Chapter Text
10 weeks ago…
Departure: the act of leaving, especially to start a journey; from Old French ‘departir’, to divide, distribute, separate (oneself), depart, die; from Late Latin ‘departire’, to divide.
The smell of fresh coffee woke Lucy.
She sighed a little, still tired because she always was lately—she was not made for working nights for days on end—and slowly unfurled: stretched her legs, feeling the pull all the way down to her toes, and then untucked her arms and arched her back, knuckles lightly brushing the headboard.
“Now I know why you wanted me to watch that Netflix documentary about the pangolin,” Tim said, amused.
Lucy frowned into the pillow, eyes still closed. “Huh?”
“There’s a certain resemblance.”
“Funny,” Lucy said, her voice muffled—but she couldn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. She might be tired, but she felt good. Like everything was just… right. Settled the way it hadn’t been in a while. “Also, interesting thing to say to your girlfriend the morning after we finally manage to spend the night together. You’re lucky I happen to think pangolins are cute.”
“You’re cute.”
A flutter in her stomach that made her bite her lip, and then she opened her eyes and slowly turned onto her back. Tim was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in the same grey jeans and light blue shirt he’d worn to the restaurant last night. He was cradling her favourite mug in his hands—and he was smiling.
God—that smile.
She’d seen it so many times now, but she still hadn’t gotten used to how different his smile was, and how different he was from a year ago, or even six months. Light in every sense of the word—and now happy too.
So very, very happy.
“Morning.” He gently lifted a strand of hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear; his fingers lingered on her neck for a moment, just long enough to make her pulse spike. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good.” Lucy sat up slowly, the blanket sliding down her naked body and pooling at her waist. Tim’s eyes followed before settling on her face again, and when they did, she saw the desire and the want that she knew had been there all this time—but that he hadn’t really let her see… because she hadn’t been his to desire. To want.
“Probably because I actually got to sleep at night for a change.”
“And there I thought it was me,” Tim said with a smirk.
“You may have contributed,” she admitted, a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth.
He laughed and handed her the mug, watching her take a sip, still smiling that happy, happy smile.
She didn’t think she’d ever seen him this happy, not even the first time they’d dated. Last night that happiness had been intoxicating, had made her light-headed and so very happy herself until she’d felt it spilling out of her. And when they’d finally slept together after their third—and hopefully last—first date, it had been so very different.
From that night in February when she’d been driven by a desperate sort of need: after spending all day with him, after thinking he was bringing a date, after getting dressed up both because of him and for him, not that she’d have admitted that to herself.
From that night in April when she’d wanted him just because but hadn’t been ready, not just yet, and had come up with that ‘prank’ to give herself a hall pass to enjoy something she’d longed for so very much without consequences—even though at that point she’d known where they were headed.
It had been exciting and familiar and new, but most of all it had been right. Had felt right to connect to him that way again, and she’d been oddly relieved—because now she could allow it to be a connection, a true connection, one that wasn’t just physical but also emotional. Could allow herself to fall back into him and allow him fall back into her.
I’ve missed you. I love you.
I’ve missed you, too. I love you, too.
Lucy set the mug down on her nightstand and kissed him. Because she could kiss him now, could want him without all those complicated emotions swirling in her chest. She brushed her mouth over his, hand curved around his cheek, his stubble catching against the tips of her fingers, and she wondered fleetingly if there was a reason why he hadn’t shaved, if he remembered…
Then his lips parted willingly, sweeping her up in his taste and his warmth—and the thought away. After the kiss she lingered, revelling in the taste: mint toothpaste and coffee and… chocolate.
Oh.
“Did you get croissants?” she murmured, pulling back just a fraction, their noses still touching. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, dark and full of emotion.
“Maybe.” His fingers tangled in her hair, tender and gentle and familiar, and then he drew her in for another kiss, hand splayed on the small of her back to press her close. He hadn’t let go of her from the moment he’d picked her up last night, and she had vague, dreamlike memories of him holding her all night, moving whenever she did, even in sleep—as if he couldn’t bear the distance.
“That’s sweet.” She tugged gently at his bottom lip. “Thank you.”
“You say that like I’ve never done that before when I know for a fact that I have.”
Lucy smiled. “True. I just doubt it’s something I’ll get to enjoy much while I’m on nights.”
“Considering it took us two weeks to go on another date,” Tim sighed, “that’s probably an accurate assessment.”
They saw each other briefly at shift crossover, and Tim had started staying up later and later so they could at least talk, but calls and texts weren’t the same. It was frustrating, to say the least, and two weeks in there was no end in sight.
“Look,” Tim said, and something in his tone made Lucy sit back. She didn’t know what to make of the look on his face: suddenly hopeful, maybe, and nervous. Definitely nervous. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Tim didn’t get nervous, not like this.
Well… That’s not entirely true, is it?
She’d seen him like this before.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he was saying now. “Or even answer me at all. I know this is still new, we’re just starting over and have things to figure out. And I won’t ever assume anything again or make unilateral decisions where both of us are concerned. But… I want us to have a real shot at us. I want us. And I want that future we talked about before I blew things up. And you can think about this for as long as you need. There’s time and there’s absolutely no pressure. I’m just so happy to be with you again. That you agreed to take me back after everything I put you through.”
“Right,” Lucy said, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. “I just hope you’re not about to do something stupid like propose.”
Because he wouldn’t… would he?
Tim laughed, relaxing a little, and shook his head. “No, that would be… No. I do have a proposition, though.”
“Uh-huh?”
He gave a tiny shrug and smiled, the same way he’d once smiled at her in that parking lot more than a year ago now, unsure and hopeful—and so, so nervous.
“Move in with me.”
Lucy stilled, her heart still thundering in her chest.
Move in with me.
The idea wasn’t exactly a surprise, and neither was the question, not really. Moving in together had been on her mind as well, like so many other things concerning their future had been on her mind in the last two weeks—not necessarily as something that would happen soon but as the next step. Because it was the next step.
But…
“Like I said,” Tim said quickly, maybe sensing her hesitation, “there’s absolutely no pressure. Take all the time in the world. I just wanted to put it out there, so you know where I stand.”
And then his face softened, his thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw. “I love you. I want to be with you. You are my future, Lucy.”