Hi, everyone. First off, I apologize for not uploading anything more on this fanfic. Life just stinks.
But, anyhow, enjoy the FINAL chapter of this fanfic. Thank you. xx

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On the cool, sombre breeze that whistled through the London streets that evening, making crisp, dry leaves scuttle over ashen pavements stained with the rain that had poured down earlier. But now the temperature was mild and pleasant, the sky tie-died a fanatical seasoning of crimson and vivid indigo. Under the snooping eyes of bowing streetlamps a woman strolled, apparently ignoring the beautiful unfolding sunset, thoughtfully twisting a solid gold band that was clamped around her dainty finger.

It often felt that way, that she were unable to wrench the damn thing off. Sometimes she wondered if it would ever take it off for good. Other times she wondered why she ever put it on in the first place. She shivered, wrapping her black trench coat tighter around her slim shoulders, suddenly aware of the icy night chill. She stepped over a gurgling gutter, and found herself wandering down a stretch of shops that she had once known, had once frequently visited, to see him..

Several months ago, after the wedding, Manny had sent her a five-page letter with the details of his disappearance. She had seen the tiny news slot he had gained, and for a while speculated that he would have hated the picture they had used, and the hoard of people that had gathered around the bookshop when the police finally broke in. Unsurprisingly, they had found all his belongings just where they were, filthy and covered in a two-inch layer of dust.

Manny had told her later that almost everything was gone, aside from several shirts, four of his favourite paperbacks, six bottles of wine and his Joy Division records. She had cried when she returned home that day. Cried for all the times she had made him shut off his record player during business in fear the customers would slit their wrists with the pages of Misery and The Bell Jar. She didn't cry any more. There was no reason to.

She was happily married, had been for almost an entire year; she had given up smoking and had actually been able to hold down a steady job. She had made sensible friends, female friends, and held dinner parties with Brian and spoke with people who had been to Nepal more times than she had snuck out for a quick fag while Brian was serving the souffles. She was happy. She was happy.

So, why now, as she ambled in the paltry dusk, squirming under the harsh neon glow of all the new, ultramodern bistros and mini-cafes that had opened up in the place of the rustic stores, did she feel so utterly alone? Brian would be waiting for her when she got in. She had phoned earlier, and made up some quick excuse about seeing Susanne or Phillipa or Bridget for a late night shopping trip. Before she had met Brian, she wouldn't have been caught dead seeing those kinds of people, let alone-

Suddenly, she laughed, a strange, sorrowful giggle that sounded more like a sob. She was starting to sound like him again. Every so often she would slip in to a foul, brooding, misanthropic mood she would be unable to break for a few days. Brian acted like everything was normal. That was the smartest move.

Her clumpy, heavy steps led her on autopilot to the entrance of the old shop. The windows were boarded with large beige slabs and ugly slivers of black masking tape, and the sign had been painted over in blank white wash. No-one had bought the shop after Manny returned the lease to the landlord, possibly afraid that the infamous shop owner had died and left his angst-riddled ghost to forever roam the grubby shelves, aggravating eager-faced book-enthusiasts even beyond the grave. The thought provoked a tender smile on her lips, as her soft finger tips grazed the chipped surface of the front door.

"Looks like it's in pretty bad shape."

The intrusion made her jump, knocking her forehead in to the the thick wood. She cursed loudly, spinning around on her heel, a sweating palm planted on her temples. She was suddenly flustered, having been interrupted from her wistful stroll down memory lane; she was prepared with a particularly poisonous response when she stopped dead, the breath suddenly leaving her in an emphatic gasp.

Standing just beyond the curb, a shabby man stood, hands buried deeply within the beaten suede of his long black coat. Dusty charcoal hair spilled in to his sharp, unamused eyes that glistened furtively in the dim of nauseating orange streetlamp. His skin was a little paler than she remembered, or maybe she was just too used to fake tan by now to relish in his awkward paleness. His pouting mouth twitched in to a tiny, wry smirk. His smirk.

"Honestly. I leave Manny alone for five minutes, and the whole place goes to the dogs."

"It..." She could barely speak, barely breathe. Her chest tightened and her stomach churned obnoxiously. "It's been more than five minutes."

"I know," he murmured, the tails of his coat flapping in a passing wind. He shifted from foot to foot, as if weighing up some inward thought, absently rubbing at an impatiently shaven chin. "But.. I couldn't come back. Not then."

"You.. you bastard!" Frantically, her hands wound in to tight, furious fists, and before she could help herself she had leaped over the pavement and tackled the man to the ground. She beat senselessly in to his chest, grinding her knuckles in to his ribcage, helplessly to the streaming tears rolling down her frost-bitten cheeks. He made no attempt to stop her, only grasped her wrists and waited until she had worn herself out.

Eventually the strength and rage and hurt left her and her shoulders sagged heavily, her chin nestling in the thundering heartbeat radiating from his laboured chest. Her arms found his waist and wound around them, clinging to him, the thin cotton of his blouse muffling her sobs. In return he hugged her tightly, pressing his cheek against the silky chestnut curls, inhaling her sweet, musky scent. For a while they lay there, blind to the honks and wails of cars in the distance. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

"I.. didn't know if you were dead or alive," she whispered in to nothingness, her long, dark eyelashes besotted with salty teardrops, her cheeks flushed a painful crimson. "I didn't know what to think. I.. I wasn't expecting you to turn up to the wedding. But. I wanted to see you."

"Really?"

"Of course. You're one of my closest friends, Bernard. And.. well."

"Oh no," he groaned, the breath leaving his damp mouth in wisps of mottled white. "Don't do it, Fran. Don't."

"Bernard, I love you."

She moved swiftly. His hands were pinned beside his ears and she was leaning over him, panting heavily, the bony kneecaps clamping his hips in place. He was vaugely startled, although he had known perfectly well what she was going to say, but the pounding of blood in his ears clouded his vision and made his tongue run dry. Twisting beneath her, he attempted to gather the strength to push her off, but found his limbs useless, succumbed to the cold and the intense glare he received. Weakly, he found his voice.

"Don't make me say it."

"No, Bernard. You've run away from your feelings before. I'm not letting you do that again."

"I'm sorry I hurt you. But please. Have mercy. Don't make me say it."

The pressure on his hands increased as she silently threatened to pierce his palms with her manicured nails; he growled, keeping his temper.

"If you ever want to see daylight again, Mr. Black, then just say it. Please. For.. for me."

"Fine! I.. I bloody love you, alright?"

His Irish bark had never sounded sweeter in her ears. She promptly released his hands, which limply trailed to resume their place, gingerly settled upon her hips. Her palm found the scratchy texture of his chin, gently tilting his head upward, and briefly, under the dank trickle of light above them shone down upon their tangled bodies, their lips brushed. A taste. Fingers met with tangled locks and pushed inwards, nails scraping against the scalp. Mouths opened, and jilted moans were muffled in the passion of the moment. After eons had passed, the kiss broke and both of them shuddered, staring at one another, grinning like manics. She spoke.

"That's all I ever needed to hear you say."

For a while longer they laid side-by-side, sprawled on their spines with the gentle curves of their temples resting lightly together, listening intently to the sound of one another's breathing, the freezing concrete beneath them unable to shatter the warm nest they had created within the folds of their dark coats. In the mess of wool and suede and cotton their pale hands fitted together as if they had been created just for the purpose of sitting in each other's palm. They watched the sun disappear behind the erratic zig-zag of rooftops, saw the night sweep in like jaded velvet and litter the vulnerable horizon with stars. They barely spoke, until her shivers roused him from his dazed happiness. He wrapped his sinewy arms around her shoulders and held her to his chest, savouring her presence, her fathomless love.

They would talk seriously later. She would ask where he had been, what he had done, possibly even if he had slept with anyone. They would talk about where he was to live. They would talk about Brian. They would probably talk about that last of all. Quietly, she felt the ring of gold bound around her finger, and it slipped in to her palm with ease. She deposited it without another word in to the breast pocket of his coat, and patted the small bump down. He understood her, as they had always done, without words.

Bernard Black had always thought words were meant for books, anyway.

We fought for good, stood side by side,
Our friendship never died.
On stranger waves, the lows and highs,
Our vision touched the sky,
Immortalists with points to prove,
I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division.