself. I cannot think of any half-truths or lies at the moment to say to him anyway. Please, just one time. Just once I want to feel loved. I don't care about the cost.

He spins me around, and everything around us fades away. I lose sight of all the empty space when it's you. "Oh, dear Helen," his hands find the sides of my face, holding me in place, "I want to end everything with you. I won't have the end of the world as we know it without you." I can't look away, and I don't want to. I am scared if I look away that he will disappear, and that none of this is real. Is it allowed for me to have this? "I want you forever," he breathes out, his voice just above a whisper. His breath burns against my lips. I want that too. I want the world to end for you and only you. His lips ghost over mine for a moment. "Do you believe me now?"

"Do you mean it?" I want to believe you so badly. I know what I am. I know what you are. You don't do things like this.

"Did you even read my letter?" That familiar drawl of his snakes into his voice and around my throat. It itches, and I think I feel every emotion I have ever pushed away rising up, or it could be like vomit.

"Yeah, a couple times." I read it more than I care to admit. It is thinning from too much use. It has been folded and unfolded far more than a couple times. I know the words in my heart. He knows the truth this time, and his lips twitch into a memory of a smile. We're both strangers to this.

"It can't be anyone but you, Helen." My breath catches inside my throat. Nope, not vomit. You have made me know and feel so many horrible awful things in my time with you. I never knew anything like this at all before.

"No one?" I know. I know you have said it so many times. I know you have said it in so many different ways, but I just. I have a hard time believing this is real. Can you blame me?

"Only you." I see you standing with me. The words swim before me, almost tangible. "Only us."

"Us." The word glides off my tongue like the tune to a song.

"Yes."

"That's all I ever wanted." The tears I had fought so long to suppress now break free in a torrent, rushing with my breath. I find solace in him, the one person I've craved closeness with for so long. His finely dressed form becomes a refuge as I bury myself in his chest.

A couple stiff pats on my back and the clearing of a throat break the intimate moment. "As satisfied as I am with this turn of events, I have some things I have to do tonight." Work. Reality crashes back.

"Right, sorry. I'll just, uh," I futilely brush at the wet spots on his vest, as if erasing my tear stains could also erase the vulnerability I've exposed. The stiffness and awkwardness between us reveal a truth: this isn't a game anymore; it's real.

He proceeds to unbutton his finely tailored vest, the fabric giving way as he shrugs it off with deliberate care, each movement betraying a meticulous grace. Folding it with precision, he tucks it under his arm. The act seems mundane, yet it symbolizes the shedding of a protective layer, a subtle unveiling of authenticity. I guess he is also ridding himself of my snot politely, but I am trying to not be embarrassed.

"If," he clears his throat, straightening his posture, shoulders rolling back, "if you don't mind staying a bit later than usual, I have some things to attend to, but you could join me."

"I could?"

"I won't say it again." I can feel the warmth racing into my cheeks. I am pretty bad about this whole not being embarrassed thing. Of course, he's being serious. How many times has he driven me home? It's not like he does that for anyone else, like I don't know Jon or Daisy. Daisy in his car would be awful. A small, constant gesture, and I didn't realize its gravity until it was absent from my days.

"I would like that." His hand finds the small of my back–a light connection, barely there–and he nudges me. We walk side-by-side, navigating the halls beneath the institute.

"I'll ask Rosie to get you some tissues." I nod in gratitude. The mention of tissues breaks down another wall, a reminder that even in vulnerability, there's a need for practical solutions. How very him.

Laughter, unexpected and unburdened, replaces the sobs that shook me earlier. It starts as a gentle ripple, growing into a release of tension. "I am sorry about that," I admit.

"I can also make us a pot of tea." I love you. Yes, please. I have missed our tea.

"Goodness knows, it's been ages."

"Truly." The final word resonates, an affirmation.

I do not know that I have ever experienced love before, but I shall call this love. I desire a closeness with him that I used to think was merely a desire for company, but it's different. There is something that I cannot give up about him. I want him with me for the rest of ever. I want to know what he's thinking, and he wants to know what I'm thinking too. Who would have imagined that two things like us could have something so transcendent?