“Hey could you turn it up?” one of the girls hollers and the bartender who’d been leaning against the other end of the bar, keeping an eye on the level of his drink reaches for the remote, upping the volume on the TV at the other end.

“It seems that New York City’s It Couple has called it quits.”

Justin’s head snaps up looking over at the television to find one of the entertainment news channels’ talking heads yammering on next to a picture of him and Amelia that has been digitally ripped in two. His teeth grit.

“Only one month after their spectacular ten million dollar wedding at St. Thomas Cathedral, Justin Timberlake and Amelia Domineck have had their nuptials annulled. Sources close to the singer-”

“Fuckin’ awesome,” Justin grumbles, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes, his thumb and middle finger pressing into his temples to try and alleviate the aching in his head.

“Whoops sorry ladies,” the bartender hollers down the bar as she flicks the channel over to a bowling match. “Big tournament.”

Justin lowers his hand, flicking his eyes between the TV and the girl behind the bar before doing a double take. He’d never quite noticed it before, the resemblance, her long dark hair the same length, the shape of her face similar, maybe a little thinner. The only difference is her eyes, they’re brown and not green. His chest constricts then, causing him to gasp for air as the pain blooms hot, spreading itself through his veins, crawling down his arms making his fingers grip his glass harder and he throws back the remainder of his drink to try and put out the flames.

The bartender has another glass waiting for him, setting it on his napkin and snatching away the empty tumbler as soon as he sets it on the bar, wiping away the ring it had left with a towel.

“You make a good drink,” he offers, his voice bordering on timid, as he lifts his glass, eyeing her over the rim as she drops his other in the sink behind the bar.

She chuckles. “I don’t think how it tastes is particularly important to you right now,” she quips and he frowns.

“I’m not drunk.”

He hits the K a little too hard, his tongue making a squelching sound against the roof of his mouth and the bartender gives him a knowing look that makes his cheeks burn.

“Didn’t say you were,” she says softly, watching him for a moment. “It’s alright I guess.” She shrugs smiling and he wishes she had a dimple in her cheek. “You’ve had a rough month.”

He laughs mirthlessly, giving a slight shake of his head, taking a deep drink. “No fucking kidding.”

“Been spending a lot of time here.”

“Maybe I like your company,” he ventures and she raises an eyebrow completely unamused.

“What about that pretty brunette I used to see you in here with sometimes for lunch?” she asks and Justin’s eyes snap to hers, feeling as if all the blood has left his head, leaving him woozy and hot, the pain disorienting.

“What about her?” he asks, clearing his throat and trying to steady his voice. She merely smiles.

“You tell me,” she challenges, cocking her hip out to the side and resting her hand there.

“I’d rather not,” he replies tonelessly, preferring not to think about it.

“You know I’ve been working here for awhile,” she says, “Almost since you opened and I’ve seen a few of the girls you’ve dated. The actress, a few randoms, and, of course, the missus,” Justin cringes which she chuckles at, “and none of them looked at you like that girl did.”

“Yeah well I fucked everything up, okay?” Justin snaps and the bartender raises her eyebrows at his hostility which wanes quickly into despair. Justin’s shoulders hunch forward as he runs his hands over his face.

“How’d you manage that?” she asks softly and Justin merely blinks up at her.

“Well… I don’t know if you heard but uh…” he says, his voice hushed as he looks quickly down the bar before flicking his gaze to the front window conspiratorially before his eyes meet hers again. “I kinda got married.”

She gives him a wry smile at which he shakes his head, lifting his drink to take a sip, the alcohol burning his tongue. He nearly chokes on it when she asks, “But that’s over now isn’t it?”

He sets his glass down a little harder than intended. “You know you sound just like my idiot best friend. Why is everyone under the impression that my marriage meant nothing to me? That I should be over the moon because I’m-” he makes aggravated air quotes, “-‘free’, instead of devastated that my life is in goddamn shambles?”

She regards him for a moment before answering. “I think…” she says carefully and he’s seen that look a million times before…just on someone else’s face.

“Come on lemme have it,” he encourages, waving her in as he brings his glass to his lips again.

She sighs. “I think they feel that way because it was obvious to everyone, but you, that this was what you wanted all along.”

He chokes, whiskey and soda filling his lungs making him hack and sputter. She looks at him alarmed, grabbing a clean towel and offering it to him so he can wipe his mouth and dab abashedly at the few dribbles on his shirt. “I… what? he questions, his voice thick, catching in his throat and making him cough again. “you think I wanted all of this to happen?”

“Well maybe not all of this,” she says, gesturing at him and he looks down at his rumpled clothes, scratching at his scruffy cheek. “But somewhere deep down you wanted something more than that marriage was going to give you.” She shrugs. “Or you wouldn’t have been looking elsewhere.”

“Hey, I was not looking elsewhere,” Justin spits, his eyes flashing angrily at her and she holds her hands up, palms facing him in concession. He shifts in his chair. “It just happened, okay. Its not like I planned it. It’s not like I wanted to get involved with her. She just… She knew how demanding Amelia could be…” he winces at her name, rushing on to get the taste of it out of his mouth. “She understood me and she was there for me when… other people… weren’t.”

“You were friends.”

“Yes!” Justin exclaims, nodding. “We were very good friends.”

“And what did she get out of this friendship…if you don’t mind me asking?” the bartender ventures and Justin’s eyes snap to hers, her question shocking him so it takes a moment for the shameful blush to creep up his neck.

“She… she got… I was there for her too,” he tries feebly and the lie is bitter on his tongue. “God she was right,” he mutters to himself.

“About what?” the bartender asks, tilting her head to the side, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches recognition and understanding light his eyes.

“She said that I didn’t think she was good enough,” he answers without paying attention, his eyes staring blankly ahead as his mind runs over the past several months, seeing it with new eyes, becoming more and more horrified by the second. He shakes his head. “I didn’t think that,” he clarifies emphatically, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I don’t think that. But…” he chuckles darkly. “Actions speak louder than words.”

“And you acted like an idiot.”

Justin gives her a sharp smile. “Thanks.”

“So have you talked to her? Told her how you felt?”

He snorts. “Yeah. It went smashingly. We’re planning the wedding. You should come.” He leans back crossing his arms over his chest and she regards him for a moment before quipping.

“You should wait awhile. Let the ink dry on the annulment first.”

Justin glares at her hotly causing her to lift up her hands again, showing him her palms in apology. He sighs shaking his head. “No it’s fine. My life’s one big fucked up joke now anyway.”

“You should talk to her again,” the bartender says matter-of-factly and Justin blinks at her slowly

“I don’t know if you noticed by my sarcasm earlier but it didn’t exactly go well the first time,” Justin says, his spine prickling as he sighs. “You know, maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t really want her. Maybe I am just afraid of being alone.” His jaw tightens, a wave of embarrassment washing over him in a heat flash when he feels tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

“God how bad did it hurt to say that?” she asks and he looks up at her, blinking back the tears and shaking his head. “It looked like agony.” He’s silent, looking down into his glass. “You can say it all you want Justin but you’ll never convince yourself of it.” She pauses before adding softly. “I saw the way you looked at her too.”

He sighs letting his head fall back, running his hands over his hair. “I fucked up,” he sighs, feeling his chest rip open in a gaping wound like it does every time he lets himself think about it.

“Royally.”

“Thanks,” he says wryly, glaring at her momentarily before shaking his head and heaving a sigh as the despair sets in. “I just…” he starts but then stops himself, pressing his lips together to block the words there was no use in saying.

“Just what?” the bartender asks, her dark eyes soft and sympathetic loosening his lips.

“I just wish I’d been able to tell her that it wasn’t true. That I did…” he swallows hard. “I did love her. Maybe I didn’t realize it at the time but… you know… I did.” He shifts in his chair, his mind wandering back, back before all the drama and bullshit, back to when he and Charlotte were sniping at each other with jokes about his horrible sense of humor and her resemblance to a certain TV weatherman. “And I appreciated her, everything she did for me and even for Amelia.” He flinches again, licking his lips. “She encouraged me, always supported me. If I had a problem I couldn’t quite figure out…” he smiles softly, seeing her in his minds eye, green eyes sparkling and that dimple… “she always had the solution. She always knew what to do, what to say…” his face darkens as the memory of her smiling face fades and all he can see is how much he’d hurt her. “I just wish she’d known that she was good enough for me. I wasn’t good enough for her.”

The bartender smiles sadly, feeling a strong pang of pity for the broken man sitting in front of her. “You want some advice?”

Justin looks up at her, almost startled as if he’d forgotten she was even there. He shakes his head giving a sad smile. “Sure.”

“You gotta find her and tell her the truth. That you’re an idiot-”

“I already did that,” he snaps cutting her off. “I laid it out and I put my heart on the line and she walked away-”

“Then you do it again,” she says, her voice raising just slightly, giving him a dose of his own hostility, and chastening him. “How many times did she put her heart on the line, Justin? And how many times did you walk away?”

Her words hit him like a punch in the face and he lets his head fall back from the blow, heaving an aching sigh. “I’m am such a fucking idiot.”

“See, you’re off to a great start,” she says lightly and when he brings his head forward he finds her smiling softly at him, humor in her dark eyes. “You have to go to her. Make her understand that you’ve made mistakes but you’re not going to make them again,” she advises him slowly. “And don’t bring flowers, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Show up with nothing but your heart, Justin.” She smiles at him encouragingly when he looks up at her again, his eyes hesitant. “It’s the only thing that has any chance of working.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Justin asks, his stomach trembling with butterflies, barely believing he’s about to put himself through this again.

She hesitates before shrugging and heaving a sigh. “Then the drinks are on me.” She reaches under the bar then plants a bottle of water in front of him, taking his glass. “Come on sober up. You got a girl to see.”

***

A strange sense of calm is settled in Justin’s chest as he climbs the six flights of stairs to Charlotte’s apartment. It had washed over him as soon as he’d gotten in the cab and told the driver the address and even the grumbling of the cabbie didn’t set him on edge. It seemed he was immune to ill will, something inside him buoyed by his mission.

He didn’t understand it at first, spent the entire ride racking his brain for the source, possibly attributing it to fear of having his heart shredded again, or shock at actually going through with it. He figured it would hit him when he arrived, the nausea, the sweating, the shaking knees, but even after he’d paid the driver, tipping him heavily for his trouble and began his ascent to her sixth floor walkup he never lost his sense of assuredness. When he crests the top of the stairs and finds apartment 6D staring him straight in the face, he feels only little butterflies licking at his stomach, heat washing over his skin in anticipation, the same feeling he used to get right before the lights came up and the music kicked in.

His palms are just slightly damp, his throat a little dry as he steps up to her door, closing his fist and bringing it up, taking a shaking breath as he let his knuckles fall against the wood. He waits a beat, hearing his heart thud steadily in his ears and feels his entire body stiffen as the door swings open.

She’s freshly showered, her long dark hair curling at her shoulders, green eyes wide in shock. She’s dressed for the office even though it’s Saturday, the soft pink of her lace trimmed tank top matching the blush across her chest, her Bermuda shorts blazing white as if they’d never been worn. She looks thinner, her face less round and even through the concealer he can see the dark circles beneath her eyes as if she hasn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks. She is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

She blinks up at him, her stomach dropping down to her toes, her heart setting off at a gallop, completely thrown off guard by his presence. But he shows no sign of unease, standing tall before her in a soft grey t-shirt and plaid board shorts, his sneakers pristine white as always. His hair is just beginning to curl again, his blue eyes tired but open, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. She peeks down each side of the hall, thinking for just a moment that maybe this is one of those dreams again.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice a dry rasp and her eyes crash into his, setting the butterflies loose again.

She stands a little straighter at the sound of his voice, the dull ache in her chest assuring her that this is no dream and she crosses her arms, looking down. “Hey,” she tells his shoes.

He doesn’t respond, just watches her, waiting for the fear to shake him, waiting for every violent reaction he’s had in the past but nothing comes. He feels warm and steady and suddenly he understands that this is what it feels like to be sure, to stand in front of someone and know that they are what you want. This is what it feels like not to doubt or be afraid. This is what loving someone is supposed to feel like.

“Heard you got annulled,” Charlotte says, doing her best to keep her voice even when he doesn’t respond, still not looking at him but peeking up at his face to gauge his reaction.

He blushes, a response that strikes her quickly as adorable but she shoves it down. “Yeah,” he replies awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Untied the knot.” He pauses for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“Charlie?”

They both freeze, the voice, distinctly male, wafting from inside the apartment behind her. Justin’s stomach drops out but he’s unable to stop himself from peering in the doorway, finding a man emerging shirtless from the hallway which he assumes leads to her bedroom. His face goes slack, feeling as if something sharp has lodged itself up under his ribs, his eyes falling on Charlotte but her head is turned back, looking at the other man as he rounds her couch.

“Who’s this?” the man asks, his voice deep and Justin chances a look at him, finding him to be tall and cut, his hair damp as if he just got out of the shower.

“It’s just… uh,” Charlotte stutters, looking at the floor because she can feel Justin’s eyes on her, burning her with questions.

“Wait… is this him?”

The malice in the other man’s voice startles Justin into looking up at him, finding his face contorted in anger. The man takes quick strides until he’s standing right behind Charlotte, close enough for Justin to see the hard line of his jaw, the set of his eyes. His eyes are familiar.

“Isaac… don’t,” Charlotte says, turning towards him slightly, placing a hand on his chest and applying pressure.

“You’re the bastard that hurt my baby sister!” Isaac barks, his green eyes flashing maliciously and even though the man looks like he wants to kill him, an overwhelming sense of relief washes over Justin.

“Oh Jesus,” Charlotte mutters, rolling her eyes annoyed as she tries to shove her brother back, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“You’re lucky I’m not on duty or you’d have a nine millimeter cap in your ass right now, mother fucker,” Isaac spits, still struggling to get past Charlotte and Justin takes a small step back, putting his hands up. “You know what you’ve put her through? Our mother has been scared sick for her for weeks. She finally sent me up here to check on her-”

“ISAAC!” Charlotte exclaims mortified, her face flaming red as she finally turns fully to her brother, giving him a rough shove. “God, go put a fucking shirt on.”

He stumbles back, still glaring hotly at Justin whose eyes are cautious, glancing from sibling to sibling. Charlotte looks from her brother to Justin, her eyes scanning his face and as much as she wants to slam the door on him she’s curious as to why he’s here. She thought that after she dismissed him she’d never see him again. After all, she wasn’t the one Justin usually fought for.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with a defeated sigh, leaning her weight on the doorway as if exhausted by the mere thought of going through this entire exercise again.

“Well…” Justin says slowly, his eyes moving from Charlotte to Isaac who is still behind her, standing at full height and just waiting for his sister to give him the okay to beat Justin into a blood stain on the carpet.

Charlotte glances back at her brother then rolls her eyes, stepping out into the hall and grabbing the edge of the door. “Come on.”

She pulls the door shut with a snap, ignoring the snort of indignation from Isaac as she turns back to Justin. Her hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, moving to pull him towards the stairwell but both stop at the contact, looking up studying each other’s faces for the other’s reaction. She finds his eyes hopeful, questioning her heart stuttering and she forces herself to look away. He reaches to cup her bicep and she drops his hand, taking a step back and looking at the floor.

Justin sighs softly, moving to the top of the stairs and lowering himself slowly, looking at her over his shoulder to see if she follows suit. She moves cautiously around him, sitting next to him but pushing herself as close to the hallway wall as she can, leaving only the tiniest sliver of space between their bodies.

“Sorry about Isaac,” she mumbles after a long beat of silence, watching her fingers twist in her lap. “He’s just overprotective.”

“It’s fine,” Justin responds, looking down at his own hands, his palms pressed flat together. “I kinda deserve to have my ass kicked.” An unwilling laugh pulls from Charlotte’s throat, which he smiles at. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a fight. You got any pointers for me?” he asks, nudging her with his elbow and she shies away from his touch, sobering him and reminding him that this isn’t going to be easy.

“Why are you here, Justin?” Charlotte asks softly, not daring to look at him. “I told you before… you’re too late.” She wraps her arms around her stomach, holding herself tightly as she looks down the stairs.

“Yeah I was kind of hoping you were too drunk to remember that,” he says with a soft hint of humor, rubbing his hands together as he glances over at her, not quite brave enough to look at her face so his eyes settle on her knees instead. “Talk to me, Charlotte.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Justin!” she exclaims looking over at him in frustration.

“I want you to tell me how you feel,” he replies softly and anger flares in her, the memory of sitting with him in Amelia’s kitchen during her bridal shower searing through her brain when she’d voiced that exact request and he’d shot her down.

“Oh you wanna talk about feelings now?” she quotes maliciously. “I thought that wasn’t who we are. I thought we were just quick fucks in your office and-”

“That’s not true,” he says, the vehemence in his voice cutting her off and dulling her anger but she still refuses to look at him, her mouth set in a grim line. “And I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. That was never how I felt about us, Charlotte. Even if you never believe another word I say, please believe that.”

Her eyelids flutter, a lump forming in her throat at the sincerity in his voice and it’s too soon for this. She’s not strong enough to tell him no, not without the liquor in her bloodstream and Ginger to fight for her. She’s spent her whole life listening to her heart over her head and she guesses she should consider herself lucky that this is only the first time she’s been burned beyond repair. That exact thought is what made her vow to listen strictly to her head from now on but she finds the transition to be rocky. She’s frustrated by her own stupidity, hating herself for how she still dreams about him, still checks her phone hoping that maybe he’d texted. She hates how empty her life has been without him. As angry as she is, she wishes she were angrier; maybe then she’d be able to hate him for what he did to her. She knows she deserves better but her heart doesn’t want anything but him.

“Look I understand if you never wanna see me again-”

“Yeah well that’s not exactly the problem,” Charlotte cuts him off crossly and he stops, confusion making his mind go blank.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“I want to see you every day,” Charlotte mutters miserably, picking at her fingernails brutally and refusing to meet his gaze. “I want to call you and I want you to tell me about your day and what you had for lunch and all the other bullshit we used to talk about. I want to not miss you anymore. I hate missing you.”

Justin is shocked, watching her mouth pucker angrily, her jaw tight for a moment before she sighs, bringing her hands up to rub over her face.

“So…” he starts, trying to come up with a response but he hadn’t been prepared for this.

“I hate that you screwed up so royally that I’d be a fucking idiot if I took you back.”

He sighs. There’s something he can work with. “I know…god I know. You have every right to just… to end this. But I just… I wanted you to know-”

“That you’re sorry and you never meant to hurt me, yes I know,” Charlotte says, not trusting herself to listen to him. “I get it. I heard you.”

“No I don’t think you did,” Justin replies back sharply pulling her down when she tries to stand. “I fucked up Charlotte. Beyond any measure that a human being should be allowed to fuck up. I was so focused on… on making this thing work with her that I didn’t… I didn’t see what was right in front of me,” he sighs and Charlotte watches as his face shifts from frustration to agony, her breath catching in her throat when he looks at her again. “You have every right to tell me to fuck off. After what I did to you it’s the smart thing to do.” He reaches over tentatively, holding her hands in his. “But I wanted you to know that I fell in love with you because of a million tiny things you never even knew your were doing.” She sucks in a sharp breath, looking resolutely to the side, her fists balled inside the cocoon of his hands and he dips his head searching for her eyes which meet his reluctantly. “And I was scared of that. I was scared of losing something that was so far gone I couldn’t even see it anymore. So I made a lot of bad decisions. A lot of decisions that hurt you. And hurt me. I’m sorry for that. I know it’s not much, and I know it’s too little too late but I’m sorry. For hurting you, for making wrong decision after wrong decision, and for making you feel like you didn’t mean anything to me. I am so sorry. And yeah maybe you’d be a fucking idiot if you took me back but…” he trails, his eyes searching hers, seeming to reach inside of her and shake the very foundation of everything she believed to be right. He lets out a shaking breath, his body turning so that his knees press against hers and his voice is weak as he says, “You’d be happy, Charlotte. I’d make you happy. I owe you that much.”

She looks down at their hands, letting out a slow shaking breath and she wants so badly to give in, to let him try to make her happy. In fact he’d almost convinced her. But deep down she knows it’s not right. He’s lived his life for the past… god knows how long… working to make someone else happy. She reaches up to touch his face, his eyelids fluttering at the contact and she wonders if he’s ever going to learn that the only person’s happiness he can control is his own.

“You’re a good guy, Justin,” she says softly, her fingertips tickled by the scruffiness of his cheek. “You’re clueless but you mean well.” He looks up at her then and his sheepish grin makes her smile, the sincerity in his eyes tugging at her. She looks away letting her hand fall. “I know you never meant to hurt me. Deep down I’ve always known that.” She shakes her head. “This isn’t entirely your fault. We did this to each other.”

“We can fix-”

The look in her eyes cuts him off and he looks away, feeing as if all the air in the room has been sucked out through the black hole in his chest. This was really it. There was no getting her back. He hangs his head, taking a few steadying breaths and he wonders what he’s supposed to do now. As scared as he had been deep down he’d expected her to forgive him. He has no plan for this outcome.

Out of all the times that Charlotte had seen Justin beaten, all the occasions where he’d been berated and run over she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look this broken. He’s blanched considerably, his breath dragging raggedly in and out of his lungs and his eyes are flat and dull. She wishes that she could take it all back, wants nothing more than to throw her arms around him but she can’t be the one to solve his problems for him anymore. But despite knowing that, she still cares for him too much to pretend otherwise.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, her thumb smudging the soft skin of his cheekbone and he blinks at her as if her words have caught him off guard, his body jerking away from her. And then as if realizing his emotions are reading plainly across his face, he attempts to situate his features into a smile but the sadness doesn’t leave his eyes.

“Yeah!” he exclaims his head bobbing with false enthusiasm while giving a dismissive shrug of his shoulder that causes her hand to fall away. “I… I should go… you know… before your brother really does decide to kill me.” His lips twitch up into a weak smile that falls quickly. “Hey, take care of yourself okay?” he adds, his voice turning thick so he has to clear his throat, his hand rubbing her bicep quickly before pulling himself to his feet.

His legs wobble beneath him just slightly, feeling a little short of breath and he prays that his composure will last at least until he’s out of the building. He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans sucking in a deep breath as he begins his decent down the stairs, everything inside him screaming not to leave, all the words he couldn’t find before feeling as if they’re going to cause his head to explode.

“Justin,” Charlotte says, cursing the warble in her voice and she knows she shouldn’t call him back, that doing so would only make her want to keep him there. Would keeping him there really be so bad?

Justin stops at the landing, looking back to find her still sitting, her hands twisted in her lap, her face contorted in sadness and indecision. He sees her clearly, he thinks for maybe the first time ever and he has to reach for the banister to steady himself at the realization that this isn’t about having her, or Amelia, or anyone. It’s about the feeling he gets when he looks at her, the flutter in his chest when she smiles, and the way he loves her dimple. He laughs then, the sound causing Charlotte’s face to smooth, only the tiniest line drawn between her brows, her ‘huh’ expression, which he loves almost as much as the dimple.

“You ever notice that it’s never something huge that changes everything but it’s the small stuff?” he asks suddenly, not really looking at her and she can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Like you’re just a person who showed up. You were just another girl working in my fiancé’s office… You…you were just this girl.” Charlotte’s brow creases further blinking past him, his words stinging her even if that isn’t his intention “You were just this girl until you weren’t just ‘this girl’ you were…” he lets his voice trail, his eyes meeting hers and she feels her stomach drop out, feeling that pull inside her, the thing that had drawn her to him since the beginning, “you were everything to me. You kept me sane when Am— she was doing her best to drive me crazy. Seeing you was the brightest point in my day and…” he sighs, giving a shrug meant to shuck away all the pretenses before he says, “and loving you made everything tolerable I just…I never really realized it…until…”

He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together and she wants him to go on, her heart hamming wildly in her chest. She can feel that this is one of those moments; the ones you look back on as having laid out the path one would walk for some time. She’d felt it a few times before, deciding to move to New York for school, quitting her job at Gauge-Whitney, and before, as an assistant, choosing to give Justin’s friendship the benefit of the doubt. It’s the feeling she gets when the risk seems to outweigh the gain and even though her better judgment tells her to err on the side of caution her fearless heart pushes her to take a flying leap into the unknown.

“Anyway…” he trails, shaking his head giving her a weak smile that looks more like a grimace as he moves to take his first step off the landing.

“Wait!” she exclaims, propelling herself off the step and nearly tripping her way down the stairs. He freezes, looking back at her bewildered, his eyes falling to her hands as they grip his biceps trying to get him to turn and when he does and they’re facing each other, nearly the same height from him being one step below her, neither can speak, hearts hammering, knees shaking, their breath fanning each other’s faces. “Wait,” she whispers again, her hands fisting in the cotton of his t-shirt, her nails scraping at the skin of his arms as she rings it worriedly.

His breath leaves him in a rush, hands coming up to cup her face and he tells himself he shouldn’t hope but when she looks up at him, her green eyes large but sure he feels it’s impossible not to. His hands smooth over her hair, too scared to voice it, not believing his heart could take it if she said no but she just nods, quick short bobs of her head, answering him silently because she can’t seem to find her voice.

He blinks at her, and it takes a moment for him to fully understand, but when realization dawns on him, his entire body stiffens and he sputters softly. His own head starts bobbing in an attempt to get her to confirm what he thinks she’s implying. She lets out a soft whisper of a laugh, continuing to nod along with him and he breathes out hard, as if he’d been sucker punched. Charlotte watches as his face contorts from skepticism to disbelief to relief and then to unbridled joy that dazzles her, his face seeming to split open in a smile as he scrambles to grab handfuls of her hair, wrapping his fingers all in it until he’s trapped by it.

“Yeah?” he asks, not realizing his face was so close to hers until her bottom lip brushed his and her eyes close as she laughs silently, nodding still, her face breaking into the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen, his favorite dimple showing on her cheek.

He laughs loud then, a joyous sound, his lips pressing hard to her cheek, kissing that dimple and Charlotte freezes at the feel of him against her, his lips on hers, savoring it as her hands move to his shoulders before giving in and wrapping her arms fully around him, clutching him to her for dear life.

She hisses as he moves to untangle his hands from her hair, pulling her back to cup her face, fingers stroking her skin as he looks at her fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her, as if he were trying to figure out how he got so lucky.

“It’s… it’s not gonna be easy…” Charlotte finds herself whispering to him and his face sobers instantly, nodding solemnly as he gives her his utmost attention. “There’s a lot… a lot we need to discuss…”

“I know,” he says quickly, nodding at her soberly. “I know.” He holds her so that her forehead is pressed to his, his eyes staring back into hers, assuredly. “And we will.” He holds her face tenderly, his blue eyes sincere as he says, “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She laughs then, finding the juxtaposition of his seriousness and his choice of words so typically him. He chuckles too, his cheeks pinkening and she can only smile at him, letting her eyes close as her nose nuzzles against his.

When their lips meet it’s as if the world drops out, Charlotte grabbing handfuls of his t-shirt, his hand cupping the back of her neck gently, cradling her head as if it were something fragile. It isn’t like their usual lust filled kisses, the passion still there but simmering low behind the promise that this matters to both of them, that they will work together and that they won’t let anything get between them ever again. It’s the first honest kiss they’ve ever shared.

“…isn’t going to work-”

“We gotta do something! We can’t just stand by and watch them make the worst decision of their lives!”

Justin and Charlotte’s lips part, their eyes creaking open to regard the other curiously, each wondering at the familiar voices wafting up the stairwell. They turn their heads in time to see Trace dragging Ginger to the top of the staircase below them, both stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the two of them standing at the top of the stairs, wrapped in each other’s arms.

A smile lights up Ginger’s face as she gives a strangled squeal, tugging on Trace’s arm adamantly while he can only blink up at the two of them, his brain processing a little slower than his girlfriend’s. Justin and Charlotte look at each other again, smiling sheepishly before ducking their heads and Justin is unable to resist the urge to nuzzle her cheek, his arms wrapping around her waist as he tugs her close.

The action seems to spark Trace’s recognition, a slow grin pulling across his face as he regards the two of them before he quips. “Well, roll the fuckin’ credits.”