24 | Forever, Yours

VERA

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HE'S BEEN GONE FOR THREE DAYS.

It's almost as if Paris had lost every trace of Timothée, and now it was bleak and distant. It seemed impossible. This city was everything beautiful, yet I couldn't bring myself to walk down it's pavements without searching for him at every corner.

He was on the run.

Again.

I doubt I could remember a time where he wasn't off on one of his schemes, or at least letting his mind run wildly for him. My life felt boring, to say the least, and the thrill of his company was replaced with worry without. No one knew where he was. The police were looking for him, blasting his blurry ID picture all over the news.

"He's not at his apartment, so we can rule that out," Avery sighed, staring out the window, "it's a lost cause at this point."

He and Sam had come to visit a few hours ago, mostly out of their own concern, but we all knew why we ended up together. No one knew what to do with him gone. When we were bored, he'd always have some plan ready for us to fulfill. When we were alone, he'd appear at random, spewing out facts from the books he'd read.

But he was missing, and it felt like a part of ourselves were too.

"He knows the city like the back of his hand," Sam added, face planted into the cushions of my couch, "it's not like he's lost."

"But he's wanted for 'trespassing'," I frowned, "and assault."

"He barely even touched Gagnon," Sam remarked spitefully.

"And it's Timothée's house to begin with," Avery added.

"Which is stated in the Will."

"Which would prove his innocence."

"But we're the ones that have it," I stated finally, "and he's nowhere to be found."

We were stuck in a rut, not sure what to do. He could have been caught for all we knew—though we all collectively hoped that wasn't the case. We just couldn't function without him. We were brought together with the sole purpose of helping him seek justice, but we screwed it all up, and now we're leaderless.

It wasn't that the three of us couldn't lead, it was that we didn't want to.

It didn't feel right. That was Timothée's job. It would be like putting a badge on a toddler and calling them the president. Hell, I can't even make metaphors sound right anymore.

Our strayed thoughts were cut off by the sound of my apartment door swinging open, and Toni walking in.

"Alright, quit moping around," she said, tossing her keys on the table, "the whole place smells like gloom now."

My roommate was well acquainted with the members of 'The Book Club'. They'd been hanging around for the past three days, either crying, complaining, or stealing food from the fridge, but she put up with them anyway. She put up with me all these years, so she had practice.

She and Sam were a dangerous duo, I'd learned. They both were quick to a joke, and snappy to a sarcastic remark. Chaos in its pure form, as Avery called it.

"It's always smelled like gloom in here," Sam groaned from the couch, "your apartment is so tiny."

Toni scoffed. "Insult my humble abode one more time, and I'll have you living in the sewers."

"Maybe I can meet Remy the Rat."

"He's out of your league, Brontté."

"Wait till I pull out that Chardonnay, and see what you have to say," Sam shot back, "we're both men of great taste."

"Remy isn't a man," Avery sighed into the palm of his hand, "he's a rat."

I tuned their conversation out of my head, sensing a heated debate about to form. I wasn't in the mood. I'd rarely found the motivation to do anything, even showing up to my own job at the bakery. Bella said she understood, and closed the shop for a while due to her own personal worries. We all were anxious to know where Timothée was.

I don't think that thought ever left my mind, even as the night steeped into darkness, and everything became quiet. Toni, who'd been video-chatting her girlfriend all night, finally dozed off by midnight. Sam and Avery were sharing the pullout couch, claiming they were too lazy to make it back to their own apartments.

But I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling with a numb mind and body.

I couldn't sleep.

Paris was silent, as if we were all mourning the loss of a friend. Timothée was more than just a friend. We had never discussed labels, but ever since that night a few days ago, it was a mutual understanding that something was definitely there between us.

I think it started before then, honestly. I'd fallen for him long before he started falling for me, and it made our separation feel so much worse. I wanted to be in his arms again. To feel his dark brown curls against my cheek as our arms were wrapped around each other so tightly I thought I might suffocate. It made me feel home in a place far from it.

"I was going to wake you," a voice said, "but I'm glad to see you're up."

My soul nearly left my body when I heard them speak, my head snapping towards the window of my room in surprise. I recognized the voice as soon as it clicked.

Timothée.

He was crouching on the fire escape, his messy hair splayed over his eyes from the wind, and the curves of his face shadowed by the dark night. I wanted to run to him immediately, but I hesitated. As much as I had wanted him back, I wanted to know why he'd been gone for three days without so much as a word.

"Vera," he said when I didn't respond.

I sunk into my mattress. "Timothée."

"I'm sorry."

I almost forgave him on the spot. Not that there was much to forgive, anyways. Pushing the window completely open, he climbed in swiftly, pacing across my room until he was standing right in front of me.

I titled my head to look up at him. "Are you really sorry?"

"I meant to see you sooner," he said. He lifted his hand, placing it against the side of my face. "I don't know why I disappeared, I just didn't know what to do, and I—"

"It's okay," I said, placing my hand over his, "can you sit down?"

"Do you want me to?"

I laughed weakly. "Of course, you idiot, that's why I asked."

He cracked a smile, brushing his fingers away from my face and crashing down onto my bed beside me. There was a pause, where the fact that he'd returned settled into the room like a weighted blanket, and then I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I pulled him into a hug faster than I could even blink.

"I missed you," I exhaled into his shoulder, "I'm so glad you're okay."

I felt his arms snake around my back. "I've missed you as well."

"Where did you stay?"

"At the school," he confessed, "I didn't think the police would look there for me first, so it gave me time to collect my thoughts."

"And did you?"

"Collect my thoughts?"

"Yeah."

"I did," he nodded, "and that's why I've decided how to approach this problem of mine."

I didn't like it when he called it 'his problem', because it made me feel like he thought he was going through it alone. He wasn't. All of us—Sam, Avery, Bella, and I—cared about him, and would do anything to help him. That's what got us into this mess in the first place.

Pulling slightly out of the hug, I leaned my head back to look him in the eyes. "What's your plan?"

He exhaled softly. "I'm turning myself in."

Shattered.

That's how I felt when he said that. I felt like he'd just crushed my entire being, just like the fragments of glass I watched him fall through a few days ago. That memory had been playing over, and over, and over, again in my mind, and I thought it would stop because now he's back to safety. But no.

"You're what?" I gasped under my breath, "but you haven't done anything wrong."

"Not detrimentally, that is," he muttered, "but I have to give myself a chance to prove my innocence."

"You can, because you are."

He smiled weakly, turning his head to glance around the room. "Do you still have the Will?"

I nodded, slowly standing onto my feet and pacing across the wooden floorboards of my apartment. I'd kept the Will safely guarded in the back of my dresser, tucked underneath a pile of shirts and socks. When he'd gone missing, we weren't sure what to do with it.

But I was hesitant to give it back to him, because I knew what would happen once I did. He'd turn himself in. There was no guarantee that he'd be granted innocence for breaking into a house that was supposed to be his, there was only a risk that had to be taken.

I hated my own selfishness for wanting him to stay.

"Thank you, Vera," he said softly, taking it from my hands, "I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this."

I sat down next to him again. "Just come back."

"I can't promise that."

"I know," I sighed, "but it doesn't hurt to hope."

That was a lie. It did hurt to hope. Hoping wasn't a guarantee that you'd end up happy in the end, it was a risk that might end up crushing your soul if all went wrong. And knowing my life, the latter wasn't a stranger.

And in the dark of my room, I took Timothée's hand, lacing it between my own as I let our world fall apart into uncertainty. Nothing about us had ever been sure, but nothing about us had ever been this blurry. His future, my future, our future; just a blank page of an unfinished novel.

But even through these melancholy thoughts, I felt my heart skip a beat when he gently pulled me forward, capturing my lips in a kiss.

It felt like a fleeting moment. A memory. I wanted to stay there and live it over, and over, and over again, just because I never wanted to let it go, even as he pulled away.

"I love you," I whispered, staring into his glazed eyes. I waited for him to say something. Say anything, but he didn't. He simply stared at me, a soft smile on his face. "Why won't you say it back?"

He didn't look away. "You should know I do."

"But I want to hear you say it."

"Will it matter?"

"To me, yes."

"But won't it feel fake?" He whispered, pressing his palms closer to mine, "I don't believe three words can sum up our entire heart."

I didn't know how to feel. To me, love had been the strongest thing between two people, and yet there he was, saying it wasn't enough. I wondered if it meant I wasn't enough to get him to say it.

But he saw through my worries.

"I'd spend eternity searching for the words to say to you," he continued, squeezing my hand, "because three words can't explain all I feel for you."

I glanced away. "We won't have eternity. No one does."

"But we still have time. We still have our forever, at the very least."

That hit my heart like the spur of an arrow. It made me feel a sense of calm run across my body, like falling into a pool of cold water, letting it wash my fear away. I sat up straighter, my heartbeat quickening.

"Our forever?" I asked.

"Forever," he whispered, "and while your forever may be different than mine, I know that in my forever, I'll be forever yours."

"That's two words, Timothée."

He let out a soft hum. "Hm?"

"Forever, yours," I said, spacing out my words, "you said three words wasn't enough, but those two mean the world to me."

"Then let it be known then," he smiled, "to love someone is to give them your heart, but to be forever theirs is to give yourself completely."

"And have you?"

"Given myself completely?"

I nodded my head, the pounding of my chest tightening with every second.

He let out a breath, "I have."

And then there was a pause, where he did nothing but hold me against him like he was scared of letting go. I was scared too. We had gotten ourselves into this stupid game, and now were were paying the price. This felt like it could be the end of it all; all our memories crashing together to make this one singular moment.

"Promise me one thing, alright?" He asked.

I nodded. "Anything."

"Leave me the last chapter of your novel."

I paused. "Why?"

"So I can leave it blank," he said.

There was a pause, where all I did was wait for him to explain. I held no hesitancy to do as he asked, but I wondered why he'd offered.

"I'm not sure I want what we have to end yet," he said, "and if there is one, I'd want us to write it together."

Oh, how he broke me with his words. He'd done it for so long, and I'd let him break me into a million pieces, because for some reason it felt so right. To him, broken shards were just as beautiful, so it felt like he thought that of me.

"Vera," he whispered, staring at me through the haze of a lonely room, "don't stay up for me."

I took one last look at him, hoping to cling onto whatever I could get. This might be our last time together. it might not be. The truth is that neither of us know, but both of us can't bear to say goodbye.

So I looked at him.

I looked at the freckles on this cheekbones, glittering like constellations I thought were more beautiful than the ones in the sky; I looked at the green of his eyes, but I only saw the person he kept locked away for so long hidden behind the glass image; I looked at his wavy brown hair that he ran his fingers through when he'd get restless, and I looked at the silhouette of a beautiful man I had grown to know.

And it's silly, isn't it?

To think I could fall in love with someone in such a short amount of time, as if I'd known them my whole life.

But no, I haven't known him my whole life, and I might not know him for the rest of it if the world turns its back on us. But I didn't need to know him like that. Because once you meet the right person, you feel in your heart that they will be...

"Forever yours" I said, my smile broken, "Timothée."

So, I'll leave the last chapter for him to finish. Because in our forever, there won't be an end unless we write it together.

"Forever yours, Vera," he said.

And then he was gone.