Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls and/or the characters in it are not mine.

"What are you doing here?"

"I.. I just.. I just need to be here."

"What does that even mean?"

Rory didn't answer, but her eyes were getting misty. Drops of water were dripping from her hair and washed out jeans, a great camouflage for the puddles that were slowly forming in her eyes. Jess decided that an interrogation was the last thing she needed. He was never one to stay and witness falling tears. He slid to the left, creating a space for her delicate frame to slip inside. She always does that, slipping inside places (and hearts) without creating as much as the subtlest shift in the universe.

"It's pouring outside," she said matter-of-factly. The awkwardness was getting too excruciating to bear, so as always, she just picked the stupidest thing to say. He just nodded. If she didn't say it first, he would have. Small talks had never been one of their best traits. They usually just went straight into witty banters and sharp arguments.

For the longest minute they just stood next to each other stiffly, eyes fixed anywhere but on each other. The apartment felt warm and smelled like linen. She wondered if he just did his laundry or if someone else did it for him. She didn't even think of asking if he was alone. Hell, she didn't even call to say she was coming. She didn't even know that she was actually coming. Her feet brought her there. She walked from the bus stop to his door completely absentminded, with a yellow backpack clinging on her shoulders. She was too old to run away from home, but not that old to flee from a numbing and potentially suicidal relationship. She departed and the only destination she could think of was his.

A lightning stroke. It sent golden flashes all over the dark sad sky. She jerked, forced to step away from her rambling thoughts. He looked at her, scanned her from head to toe and realized that she had her arms around herself, trembling and looking more fragile than ever. Her lips were in a shade of blue by now. They matched her eyes. He wondered where the sparks in those big blue eyes went.

"You can use the bathroom. There's towel. Just go straight to the right," he cracked the silence. But he really just wanted to save her from unnecessary hypothermia. Now it was her turn to nod. She followed his direction and went to the right, creating small ponds on his carpet as she walked away. His eyes followed her movement until she disappeared behind the bathroom door.

"This is not happening," he said to himself. Everything suddenly felt unreal. One minute he was reading that darn Wolfe book and now she was in his bathroom, using his towel, probably going through his medicine cabinet. Not that there was anything worth prying.

He went back to the sofa, reaching again for the Electric Kool-aid Acid Test. He started to consider that it had magic power. The power to summon old annoying first love, because it just ridiculously did it again. The book was rugged and just sad looking from the hundredth time it went in and out his back pocket without being read. He felt silly for taking the book with him and never progressed. So one day he just decided on another book, a book that didn't remind him of her. Which is one of the hardest tasks he had ever encountered.

Seven years ago he was distracted from page 102 when a girl in a private school uniform and a cast on her hand suddenly appeared from behind him. His heart jumped when he heard her voice, but he kept his cool and just looked at her as if he knew she was coming. He dog-eared the page, closed the book and took her around the Big Apple. That was how she referred to the city. She didn't fit in the city with her innocent face, prim plaid skirt and grey cardigan, but he was beaming with pride because that angelic looking creature was walking next to him, eating the hot dog he bought from a street stand, stealing glances, and blushing every time their hands brushed against each other. Everything about that day was perfect although he never admitted it out loud.

Today the book did it again. The moment he opened it, she appeared on his front door, soaking wet and looking defeated. This time he was surprised and did not try to act nonchalant. It had been 3 years since they last met. He would deny anyone who said that he was avoiding her like a plague. No, he was just living his life. Away from hers. There was a big difference. He heard about her getting married and decided to look the other way, not letting himself be taken down by feelings he didn't know existed. He looked at the book again. Page 105. Pathetic. It had been a long time since that faithful day in New York and he still had not made significant progress. As far as he knew, Wolfe was an interesting writer (to say the least) up to page 105. At least it had magic power.

The bathroom door screeched open. She peeked her head and bare shoulders out, covering the rest of her body with the door. Her cheeks were blushing pink, complimenting her freckled pale skin. Her long dark hair still wet. He waited for her to say something while his head was running wild. This was a new sight of her for him. "Can I borrow a t-shirt and.. and something that resembles shorts? All my clothes are wet," her voice trailed off and her eyes fell to the floor, avoiding his piercing stare. He didn't even realize that he was staring.

Without saying a word he walked towards the bathroom, causing her to hold her breath, as if expecting something heart-stopping to happen. She could feel her knees getting weaker with each step he took. He made a left precisely before the bathroom. His room. She exhaled, partly disappointed then mentally kicks herself for hoping something miraculous to happen and for being disappointed.

"Here," he handed over a black t-shirt and a themed boxer shorts. Her crumbling nerves made her overlooked the prints on the shorts. She grabbed the stack of clothes, said thank you (because she was never impolite) and quickly retreated into the bathroom again. The moment she realized what she was going to wear until her own clothes dry, she burst into laughter. The kind of laughter that makes her heart warm and generously thumping against her ribs. The pouring rain outside buffered her laughter, but he could tell that she was at least amused by the irony.

She gave that boxer shorts to him when they were both seniors in high school because she was his biggest cheerleader and "Oh, the Places You'll Go" was what she gave him along with the shorts. "You're off to Great Places!" she said to him as she handed over the neatly wrapped box, 2 months before graduation. She always believed that he would do great things. Wonderful things. Back then her Dr. Seuss-like optimism was just a degree below annoying and he knew he was failing high school. A week after she gave the Dr. Seuss package, he left her for California without as much as a goodbye. And she always needed goodbyes. He was indeed off to Places. Not necessarily Great Places, but still Places. It was disturbingly ironic.

He settled himself back on the sofa. Reaching for the book again just so that it looked like he was doing something and not just pining over her. He wondered if that was what he'd been doing for this whole time. Waiting is a deadly game. Again he wondered what died in him.

"Hey," she softly said. He didn't realize she was already done. See, she did that effortlessly, slipping unnoticeably into rooms, spaces,… hearts.

"Hey," he answered. Reality was beginning to sink in. She was really there in his Metallica t-shirt (the one that she thought was gross) and Dr. Seuss shorts. Those striking blue eyes, though spark-less, paired with her borrowed attire made a truly deadly combination. She looked good in anything. Potato sack? Now, there's a thought. He brushed the thoughts quickly and invited her to sit down. She chose the other side of the sofa, creating an uncomfortable wide space between them. Her hands were resting on her lap, her eyes noticing the book in his hand.

"You're re-reading the acid test? I could barely finish it the first time. The only time, I guess," the question almost turned into her typical rant, but she stopped herself, waiting for his response. Oh how she wished he would response. "Nope, I'm reading it for the first time. Barely progressing though," he hesitantly elaborated. He was not the kind of person that left books unfinished. Not even a self-help book on love, quitting smoking, forgiveness, or living in the moment. "But you were reading that when I came to New-.." again her voice trailed off and she zipped her lips, not wanting to go wherever she was going with the sentence. Yet, anyway. He just shrugged.

Another suffocating silence. How many can there be between long lost loves?

"They fit," he said pointing to her clothes with his chin. She followed his direction and hid her smile before bringing her eyes back to him. "Yeah, legendary things tend to fit me just fine," she answered cryptically, her eyes playfully waited for his reaction. He could swear he saw a glimpse of the sparks he once adored. Ah, who was he kidding, he still adored! Even so, he didn't give her the pleasure. This could be anybody's game now and he wanted it to be his. Didn't she have her chance 3 years ago?

"Coffee?" he finally responded, tiptoeing around the eggshell he didn't dare to touch just yet. They were silently taking comfort in the fact that neither one of them was doing it alone. Coffee seemed to be the most appropriate thing to offer. Besides, the girl was a coffee addict. A dose of a much-needed caffeine fix and something for her to play with her hands should help bring the tension down. "Yes, please," she answered. There she went again, Ms. Polite and Proper.

He lifted himself up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. He was actually brewing some coffee before she made her dramatic entrance into his mediocre day. He poured the black hot liquid into two giant mugs that almost look like bowls. These mugs were also used for cereals and instant ramen noodle. He had to work with the cabinet space he had in this tiny kitchen, in his tiny one-bedroom apartment.

"It's hot," he warned her as he handed over the mug. She accepted it gracefully and took her first gulp almost instantly. There was nothing graceful about the gulp. "Ah.. Ah! Hot! Burnt tongue! Ahh!" she hissed and started fanning her tongue with her other hand. "I just told you it was hot!" he said, amazed. This was actually something that had happened a number of times during their relationship and prior. He would warn her about piping hot coffee that he brought her when he used to work in a diner and she would take a big gulp without even bother to blow it for two seconds. She wasn't doing that to be cute, but it was just hard for her to resist coffee. That simple. "The coffee is good though," she said with her tongue sticking half-out, lisping. He couldn't help but forced back a smile when she took her second gulp.

"So…" he considered pointing out the giant pink elephant in the room. "So…" she pulled her eyes away from the coffee and followed his cue. "You must be wondering why on earth I'm here," she guessed.

"Not as much as how you know that I'm here. Nobody knows, except… You didn't. Did you?" he just had to ask even though the answer was already forming in his head. "Yes. I'm sorry. He didn't want to tell me at first, but I guess he's not an expert on handling strange frantic chick. Hey, that rhymes," she said, trying to make the statement lighter, before adding, "He didn't make it easy though. I was defining a whole new level of franticness before he finally cracked. And I saw tears in his eyes. I think he's forever scarred."

His editor in the publishing company he was signed with was the only person that knew about the research he was doing for his new book. He wanted to be completely drowned in his story, living and breathing his characters, so he decided that he needed to move to South California. He partly also wanted to surrender to something he despised. The thought of living in California was something he dreaded, let alone writing a story set in it. He once lived there for a mere month around 5 years ago and it was not a pleasant stay. Shiny happy people annoyed him. The endlessly gorgeous weather always rubbed him the wrong way. He was too dark and full of angst for such a golden state. However, that was years ago. Now, well 6 months ago, he decided to give California a second chance. If Kerouac could find something good (great even) about that sunny state, then there is a grand possibility that he might see it too. So he packed his bag and went cross-country (again) on a greyhound, not telling anyone of his whereabouts. The only soul that knew where he was located was that blabbermouth editor of his. "I hope he is truly scarred," he said to himself.

"So.. You went to my publisher all teary-eyed then verbally and emotionally abused my editor? You better have a damn good reason to do that," he said indifferently. He felt like winning though his rival had not yet been determined. She stuck her gaze into her giant mug, now half empty and hugged by her slender digits. Her hands were warm. She needed something warm because right there and then she felt naked and suddenly cold (again). She almost regretted coming here but decided that she did not and would not regret this. This had been too long over-due. Whatever this was.

She braced herself and looked him sharply in the eyes, "I didn't say anything about me being teary-eyed in front of him. I needed a destination and I could only think of you." There were days when he adored her way of being ambiguous in choosing her words. They almost felt like a test to his intelligence, but today he just needed her to be straightforward. "I'm in no mood for guessing games. Why are you here?" his words stabbed her right in the chest. He was not playing hard to get, only demanding answers.

She held back falling tears. She was not going to be one of those girls that resorted to crying every time she received a hard blow. Life is not always about unicorns and fairy dusts. Peter Pan grew up. She needed to do the same.

"I ran away from my bachelorette party and called off my wedding. My mom did that once too, you know? I don't know if this is a thing that runs in the family. Some people inherit china ceramics, silver spoons, chandeliers, or half a million dollar. I on the other hand…," she explained quietly, letting her last sentence go unfinished.

The rain was still pouring outside and the whole thing felt like a cliché. Runaway bride-to-be, old flames reunited, and the pouring rain. He, on the other hand, remained quiet, not wanting to cut off her explanation. "I needed to just be," she almost whispered. Her eyes trailed his jaw line. The lines had always been so strong. "So I went looking for you, because… Well, because I could only think of you!" she continued, now half screaming. Her heart was about to burst. Her eyes were now shut, fighting back tears that came in one package with her confession. Her knuckles turned white as she held her fists tightly, as if anticipating a bomb to explode. He released a small chuckle before responding, "Think ya used enough dynamite there, Butch?" She slowly opened her eyes and surprised to see him moving to the kitchen. A small curve formed on her lips. He just made a reference from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. He remembered. But did he really? The small curve quickly disappeared.

"You still eat junk?" he asked from the kitchen.

"Do I?" she asked rhetorically.

"Ice cream, pancake or Pop Tart?"

"Can I have all three? With chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles if you have some"

He didn't answer, but silently regretted the mentioning of Pop Tart. She was going to make it a big thing.

"Did you say Pop Tart?"

He knew that more mocking was coming. Now, more than ever, he needed to keep his cool.

"I don't work at the diner anymore. Come and help," he finally said, not responding to her question. She walked sheepishly into the kitchen, pulling her borrowed t-shirt over her borrowed Dr. Seuss boxer shorts.

"I'm sorry," she almost inaudibly put it out into the universe, hoping he could still catch it.

"For what? The unrealistic chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles over Pop Tart, pancake and ice cream request?" he was enjoying every moment of this.

She blushed, curling her chin down, talking to her chest, "I was raised properly, so never for that. But yes for appearing on your front door out of the blue like this. I didn't know what I was thinking."

"And you do now?" he asked straightforwardly.

She pointed at the ice cream carton.

"You don't get to be cute. I'm in control of your food and coffee now. You don't get to be cute," he was cracking and she knew it. The ball might have changed court.

"I'm sorry for appearing unannounced like this after all these years. It's pretty unfair, especially after what happened the last time we met. I realize that. I'm not asking for anything, I just need to stay for a night and I'll be out of your hair tomorrow. I'll be quiet, invisible! You won't even know I'm here," she could feel her chest getting tighter and tighter. Her voice sounded squeaky in her head. She hoped that it didn't really come out that way. She wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

"You don't do invisible very well. Neither with being quiet, but I can't let you sleep on the streets. Your mom will kill me. Not that she needs another reason to do that. She still light darts on fire and throw them at my picture?"

"She's worn that picture out. She had someone paint a picture of you and she's using that now. You have missing teeth and a big mole on your nose in that painting. Also a third eye. Literally, a third eye."

"I can send her a newer picture if she has worn out that painting."

"I'm sure she'd love that. You might want to add the mole though. She's gotten used to it."

The bantering felt familiar and natural. She was fighting a big grin and he smoothly shoved his head in the fridge so that she couldn't see the smile forming on his mouth. He took a couple of eggs and a carton of milk out and started grabbing things to make pancakes.

"We can order Chinese, pizza or Indian if you're not in the mood for pancakes."

"It's raining outside. It'll take forever and I don't want to have to burn the apartment down after we eat."

"Still not a big fan of exotic Indian cuisine, I suppose?"

"You're leaving tomorrow. I still have to live here," he said casually. It screws with my head. A painful reminder of you. "Do you have a squad and K9 unit searching for you?" he added, only half serious.

"Not that I know of. I told mom that I needed to go away for a while. I promised to call her tomorrow."

"Huh," he surrendered to his monosyllabic trademark.

"So it's OK if I stay here for the night? Will anybody mind?"

He understood what she was implying, but decided to take the ball back to his court.

"You can take my bed. I'm going to write all night anyway," he didn't really answer.

"Thank you," she said, pushing down her curiosity.

"The Pop Tart is over there, toaster sitting on your left. Help yourself."

She complied and opened the cabinet. "This is my favorite flavor too," she grabbed the chocolate fudge flavor and tossed the Pop Tarts into the toaster. He almost confessed that it actually was the reason why he had that box of Chocolate Fudge Pop Tarts sitting in his kitchen cabinet, but then he bit his tongue and went back full force into making pancakes.

"I guess this is lunch," he put down a concoction of chocolate on chocolate on chocolate in front of her. The chocolate chip pancakes were peeking from underneath what looked like a flood of chocolate syrup and chocolate sprinkles. She had finished the Pop Tarts before he even put the chocolate chips in the pancake batter. "Ice creams are better in cones," he said as if giving an explanation why there was a complete absence of ice cream on her pancakes. "I still think so too. That can be our dessert then," she said giddily. He just looked at her in amazement. His admiration in her appetite still hadn't changed.

"Are you seeing anyone right now?" finally she gathered the courage to just ask him the question she had been dreading.

"Are you?" he threw the question back to her, relieved that the question was out.

"I called off my wedding. I think that stands for 'I'm absolutely not seeing anyone'."

"Then so am I."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you wait for me to give you an answer?"

"We've had mixed ups in the past. I just need to make sure everything upfront before getting into another collision."

"Brutal honesty. I like it. Still like it."

"Eat. I have baby carrots and hummus in the fridge for dessert."

She made a nauseated face and shot him a withering stare, "I thought we'll be having ice cream?" He displayed a triumphant smirk, "Ah, finally, the withering stare! I've waited for a long time." She shook her head coyly and buried her face back into her chocolate sanctuary. She missed her mom, the other pea in the pod when it came to eating junk, coffee and of course, ranting. She knew that everyone was probably attacking her right now, demanding an answer for the cancelled wedding. Familiar faces popped into her head. She silently asked for their forgiveness.

"Hey, I haven't really asked you," he broke the silence that was slowly getting heavier in the room.

"About what?"

"Are you okay?"

She looked at him in awe. Her heart fluttered. Her eyes soften before answering, "I've been better. Thanks for asking."

"You just go about your daily activity. I'll try to be out of your way as much as I can. Let me just start with washing the dish. Thanks for lunch and not forcing hummus on me," she watched him walking away into the TV room and sat on the couch. He looked over his shoulder and gave her a faint smile. She caught it and started the rinsing and soaping. She joined him afterwards. Unsure at first, but he gestured her to sit down next to him. So she did. The space between them was smaller now, the tension lower, the awkwardness was still pretty much the same. They were both staring at their feet as if there was a competition.

"You remember that day when you first came to town and mom invited you and Luke over for dinner?" she asked, still staring at her feet. He didn't answer so she kept talking, "You opened my room window and asked me to bail dinner with you."

"You said the 24-hour mini-mart just closed 20 minutes before. I remember. I was being classy and gentlemanly," he answered, aiming the sarcasm to him and shooting her short glances from the corner of his eye.

"And you said we could walk around, sit on a bench and stare at our shoes. Well, 7 years later here we are, staring at our feet."

"And it still takes you a thousand words to get to your point," he teased.

A blush of pink crawled her face, "Whatever."

"Silly me, I thought Ivy League education can at least improve one's communication skills," he stared at her, expecting a come back, a crooked smile on his mouth. She stared back at him, bit her lower lip and pulled back a smile.

"Whom did you suppose to marry?" he knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from her. During the 4 casual, mostly civilized and non-personal e-mails they shared since their last meeting, she never mentioned the guy's name or that she was getting married. He knew though. Everyone in their small town hometown knew. "The blond dick?" he took an obvious guess. She sensed jealousy in his tone, but she brushed the possibility off.

"He has a name, you know. And yes, him."

"Why did you call it off?"

"Because I didn't want to try on my wedding dress every night," and because your face kept popping in my dreams and eventually I only slept to dream about you. She muted the latter sentence entirely. She cursed her mother for poisoning her brain with stupid reasons to call off a wedding. It might be a stupid reason, but she hadn't really felt like this in ages. Light and breathing. She was finally breathing. She knew now that it was a justifiable reason.

"Make sense," he threw his glance the other way, looking at the empty kitchen. A breeze of relief blew upon his heart. He didn't even realize that he had been keeping score against that dick all of these years.

"So what do you usually do on a day like today?" she brought his attention back in the room. Back to her. "Not much really. I usually hit the beach early in the morning when it's still vacant and quiet. Grab some breakfast, read a book. Go back home, work, lunch, work for a bit. Then I take a nap. A long afternoon nap," he elaborated, eyes gazing on the ceiling.

She always remembered him as being ridiculously laid back or rather indifferent, but there was something different about him now. He had mellowed down. She dared think California was responsible for this surprising change. "I think that's just elegant!" she exclaimed with a dramatic ditsy look on her face. He arched his eyebrows and shook his head. She just quoted Ms. Monroe in Seven Year Itch. And now she was giggling at his reaction. She was such a girly girl. He always got her references from the very first time they exchanged words in their small town hometown. Well, her hometown to be exact. He just happened to live there for a couple of years.

"Don't let me hold you then. Feel free to take your long afternoon nap. I'll just sit quietly here on the sofa, minding my own business, listening to the rain. I might even fall asleep," she said cheerfully, encouraging him to go to his room with her azure eyes. He saw them now. He saw the sparks again. They were actually there and not just barely there. He released a breath of relief and gave her a small nod. Unsure about leaving the sofa at first, but soon his feet found their rhythm and took him towards his room. She played with the tip of her t-shirt sleeve, her eyes scanning the room and the ceiling-high bookcases.

"Hey. You want to share a nap? Just a nap, nothing more. It'll be quite elegant," he abruptly stopped before reaching his room and turned around to ask her the question. He just used the word 'elegant' and he was mentally vomiting now. The corners of her mouth rose and now her white teeth were exposed. "I'd love that. Sharing a nap," she mirrored his route to enter the room. Her heart beat quarter of a second faster now, knowing exactly that there was going to be a bed involved. They had been in horizontal positions together before, but only one involved a bed. And that only time, she pushed him away, not wanting to lead him on.

His room had a huge window opening to a balcony. He opened its curtains, letting the dark skies and heavy shower be their view for the afternoon. An unmade double bed and stacks of books filled the room and nothing else. The rain was still falling heavily, creating a glorious symphony as drops of water hit his balcony and glass window. She couldn't help but feel that she was in his sanctuary now. She paused before entering the room and tried to absorb as much detail as she possibly could from where she was standing. It was weird how she did that every time it came to him. She remembered every single detail of every single moment they were together, either with fingers intertwined or just being in the same room, stealing glances. She had rolls and rolls of films in her head starring the two of them and of course, a number of supporting roles.

"I haven't made the bed," he said matter-of-factly then gathered his pillows and arranged them close to the headboard. She tiptoed to the bed and helped him fluffed the pillows and tucked the sheet under the mattress. It hadn't been made perfectly but he crawled in anyway, taking the right side of the bed. She carefully sat on the left side with her back towards him. "I heard that successful naps are usually taken lying down," his remarked makes her chuckled and turned her face to him. She brought both of her legs on the bed and now they were lying together, facing each other.

"More comfortable, huh?" his voice low and somber. Goosebumps forming on her arms. She just nodded, feeling like she was a teenage girl again, giddy by the sight of him.

The room was dark, but the window provided some needed lighting. She could easily trace every single object in the room, including the shape of the man in front of her. She couldn't really tell if he had his eyes already closed eventhough her eyes had the ability to adjust very well in darkness. A librocubicularist tends to have that gift and ruin their eyes in the process.

She could smell him on the pillows and sheet. He had that distinct smell about him that can make her completely lightheaded. It was the smell of a misty pine forest after a rain; dark and mysterious, intense but fragile. If it were a color it would be dark green. From all the men that had had the privilege of entering her life, only this man lying across from her that had the ability to take her back in time whenever she scented anything that resembled his scent. Now she was in the present time, smelling his scent and studying his silhouette. "This is pretty amazing," she thought.

"Are you asleep?" she waited for him to make a sound.

"Trying to," he lazily answered.

"I have a question," her stomach turned. This question was the reason she came.

"Shoot."

"Did I ruin everything between us with my coming to Philly?" she blurted it out. Ripping the bandage slowly never does anyone good.

"What's there to ruin?" his comeback was quick and nonchalant.

She couldn't really answer that. She could feel her chest collapsing, crushing her heart.

"I don't know. I just feel like I did."

"I left you. More than once, actually. I think I did the ruining first. Can't really top that, don't you think?" the sarcasm was subtle, but his words were bleeding.

"I really wanted to stay, you know? I wanted to hang around and see your life in Philly. Then we kissed. And I wanted to stay, but I did the opposite," these words she had carried with her for the last 3 years. They had been weighing her down. They led her to his doorstep, soaking wet and scared as hell.

"It was a strange day, that day. I felt like Dicken's Scrooge and the Christmas ghosts took me to visit my past, present and the yet to come. You were in all three."

"I was in the yet to come?"

"The moment you left, I was actually feeling OK. It was so strange the way things ended that day that I knew the universe would give us another chance. It always does."

"So you're saying that you knew that I was going to come see you again?"

"You're the kind of girl who always gets a second wind and the last say."

"I'm not th-…"

"This thing between us is twisted and tumultuous, but at the same time you know it can never really be over. Let's face it, we're cursed."

"You think so highly of yourself, mister," she chuckled, but understood completely.

"You called off your wedding."

"I never said that it was because of you."

"I never said that either. You made a hard choice. You took a risk. You keep an open ending. Good enough for me."

She didn't answer. She felt even lighter now and it was so much easier to breathe.

"Are you asleep?" he waited for her answer.

"No. Just thinking. For two bookworms, we can really stir things up."

"Huh. We read too much."

"What is much?"

"Hey, that's my line! Book tease!"

"Hoodlum!"

"Now now, that's your grandma's line."

She laughed. The rain was still pouring heavily outside. Lightning lit up the sky, the sound followed a few seconds later. They got a glimpse of each other even only for a few milliseconds. The room felt cooler.

"So what now?" she asked almost in a whisper. The room stood still, there was only silence, but it was no longer suffocating. She held her breath with eyes fixed on his silhouette, waiting for him to make a sound. She could see his head lifting away from the pillow and now moving towards her. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming. Knowing that the past was going to be present again.

His fingers brushed her left ear, her jaw line then moved on tracing her neck gently. Her toes curling under the blanket, her whole body stiffened in anticipation. Then a small round silver object was placed in front of her eyes. A coin magically appeared from between his fingers. "Didn't I tell you that if you ever want to speak to me again, don't pull that out of my ear," she chuckled as she was saying it. A plethora of memories came rushing into her brain, the first time they met, the first time they exchanged meaningful glances, the first time they kissed, the first and only time he said 'I love you', the first time she knew she was in love. "I just thought that this could shut you up. If it didn't work, I'd pull it out of your nose," his fingers playfully flipped the coin before throwing it over her shoulder. They lied there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Not a single soul moved, their inhalations and exhalations were delicate.

"I've missed you," he whispered and landed his lips lightly on hers. Her whole body relaxed and her lips parted slightly. The kiss happened. The inevitable kiss. Their kiss. He moved closer to her. She let her fingers played with his dark and already messy hair. Their bodies complimented each other's curves. "I've missed you too," her words were potent but they were drowned deeply in his kisses. She didn't mind and he heard them. He heard them loud and clear.

Their fingers interlaced, their kisses intoxicating. Everything was familiar, freakishly natural. She was finally home, safe and sound.