A/N: Almost there peeps, one more chapter and the epilogue T-T Enjoy as always. Love y'all.

Chapter 64

Song: Sorry by Aquilo; I Wish I Was the Moon by Ewan J Phillips; A Little Bit Yours by JP Saxe; For the Lover That I Lost by Sam Smith

Vince's POV

Six Months Later

It seemed even my dreams were filled with Simon. Be it the thoughts of him through the day, or seeing his face in my dreams, there really was no way I could possibly get him off my mind. No matter how hard I tried, he was still here, embedded in every facet of my life in some form.

And yet like every dream of Simon, I savored every second of it: every breath, laugh, smile, and word of his. All the things I had taken for granted, the things I never realized how truly beautiful it looked on him, I wallowed in that feeling here in my dreams. Allowing myself to simply let go, and feel what could have been us, even if it meant I had to face the bitter and sobering feeling of waking up to an empty room.

But this dream felt different. Too real, too immersive. Unusual, but I basked in it, admiring the sight of him, for however long this dream allowed.

We were in the council room, documents laid out on the table as Simon stood behind me, his arms rubbing soothing circles to my aching shoulders.

"Take a break," he urged, his breath tickling my ear. He pressed a chaste kiss to my temple. "We both deserve it."

A chuckle escaped me as he leaned against the table, lifting my chin to kiss me gently. We parted for a mere second, a mutual understanding and wave of longing for more passed us as we leaned into each other, this time more heated than the last as we fought for control.

"Shall we continue this elsewhere?" He smirked against my lips, a playful jest that lit a match under my wolf. I could feel him enjoy his little taunt, as I leaned forward, capturing his lips in mine, humming against them, sending goosebumps up his arm. "The bed perhaps?"

His hand traveled up my arm, reaching around and up into my hair. The feeling of bliss as his warm hand lured me closer, pulling me out of the chair, and guiding us to our room.

We had hardly made it to the room, kissing each other passionately, his hands roaming my back and more.

But, this didn't feel like a lucid dream anymore. This was moving too fast for my liking, and I wasn't sure Simon would've appreciated how fast this was escalating either. No, it didn't feel right at all. I watched as Simon's hands canvassed my chest, prying the shirt away from me as the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed. He smirked before pressing his hand to my chest, guiding me to lie down as he straddled my lap.

Something was definitely not right about this.

Simon paused, waiting expectantly as the out-of-body feeling was returning. The room around us distorted, and I wondered if this dream was shifting.

He looked down at me with concern, one hand trailing to the hem of my pants, fiddling with the button as he sat the rest of his weight down, shifting his hips rhythmically. Trailing up, I met his eyes, his lips parted as the lustful haze in his eyes made his deliberate and sultry movements that more enrapturing.

He let out a breathy laugh, before taking my lips in his, those wandering hands getting braver and bolder. My stomach clenched as he met my eyes.

"Please," he nearly begged, a foreign look in his eyes. "I want this, Sam."

It was like cold water splashed down my back. Sam? Was this not a dream? A vision maybe?

I never jolted awake so fast, the questions swirling in my head as I tried to steady my breathing. The sheets had been damp with sweat, my hands trembling violently as the vision replayed over in my head. It felt so real like he was still here.

Patting the side of the bed next to me, it was still cold. Not a trace of warmth from his side. Just a vision. Just a vision, I told myself, a terrifying one at that. Yet I could feel warmth still lingering on my lips, still feel the way his breath felt on my skin. I had believed it to be a dream in the beginning, but how naive.

Of course, he'd be fine, moving on with someone new. With Sam.

Turning over, I stared at his side of the bed. Maybe I was going crazy, but I could still sense it, the traces of him that remained. He had left pieces of himself everywhere, it seemed. The toothbrush and bar of soap still sitting there, something I hadn't even bothered to throw out. Was it insane that after all these months, I could still smell his scent still lingering in the sheets, or notice the slight indentation in the pillow? Or how badly I wanted to hide yet hold on to that silly photo I hadn't seen him take of us and framed. Everywhere I turned, he was here, yet not. Here, but so far away.

Was it wrong of me to miss him this much? Even when it had been my fault he left?

Now I felt so cold, so empty, that I was starting to forget how it felt to feel warm.

"Vince?" A voice called out, muffled. A short knock from the bedroom door. "Vince, you in here?"

I groaned, throwing a pillow haphazardly towards the voice. "Go away."

"I know you're in there, now get up." I blinked. "Have you eaten?"

I sat up, pouting as my voice replied like a petulant child, "no."

"It's nearly noon, Vince," Xavier exasperated. "You skipped dinner last night too I heard."

"And?"

He walked towards the edge of the bed before placing a bag of what looked to be take-out and a container of cookies. "Eat."

"Not hungry," I scowled. He rolled his eyes before opening the bag and pulling out what looked to be some carbonara. Shit, that looked good. He placed it on the nightstand beside the bed and I couldn't help but savor the smell of the pasta and garlic bread.

He opened the rest of the food containers and handed me a fork like I was a child. "You know he wouldn't like this, you skipping your meals."

As much as Xavier loved to bring Simon up into our conversations to annoy me, he was right. It was a habit of mine, a destructive one at that by skipping meals. It had been something I had started doing even before Simon had come back, and Chase had pointed out that it was something I did frequently, as some form of coping mechanism. I hadn't known it was a problem, and despite trying to get into the habit of eating normally, it was fairly hard to break that cycle.

"I know," I told him before taking a reluctant bite of the garlic bread.

"I'm not leaving until you finish at least half of the pasta and try a bite of my cookie," he pouted like a child. "It's probably not the greatest, but hey, it's edible."

"I'm sure it's fine," I mocked, before picking up the fork and picking at the pasta. My stomach growled but staring at the dish only reminded me of the times Simon had brought me my favorite food and beverages while working on those stupid files and letters.

Xavier reached over and placed his hand on my arm. "You miss him."

What an understatement. I huffed before shutting my eyes. Everything seemed to remind me of him lately. I didn't have to respond for him to get the message. Still, I muttered, "it's been six months; you would think I'd be over it by now."

He pursed his lips, giving a pitiful look, one that I was starting to loathe. "Things take time, Vince. It hurts because you cared about him."

I scoffed at the thought of the vision from earlier. By the looks of it, Simon seemed to be pretty over it already. If that was the case, did he not care, or was I just being melodramatic? Six months was a long time, so why did I feel this way? People would tell you time would make things easier, but it didn't seem to work like that. Maybe it was because of the bond, but even glancing at his side of the bed made me want to shut everything and everyone out again.

I had done that in the beginning, holed myself in this room before finally raging and tearing things apart. It had gotten so bad that I had unknowingly stormed to the bar downstairs and wrecked most of the alcohol. Chase had to sedate me, and ever since then, Xavier had made a point to visit every day.

"Why don't you hang out with me and the betas, then? We can hit up the bar across the highway. Might take your mind off things?"

I let out a short laugh. "You know I stopped drinking."

"Just promise me you'll come with me one day," he frowned. "I don't care if you just chug some water or juice, you deserve to have some fun outside this place. Hang out like brothers do."

Xavier always had a way at getting his way, whether it was that damn puppy eyes of his or his smug smile. The corner of my lips rose as I conceded. "Yeah, next time. I promise."

"Good," he said. "You better, or else I'll-"

"Alpha," one of the betas announced, knocking at the door before stepping inside.

Xavier turned around to address him. "Yes, Evan?"

He was one of the new recruits, a short and timid beta that had originally been a delta. Xavier had promoted him and a couple of others since he took over the alpha role sometime after the bar fiasco. Still, the poor lad shook like a leaf in our presence. "The council meeting will begin shortly, shall I attend to Jonah and Lilah in the meantime?"

"That's alright Evan, I'll have Grant watch them. Besides, you're a beta now, your presence is expected during the meeting." Xavier chuckled. "Thank you for the concern, though."

The beta sighed nervously before excusing himself. Xavier sighed before turning to me, "I don't know how you do this, I still can't get used to the title."

"You're doing great," I told him. "Thanks for that by the way. I really appreciate it."

After struggling to accept the things that had happened, Xavier had graciously stepped up and took charge of the pack, allowing me to focus on seeking help from Chase and trying to focus on myself. I was reluctant to hand it over to him, knowing that he had never been interested in any form of authority like this, but he was handling it better than I ever had.

And like every time I thanked him, his reply was always the same, "that's what brothers are for. You don't have to thank me."

"Regardless, thank you, Xav." I smiled, watching as he squirmed from the compliment. "And I mean it, you really are doing amazing."

He chuckled before rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know about that, I just want to do better for Jonah and Lilah. I owe it to them."

"You're great with them, they love you," I said. "Soon they'll be calling you dad."

He made a face. "When you say it like that, it sounds strange. Besides, the adoption hasn't been approved."

"Yet."

He scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I should get ready for the meeting. Will you be joining this time?"

"No," I replied, remembering the letters from the past couple of weeks. "I have somewhere I need to visit today."

He tilted his head before giving me a knowing look.

"Oh, I see. I'll join you next time," he trailed before looking towards the other side of the bed. "You should call him, sometime. Even a simple hello."

There was a pause before my eyes narrowed. Reaching behind me, I threw another pillow at him. "You're going to be late to the meeting."

He put his hands up in surrender before stepping outside.

I know I should, I thought. There wasn't a single day that I hadn't thought about pressing the call button. There were some nights after my therapy sessions that my thumb hovered over his name for a solid ten minutes, debating whether it would ever be a good idea.

One day, I told myself. When I'm brave enough, I'll make that call. I'll press that button with confidence and simply ask him how he is. I just wanted to get it right, so in the meantime, I wrote letters instead. Ones that he'd never read, but they had done wonders in expressing all that I've kept inside.

And with these letters, I could get it all off my chest. Write all the things I wanted to tell him, what I should've said to him. Some were a couple of sentences, others were five pages long. But over the months I had come to understand more and more of what I was feeling.

With the letters in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, I headed to the abandoned home, making a beeline to the garden. This place had dark memories, but it had been a place I had learned to grow comfortable with being in. I learned to accept the emotions that came with being here; the frustrations, the fears, the sadness that I held on to that always seem to hold me back. Over the weeks I spent visiting here, I learned to let them go, one by one. To allow me to be vulnerable, to be sad, angry, and scared.

I had made it a ritual to come here every Sunday, leave a flower at each stone, and simply sit in silence with his family. I'd apologize, pray to the moon goddess, and organize the flowers and notes that others left. Once I paid respects to each engraved stone, I turned to Simon's, which had an ever-growing collection of notes and flowers. After placing the rest of the flowers beneath the stone, I pulled out the latest letters, unfolding the paper, and setting in near the flowers. Every Sunday I'd read them, whether to myself or aloud, every single letter. With his name carved in stone in front of me, I'd read it as if talking to him, releasing the thoughts and feelings I had for that week.

I took a shaky breath, before reading my latest letter:

Dear Simon,

I thought about you today, again. Well, every day has been like that. I don't think there's been a day that I haven't had you on my mind during these past few months. Is that weird?

It's not like you'll read these, but I think--no feel that it's helping. Chase had recommended I do this to work out these feelings I had. To acknowledge, accept, and express it. Strange, right? These letters had been a part of what broke us apart.

But was there ever an "us" to begin with?

I've been seeing Chase twice a week lately, but I'm starting to wonder if I should be going every day. We've talked about just about everything, from when I was younger, to when you left. Yet, there's still so much to share, that I'm not sure I could ever explain everything. There are bits and pieces still missing, things I've yet to dig up from my memories. Things I've buried so far deep that it may take many sessions to divulge and remember.

But it's not just Chase that has helped me. It was you. You made me want to get better, to revel in the truth of my own feelings and emotions. To reflect on the things that were, to ignore the expectations of others, and to truly be me. Only then could I possibly move on, and be as free as you are now.

Maybe moving on isn't about forgetting after all. It's about cherishing what was, and what comes next.

I haven't figured out what that means or looks like yet, but I'm getting there. I can feel it.

Yours, Vince.