VERA

_

"I HAVE HALF-A-MIND TO KILL ALL OF YOU," I hissed, sliding into my spot in the backseat of Avery's car.

After the (semi) successful scam we pulled, I found myself climbing into a vehicle in the back of a dark alley, cheeks puffed out with annoyance. The adrenaline rush of seducing—and then saving—a man's life tired me out, and the knowledge that the piece of weaponry that had Pierre choking was Timothée's earpiece...

...was infuriating.

"I agree with the part that you have half-a-mind, but I'll pass on the murder," Sam grinned, tapping the dashboard with his fingers, "I've got things and people to do before I die."

"Oh, stop it," I frowned, smacking him lightly on the arm, "where's Timothée?"

Avery tapped on the window pane. "There."

I turned my head to see a familiar head of brown curls running towards the car, unbuttoning the loops of a chef's coat with one hand as he ducked under exit signs. His appearance was more rugged than the last time I had seen him, and definitely more stressed. Whatever mischief he found himself in was probably the result of the 'earpiece incident'.

He popped open the car door and slid in quickly.

"Hey," he said to me through heavy breaths, "you okay?"

The car was silent as I debated two things. One, I was slightly mad at him, and didn't want to give him the generous act of responding kindly. Two, it was evidently awkward how he seemed more focused on asking me if I was okay. The first thing he said as he got in the car, was something about my well-being.

"Well, gee, I'm doing bloody great," Avery said sarcastically, "thanks for asking, Chalamet."

Timothée shut the car door. "I'm asking Vera."

"And why not us?" Sam frowned.

"Because I was with you three the entire time, and she was the one who had to go near my disgusting Uncle."

"Just admit that you care about her more, and move along," Sam yawned.

Timothée ignored him.

I wanted to ignore him too, but Brontté's words were like a boost to the heart—no matter how hopeless I've begun to think matters were—but I decided I'd dwell on those thoughts later. I turned towards Timothée instead, narrowing my eyes and holding out my hand.

I dropped his earpiece into his lap.

"Care to explain how that ended up in your Uncle's soup?" I frowned, "I know you hate him, but attempted murder is something I can't excuse."

Timothée stared at me. "It was an accident."

"An accident?" The skepticism was dripping off my tongue. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

"Yes, if you're being smart," he sighed, resting his head against the seat cushion, "one of the waiters was trying to show off by rushing through the kitchen with a soup bowl, and then they crashed into me."

"Let me guess, the earpiece just happened to fall into the soup?"

"Yes, actually."

"Did it do a swan dive while it was at it?"

Timothée gave me a look that had me questioning my ability to live in the next five seconds. I never liked it when he glowered. The few times I had seen him with such a dark expression was when I was adding too many commas into my chapters and refusing to delete them.

"Stop," I huffed, rolling my eyes at him, "I have perfectly good reason to be mad."

He frowned. "Do you?"

"Yeah, I do," I shot back, "I thought you guys were at least somewhat capable of avoiding situations like nearly killing someone."

Sam's head of blond hair whisked around from the front of the car, and his blue eyes were blinking rapidly as he intruded into the 'almost-fight' that was about to break out between Timothée and I.

"Honey, we've done scams, but we never said we were professionals at it," he said, sending a purposeful scoff in Timothée's direction, "we're bloody amateurs, okay?"

"University students who still have homework to finish," Avery added, "except for Timothée, because he's been obsessing over this case for years and never does his homework."

"That's very irresponsible of you, Timmy," I said snarkily.

He cocked a brow. "Have I ever been anything but?"

I wanted to agree, but I didn't want to risk setting his foul mood off even more. Instead, I waited, all four of us sitting in the back of a dirty alley as the evening's events sank through our skin like sour molasses. Sam had his head on the dashboard, Avery had his hands on the wheel, and Timothée had his head against the window, his eyes shut closed as he sighed.

"I guess we need another plan," he said, "getting a way into that gala might be harder than I thought."

I decided to drop the bomb. "Not really."

All three boys turned to look at me.

"I have a way in," I finished.

It was like seeing the stars light up in all of their eyes, and everyone took the same sharp breath as they tried to process my words. I should have said something earlier—I know, I know—but I was still a little mad and I wanted to get that anger out first.

"You do?" Sam exclaimed, his eyes widening into large saucers.

I smiled. "Funnily enough, I was the one who saved Pierre from choking, and he put my name on the Gala's list in return."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

And then there was chaos.

Avery started kicking his feet in uncontrollable excitement, Sam was slapping his hand over his mouth and stuttering phrases like 'w-what? N-no way!', and Timothée was frozen in the image of a gobsmacked statue. I nudged him, careful not to accidentally send him crumbling down into a pile of rocks.

But then he broke his hold, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into the tightest (and awkward, given we were in the backseat of a car) hug I'd ever felt myself dragged into. I placed my hands around his back, feeling my heart soar at just the feeling of a touch. I was supposed to be mad. I was supposed to turn a blind eye to him, but that was nearly impossible when it came to him.

"Je n'ai jamais douté de toi, fille incroyable," he said, pulling his head back to look me in the eyes, "je pourrais t'embrasser!"

I laughed softly. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," he said.

And then he placed his hands on both sides of my face, kissing me hard on the cheek.

Well—woah, I...well, that—no, t-that was not nothing.

I felt like the sides of my face were tingling with sparkles, and even as he let go of me to sit back in his chair, I felt like I could still feel the kiss lingering there. It shouldn't have been a big deal. He was happy, he was rambling in French, and he just kissed me on the cheek out of excitement.

But he kissed me.

He kissed me, and even though it was so small, it felt like the world to a girl who'd done nothing but dream of having him all this time. I was so shocked, I didn't even notice the car go eerily silent at first. Avery and Sam had twisted around in their seats, watching the two of us with a silent determination.

There was a pause.

And then Avery spoke.

"Oh, but she's just a friend," the brunet mocked, making his voice high-pitched in a taunting way, "a business partner!"

"Kissing her on the cheek was merely a business transaction!" Sam joined in.

"So professional!"

"So friendly!"

"Okay, will you just shut it and drive, you two?" Timothée scowled, kicking the back of Sam's chair, "we should be celebrating this win."

As the three boys got into an argument about where to drive ("dinner?", "movie?", "just drive, you imbecile!"), I felt like I was sinking into a puddle of water in the backseat of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the glass shard Timothée wore on his necklace slip out of his shirt, dangling above his thighs like a pendulum.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection for a mere second.

It wasn't a monumental discovery, but even just meeting my own eyes for a second was enough to let me remember the words I had told myself a few hours earlier. The last time I looked into a mirror, I said I felt pretty—not perfect—but pretty.

But now I felt perfect.

And I felt happy.

➢

"VERA, HEY VERA."

I looked up from my empty plate, locking my gaze with two familiar green eyes staring me down.

We decided we'd go out for dinner at Sam's favorite restaurant, and an hour later we found ourselves sitting at a wicker table outside of a charming, little eatery on a charming, little street. I remembered feeling drowsy with the commotion under the twinkle of the lamplights, struggling to keep my eyes open in exhaustion.

"Vera," Timothée said again, reaching over the table to grab my hand, "Vera?"

I smiled at him.

I felt like all I ever did was smile at him, and yet he was able to notice the dreams already starting to form in my mind as I let the night wrap around my skin like a warm blanket. It was past midnight, I knew, and the restaurant's kitchen had been closed for a while. The four of us spent most of the time talking over drinks (wine for them, water for me), but now it was already a new day.

"I should take her home," I heard him say to our friends, "she's getting tired."

"Do you want to take the car?" Avery said.

"It's okay, you guys need to get home too."

I felt my eyes flutter shut, and when I opened them again, I was trudging down a quiet street, clinging onto the side of Timothée's arm for support. Even though my tiredness seemed to have forgotten the memory of leaving the cafe, I knew we hadn't gotten far.

"Vera," Timothée said softly, "I need you to tell me where you live, so I can walk you home."

I shook my head.

"Vera, please."

I shook my head again, closing my eyes.

I was tired, and even if I wanted to tell him, I couldn't remember. 16th arrondissement? No, maybe it was 14. Or 15. I wasn't sure, and all I wanted was to collapse onto a mattress and sink into a deep slumber.

I didn't even notice when Timothée mumbled a string of words in French, lifted me up from the ground, and carried me down the street in a loose rendition of a piggy-back ride. My chin was resting on his shoulder, and my arms were draped around his neck. He chuckled under his breath.

I didn't even notice when he brought me back to his small apartment, the glass trinkets twinkling under the moonlight as he dropped me gently onto his bed and tucked me under the pillowed blankets I could remember vividly in my mind.

I didn't even notice when he kissed the top of my forehead, whispering something in french that he didn't think I could hear. I just couldn't understand.

But I noticed when he left, flicking off the lights and leaving me in the silent darkness of his room with the quiet mutter of a 'goodnight' and a softened gaze.

And that's when I realized something.

People always say that their heart skips a beat, or they feel a flurry of butterflies in their stomach, but that's not what I feel at all when he looks at me that way. There's something so natural about his expression, something so calm and understanding, that I don't have to worry about simple things like wondering if he ever loved me back.

Because I can see the answer in his eyes, and it makes me feel tranquil. At ease.

And maybe that's what love's supposed to feel like

And it occurred to me—in the dark room with only the moon filtering through the window, the sounds of soft exhales as a boy I'd grown to know slept on the couch on the other side of a thin wall, and the shimmers of glass shining around the room like stars—that the whole that I had been falling for him...

...maybe he was falling too.

And it may have taken him longer to come to terms with whatever fact that was, but I could see it in his eyes tonight. I could see it from the moment he kissed my cheek in the backseat of Avery's car, and from the moment he carried me through the streets of Paris without so much as a complaint. It wasn't just my pathetic hopes, it was a moment in time. A memory. A thought. A feeling.

So, the boy who loved glass, was falling.

And I wouldn't let him break.

_

I just think that they-

*dies from cuteness*