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aweecrush · 2 years

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i. Tonight is their last night in Derry.

The air is warm, and around her, it’s nothing but singing, and dancing, and happy, drunken shouts. Ma’s threats must have worked in the end, because they all passed their exams: they made it. She could swear she heard something close to emotion in her voice when Sister Michael sent them off school for the last time. It was such an odd feeling, knowing they’d never come back this time. They all felt it, she knows.

Their bags are ready now. For the past few days, the house has been even crazier than usual, everyone remembering something important for her to note and keep in mind, finding something new that she would absolutely need to put in her bags. By the end of it, she’d thought her bloody head was going to melt, but she supposes it's better that it was all so mental and loud and relentless the whole time. She's not sure she would have been able to cope, if the reality of what is coming had had time to settle.

(She doesn’t think that they would have, either. It's far easier for all of them really, that unstoppable level of energy up a notch.)

Tomorrow morning, she’ll hop in the car, and leave the city that she has known all her life. Clare and James’ planes won’t leave before the late afternoon. Michelle and Orla will stay here. For now, at least - who knows.

He doesn’t say anything for a while - just sits there next to her, his arm pressed against hers. He’s wearing a t-shirt and so is she, and she can feel the warmth of his bare skin.

“I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Well, we’ll come back - all the time.”

She knows what he means, though. Of course she does - it kept her up at night these past few days, just like it must have kept him too. All of them, probably.

The days and weeks felt so long sometimes, and now…now, it seems like everything’s gone by way too fast. Now, it’s all over.

She only notices the tears in her eyes when she feels a gentle brush of his fingers against her forearm, and Erin finally turns her head to see his green ones looking at her, as soft as his smile. That’s what he is, isn’t he, their wee English fella - always so soft.

“Yeah, we will,” he promises. ”It’s going to be okay.” His voice is so comforting, too. It always has been.

And so, Erin tries to smile back and lets her head fall on his shoulder, and chooses to believe him.

ii. It’s so strange, not seeing them every day. Her family, the girls - even Jim down the street. She hadn’t realized how full and loud her days were before the silence that comes with her to Burmingham.

It’s not always like this, of course, far from it: there’s always a class, a party, a fun book club. Something to be part of. It’s thrilling so it is, and she loves it. Still, life away from everything and everyone she’s ever known isn’t as easy as she likes to pretend, and sometimes, it’s like she can physically feel the loneliness. What’s missing.

When the Quinn-McCool clan leaves after their first official visit, Erin can’t quite contain her tears. “It will be alright, love,” Da says, his arm comforting around her, his smell grounding as she hides her face in his coat. Ma puts a warm hand against her cheek, Granda kisses the top of her head and Aunt Sarah and Orla squeeze her so hard, she can’t quite breathe properly.

“We’re never very far, Erin love,” her Aunt says. Promises, really.

Aye - so they’re not.

iii. The first time they’re all together again, it occurs to Erin that she’s probably never been this happy in her entire life. James had to stay in London with his mum for Christmas, but when he arrives a couple of days later to spend New Year with them, her heart leaps into her chest.

The gang’s finally reunited.

That night, in the packed and sweaty pub, they all have to bundle up into a corner, pressed against each other. None of them seems to mind.

iv. “Do you have a fella at home, Erin?”

The music is loud under the neon lights shining around Tara’s appartement, and she has to talk a little loud to answer. “Not really, no. I mean - no period, actually.”

Her friend just grins. “Well, Paul certainly likes you.” She turns, and at the other end of the flat, the boy waves a little shily before going back to his conversation.

As Erin stands at the window talking to him that night, she laughs at his jokes, even though his brown eyes don’t quite feel right.

v. Time flies by, and before she knows it, they’re starting their second year.

Orla’s taken history and has joined Clare in Galway, where she’s still book deep into her law classes. She loves it, although they’re all afraid her number of cack attacks is only increasing. Erin can’t help but feel a little jealous that they have each other, but she’s glad.

James’ still in London, having the time of his life - all summer, he’d told them about the amazing classes he had, the movies he got to study, the craker teachers. It's nice to see, really. He's happy - she likes seeing him like this.

Of course, Michelle kept telling him to shut it and instead, talked their ears off about how well she was doing at making her way up the chain at the bar already, but some things never changed (it was always more soft now, her teasing, or followed by a friendly punch, a smirk. Things did change - just the right amount.) The thought of Michelle with so much responsibilities is a frightening one, but in fairness, it is impressive, how far she’s come.

Erin’s still wavering through everything - adjusting more and more each day. She really does like it here, now.

Some classes are a bit boring and she gets all red when she gets caught snoring once, she can’t stick her new roommate. She also finds out writing whilst in a terrible hangover is not all that class after all. Feck that - it’s absolute hell is what it is, no matter how cool and artistic it sounds. Paul always brings her cake with hot chocolate when it’s really bad, though. He’s sweet.

Sure, exams are always a pain, but they all call and cheer each other up as often as they can. It helps.

Life is good.

vi. They’re home for Easter break, and John Paul asks Erin out.

That one, she doesn’t see coming. None of the girls does, if the look on their faces is any indication. From the corner of her eye, Erin sees James get up from their table and head to the toilets.

“The nerve of that fella - after standing you up like this at prom,” Clare hisses, still staring angrily at the door he’s just walked out of.

“Aye, he’s still a ride though.” Taking another bite of her brownie, Michelle shrugs. “Might be fun. Besides, you need a rebound now, it’s time.”

She’s not sure she does, really. Truth is, the break up wasn’t that painful. “Christ but we are on a roll now, aren’t we: Erin breaking hearts all over the place -”

“I’m not.”

“ - Clare getting it on with sweet little Helen - ”

“It’s not - we’re just - ”

“ - Orla spinning that fella over,” and her cousin just smiles, oblivious, “James with his perfect girl, me with that Scottish block. Well done lads!”

Well. Maybe they are doing alright.

vii. It’s way too late to call, of course. He answers anyway.

“Hello?”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping at this hour?” On the other end, she hears him chuckle.

“I was on my way to go hit some clubs, actually: you know, fast life of the city and all that.”

“Aye, I did hear Tuesday nights were always wild in crazy old London - lucky you.”

“I know, right. It’s getting hard, really: I mean, I’m getting dangerously sleep deprived at this point.”

“You spent all night at the movies again, didn’t you?”

James sighs, feigning defeat. “Busted.”

“Let me guess: Star Wars and Notting Hill?”

“Actually, no,” and she rolls her eyes at the pride in his voice. “I saw Star Wars last week, so tonight was just Notting Hill and a rerun of The Godfather.”

“Yes, so I’m still half right.”

“More like half wrong, but I’ll humor you. What about you?”

Erin turns the pink cord of her telephone between her fingers, eyes still to her ceiling. “Not much, really. Started to write my English essay but I couldn’t really concentrate, so.”

“Right. Is everything okay?” The badly veiled concern in his voice makes her want to cry, for some reason.

It’s so stupid.

“Yeah.” It is, really. She’s just -

There’s a beat, another. In the silence, she can hear his breathing a bit. It helps, somehow. “Just wanted to talk for a bit, I suppose.”

“We’ll do that then.”

And so, he tells her about Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant, details her how wasted he ended up last weekend celebrating his mate’s birthday (‘I karaoked Like A Prayer on top of a table - please don’t tell Michelle’), sounds half disgusted, half impressed by the lad he’s seen being chased naked down the street by the police the other day. She asks about his stepdad, and he tells her about their last lunch at his new place, all fancy and stuff.

Buried under her covers in the darkness of her bedroom, her phone glued to her ear, she smiles, and laughs, and smiles some more.

“It does it to me too, you know,” he says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t always know why it suddenly comes and then goes, to be honest, but - yeah. I love it here, I do, but - ”

“It’s hard sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

“But you have Emily, right? She’s great.”

“Yes. I mean - ” There’s a pause that seems to lasts more than it actually does - gets heavier than it is. Than it should be.

It’s probably just her. “Yes, she is.”

Erin holds her covers a little closer around her body, and smiles. She’s happy for him - she really is.

“What about you? How did it go with that Danny fella?”

“It didn’t, really. There’s Matt now, I suppose.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

Holding back a shaky breath, Erin nods on her pillow. “Yeah - that’s good.”

viii. The night is grand.

Clare’s friends are loads of fun. It’s her idea that they come and visit her to end the summer on a high, and it’s nice, walking around in the sun all day, only having to worry about where they’re gonna go get drunk that day. Well. Get down right pissed, really.

Tonight is no exception.

Michelle’s snogging a lad in a corner, Clare’s at the bar, laughing at something Orla's doing, all pink cheeks and crazy blond hair. They’re dancing, too, and so is she, and so is James. His curls bounce on top of his head, and she laughs as he makes her swirl, then catches her, both their chests colliding in a soft oof. She can feel his warm hands at the small of her sweaty back, and her fingers clam to his shirt for balance.

The pub is packed, and it’s all smoke and beers and shouts.

She hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

His green eyes are dazed with alcohol and crinkling with happiness when he leans forward, forehead almost touching hers, and suddenly, it feels like they’re seventeen again. In another pub - on another drunken night.

She’d wanted him to close the distance then, to just erase it and kiss her. When he had, her heart had stopped. It still does a bit, whenever she thinks about it.

She wants him to do it again. She’s been wanting him to, all summer, and tonight, her head spinning and all inhibitions sent to hell, she can finally admit it.

“Erin.”

His voice sends shivers down her back. He feels - solid against her. Right. Exactly where he’s supposed to be.

And then, Michelle surges out of nowhere, dragging both Clare and Orla behind her, and it’s a mess of tangled limbs and giggles. When they all part, dancing and jumping all around, she misses his warmth against her.

In the morning, they all go their separate ways and back to uni, and that night is only remembered as the last summer party, where Orla drank too much tequila shots and Michelle nearly rode a Robbie Williams’ look alike.

ix. She meets Cilian in the library, during the first term. They talk about Beckett for an hour, and when he smiles, she notices the dimple on his left cheek.

She struggles a bit with courses - she’s always managed studies and the work she got on the side, but essays and projects are pouring down on her, and it’s been harder than before. It’s getting more and more interesting, though.

She also kind of sets a room on fire that one time, but really, it’s not her fault.

Mammy sends her a couple of photos one day, and she smiles at how grown up little Anna is getting. It feels weird, everything moving so fast.

It’s good, though. That’s what life is supposed to be: moving forwards.

x. At Christmas, she brings Cilian home. She’s never brought anybody home before, but he can’t get back to his family for the holidays, so. Plus, she likes him. She really does.

It feels a bit strange, and of course, Granda eyes him the whole time, but her Da makes sure to chat with him, and her Ma always smiles at him gently, and it goes well. He’s polite with her family, laughs out loud at Michelle’s coarse stories, finds he and Clare share the same favorite books.

They’re in their usual booth at the pub when James announces that he’s going to New-York. It’s an internship, and it’s absolutely grand, in this big movie company. He beat out twenty others applicants, and he’ll get to read scripts and attend production meetings all day, which basically makes it his dream job.

When Cilian offers to give him some addresses that he loved when he was over there, James accepts with a smile.

xi. The girls come to visit her for her birthday. They’ve been here before, and as always, it’s great. It feels…odd, a bit. Seeing three of them and not four, blowing her candles without him clapping along.

Still, she watches as Michelle and Orla dance with her friends from uni, as Clare happily chats with her new roommate Ashley, and she smiles.

(As it turns out, it’s a shame they don’t say a couple more days, when the big, earth-rocking news come. It would have been fun, seeing each other's faces when they hear about it.

Instead, they’re left with the next best thing as Michelle calls them all up.

“Can you fecking believe that?!”

All in all, it’s fair to say that Jenny Joyce’s wedding announcement arrives with all the gasp inducing shock and drama that she was probably very much hoping for.)

xii. As Erin crosses the gates, she can’t help the roll of her eyes.

A castle. Jenny’s tying the knot in a castle.

Of course she is.

July is shining bright, there’s a band playing in the middle of the court, where it’s all flowers and butterflies and glasses of champagne being handed by perfectly dressed, perfectly handsome gentlemen. She hasn’t crossed the front door yet, and it’s all already screaming ‘yes, I did plan the loveliest event of the year’.

Dear lord.

They’re here for the whole weekend, and she’s already checked into her room when the others start to show up, one by one. Her cousin first, hand in hand with Otis - Clare with an in awe looking Julie - Michelle. When James arrives, Orla actually tackles him to the ground, she’s so happy.

They’ve never gone so long without seeing him - ever.

As it turns out, Jenny’s beau and his family are even more loaded than she is, and they’ve spared absolutely no expense. It’s the best food they’ve ever tested at every course, the loveliest bedrooms, and activities and dancing and unlimited booze. They’re still not sure why they’re invited (‘So she can show off, that’s why,’ Michelle comments, happily downing her four o’clock cocktail nonetheless), but Erin’s sure glad they are.

She has to give it to the girl: it’s absolutely grand.

The actual ceremony takes place on the Saturday evening, and although they’ve all been raging a little over this and that and the whole marrying rich thing for the past two days, more out of habit than anything else, Jenny really does look happy.

When they exchange their vows, Erin even has to swiftly swipe a tear out of her cheek. James is the only one who sees. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he whispers in her ear as all the guests burst out in applause and shouts. She smiles back.

She can’t believe he’s actually here.

That night, the party is even better than everything else has been, somehow - the highlight (of her entire life, probably) being her and James having to escort a drunk Sister Michael back to her room closing on three in the morning.

His face is still half shock, half absolute delight as they lean against the wall railing of the back garden overlooking the lake. The fresh air does wonders for her skin, all hot from the dancing - and the, well, carrying -, her head is spinning a little, and she can’t stop giggling.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he laughs. He’s tanned, and the green of his eyes are made that much enticing, somehow.

“The girls are going to be raging they’ve missed this. And when she talked about the - ”

“I know!”

“And then when fell and did the - ”

“I know! Christ.”

Their laughter slowly dies, replaced by the sound of the music further away, the whispers of a few conversations not far. They've been silent for a while when Erin turns to look at his face, still leaning on her forearms, as his gaze is fixed on the water underneath them.

“Admit it - New-York is class and all that, but it has nothing on this place.”

He chuckles. “It hasn’t, no. No rogue polar bears, no one to steal my tent, no luggage full of vodka being destroyed on the street - I mean, it was getting kind of boring, really,” and she laughs. “I did miss it a lot, actually.”

“Really?”

He’s told them about his cool, fancy abroad experience, of course, but she hasn’t had a chance to properly ask him anything yet. Hasn’t dared to, maybe.

He looks back at her for a second. Another. “Of course.”

“We were afraid you weren’t gonna come back, you know.”

“Well, technically, I haven’t even finished uni yet.” She shakes her head at his confused expression.

“Come on, James - if you had the chance? It wouldn’t have mattered, right? I mean, I get it: dream job, dream team, dream city. Michelle mentioned your friends were great. Your girlfriend.”

His face changes a little. That expression, she can’t quite read.

“Right. Well, as I’ve said, I really did miss it here. And she’s - she got a scholarship to study abroad, so she’s coming to London at the beginning of term, actually.”

Oh. “Plus, it’s - it was great, but I’m not sure I can actually see myself live there for real, though. It was only an internship.”

Inside, she can feel her tummy twist a little. A lot.

“Right. Good - that’s good.”

She’s not sure how long they stay silent this time. Not even sure why she speaks again. “Promise to call more often then, will ya?”

She means it to be playful, but it comes out more - real than she wants it to. He’s looking at her, though, and she feels like she needs to explain. “It’s just…you didn’t call.”

Well, twice. At the beginning, and then - never again, really.

There’s a beat, a few others, and she’s about to apologize and shrug it off, move on as if that didn’t matter, as if that didn’t hurt, when he speaks.

“I’m sorry, Erin. It’s just - you had your own life, and Cilian, and it was all going so fast over there, all the time. And that time difference thing is a bitch too, and I guess I just - ”

“You were real busy.” He’s got that hurt puppy expression now, and she smiles. “It’s fine, really. Just start picking up your phone again, American boy,” she shoulders him, and he smiles, nodding obediently.

“I will.” He looks down then, but before she can comment on how impressive Clare dance moves were tonight, he looks back up at her. “I did miss you, though. Really.”

Aye. She wants to tell him how much she missed him, too, but she’s not sure she has the right words for it, really. It doesn’t matter, though, because then he’s smiling again as he turns, facing her way.

“Also, you look really good tonight, but I’m going to put that,” he says as he shrugs off his jacket and starts enveloping her in it, “here, because you’ve got goosebumps all over your arms now, and seeing you turn blue once was enough for me.”

Again, the roll of her eyes is not even intentional. “For the last time, it wasn’t that bad, James. And for the last time, it wasn’t my fault!”

“Right. I’ll forever continue to think you falling into that pond was your own fault for drinking that much vodka, as will everyone - but nice try.”

Erin just groans. Really though, when will people stop bringing that story up? “It was ages ago - stop it already.”

“Not until it stops getting that look on your face I won’t. Also, not to be a drag, but it was barely three years ago.”

Was it?

“Shite. It all feels like it’s going so fast, though, isn’t it? And now Jenny is just making it worse, marrying the love of her life at 21 - I mean, that’s not normal, right? We’re supposed to still be getting pissed and figuring things out - that’s normal.”

“Sure.”

“I mean, I still call my Ma because I still have questions about laundry sometimes.”

“I know - she told me.” She punches him for the mocking smirk on his stupid face.

“Oh shut it, James,” although she’s laughing, too. “Seriously though…Doesn’t it scare you sometimes? How fast it goes? How sometimes - sometimes, it feels like everything’s unfolding a certain way, and you don't have time to even think about it, and you’re…you’re just not sure that’s what you want? Not even sure what you want?”

She’s sounding a wee bit mental now, she knows it. But he’s not laughing at her, and she realizes that this whole time, James’ been holding the front if his jacked closed around her body, his own body almost pressing against her.

“I guess it does, sometimes. But that’s just life I suppose. And you’re happy, right? With you friends - uni, Cilian? That’s what matters.”

She is. She loves her classes, and her friends are cracker so they are, and she likes Cilian. She really does. Sometimes, she thinks she could almost love him, one day.

Somehow, that’s not what she says.

“And you’re happy? With Lena, and her coming and all that?”

He should say it, too. He doesn’t.

She doesn’t know who initiates it, but she knows she certainly doesn’t stop it. She doesn’t want to stop it.

His lips are warm and soft against hers, so soft, it takes her breath away. He does.

That night, the sound of their breathy moans fill the room, her fingers get lost in his brown curls, his hands burn every inch of her skin, and she wants to remember everything. She’s not sure her heart's ever beaten this fast before - not sure she’s ever felt this much before.

(She knows she hasn’t.)

His face buried in her neck, Erin wraps her arms around him, their legs entangled, and lets herself get lost.

xiii. “And how is everything love? Still working hard I hope? It’s your last year Erin, you can’t get lazy now.”

In the background, she hears her sister shout something at the TV. She sighs.

“I’m not, Mammy. I mean, it’s getting harder so it is - I swear it’s like they’re trying to make us fail at that point - ”

“Erin Josephine Quinn - ”

“But I won’t! I promise. What about yous? Is Granda doing alright now?”

“Ach don’t worry love, he’s all up and about now - it was nothing to worry about in the end. Michelle brought him something to eat from her pub yesterday, the nice thing.”

“That’s sweet,” she smiles.

“She brought him a couple of Guinness as well - when I got back, the two of them were laughing like drunken imbeciles.”

Overall, everything's going well. It’s weird, thinking that the life she’s known for almost four years now is almost over. Exciting, too.

It is, and yet, in a blink of an eye, she’s posing with her whole family, smiling wide as her friend Nessa takes the traditional graduating picture.

xiv. “Erin Josephine Quinn, as I live and breathe - ”

She rolls her eyes as dramatically as she can, even though she can feel the smile growing on her face already.

Not that she can blame him, really. If someone had told her teenage self she’ll one day arrive in London with her luggages and ready for two years of Englishness, she probably would have laughed. Boked, more likely.

“Oh shut up, James.”

She still goes into his open arms - Christ, but she’s not seen him in…ages. Releasing a breathe she hasn’t realized she was holding, Erin hugs him back, her nerves settling a little at the concrete evidence that she won’t be completely alone in this big, scary town.

xv. She tends not to tell Granda that too much, but as it turns out, life in London’s not so bad.

It’s loud, really loud, but she does get used to it after a while, and there’s millions of things to see, to do. She finds a job, goes to the theaters more often than not, gets to know the best Irish pubs. Her flat isn’t that big, but it’s cute, central, and her roommate's nice enough, so she can’t really ask for much more.

James’ there most of the time, even though he has a life of his own, and it feels good - sharing a city with him. His first job is not everything that he wants it to be, but he works hard, and a lot. She’s proud of him, even though she wishes he wouldn’t put so much pressure on himself.

Her postgraduate studies are…fine. She still doesn’t know what she thinks of it, really - still doesn’t know what she wants. Until she does, it’s probably the best option, anyway. Clare agrees and always makes sure to encourage her whenever they’re on the phone.

“I still don’t get what possessed you to go surround yourself with so many English twats, but whatever suits you I suppose.”

When it comes to her new life, it’s fair to say that Michelle’s opinion is a little less enthusiastic.

xvi. Both of them go back to Derry for Christmas, and a few days later, all of them are on their way to London for New Year’s Eve.

2002. Feck.

The party's pretty class. They decide to go just them - no significant others whatsoever. Not that they really are lots of them running around, to be honest. Apart from Clare and Michelle, it’s single-city in their little group.

There’s some of James’ friends from work, and they all drink, and chat, and dance, and drink again, and again. If there's a night of the year to be absolutely pissed, after all.

Tom is there - he works opposite James, apparently, and he’s good craic. She’s seen him before, and they hit it off. She’s always suspected he might sort of have a thing for her, and tonight, he confirms it. She makes it clear she’s not interested though, not like that, and they hang out anyway.

She’s laughing her arse off with Michelle, both of them completely and positively wasted, when Clare comes running off, both panicked and buzzing with excitement.

“It’s almost time, girls! We have to find the others - quick!”

In the big, crowded flat, it’s nothing short of a mission, but it feels like they’re on an adventure, and they really get into it, Erin riding on Michelle’s back and Clare pushing through, showing the same lack of mercy as she did when president Clinton went to visit Derry, and she had to guard their spot.

They have Orla now, but the New Year is just one minute away, and they still haven’t located James, and the sense of urgency keeps rising and rising as the seconds pass dangerously fast - and then Clare makes a turn, and he’s right here.

Well, not right here. On the other side of the kitchen area, kissing a girl with high boots and ginger hair.

“ - 3, 2, 1 - HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

And just like that, another year begins.

xvii. Tom is really nice. He’s funny, and she likes spending time with him. Even more so than she thought she would, actually.

It’s going really fast, too. Cilian was her longest relationship, and it feels a little like that, but so much - well, faster. He’s a nice lad, though. It’s only been two months when he asks her to go away with him for the weekend, and she accepts with a smile.

James has someone too now. Not the girl from New Year’s Eve - someone new, who he’s just met. She seems cracker.

Erin has her favorite London spots now, and she gets along with all her postgraduates friends except for that snobby Jessica girl. She tries running but ends up quiting real fast, but her friend Sarah always drags her to her yoga thing, and she goes, although she makes a point of complaining about it every time.

That summer, for the first time in the history of the gang, they don’t get together. She sees Michelle really quick, and James catches Orla, and then his cousin, and Clare manages to squeeze a little time with each of them, but they’re never together at the same time.

It scares her more than ever, how things change. Particularly things like this.

xviii. “Jesus Christ - you’re wasted.”

He collapses on the sofa, head on her lap, one foot dangling on the edge, and chuckles like an eejit.

“D’you know what? I think I might be, Erin.” She rolls her eyes, equally amused and appalled.

Not that he’s the only one in that state, of course: the lights have gone down, the dancing part of the evening has started, and now, the whole party has turned into a shot contest.

“It’s really scary, how poorly you handle red wine - remind me to never let you go to France.” The jagerbombs probably didn't help much, but knowing him, the wine probably really was the major playing factor in that particular drunken mess.

“I think we’d have lots of fun if we went to France. Could be a revenge trip after that Paris shitshow and all that.”

“Could be, yeah - but let’s keep you here for a while.” He agrees with a nod, never one to start an argument, and Erin smiles as James closes his eyes, and sighs contently.

He’s very much a man now - a proper lad, as much as Michelle likes to pretend otherwise -, but watching him like this, happy and drunk and not a care in the world, all she sees the sixteen year-old boy again.

“You okay there?”

“I’m great. Never been better actually.”

She snickers, her own head spinning a little. “Is that so. You look a little tired though, English.”

He wrinkles his nose a little. “Well, to be honest, I guess I sort of am? And my stomach hurts. My head too, now that I think about it.”

She’s not really sure how much time passes as they just lay there among the conversations, and smoke, and pop blasting against the walls, a couple of her polished fingers running down his face to smooth the wrinkle between his eyes, her other hand buried in his curls.

She’s not really sure how much time passes before he speaks again, his voice almost too soft in the noise that surrounds them. “That helps, though.”

“Well, maybe I should stop it then - that would teach you to down Bordeaux like it's grape juice.”

“Technically, it is,” he argues. But he’s getting sleepy now, and his words come out as a mumble. Before long, he’s out for good.

Pete, James’ roommate, helps her to change his shirt, and get some water in him, and finally, finally manage to get him to bed despite his multiple, half-pronounced whines that he’s fine and could go all night long.

Right.

She stays for another hour before she decides to go home. Tom had only stayed for a couple ones at the beginning of the night before rushing to another party, so she gets her stuff, and heads to get a cab. Pete walks her out.

“Be careful with him, Erin?”

She smiles. “I know, I know - I should grab the wine right out of his hands instinctively at this point. I mean, he always says he’s getting better at handling it, but - ”

“No, I don’t mean that.” He chuckles a little, but his eyes don’t meet hers and his face turns serious. Concerned.

Her stomach flips.

“I just mean…James adores you, you know. He really does. And it’s - it’s not always easy for him.” He sighs, shuffles on his feet. “I know I’m drunk and I shouldn’t be telling you this - even sober, I shouldn’t be telling you this, because it’s none of my business, but…"

And then, he looks at her, his baby blues a little dazed, but focused.

“It’s hard for him, seeing you with other lads. It’s always been - always. And it’s even harder now that you’re with a guy he sees every damn day, but he’s still happy for you, because that’s just the kind of block he is. But it’s killing him, Erin. It is, and I just don’t think…You always being so close, and the drinks and the calls every day - and the moments like on the couch tonight…I just don’t think that that’s doing him any good. I know that it isn’t, actually.”

She must look rude, staring at him like this. Stupid, that’s for sure. It’s like - she can’t look away, though.

She’s just -

“I - ach, it’s not like that, Pete.” Her voice sounds shaken even to her own ears. She’s not sure why. “We just - we’re friends. We’re just friends, we’ve always been, since - ”

“Since you were fifteen. Yeah, I know.” He sighs, shakes his head.

Hers is spinning, and hurting, and she can’t think straight. “Did you know he was the one who planned the surprise visit they all made to you, back in first year of uni? I was there when he phoned the girls too, actually.” Pete looks back at her, and smiles, just a little. “You were having a hard time, what with being away from everyone again after the holidays, so.”

She didn’t know. He never said anything.

It doesn’t mean anything, though, because he’s just sweet like that, their James, and he’d do it for any of them. Pete knows that - she reminds him of that.

“Right. And did you know that he almost came to see you again? Beginning of third year - alone this time. I don’t know what exactly happened in that pub in Galway the summer before, but he was restless about it for weeks, so we told him to go, you know - to at least try. And then you phoned later that night and told him about that Cilian guy, and - well. He tried to move on after this, he really did - he literally ran away trying. But - ”

She’s not feeling well. She needs to sit, or…something.

She needs him to stop talking.

“I was here for all of it. I was here after the phone calls, after the reunions, after the holidays. The night he broke up with that girl not long after you arrived in London, because she told him it was you or her.” This time, Pete hesitates, just for a second. “I was here after that Jenny’s wedding. And I’m telling you, Erin: it’s not doing him any good.”

All of the sudden, she feels his hand in hers, and Erin realizes that she’s - zoned out. He looks a little worried, and he squeezes her fingers, and it hurts.

In her chest, it hurts, and she doesn’t know why.

She manages to focus on him again, just like he’s telling her to, and that’s when she realizes that she’s shaking a little. That she can't breathe properly.

“Erin - Erin, calm down. I’m sorry - I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t.” She nods, somehow, and his face softens even more at that. He’s still holding her hand, and she holds on.

“I just…He has a girlfriend - he has Eva now.”

“I know.”

Erin finally looks back at him, the lights of the living room reflecting on his face. With a small smile, Pete sighs.

After a moment, he grabs her beanie for her, a gentle hand on her elbow. “Come on - let’s get you a cab, yeah?”

xix. She hasn't seen him in a week.

They have work, and other things, and they had nothing planned anyway.

She doesn’t manage more than a couple hours of sleep the entire time.

xx. November 24th, 2002.

If she had to guess, she’d probably say that this is the day everything goes to shite. Then again, maybe it did a while ago. Probably.

Definitely.

Not that she knows it at the time, of course. There’s no reason to suspect otherwise, after all.

(She’s been feeling like a ticking time bomb lately, feeling like her head - her chest - could burst any time. Every damn day.

She didn’t think it would all go down like this, though.)

She’s agreed to a drink with Tom’s mates, only realizing that it would be with his workmates that same morning. It’s good, though. She’s not sure if Pete talked to James about their conversation, but she’s thought about it, and it’s - Pete’s wrong, and it’s all fine. In any case, she doesn’t want to start avoiding him and make it weird.

Especially when there’s no reason to. Plus, she hasn’t seen him in a few days now, and that’s not usual. She misses him.

When he walks through the door, her stomach feels like jelly.

It goes well. It always goes well with those lads, and today…It goes well.

That is, until, taking another generous sip of his pint, Curt starts telling them about his new place - and the one he’s leaving behind.

“It’s really great, I’ll miss this flat to be honest. Actually - wouldn’t you two be interested?”

It takes Erin a second to understand that he’s addressing them. Her and Tom.

“What?”

“Well, it’s a great place for a couple - we really did love it with Rita. Plus, it’s not far from the office, not far from your UCL Erin, so - just saying.”

“You did say you were thinking about switching flat, honey,” Tom smiles, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

Conversations are still going all around their table, but in a second, and for what should be such a small, casual thing, too, it’s like everything resolves around that particular exchange. All she can see, Tom expecting, clueless expression, Curt’s curious one.

She can’t see him, her eyes fixed on them instead, but she’s never been more aware of James’ presence not so far from her. Of his eyes on her.

When she says yes, she sees him get up from his seat in her peripheral vision as Tom envelops her in a hug that feels far too tight.

xxi. James moves a few weeks after that night. Los Angeles, this time.

His old team from New-York got him an interview for this replacement gig where he’ll be covering someone’s job while they’re off traveling all around the world or something. For a year, apparently.

He really hated his job in London.

xxii. Clare’s visiting this weekend.

It’s a surprise, too - she only calls once she’s at Victoria’s Station. Erin rushes so fast out of the café she’s working in, she literally falls on her own face.

The pub is packed and warm, her best friend is sitting right in front of her, all pink cheeks and shiny hair, and for the first time in a while, Erin smiles a real smile.

God, how she misses them.

“I’m taking her to meet my parents soon, actually.”

Erin stops mid sip, smirks. “Really?”

The girl’s entire face reddens, but her eyes are shining. “Really.”

“Aye, Clare, that’s so great! You have to introduce her to my Ma too though - she’ll have my head if you don’t.”

She’s sure Mammy will like her - Laura really is grand.

“How about you? How’s Tom?”

“I wouldn’t know, really. We kind of...split up.”

In front of her, her friend nods, almost knowingly.

“I thought as much, yeah. Just a feeling,” she adds at Erin’s questioning glance.

She looks down at her drink, then, and there’s a couple of beats before Clare speaks again. “That’s not the reason you look so sad though, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Erin.”

It’s probably because they’ve known each other for so long - since they were wains, really, three and barely standing on their two feet. But the second Clare says the words, blue eyes fixed on her, Erin understands.

She knows. Of course, she knows. She’s always been the brightest, after all.

Erin doesn’t want her to, though. She’s not…she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Her breath is short.

“You know, I always knew there was something going on between you two. Ever since our last year back home, really. I think the others suspected something too, actually - well, Michelle, at least. And I wasn’t sure when, what with you two being a pair of eejits, but - I always knew it was going to work out at some point.”

In her chest, there’s that feeling again. The one that never leaves now, not really. “And I know there were boyfriends, and girlfriends, and the whole distance thing, but every summer, every holiday back home, I thought - ‘right - this is it.’ I definitely did after you all came to visit me that year - and then, same after Jenny’s wedding. And then when you came to London, I could have put all my money on it so I could.”

Clare’s eyes turn even softer, somehow, and Erin realizes that she’s crying.

“What happened, Erin?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it. What did happen?

How did she end up here, on a bench in a Camden pub, her life a complete mess and her heart broken? That wasn’t the plan - that was never the plan. She’s not sure at one point it all went to shite like that.

As much as she’d like to pretend otherwise, the answer’s simple, though.

“I fecked it all up.” As usual.

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell - I did, I fecked it all up, and now…Now he’s gone, and he’s not coming back this time.”

“You don’t know that.”

Feck but it hurts, so much, and maybe it’s not a bad thing, because at least it’s distracting her from the fact that she’s full on sobbing now.

Feck, feck, feck.

Her trembling hands hide her face, and Clare’s gentle ones come to rest on her forearms. Christ, but she’s pathetic.

“I do. I was so stupid - I was stupid, and scared and a coward. I fecked it all up, and now he hates me.”

Clare snorts. “James could never hate you, Erin. It’s actually quite clear it’s the opposite.” She can’t talk now, and so she just shakes her head. She doesn’t understand.

“Erin.”

When she finally looks up, Clare’s looking straight at her, unwavering.

“He doesn’t hate you. Now, tell me everything.”

xxiii. Finishing her second year of postgraduate doesn’t feel like such an achievement. It doesn't surprise her, though: she’s known for a while now that it wouldn’t.

The job she picks up at this newspaper doesn’t pay all that much, but it’s enough to cover the roof over her head, the food in her fridge, the beers at the pub, and it gives her time to write on the side, so it’s perfect, really. Plus, her colleagues are nice, and her own age. They have fun.

xxiv. Spring comes and goes. So does summer.

She gets to spend quite a lot of time back home - listening to Anna’s ramblings, Ma and Pa bickering, Aunt Sarah’s fortunes, Granda's shouts. Writing. Michelle and her drink so many free pints ‘on the house,’ she’s not sure how said house doesn’t go broke.

It feels good.

xxv. And so, there's work, her mates, her projects moving along more than she would have thought. The girls visiting more often, a lot of back and forths to Derry. On paper, it's not a bad year, really. It shouldn’t have been -

But the thing is, acknowledging the fact that you’re in love with your best friend, that you have been for years and that you can’t pretend otherwise any longer when he’s thousands of miles away and you’re not even sure he’s ever going to come back - it does brings a cloud over the whole thing.

She’s grateful, of course. For everything that she does have, and for Clare listening to her call after call. For him being so perfect yet again, and not leaving her without news, making sure to always call. But she misses him so much, it’s all she can think about, every day, and she finds herself looking up the price of transatlantic plane tickets more and more often.

And then one day, he calls to tell her he’s coming back. It’s ridiculous to say that her heart stops, but it does.

He insists that it’s fine, that she doesn’t have to, but when his plane lands back home, Erin’s already waiting for him in the airport. She has to.

(And she knows - she knows she’s pathetic, and dramatic, and a lot more, probably, but…She does. She does have to see him.

She’s not going to run all over Heathrow with some romantic music playing in the background, and confess her love, apologize for being such an eejit, and beg him to say that maybe, just maybe, he does feel the same. Despite popular belief, she knows life is not a movie - that there’s a lot more, that it's not as simple.

She will tell him, though. Soon. And for now, she really, really needs to see him.)

As the first people start to appear through the gate, she can feel her heartbeat speeding up. Again, and again, it’s excruciating really, and - and then, there’s James, all green eyes, denim jacket and wild curls. As soon as he sees her, there’s also a huge grin on his wee face, and she thinks hers might very well be just as bad.

She almost tackles him to the ground, but he catches her, his arms around her holding her up, and Erin thinks she might cry, she’s so happy. She does, really.

“Ach, you have to stop disappearing like that, you eejit.” She can feel his laugh against her chest, his smile on her neck.

She tightens her arms even more.

"If I promise I will, will you let me breathe again?"

She gets off him, her witty response already on her lips, but then there’s an arm on his shoulder instantly replacing hers. Attached to it, a girl, a smile.

She’s gorgeous.

“You must be Erin!”

And that is how she meets Amy’s, James’ new, American girlfriend.

xxvi. Obviously, she can’t tell him now.

“Obviously, this doesn’t change anything: you have to talk to him.”

Well.

“Clare - ”

“He deserves to know, Erin. It’s bad enough you’ve let it go that long - it’s time.”

Ach, that stings a little. “That’s not fair…I didn’t - know. I didn’t really know.”

“Right. And now you do, and I’m telling you: you owe it to James to tell him the truth. To yourself as well, actually.”

“He’s happy. He’s…he looks happy.”

He does, and she’s gripping the receiver so hard, her knuckles are turning white.

At the other end of the phone, Clare sighs. “Look, Erin, I don’t know if that girl’s the one. I really don’t. I don’t know how long it will last, I don’t know if they’ll break up tomorrow, if he’ll marry her. But…” Her voice is softer now, and even though she knows she’s frustrated, and determined, Erin can hear the compassion in it.

She drags her arm accross her face before she looks more stupid than she already does.

“But I do think that after all these years, he deserves to know. And truth is, whether or not he feels the same is not the issue here, because I know that in any case, he’ll want you in his life, and you’ll want him in yours. And for this to work, you have to be honest. I’m not saying it will be easy - I’m just saying, it’s a lot better than having to sit across from him every day and having your heart broken, and wondering. You can’t move on unless you go through with it, Erin.”

xxvii. She hears him before she sees him. The night is kind of cold, but the fresh air does wonders for her face.

Jesus, but it’s hot in that flat.

“You know hiding up won’t help for long, right? You will have to blow your twenty-five candles at some point.”

She groans, even though she can’t help a smile. He comes to lean next to her then, the London’s lights all laid out underneath them, and even in the dark, she can make out his mocking smirk. “It'll be alright - you still have a good couple of years left.”

When he winces from the elbow she puts in his side, it’s her time to look smug.

From there, they can hear the distant noise of the conversations, the laughs. Saturday Night playing. She’s not sure how long they stay like this, looking down at the city. The relative silence of the rooftop feels good though - soothing.

“You okay? You look a little out of it tonight.”

She shrugs, smiles. “I’m grand. Just, you know…Quarter of a century and all that, I suppose.”

“Come on - you’ll be fine.” He bumps his shoulder gently against hers, his scent suddenly everywhere, and Erin feels her chest tightens.

She feels like crying.

It must show, because when he speaks again, the concern is evident in his voice - the worry. It makes it even worse, and she hates herself.

“Hey, it’s alright. Michelle was only joking when she said it’s all downhill from here, you know. I mean, look at her: she passed that milestone a few months ago, and she’s now at her best drinking-wise, work-wise, and - and I will never be able to unhear this - shagging-wise.”

He’s teasing, of course, and she’s chuckling, and he’s smiling because he managed to make her, and Erin wishes he’d stop there. That they’d change the subject, which he’ll never do, because it’s James, and of course he won't stop until he knows she's alright. Always the knight in shining armor, that English.

They should head back to the party. She should lead them there.

Before she brings herself to, though, he speaks again. “Out with it now, Erin. What’s going on?”

They really should head back downstairs. And then, and yet -

“I’m not with Tom anymore.”

There’s a small pause, barely a second. A hesitant one.

“I know. I’m sorry about that.”

He sounds a bit taken aback. Why wouldn’t he? It was more than a year ago now.

“I broke it off right after you left. The very day you left, actually.” She should stop now. It’s still time to stop. “And - the day I met Paul, when I went and talked to him at that party, I was really missing you. A lot. And I was also really missing you when I broke up with him.”

Next to her, she can feel his whole body tense.

Her breath’s short.

“I don’t think there would have been Danny if you hadn’t had Emily, I don’t think I would have jumped into such a serious thing with Cilian if I could have stopped thinking about what could have happened when we went to visit Clare. It felt wrong, bringing him home, and - and it all felt so right at Jenny’s wedding.”

“Erin - ”

“It did. For me, it did. And when I came to London - well, I could have gone anywhere I suppose, couldn’t I? When I came here, I guess I was hoping…and then one minute I was telling Tom I wouldn’t go out with him, and the next, everyone’s yelling ‘happy new year,’ and we find you in that kitchen with that girl, and I go back and tell him the exact opposite. Like an eejit.”

“Erin, please stop - ”

“I think I'm in love with you, James.”

She finally looks at him. He does the same, and the yearning for him pushes on her chest so hard, it hurts. “And I don’t know why I’ve just said that, because I don’t think I am - I know. It took me fecking forever to admit it, but…but I do know.”

She’s never been more sure of anything.

It’s all a little too much now, and she lets her eyes focus on the city lights once again, lets the air fill her lungs. Tries to, at least.

“And I apologize, because I also know that you probably don’t want to hear this, that it’s fecking everything up. That you have someone, that you’re happy now. And it’s fine - really, it is.” Feck, but she’s crying now. “I’m not trying to change that, I am happy that everything’s going so well for you, I swear I am. Shite - I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s just… I’m a bit drunk I think, and - ”

“Is that why you’re saying all of this?”

His voice is…odd. It’s not surprising, given what she’s saying, but it’s - distant.

It makes her look up to him. “Because you’re drunk?”

He’s staring at the ground beneath them, although she knows he’s not really looking at it. She shakes her head, even though he can’t see it.

“No.” She’s barely had one drink, really. “I’m saying it because...because it’s true.”

“Sounds familiar though, doesn’t it.” He chuckles, not an ounce of humor in it. “I mean, you’ve just said it: at that pub when we were in Glasgow, at Jenny’s wedding. At that party too, when we were still in school, the very first time - always a lot of alcohol involved."

“I just - ”

“You just what, Erin? Feel lonely, and need someone to comfort you until the next perfect lad comes along?”

“It’s not like that - ”

“What's it like then? Please, explain to me what exactly this is, Erin, because it’s been ten years, and it’s really starting to look like whenever you're in the middle of a romantic crisis of any sort, or lack of actually, you have a habit of coming to me pretending to feel things that always, always disappear come the morning, before running off with a brand new fella the very next day.”

He looks so angry - so frustrated. She’s never seen him like that. He’s never looked at her like that.

She can’t cry though. Jesus but she can’t - she has to stop.

Please God, make it stop.

But he continues, and her stomach twists so much that she feels like throwing up. “Not that I blame you, really: I mean, it does always seem to work out for you in the end. But the truth is Erin, I’m sick and tired of being the idiot who always comes running as soon as you whistle for him to, only to end up like a prick who should have known better.”

No. No, no, no -

“You’re not - James, you’re my best friend, and - ”

“Am I?" He’s looking right at her, his green eyes filled with - so much.

She can’t breathe. "Is that why I’ve earnt that special treatment all these years?"

She wants to stop him, tell him that she’s sorry. Tell him she hates herself too, beg him to forgive her. She wants to say all of this and more, so much more, but she can’t breathe, and she can’t talk, the words stuck in her throat.

He looks away, and she wishes she hadn’t seen the new pang of hurt that crosses his face before he buries it in his hands.

In the darkness, she can see them shake, almost as much as her own.

"Jesus Erin, every time - you do this every fucking time! And your timing is always impeccable as well, I mean - it’s impressive at this point, really.”

He turns back to her, his eyes almost dark. “How do you do it? How does that happen exactly? Do you sense it or something? ‘James might be happy, time to swoosh in and fuck everything up’?”

“No! Of course not - James, please, I swear, I’m not trying to mess everything up, I just…I wanted to say something for so long now, and I know it was still too late, but before that - I didn’t know before, I just didn't realize it at the time I think. I was stupid, I was so fecking stupid, I know that now, but - ”

“Pete told me.”

There’s a beat. Another.

“What?”

“After the party at our place - before I left for Los Angeles. Pete told me what he said to you.”

Right. She always thought he did, really.

It physically hurts now, the way he's looking at her.

“Yeah. So which is it, Erin: you didn't know, or you just didn't care?”

So many times, she's imagined this moment- fantasises it. How she'd apologies, take responsability for her stupidity/ Let him know that. As much as her mind would often wander off to what might happen if he did feel the same, if he forgave her, she always knew it wouldn't be as easy, no matter what direction their relationship would take. She knew. She thought of everything he'd say, each thing she'd respond to explain.

It hurts so much though, the pain still visible behind his rage, his voice - the fecking regret.

She was confused. Trying to pretend she didn't feel what she felt because it could never lead to anything, and then because she was scared. Stupid. Scared.

She does care. She always will, when it comes to him.

But she's not even able to offer him that, and as the tears roll down her cheeks, and something breaks between them, he averts his eyes (disappointed, frustrated, hurt, hurt, hurt) and Erin feels something breaks in her chest, too.

He swallows, does that thing with his lip. Scoffs.

“Jesus. You know, I've been in love with you since we were sixteen. Maybe even before that actually - I don't know. And I've watched you swoon over David Donnelly, and John Paul, and all the others, and even though it felt like someone ripped my freaking heart out every time I saw you with one of them, I never said anything, because - because it was still worth it. If I still got to see you, if I still got to speak with you, be in your life…it was, no matter what.”

It’s happening - the worst possible outcome of this whole mess. She knows it before he even says it.

It doesn’t mean she’s ready when he does. "But I don't think I can do it any more. I thought it would stop at some point - when we went to different cities, when we met new people. Built a life. I was hoping time would just do its work or something because really, it’s ridiculous: you can’t be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back for an entire lifetime. But nothing’s changed, and - I can’t do this anymore,” he says again. “Pretty sure it’ll kill me if I have to go through it again.”

He looks back at her. All trace of anger is gone now. Somehow, it's a hundred times worse.

The silence is deafening.

“I - I understand,” she manages after a while. An eternity.

She’s not sure anymore. “Thought you might never see me again. I had it coming, hadn’t I,” and it comes out more desperate than she means it to.

It’s difficult, though, right now - keeping control.

“I uh - I get it. I really do, but I just need you to know that - I do. I swear, I do love - ”

“Please, don’t say it Erin -”

“I love you.”

She wishes she could stop the tears, making it all look like a rehearsed, pathetic piece, much too aware of what it looks like. Sounds like.

But she’s not trying to make him pity her, or gain sympathy, she just has no control anymore, none over years and years of suppressed - everything. And most importantly, she does. She does love him, and it’s so important that he knows.

“I love you. I know I fecked up, and you’ll probably hate me if you don’t already, and you don't want to hear it but - I really need you to at least know that.”

He snorts. "Hate you."

In the tamed light of the night, the one that’ll probably haunt her for the rest of her life, the lines of his face are well defined, his Adams’ apple the only movement visible from him, the only indication of what’s going on inside.

He’s beautiful. It’s such a stupid thing to think about in this particular moment, and yet - he is. He really is, and the certainty that she might never see him again after tonight is unbearable. And so, Erin looks at him while she still can.

She’s not sure how she’ll go on, if she doesn’t remember every detail. Every line, every shadow.

“Why now, Erin?”

The words are so softly spoken, it’s almost funny, how they manage to cut through a silence that’s become so thick. So heavy.

“I dunno.” She doesn’t, really.

Why did she? Why didn’t she wake up when she was 20, when she was 18. When she was 16, and she fell in love with the wee English fella that had just entered her life.

Christ.

She wishes she could say more. She wishes she could answer better, explain, but the truth is, she doesn't know what to say. There’s no excuses, no rationality. She doesn’t want to pretend there is. He deserves better.

She wishes she could talk to him, though.

But the words are stuck in her throat, her eyes glued to his green ones, sad and angry and so many more things at the same time. She can’t.

Way too soon, she watches as James mumbles his goodbye, and Erin finds herself standing on her deserted rooftop, her fingers cold, her heart broken in what feels like a million pieces as the boy she is in love with turns away.

(Is, has always been. Will always be.)

xxviii. “Dear James,

I know you don’t want to see me. I don’t blame you, really. You probably don’t want to read me, either, and I’ll understand if you just stop now and tear that letter up. Maybe you should. Heard my letters can be pretty boring, actually.

It’s not the first one I write to you. The first’s still in Derry - in my diary. I didn’t think I’d ever show it to you, or tell you about it to be honest. But after you almost left the city to go with your mum that day, after you almost left us, I felt the need to have it on record or something - that I couldn't imagine that place without you. That I didn’t want to. Looking back, maybe that was when I started realizing - well, everything.

I won’t get into all that I’ve said the last time we spoke. I meant all of it, including the fact that I’m not trying to ruin anything for you. I swear I’m not - please know that. I just want to say what I couldn’t that night. Or all the years before that, really.

Which is that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry it took me so long to understand, and to get it together. I’m sorry I’ve been such a coward, and so selfish. Pete did talk to me, and from that moment, I should have - well, there’s so much I should have done. And said. Even before that. I’m sorry that I didn’t, and most of all, I'm sorry that I’ve hurt you all this time. If you only choose to believe one thing from all of this, please pick this one, because that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, James. I’m really sorry.

I hope that one day you’ll forgive me for all of this, including me telling you all that out of the blue. Ten years is a long time though, I think I just really couldn’t go on pretending any more. Truth is, I thought I owed it to you as well, because no matter what, you’re my best friend, and the person I’ve loved the most.

Aye, I’ve probably sent you to sleep now. I promise I won’t write any other letters - life is shitty enough as it is, isn’t it.

Erin, xxx”

xxix. She’s been 25 for a whole month.

Life’s been absolute shite for just as long.

xxx. Groaning, she finishes her paragraph, and bends down from her chair to pick up the pages that have once again slipped out from that stupid desk of hers. Not that putting them back changes anything to the chaos around her, really: the place looks post-apocalyptic.

It’s not really her fault though. Well, she has been alone in the flat for a week, and technically, she’s also been setting up a very questionable yet functioning organizing system for her ongoing articles and draft all over the living room, papers and forgotten empty tea mugs everywhere. But in her defense, work has been absolutely crazy lately, and well - she had to adapt.

Which is good - she wants it that way. Actually went above and beyond to get as many articles as possible. If Gary’s surprised at her demand, and at the speed at which she’s been delivering, her eyes a little red from exhaustion and her smile a little stiff, he doesn’t say anything. She’s grateful.

When she’s not writing for work or trying and falling to sleep, she focuses on her book. Christ but it’s weird, articulating that thought.

She’s writing a book.

It probably won’t amount to anything, but Erin finds that she doesn’t care that much. Maybe it won't - it surely won't, but she’s been saying she wants to for years, almost a decade, and it’s time to own up to what she wants, and act for a change. So, she does. And even if it does turns out to be shite, she’ll just write another one, this time with more experience.

Plus, it feels good, writing. It’s about the only thing that does, lately.

She’s getting a move on though. Her roomate has sworn she’d, quote, “beat her to death with a stick” if she came back to find her drowning in a pool of self pity, so she’s trying - to go for a beer after work, to go down to the coffee shop and work there sometimes. To go read at the park, or to the movies. She keeps her word - she stays busy. (Distracted.)

It’s almost three that afternoon when there’s a knock at the door, and she smiles. Clare has warned her that her (“very late, I’m so sorry Erin, but you’ll absolutely love it”) birthday present will be arriving soon.

Finishing her sentence really quickly, she gets up, tying her mess of hair in a bun and making sure her jeans are buttoned, and opens up.

And that’s when her heart almost jumps out of her chest.

“Hi.”

It - takes her a second.

A few, actually.

“Hi.”

She should probably say something else. Anything else. She definitely should, in fact, she just - can’t.

James saves her from herself.

“Sorry to show up announced, I just…Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah - uhm yeah sure,” she finally manages to shake herself. “Come in.”

When he brushes past her, she gets a whiff of his perfume, and the familiar smell and the sudden realization of what’s happening set off a wave of relief and - so much more.

Feck, she’s missed him. She does miss him.

“Were you working?,” he asks, gesturing towards the papers scattered on the floor.

“Kinda. I mean, yes I was. But I was about to take a break anyway, so.”

“I won’t take long.”

Please do. Please, please, please, stay.

“It’s no trouble,” she says instead. “Do you want something to - ”

“I’m sorry.”

They haven't looked at each other in the last, very few seconds since he's entered, and her eyes snap back up to meet his.

She can't read them.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. About your birthday, about…” He sighs, and she thinks he’s frustrated with himself.

She’s not sure why. “I was a dick - I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“You - James, you have nothing to apologize for. I - ”

“I do, actually. It was much easier to pretend otherwise, but - I do. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have snapped. Especially when I was being such a hypocrite.”

Her brain is not functioning that well, that’s for sure, but she’s so hyper focused on him, she does see it. The way his chest rises with difficulty. The way his face both softens and falls at the same time.

The step he takes, closer to her. “I blamed you for everything, but the truth is - I never said anything either. All these years…I never said anything. And apart from almost jumping in a plane one time, I never did anything. I literally ran away instead - twice. So I’m the last person who can come at you about being a coward.”

Around them, nothing’s changed - at least, she doesn’t think so.

Yet, it’s becoming harder to breathe.

“At least you actually had the courage to do something in the end. And I’m sorry I was such a fucking prick when you did.”

“You’re not a prick,” she breathes. Without even realizing it, really.

“Pretty sure Michelle would disagree with you on that one.”

He smiles at her, then, and she smiles back, and for a split second, it’s like everything fades - the fight, the heaviness.

For a second, there’s just - him. That look. The warmth in her entire body she only feels when he’s around. And then -

“I broke up with Amy.”

He’s looking straight at her.

Her brain short-circuits.

“What?”

She vaguely realizes that it’s her own words she’s just heard. That her heart’s racing in what is probably a worrying way.

Everything’s going on so fast, and she’s not - She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“I wasn’t being honest with her anyway, was I. Not with her - not with the others.” He takes a breath, almost imperceptible. “Not with you."

She’s not sure how long they stay like this, staring at each other in her messy living room, the sound of the city acting as a back noise filling the otherwise silent room, her remaining breakfast still on the coffee table.

She’s not sure of anything.

But James moves, then, and her watery eyes follow his as he looks down to his jacket pocket, his fingers slipping inside.

“I didn’t want to read it. I was afraid that you’d tell me you’d never want to see me again, and that I wouldn’t be able to pretend I could come here to apologize for being such an idiot for the past ten years. I cracked right before I knocked at your door, though.”

It’s stupid, because she knows what it is. Of course she does. Yet, when he takes out her folded letter, her stomach does a somersault inside.

“I don’t think your letters are boring, by the way.”

He finally looks back up at her, and it takes her a second to do the same. When she does, the look on his face is…well.

Her fifteen years-old self would be appalled, but again, she doesn’t have the words for it.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

She freezes.

“Did you mean it?” He's getting even closer now, a slight hesitation in his steps. An anxiousness that reflects on his face, in his eyes.

There’s something else, too - there's so much.

He stops, so close, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. "Because - because I did.”

She barely has time to pray that he’s referring to the part of that terrible night that she hopes he is, that he’s confirming it. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, Erin. And I haven’t been able to stop.”

Christ, but her vision blurs.

“I don’t want to stop.”

She doesn’t understand - With a final step, James closes the distance, his forehead against her, and she doesn’t want to understand, to believe what she thinks he’s saying, because it’s all too much. It’s like the air has been knocked out of her, but she doesn’t want to let herself believe, hope, because there’s no way he can forgive her, and there’s no way -

If she lets herself believe this is actually happening, and it’s not true, there's no way she’s not going to survive it. She knows she tends to be dramatic - she knows.

But she won’t.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” and feck, she’s sobbing now.

She can’t see his face, but she feels his small puff of air on her chin as James chuckles.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

He kisses her despite the tears and the snot that’s probably here and despite the mess that she is, and it’s desperate - desperate, and perfect. Yet, not enough.

She holds him as close as she can, her arms so tight around his neck, it hurts a little. It probably hurts him too, really, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and she just - One of his hand keeps her close, the other lost in her hair, his lips softer than they have any right to be against hers, and Erin’s never felt so much before.

Her heart keeps skipping beats.

“I’m sorry,” she says between kisses as they reluctantly part to breathe, just for a second. “I’m so sorry, James.”

“I know." His lips barely leave hers before he’s kissing her again, and again. “I’m sorry.”

“I did mean it.” She threads her fingers in his curls, molds her body into his as best as she can. When she leans away, just a bit, he groans and leans back in for her lips, and it sets off the butterflies in her stomach. "I'm so in love with you."

At that, his half opened eyes leave her lips to meet hers. In the ten years that she's known him, she's never seen him smile quite like that.

"You are, huh."

They have so much to talk about - she has so much to say to him.

But as James holds her close, clinging to her like he's afraid she might slips away, Erin just takes in his happy, smug little smirk, the crinkles of his eyes, and pushes on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

a year later.

He wakes up slowly, gently.

The early afternoon sunshine comes to tickle his face, and he scrunches his nose a little, his well inherited eyebrows furrowing in that way that’s oddly enticing. He rubs his face against her skin, burying it even better in her neck to escape the source of his growing annoyment, and she lets her hand travel on his shoulders, his upper back before moving it back to his curls.

They’ll have to add curtains for the living room to the list of things they still need to buy.

Dropping her book on the wooden floor, Erin let her eyes wander over the room, the big plant put on the corner for the time being. The still very much unpacked kitchen a little further, the boxes here, scattered all around the couch.

Against her, James moves a bit, his body warm and heavy. She moves her now free hand up his arm, wraps it around him to hold him even better, a wave of affection for him washing over her. The window’s open, and she can vaguely hear music coming from somewhere on the street. Their new neighborhood is absolutely cracker.

In his half asleep state, James tightens his hold on her.

“What time is it?,” he mumbles after a while, lips moving against her skin.

“Dunno. Around two, I think.”

She massages the back of his neck, heart fluttering when he sighs heavily, content.

“We have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“We have a lot of unpacking to do,” she smiles as he looks up at her with those half open green eyes of his.

“We’ll have to get up from the couch soon.”

“Aye.”

She runs her thumb along his jaw, and he closes them back, all but purring as he hides his face again, his fingers moving lazily under her shirt, his touch warm on her back.

“Five more minutes, though.”

Chuckling, Erin drops one, two kisses on the top of his head, his scent filling her senses.

“Sure, baby.”

As his lips graze the skin of her throat, she holds him even closer, and closes her eyes.

It's okay - they’ve got time.

Also on AO3.

#jerin #derry girls #james x erin #erin x james #I started this story soooo long ago now #I can't believe I'm finally posting it #there was only a few parts missing but life got in the way #I wanted to publish it before series 3 #so publishing before the end of series 3 is now the next best thing #I had to rush which I absolutely hate #but hopefully some of you like it anyway #(very au #of course #but the idea would not leave me alone)#fanfiction

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