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saucy-sassy-sparkly · 2 years

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Moments: Four

Author's Note: Darlings, here she is: part four. Part five is mostly drafted so we’re not finished yet ;)

Pairing: Chris (buzzcut era) Evans x reader

Word Count 6.7k

italics are flashbacks (except the beginning rambling), and bold are text.

Moments Masterlist

Four: 2012, Prague

The older we get, the more we come to appreciate the little things…

The stolen hour in your schedule for coffee and catching up with a friend.

The relief of warm socks, fresh out of the dryer, on a cold winter evening.

The taste of your mom’s chicken noodle soup when you feel like shit.

The warmth of a hug from your grandfather.

The smile a memory can give you, even when the moments around it hurt.

Those are the things that matter; creating a life made up of moments that fill your soul.

“Go again,” Chris rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath while he waited for everyone to reset. It was the third time they’d rehearsed this scene today and the stunt coordinators still weren’t happy. His back was covered in sweat and he was panting while he quietly embraced the few moments to catch his breath. He waited for the go signal, watching his castmates take directions and nod, feeling grateful that no one was approaching him. On the signal, he artfully twirled his fake ax and then charged at the oncoming foes, batting several out of the way quickly in a perfectly choreographed fight.

He ducked, struck, rolled, and attacked for several minutes, working his way from one end of the faux tunnel to another. When he did this on set, it would be darker and he’d have on far more- his T-shirt allowed him to move easily now but he knew he’d have to accommodate the bulk of the winter clothes his character- Curtis- would be in. Right now, in the lights of the rehearsal space, he could focus on each move he had to make and reciprocate appropriately. Chris was often grateful that fight scenes hardly had dialogue for good reason– he was out of breath by the time each sequence was done.

By the fifth time they reset and ran the sequence, the stunt coordinators were finally happy, which made Chris and his cast mates happy: that meant the end of the day. They’d been rehearsing all of the various technical sequences all day— all week in fact— and Chris was sore and tired. A hot shower, cold beer, and a cheeseburger from room service were calling his name. He could indulge tonight before a long-awaited day off from rehearsals. He’d been here a month and it was only the third full day off; he was hoping he finally had the energy to do a little sightseeing.

Y/N’s hand was cramping from the frantic notes she scribbled in her notebook. The speaker clicked through his slides at a ridiculously fast pace while she tried to make notes on best practices and new research to take back to her practice in DC. Because she was unmarried and childfree, she and two of her older colleagues– the one and only man, Keith, in their practice with college-aged children who she’d hardly spoken to, and a woman, Rachel, in her 50s who’d never married– had been voluntold that they would attend the annual International Psychology Conference in Prague. The other four women in her practice had young children and it was “hard to get away”.

So, Y/N had decided to take it as an adventure. She’d taken an additional week off of work to get to tour Prague. She’d flown out with Keith and Rachel on Monday evening and arrived in time to drop their bags at the hotel and attend the first series of lectures. On the flight, they’d spent the first 90 minutes going through the conference brochure and deciding which items would best suit their practice and who would attend each. The rest of the flight, while Keith napped, had been used for Rachel to explain to Y/N all the ways the other women in the practice were rich, selfish bitches that just wanted to make other people do things they didn’t want to.

Y/N was still new to the practice– new to the career in general. She’d been hired nine months ago after finishing her graduate degree and interviewing with several practices in the DC area. She’d fallen in love with this practice that was the #1 recommended practice for women and children experiencing abuse or homelessness in the DC area; when they’d offered her the job, she was over the moon. Her clients ranged from children to teens, from play therapy to talk therapy, and filled her heart knowing she spent her days helping others.

When she’d shared this with Rachel, Rachel had sighed, rolled her eyes, taken a huge gulp of her vodka tonic, and said, “You’re so sweet and inexperienced.”

The more time she spent with Rachel, the more she thought that maybe Rachel was the bitch…

“You should’ve brought a laptop,” the woman next to her whispered when Y/N dropped her pen to flex her hand a few times. She offered a half-hearted smile in return before beginning a flurry of more notes. By the time the speaker was finished, she’d covered the front and back of half a spiral notebook. It was filled with her scribbles from the whole week: each speaker, their background, their contact information, their research, their insight… She'd take it back to her hotel room and transcribe it neatly into a second spiral notebook that she would keep on her well-organized office shelf with all the other meticulously kept notebooks from college and grad school.

She met with Keith and Rachel to walk back to the hotel; Keith was clicking through his Blackberry, presumably messaging his wife as he had most days at the end of the conference, while Rachel had started talking about dinner. For the last four nights, they’d eaten together, chatted about the speakers they saw, and then retired to their rooms alone. Y/N didn’t mind Keith so much; he reminded her of her Uncle Chuck– he was kind and funny and minded his own business. Rachel was tiresome but intelligent; she’d tried to convince Y/N to go out in the evenings for a drink but she’d politely declined each time.

She was looking forward to the week by herself. She’d convinced her boss to let her stay the week– work would pay for her plane tickets while she had to cover the additional week of hotel stay on her own. That seemed like a fair compromise since they’d paid for her hotel and food for the nights she was there on business. Y/N hadn't allowed herself any kind of real celebration after getting her graduate degree; she’d just jumped straight into job hunting and her career. It was time to take a break and enjoy herself. This was her first vacation alone… ever… and she was more than ready to take in Prague in the spring.

“Want to meet in the lobby at 6 and go for dinner?” Rachel asked as they approached the hotel.

Keith shook his head, “I’m going to get room service and finish packing.”

Rachel turned to Y/N who offered a tight smile… she could do one more meal with Rachel before a week alone so she agreed quietly as they approached the elevator bank.

Chris had disembarked the shuttle from the studio and lumbered in the back entrance of the hotel with his cast mates; they chatted casually as they made their way to the elevator banks. An elevator arrived just a few moments later and people clambered in, quickly filling the space. Chris waved them on, not feeling like spending another second cramped in with the other sweaty, exhausted actors. He stood alone waiting for the next car to arrive when the click of high heels on the tiled floor alerted him to someone approaching.

Three figures– a barrel-chested man, a short, middle-aged woman, and a lithe woman about his age– stopped and reached for the elevator call button. It was already lit up from Chris, but the youngest woman tapped it once for good measure and then stepped back and away from it. Chris kept his eyes downcast, trying not to be noticed or engage in conversation. The last thing he had the energy to do was engage in appropriate social banter with strangers. It was hard enough before he became recognizable; now that he had a superhero gig under his belt, it was almost impossible to avoid small talk and autographs once he made eye contact.

That said, from where she stood a few feet beside and in front of him, he struggled not to notice the curve of the young woman’s legs or the way her heels accentuated them in her business casual outfit.

The elevator arrived and Chris stepped back to let people exit, his eyes still downcast and then gestures to his companions. The older woman walked by him swiftly without a word, the man offered him a curt nod, and the youngest woman said a quiet, “thanks,” as she stepped in front of him where his eyes were again drawn to her curves.

He moved quickly around the young woman and into the back corner where he could try to hide; the other woman asked, “What floor?”

“Seven, please.”

“Easy enough,” there was laughter in her tone when he realized she’d already hit seven for all of them.

She backed away from the buttons and started to talk to the younger woman next to her, asking about dinner. Her companion had moved back beside Chris to lean against the back of the elevator to surreptitiously lift each foot and roll her ankle.

They still hadn’t made eye contact– but as the floors quietly passed and he watched her move on to ease out of her shoe just enough to flex her foot. She talked quietly with her friend, making plans to meet back downstairs in a few hours.

When the conversation lulled, Chris couldn’t help himself, “I don’t know how people don’t break more ankles in heels,” he gestured at her feet. “Seems awful.”

“For the right shoe or the right occasion I’ll take the pain, but I regret my decision,” she started to turn to him but was distracted when the other woman cut in, “is it your ankle again?”

“Yeah,” the younger replied, “I have an old injury that sometimes acts up when I wear heels too much. I think walking on the cobblestones is getting to me.”

The elevator dinged quietly to signal arriving at the floor and Rachel stepped out, followed by Y/N, then Keith, and then Chris. Keith had quietly said goodbye as the elevator doors were opening and Y/N had already wished him a safe flight while Rachel promised to meet him in the lobby at 7:50 tomorrow morning.

Rachel had stopped in the middle of the hallway to talk to Y/N, effectively blocking Chris from going past in the thin halls of the historic building. “Excuse me,” he muttered quietly, trying to get their attention.

Y/N stepped out of the way without looking at Chris; her eyes were still trained on Rachel as she talked quickly about dinner. She hadn’t moved. Y/N grabbed her arm and started to pull her out of the middle of the hallway just as Chris had said, “can I just–” a little more forcefully than he intended.

“I’m moving,” Rachel snapped, looking up at him before her eyes got wide. “Oh God,” she gasped.

Chris wanted to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration. He knew that reaction. He knew what was coming.

“Oh my God!” She said again, louder this time as she reached for his arm, “You’re Captain America!”

He slowly turned, trying to calm his breathing and stop the sweat that had just started to trickle down his neck again. He was so uncomfortable in these moments. He never knew what to do, how to respond, how long to stand there, how to get out of it… He took in the woman speaking. She wasn’t old and wasn’t unattractive; she was probably in her 50s with copper hair and green eyes; she was short and thin and had on a little more makeup than she needed, was dressed in a tailored pantsuit, and was grinning ear to ear.

“My nephews just love your movie, do you think I could take a picture with you to send them? I took them to see it in theaters. They watch it every time they come over. I’m a big fan too, you’re wonderful.”

Rachel was blushing furiously and talking faster than normal.

Chris forced a smile, “sure, I’d be happy to.”

Rachel turned to Y/N and started to hand her phone over, “Y/N, can you take it?”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Chris finally turned his attention to look at the other woman in the hallway and his breath caught in his throat.

He could still see the teenager in her face, but she was a full-grown woman now. She was stunning– as beautiful as he’d found her in line at the lift, in the tattoo parlor, on the dance floor. Years in between had done nothing but add to her beauty. She’d filled out in the most luscious, delicious way; his eyes trailed all across her body and back to her eyes. Those eyes. The ones he’d been able to both light up and tear up.

His heart hammered harder in his chest while he stared at her– the woman he’d been convinced was the one that got away. The woman he’d hated himself for leaving that night. The woman he very consciously compared every other woman to.

“Chris,” she breathed. He sighed her name in return, both of them staring in silence.

“Shit, Y/N, do you know him?” Rachel practically squealed, looking between the two of them.

“What are you–”

“I’m here for a conference, are you working?”

Chris nodded, “we’re in rehearsals now, filming starts in a few days.”

“Hi, Y/N, what's going on?” Rachel interjected again and Y/N felt frustration coiling, ready to snap. Her emotions were on overdrive right now and the absolute last thing she wanted to do was talk to this woman.

“We met years ago,” she turned to Rachel, trying to keep her voice from shaking, “we were kids. It’s been…” she trailed off.

“We met 15 years ago.” Chris finished for her, turning to Rachel. “Let’s get you that picture.” He told her, taking her phone and flipping it to the new front-facing camera. He held it at arm’s length and they both smiled. Chris took a few and then handed the phone back to Rachel who was already texting her nephews. Chris and Y/N were still staring at each other, neither one of them able to come up with the right words.

“I’ll meet you at 6, Y/N,” Rachel finally looked up from her phone and glanced between the two of them. “I’m going to need a lot of details,” she smirked and Y/N didn’t have the brainpower to roll her eyes. She knew that dinner was going to be a barrage of nosy questions. For a therapist, Rachel was not good at respecting boundaries.

“Should we… I mean… Why don’t we…” Y/N tried several different starts but faltered each time. Her whole body was shaking, she was sweating, and she was so anxious. Y/N was fiddling with the strap of her bag on her shoulder; Chris had seen her do this each time they’d been together– her anxiety manifested in fidgets and lip biting. The lip biting, he remembered, was one habit he liked on her.

“What room are you in?”

“734.”

“I’m 718,” Chris gestured in the opposite direction that Rachel had just walked. Had they been staying just rooms apart for days and never seen each other? They walked quietly down the hall and stopped in front of Chris’s room. They were both lost in thought for several more seconds before he said, “Do you have to go to dinner with her?”

Y/N huffed a laugh before glancing down the hall to see that Rachel was gone, “I don’t particularly want to, but it’s her last night and I already agreed to it.”

Chris nodded, “How long are you here?”

“Another week,” her fidgeting continued.

Chris visibly brightened, “Are you staying here the whole time?” She nodded. “I’m off tomorrow, can I take you to breakfast?”

Y/N hesitated and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth making Chris’s heart skip. She stared at him, her eyes bouncing between his before she nodded, “yes,” she said quietly.

“I’ll come get you at 10,” he started to reach for her, to pull her in for a hug, but he hesitated. He grasped the strap of his backpack tighter and raked his eyes over her face for any signs of regret, or hesitation. She was still biting her lip and watching him carefully; for a long moment, she didn’t respond to him and finally said simply, “okay.”

“See you in the morning,” he watched her walk down the hall, no more than 10 rooms away. He tried not to watch her ass, he tried to focus on all of her from the curve of her neck to the sway of her hips. She glanced back at him as she pulled out her room key; for the first time, she offered him a real smile, and even from down the hall, he saw a blush rise in her cheeks.

He launched his bag across the room to his bed and strode right into the bathroom to crank on the shower. Chris’s mind was racing. She was here. Y/N was here. She was down the hall, right now, and had been for days. He stripped out of the sweats and T-shirt sticking to his body and stepped into the warm water; he probably should’ve gone with a cold shower after seeing her; his whole body was tingling and excited. He was sweating again, he was anxious, and he was coursing with adrenaline.

He was positive, absolutely certain, he’d never have a chance to see her again. When he’d walked out of her DC apartment that night in a fit of stubborn stupidity, he’d hated himself every step of the way…

Chris shoved open the last door and let the cool night air hit him in the face. He couldn’t believe how stupid he was. How had he not seen it was her the moment his eyes fell on her? How had he taken this long to realize that it was Y/N? And more importantly, how was he a big enough dick that he’d just walked out on her after chasing her down and forcing his way into her apartment tonight.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. No wonder she’d rejected him. No wonder she's pushed him away. He was impulsive and expected her to jump into his arms with one big gesture. He’d expected that even after he’d misled her about Jessica. Even after he’d spent two hours up against her and flirting with her without realizing who she was. And shit, the comment about other women…

Had fame really done this to him? He had a little taste of being famous with one big movie and it had gone to his head this fast? Did he really have his head so far up his own ass that he didn’t realize the girl of his dreams was standing in front of him? He’d been thinking about her for years– what the fuck was wrong with him? How… HOW had he not realized? He hadn’t been up close to her in seven years but it didn’t mean he hadn’t pictured her, hadn’t seen her pictures….

Chris was cocky, that wasn’t a secret. He knew he was hot shit, he knew that women fell at his feet, and he knew that he enjoyed their attention. He bought them drinks, took them to bed, and didn’t call because he didn’t have to… there was always someone else. But never who he wanted.

Because she’d walked out of that shitty little Boston apartment and he hadn’t stopped comparing every woman’s laugh to hers. He’d followed her basketball career, showing up at any game in LA or Boston without her knowing. He’d watched her stats and seen her success. He’d been proud to see her play live, hiding in the upper levels of stadiums to avoid being noticed, dragging his brother or sisters along whenever he could to be able to blame them if anyone asked why he was there. They’d never asked why they were there. But they’d cornered him one Christmas after they’d all talked and all realized that they’d all been dragged to women’s collegiate basketball games… and always the same team… and then Scott had gotten on the school’s website and recognized that one face from when they were teenagers…

His family knew. His close friends knew. They all knew how bad Chris had it for Y/N.

And yet here he fucking was, standing outside her apartment after he’d stormed out for absolutely no good reason.

He should go back in; he should walk back up the stairs to pound on the door and demand she open it.

But he didn’t.

He sat down on the curb, grateful it was late and there were only a few passing cars on this side street. Chris sat on the curb, his head in his hands, and loathed every part of his being. He decided to sit out here and wait for her to come out. She’d have to leave eventually and he would be here to grovel. He wouldn’t make excuses, he’d be honest– that he was a self-centered asshat who didn’t know his head from his ass and should’ve known immediately who she was.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later when Y/N’s friends, including Annie who he recognized from that fateful weekend and the weeks after, came stumbling out of a cab.

“Christopher Evans,” she slurred, pointing a finger at him as the other girls piled out and into the building, “you hurt her again, didn’t you.”

“Annie,” he said in acknowledgment, not responding to the rest of her statement.

“You’re a dick.” She walked by him and towards the door. He hadn’t realized she’d seen him in there too; of course, she had. He followed her to the door when she whipped around, “You will not come in here!”

“I shouldn’t have walked out on her, please, Annie.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, watching him beg. She’d done it before, sitting in that park, listening to him plead his case. She had the same look on her face then– one that he couldn’t read; he took a step towards her.

“Annie,” he pleaded, “I know I messed up last time, I don’t want to do it again. I’m not dating anyone, I’m entirely single. I compare her kisses to everyone I’ve ever kissed. Let me go back up there and fix this before it’s too late. I can fix this.”

“Fuck you,” Her words were venomous– a best friend defending her territory– but her tone was a purr; Chris took a startled step back as she prowled towards him. She closed the gap between them quickly though and put her hands on his chest. “C’mon, Evans,” her voice was low, and her hand was dragging across his pecs.

“What the hell, Annie,” he kept walking backward, stumbling over the curb and into the street.

“You can fuck me instead,” she was keeping pace with him; “you can’t have her, I won’t let you near her, but I’ll let you fuck me.”

He threw his hands up in the air as far away from her as possible, “not what I’m here for, Annie, I’m just here for Y/N.”

“I think you just want to get your dick wet, and I can be that for you.”

“I’m out of here,” Chris mumbled, shoving his hands in his pocket and finishing the walk across the street to the other sidewalk. Annie watched him go and he didn’t look back– not at her. He looked back across the street and up at the window that was still lit… the one where the curtain fluttered and he watched a feminine figure disappear into the recesses of the room.

He sat in his room now in Prague picturing that night and the feelings that coursed through him. The residual regret and disgust in himself were present every time he allowed himself to think of that night and how he’d handled it. He stepped out of the shower and toweled off, pulling on sweats and a t-shirt and ordering room service in hopes that some food in his stomach and a beer in his hand would settle his mind to think about what he wanted to say to her tomorrow.

Y/N stared out the window of her room at the bustling city getting ready for a Friday evening. People were going home from work, headed to get drinks, and bringing children home from the park and school. People all around her were going about their business, but she couldn’t.

Chris was down the hall. The last time she’d seen him, it was his retreating form across R Street and down the corner where he’d disappeared and she’d never seen him again. She’d allowed herself to see his movies, and she didn’t run away from his image as she had after the last blow to her ego. She was happy for him and proud of him. She was grateful for those two special nights in Vermont and Boston that had made her feel good. Time had given her perspective to appreciate that they were special moments and to let them be what they were– fun and flirty and nothing more. That night he’d walked out of her apartment in DC had hurt the worst….

Annie charged into Y/N’s apartment, kicking off her heels and finding the girls sitting on Y/N’s kitchen floor eating Bagel Bites and chugging water, giggling over their recap of the night. Annie continued through the apartment to find Y/N curled up on the sofa in sweatpants and a Bucknell sweatshirt she hadn’t seen in ages.

“Y/N… what are you wearing,” Annie sighed, dropping on the sofa next to her and pinching the sweatshirt between her fingers. Y/N shrugged, not responding but tucking in on herself more. Annie saw the puffy eyes and quivering lip. “He’s not worth it.”

“I know.”

“He’s an ass just trying to get some ass.”

“I don’t think he was, Annie, I don’t think I should've pushed him.”

Annie shrugged, propping her feet on the coffee table, “If he can’t handle being challenged then he couldn't handle a relationship.”

“He just wanted so much so fast. He was ready to jump in and be something but earlier tonight…” Y/N trailed off and twisted the sleeve of the sweatshirt in her fingers. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but she hadn’t allowed herself to get rid of it. She’d always intended to give it back to him that night in Boston but she’d left it at Annie’s dorm and then it had all fallen apart. All these years later she kept it tucked in the back of her closet when she wanted to be reminded of him.

Annie huffed, “he just came onto me, Y/N. Forget him.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “what?”

“Yeah, he just asked me to go home with him. He did it when he kept calling me in Boston too. I had to chase him into the street and tell him off!” She rolled her eyes, “he’s a pig.”

Tears started to stream down Y/N’s face again, “I can’t believe he’d do that.”

Annie shrugged, “do you want some Bagel Bites? I’m going to get some before they’re all gone.”

Y/N shook her head and got up off the sofa, retreating to her bedroom. Her friends had stayed the night, taking up spaces on the sofa, and Annie eventually came in to share Y/N’s bed. Everyone had gone home the next morning hungover and talking about going out that night, but Y/N had crawled back to her bed after she locked the door behind her and cried.

Annie would’ve teased her, but Y/N had always believed in love at first sight because of Chris. She’d never admitted that the feeling she got when she first giggled at him in the lift line– when he was blushing madly and they couldn't stop making eye contact– was a feeling she’d been chasing her entire life. No one had made her feel that again. She’d only ever felt it again twice more: the night in Boston while he touched her and kissed her and for a fleeting moment last night when he’d slid into the cab next to her– when she realized this might actually work out.

Over greasy McDonald’s breakfast (the perfect hangover cure), Annie had gone on and on about Chris, despite the looks Sasha and Jenna kept throwing at her when they saw tears welling in Y/N’s eyes. She’d finally relayed the story about their meetup in Boston, when he’d claimed it was to get Y/N’s number and talked to her but, according to Annie, he’d hit on her the whole time. She said the same thing happened in the street outside last night– that Chris had said he was waiting to take her home and that Y/N was far better off without that sleazy fuckboy.

On the way to the elevators, Y/N glanced at Chris’s door, hoping that fate would call him out to the hallway; when she sensed no movement behind it, she continued to the elevator and then the lobby where Rachel dragged her into the bustling streets and to a restaurant she’d had recommended to her by one of the bartenders.

Dinner was easy enough; Rachel relentlessly pried Y/N for details about how she knew the stupidly handsome Chris Evans well enough to leave them both speechless. Y/N dodged the questions for a while as Rachel continued to top off her wine and eventually, the story tumbled out of her. She couldn’t stop herself; she needed someone to talk to– her feelings were too raw and emotional– she started in Killington and ended in the hallway, filling in as many gaps between as Rachel listened carefully and responded, to Y/N’s surprise, supportively.

“Sounds like you’d be stupid not to give him a chance again. It seems like the universe is telling you that you have to.” Y/N finished the last medovnik and dropped her fork while Rachel continued. “I’ve only ever been in love once, and I didn’t feel half as excited to see her as you do when you talk about Chris.”

“I don’t know if I’m in love with him, I hardly know him,” she sat back in her seat, tossing her crumpled napkin on the table next to her dessert. “And I just… I can’t…” She kept dropping her sentence while avoiding eye contact with Rachel.

Like a good therapist, Rachel caught onto the deflection and pounced; “Sounds like you’ve got more on your mind.”

“I do.”

“Spill,” she leaned forward and propped her chin in her hands, “I have the company card to buy dinner and I’m not paying until you get it all out.”

“I can’t get past the Annie part.”

“That he hit on her?”

Y/N nodded, “I just can’t stop thinking about that– that he’d claimed he wanted me but would then go hit on Annie and try to take her home– twice.”

Rachel was quiet for a moment, “did you talk to Annie about it?”

“Yeah, but she always blew it off and called him names before she changed the subject.”

“Talk to her again, it’s been years now, see if she’ll talk about it. She was probably embarrassed or ashamed that she might’ve shown interest when you were clearly involved.”

Y/N paused, playing with the tablecloth, “We’re not really friends anymore.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up, “oh? Why’s that?”

“We had a falling out about six months after that night with Chris.” Rachel was silent as she let Y/N gather her thoughts and continue.

“She slept with my boyfriend.”

“Come again.”

Y/N nodded, “I met this guy Brandon pretty soon after the whole thing with Chris happened. I liked him, he wasn’t going to be the one but we had fun. We all went to a Halloween party, I got too drunk and my friends took me home. The next morning I went to Annie’s to return the shoes I’d worn out… and Brandon was leaving. We ran into each other on the street, he came clean immediately and was at least decent enough to be apologetic before I obviously ended things. I went up to confront Annie and she lied to my face. I walked out and never went back. I took the shoes with me.”

Rachel didn’t say anything for several long heartbeats before she said, “so you’re telling me that she slept with your boyfriend and lied to you and you’re concerned about what happened with her and Chris?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N, you know what happened with them.”

“Huh?”

“Sweetie, you’re smart. Nothing happened with her and Chris. She lied to you then too.”

“I don’t know, Rachel, before that night with Brandon she was my closest friend in the world, why would she have made that up?”

Rachel rolled her eyes but said nothing, flagging down the waiter for the check. They walked back to the hotel with Rachel running her mouth again, although this time, Y/N had more patience for it; it had been a while since she had someone she could talk to…

“I’m going to head to the bar for a nightcap,” Rachel said over her shoulder as she marched away, leaving Y/N at the elevators. “Good luck!”

Y/N spun her ring on her finger while she waited for the car to arrive and rode up alone and in silence to the seventh floor. She made her way slowly down the hallway, pausing again outside his door and hearing the low hum of the television from inside. She hesitated, raising her hand to knock before dropping it and scurrying to her room.

Once inside, she plopped on the bed and continued to play with her ring, twisting it over and over again while her mind coursed through every single second she’d ever spent in Chris’s presence.

In total, it was less than 48 hours.

What was she thinking, throwing around words like love and soulmates for someone she hardly knew? She knew him better from his IMDB profile than she knew him. This was just lust, right? It had to be just lust. Just wanting something she’d never had.

And yet…

She knew what it was like to see his passion spark when he talked about something or someone he loved. That hadn’t changed in any of the moments they spent together.

She knew what it was like to see him look deeply into her eyes and listen to her bare her soul about her fears of failure, her secret hopes to help those who couldn’t help themselves and never ever laugh at her.

She knew what it was like to feel the weight of his hand on her waist bring comfort and solace, even when her anxiety was spiking.

She knew what it was like to watch those blue eyes take in her lips and watch her carefully before he kissed her.

This couldn’t just be lust.

She groaned loudly and forced herself off the bed and into the bathroom to change into her soft, mauve pajamas. She washed the makeup off her face and brushed the wine out of her mouth, swishing the water around and trying to concentrate on the feeling of the water in her mouth, the mint on her tongue… anything to keep her mind off the mountain of muscle down the hall.

Chris had sworn that he’d heard someone slow to a stop outside his door. He could’ve sworn he saw the shadow of two thin, lovely legs and the sound of hurried breathing before a quick rustle of feet on the carpet moving quickly away.

Then again, he was positive he’d heard someone outside his door every 15 minutes for the last three hours. The first four times he’d gotten up off the bed and checked the peephole. The fifth time it had startled him because it was actually room service. The sixth time, and every time after that, he forced himself to stay sprawled on the bed munching french fries and trying to pay attention to Big Bang Theory reruns.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t focus on Leonard and Penny, and Sheldon. He couldn’t keep his attention on their chaos and silly drama. All he could think about was Y/N. She was in the same city once again and he was bound and determined to make tomorrow morning the most important date she’d ever been on. He yanked his phone out to look up restaurants when he saw a text.

Scott: you dead? i havent heard from you all week Chris: basically Chris: you’re never going to guess who’s down the hall right now Scott replied quickly: Cher Chris: lol nope… Scott: … Madonna? Chris: … Y/N

Chris’s phone rang immediately and he picked up quickly, “what the fuck, have you talked to her?”

“I’m taking her to breakfast tomorrow.”

“Where? You know it has to be perfect. Was she mad? How did she seem? Did she hug you? TELL ME EVERYTHING!”

Chris laughed, shifting off the bed to his laptop to continue looking for breakfast choices, “she was nervous but she didn’t turn me down on the spot.”

“Christopher Robert, I may have broken her ankle but if you break this girl’s heart one more time, I’m going to break your face. Do you know how many shitty stadium hot dogs I had to eat while you pined for her? Do you know what an idiot you were in DC? Do you know how much I’d love to throat punch you for taking so goddamn long to fix this?”

Chris laughed before sucking in a breath and letting the pause linger; he quietly said, “what if I can’t fix it? What if she doesn’t want me?”

“Then you close the door on it for good, but you’ve always wondered. After you were a complete fool in DC you’ve never dated the same way. You’ve held everyone at arm’s length.”

Chris was quiet, thinking about Scott’s answer. Scott continued to talk; he’d opened his own laptop and was Googling from his apartment in LA, offering suggestions and reading menus out loud while Chris did the same.

He didn’t hear the knock the first time over Scott’s ranting about not being invited to Prague and therefore not being there to help Chris win Y/N back.

At the sound of the second knock, Chris froze and went silent. “Shut up,” he told his brother, refusing to move from the desk… he refused to believe it was real. No one was knocking at 10 pm.

A heavy sigh on the other side of the door made Chris’s gaze yank quickly away from his computer screen and to the crack between the carpet and the door: a shadow.

The shadow shuffled and he heard a quiet, “this is stupid,” before it disappeared.

Chris launched out of the desk chair and across the room, dropping his phone on the desk with his brother’s shouting, “WHAT IS HAPPENING,” into the earpiece. Chris yanked open the door and charged into the hallway.

She was retreating to her room, clad in all pink, her hair piled on her head, and in just socks.

Chris had enough forethought to pull the latch through the door to keep it from locking behind him and he took three large steps to come face-to-face with Y/N.

“I couldn't wait until morning,” she said quietly, her hands twisting in front of her.

He grabbed her hands to still them, pulling them around his neck and dipped his lips to kiss her.

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