"My favorite color is you,
You're vibrating out my frequency
My favorite color is you,
You keep me young and that's how I want to be"

- AJR and Rivers Cuomo, "Sober Up"

Chapter Forty-Seven

In a rather unsurprising development, I was anxious. In fact, I was pretty sure I was going to be sick as I stared up at the building in front of me. The address Reed had given me had led to an apartment building downtown.

An apartment building. His apartment building? What if this is where he lives? I'm not ready; I can't do this. I don't want to feel this way anymore.

But what was I feeling? Sure, I was nauseous and sweaty and dizzy and panicky. Sure, I was anxious and nervous and on edge. Sure, I was feeling something consuming and rather ethereal in corridors of my soul I hadn't known existed. Sure, I wanted to run because what was unfolding was very unknown to me. I wouldn't disagree this was a very heavy concept, and one I feared as much as I craved it.

But somewhere, behind a door within one of those newly discovered corridors, was the realization love was a sprout someone had planted in my empty gardens. I'd never realized how empty it was until I realized how full it could be.

I'd learned a lot in a very short amount of time. The past few months were scary; the summer had been painfully unrelenting with tests I hadn't known were meant to be faced. I'd learned I couldn't run from things just because they were hard or different. That I couldn't spray poison on seedlings and then lament the lack of growth. I was extremely aware my anxiety was only mine to work through; any short-term relief I could snatch by fleeing would only wither me in the future. I knew soothing the symptoms wouldn't cure the rot.

I can put on my big girl pants and face this. No, eff that, I'm a woman. I'm a full-grown adult that can handle her own problems.

I was no longer a girl masquerading as a woman. I would never again allow fear to create ravines in my life and isolate me. It didn't mean I was no longer afraid – I just recognized the fear. I accepted it. I would face it.

So, I walked into that building. Still anxious, but determined. I did deep breathing exercises in the elevator. I focused on staying grounded and warded off temptations to rehearse my words. I flexed my hands and choked down the nausea.

I'd been up all night, or at least most of it. I figured I must've scraped an hour or two at some point, but I couldn't have gotten any more than that. I based my math on the frequent staring at the alarm clock in Kennedy's guest bedroom throughout the fitful night. 

One to two hours isn't bad though, right?

My standards for sleep had gotten extremely low over the past few weeks. I'd stared in the mirror after waking, wondering if I should try to make myself look like less of a mess... then I'd remembered I wasn't a miracle worker. If it was a workday, maybe I would've tried to scrape up some effort. Perhaps I would've painstakingly attempted to cover the puffiness around my eyes and their dark purple indents, but it wasn't, and I couldn't. I knew it wasn't ideal to present myself as a mental, physical, and emotional wreck, but my hands had shaken too much to make any attempts. I figured my gaunt look wasn't going to affect the outcome of the day. Not at this point.

The apartment building was nice, the hallways were clean and quiet as I found apartment 7D. I took another stolen moment to prepare. I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, tugged my shirt, and internally counted to ten — then I knocked on the door.

The firm lock of a bolt was the first sign of his caution, before he even appeared. When he did, it was slow and wary, like he wasn't sure who'd greet him on the other side of the door. It was a tension I wondered if engrained in him; a side effect of his job that lingered like perfume on sheets.

Or maybe he was as nervous as I was.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning," I repeated, slightly breathless.

The anxiety had curdled in my chest to make room for slicing jolts of admiration at the sight of him. His eyes were everywhere, examining and evaluating like they always did. I returned the favor. He was back in his usual Greystone attire; a form-fitting dark suit was hugging his curves and edges like cloth hands on sturdy hips. This time his tie was a deep, silky blue held neatly in place with a silver tie clip.

Damn, I never realized how sexy a suit is, and I see them everyday. Looking fine as hell with his—oh my god, it's happening again. I'm unable to focus because of that effing face. And everything else attached to it.

After thinking I would never see him again, being near him was overwhelming. I wanted to hug him, stare at him, touch him. Cradle his heart and promise it'd never leave my embrace. Take his flaws, faults, fears, and everything else and love him anyway. I wanted to absorb the moment, revel in the small bit of stolen time with him, and cherish the present in case the future ended badly. I wanted to memorize him a little more. I had so much to give, and I didn't know if I'd have permission or time to give it.

"Come in." He opened the door wider and stepped back. I murmured my thanks and crossed the threshold; ready to get my first look at Reed's living space.

It's very... neat? Bare? Blank?

I wasn't sure what adjective to use to describe his apartment. I could be kind, and say it looked very clean, that everything was in place. I could be critical, and scrunch my nose at the dull tones and lack of personal touches. I could be realistic, and admit my own apartment probably would've looked similar if I didn't have Rolo or Kennedy in my life. His apartment was, in all honesty, the apartment of a workaholic. It was what apartments looked like when there wasn't a reason to be home.

His laptop was on the table and so was a pile of files. The work never stopped. I knew that fact well. With a twinge of melancholy and a dabble of jealousy, I wondered if he'd already started the next case. His career wasn't in a state of suspension. His life could keep treading forward.

Reed closed the door and turned to me with a nervous clearing of his throat. "Coffee?"

Well, I shouldn't... but I can't say no.

"Thanks. That'd be great." He nodded and disappeared into his kitchen. I moved further into his apartment, slowly taking a seat on his couch. It was awkward. Why was it so awkward?

Because you said goodbye yesterday. You left him. And because both of you try to act emotionally unavailable when times get tough or shit gets real.

But we'd opened up before, and we could do it again. We had to. I couldn't bear to come so close to everything I ever wanted and lose it — again.

Reed appeared with two cups of coffee, handing me one before pulling out a seat to his table. He sat down stiffly. His long fingers tapped on his mug, and he shifted in his seat before he spoke. "How did things go with Kennedy?"

"It went... well, actually. I was in trouble a little bit, but not about Rolo. I'm still in the wedding, so it all worked out, I guess."

I shuffled on the couch, trying to figure out where to start. I couldn't just blurt out my feelings for him. Confessions happened in quiet stillness or shouting exposures, and I wished to avoid the latter.

But isn't direct honesty how they do it in the movies? They just blurt it out and accept the fallout. I know this isn't a movie, but I could use some guidance.

"That's good. I'm glad it turned out okay." He smiled, a real smile, before it faltered. His eyes slid away from me. "And D.C.? Did you get ahold of Baros?"

My stomach flipped. The coffee in my mouth suddenly tasted sour; I had to force it down along with my pride. I set the cup down, trying to decide how best to word a response. I didn't know how to articulate the dread I felt, so I decided not to.

"Not yet. But we have a call scheduled for tomorrow, so I'll be able to figure out what happens then," I admitted. Reed nodded. He seemed to search for his next response.

"Good. I hope... I hope it all works out for you."

It looked like he was forcing himself to meet my eyes, but the reservedly polite well-wishes painted on that familiar green were false. Despite his best efforts, I could see it wasn't real. It was just another wall.

"Thanks."

Reed nodded, setting his mug down next to mine to dig in his pocket.  "Here. What you left."

He gently set down a silver chain on the short table between us. I glanced at it, but soon returned my gaze to him. The green dropped as soon I connected, and he looked from the chain, to his coffee, then to his hand on his leg before he looked at me again.

"Thank you," I said again. I fought the urge to chew on my cheek. He nodded, fidgeting at my thanks. I'd never seen two people struggle so hard to contain themselves.

"What, uh, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Fingers tapped on his leg. "If you still want to talk, that is. I understand if you have to prepare for the call instead."

Is this an out? Am I being offered an out?

I knew myself. Well, I knew certain parts; I was still being introduced to the rest. The parts I knew, I knew so well I couldn't hide from their patterns.

I knew I censored myself a lot. I knew I bit my tongue, ducked my head, or picked my battles with shades of self-preservation that were mostly unneeded. I knew I carefully examined my words for fear of how I'd be perceived, and had mastered combing every sentence for potentially problematic fragments. I was well aware I had an anxiety my words would be misconstrued, or my words and brain wouldn't connect as they should. I was no stranger to fear I'd make a mistake. It was an exhausting way to live.

Why was I so afraid of mistakes? Not all mistakes were bad; not everything had to be feared. Not every out had to be taken.

"I don't want an out," I blurted.

Reed's forehead creased when his brows tilted in confusion. I was confused as well, I wasn't sure why that was what I'd gone with, but the decision had been made. I wouldn't walk it back.

"What?"

"I don't want an out. You don't have to offer me one. I'm tired of running, and I don't want to leave."

Reed articulated his words slowly and carefully. "I don't understand. You don't want to leave California?"

I paused.

God, I don't know how to explain this.

"I don't want to leave you."

Reed froze in his chair. The stoic man turned to stone.

Words were bubbling up and out, and I wasn't sure I could stop them even if I wanted to. Words were unfurling, flags of rebellion in the wind, a flow of articulated desires birthed in my soul. Like the bullet that'd brought us together, there was no stopping it after the trigger was pulled.

"I don't want to run from this. I don't want to look for excuses, and I don't want to run because I'm scared, or because of a job. They're obstacles, yes, but I don't want to use them as outs. And I don't want to choose. Because I want both. I want the career, and the success, and the job. That hasn't changed. But I want more in my life."

I struggled then, because there were things I'd never said before that wanted to come out, too. "I want... love, and I want you. I want to be happy. And I think we could be really happy together, even when things are miserable."

"Both?" Reed asked blankly.

"And I understand I might be asking for too much. I know it's a lot. If things work out in D.C., then it'd be long-distance, which is hard and sucks most of the time. I mean, I wouldn't know. I've never done it, but it makes sense it's hard, right? Other people have said it is." I was starting to ramble now, spurred by the blank expression firmly settled over Reed's features.

"Sorry, I'm rambling, but I just — god, I don't know how to explain this." A slightly hysterical laugh tumbled out of my lips, followed by a sigh. "You might not feel the same... or maybe you do. I don't know, but I know I might not be able to have both. I might not get to have both D.C. and us, or whatever this is, but I had to try. I know it's not fair to ask you. It's not fair to do this when I'm leaving. Or, I hope I am. I'm sorry. But I had to ask. I didn't want to regret not asking, or not telling you because I'm scared out of my mind or because I was overwhelmed... am overwhelmed. So I'm telling you now. I have feelings and they're a lot and I think — no, I know, there's love involved. And it's a really scary label, so I'm not expecting anything, I just had to say it. And now I have and it's overwhelming and you're really overwhelming and I've never felt like this before and I'm going to stop talking now."

I was out of breath after that, which wasn't helping the dizziness or light-headedness. It wasn't helping the trepidation or panic-inducing vulnerability. Or the fear, the love, the crippling emotions buzzing in my skull. It wasn't helping the shudder of the world beneath my feet.

"Both," Reed said again. I wasn't sure if he was looking at me or past me.

Oh my God, I broke Reed.

"Both," I confirmed. "I want both. But I understand if the answer is no."

Reed's unreadable eyes found me then. A short, sharp laugh of disbelief pushed out of his chest.

"No?" he asked, incredulous.

He raised a hand, running it through his hair as he stood and began to pace. I watched with a sickening weight in my gut. I was dreading his answer, so terrified I'd just ruined everything. The anxiety I was fighting found new stamina to surge forward and clash with my inexperienced ranks.

Reed wasn't looking at me as he walked the length of his apartment. Frustration churned in the air; it emitted from him in crushing waves and pressed me further into the couch. Tension coiled up his arms, across his shoulders, and down his back.

He shook his head, and throatily murmured, "I could never tell you no."

"I'm sorry—" I began, but he turned to me with a burning look.

"No. Don't apologize. I... I just..." He groaned and buried his head in his hands. He looked gaunt with something that mimicked grief a little too much when he looked back up. "Avery, I didn't say anything when you left because I didn't want to stop you from what you're meant to do. I didn't want to stop you from D.C., or from your goal. I didn't want to stand in your way. You are meant for so much more than working for Cruz. I couldn't be the one that gave you more shit on top of everything else."

"Stop me? Does that mean... Are you saying you would have, but you didn't? That there was a reason to?" My heart was skittering and my neurons were short circuiting. My mouth couldn't form the question I was really trying to ask; I had no idea if what I'd just said had made any sense.

Is he saying there was a reason to stop me, but he didn't? Is he saying he feels the same as I do?

Even though I'd suspected it, especially in the moment I'd left, there'd still been a nugget of doubt it was all in my head. A possibility I'd make a fool of myself.

Reed stopped pacing to tuck his chin down. His hands settled on his hips as his chest expanded with a deep breath. I watched a decision settle over him. Reed never made any half-decisions, and it didn't seem like he was starting now. He spun and walked to where I was sitting.

Reed's knees met his cream colored rug. Determined eyes held me in place. His hands reached for mine, holding tightly but gently, strongly but softly. It was impossible, but it was true; I held it in my hands.

"Of course there was," Reed admonished. Desperate hues of green overflowed with resolute honesty, layered emotion, and something I couldn't identify. I didn't understand why it almost looked like heartbreaking despair. "Of course I feel the same about you, Avery. How could I not? It's just — how'd you put it? Overwhelming."

He smiled weakly, and I tried to return it, but I was battling uncertainty. "I'm overwhelming, or this is?"

I was trying to understand where his head was at; I needed to know exactly which part was overwhelming. If it was me, and I was too much like I'd always feared. If it was the timing and mountainous circumstances, and we'd fade to 'if onlys' and bittersweet memories. If it was the feeling, which was what I'd told him myself before. I needed him to be explicit so I could believe him — so I could accept it. So I had ammunition against the doubt.

You shouldn't need him to battle your doubt. Not entirely. You can't fight wars with only another's words. You have to do it yourself, too. Validation will not treat the underlying issue, though sometimes it can help. It's about balance, right? Don't feel bad for asking what you need as you start this journey. You're taking baby steps.

"Everything. It's all overwhelming. It doesn't help I don't know what to say, Avery. I've never done this before. I've never wanted to do this before. I don't want to say something wrong," he languished. "I don't know how to put any of it into words or what I'm supposed to do."

Why do I feel like he's not saying he doesn't know what to do in a relationship, he's saying he doesn't know what to do in general? Is he saying he doesn't know whether he should say yes? Why is he still holding back? I'm here. Like the saying says, he set me free and I came back. I can't fight both my doubt and yours, Reed.

"Okay." I nodded my head. I had questions but I was scared of the answers. If he couldn't find the words, I wouldn't push him. I'd been in his position before. It was frustrating to hold these loose ends, but I couldn't expect him to do something I wasn't entirely capable of either.

Reed's gaze was desperate as he searched my face. I tried to keep a neutral expression, but he mustn't have liked what he saw; his own turned pained and drawn. His frustration seemed to multiply.

"No, it's not... I want to, I do, I just—"

He huffed and pushed himself up. I watched him steel himself before speaking again. When he did, his words resounded with emotions I didn't recognize, like enchanting colors I'd never seen before. Their vibrance deserved to be marveled.

"You deserve words, Avery. You deserve poems, and songs, and I can't even form a complete sentence right now. You deserve well-thought out answers. Hell, you deserve novels explaining everything there is to love about you. You deserve that. And right now, I want to make sure you believe me when I say what I want to say. I want you to know it's the truth because I'd never lie to you, and I don't want to give you a reason to doubt me. And god, I don't want you to doubt us. You deserve well-thought out words, Avery, and I'm sorry I can't give that to you right now, but... I'm going to try. It's like I can't think around you — but I really hope you listen anyway."

I slowly stood until we were facing each other. My favorite color looked down at me, full and overflowing. Maybe I didn't need words; maybe this was enough. But if he was willing to give them, no matter how thought-out they were, I knew I'd like to have them. I'd forever hold on to the words he offered if he was just willing to say them.

"I'll always listen to you." My voice was soft as a whisper as I tried to pour what I could into those five words. "I just want the truth, I don't need anything else. No thinking required — just explanations. Just your honesty. Please."

"The truth? I can't tell you anything but the truth. Because, god, Avery. I look at you. I look at you and I see you, I see how amazing you are. I see all of your doubts, and I see you don't believe in this. But I don't understand why. Was it something I did? Something I said? I know I pushed you away at first, and I'm so sorry for that. I was an effing idiot. I want to fix it. How can I convince you? How can I tell you?"

He shook his head. "Because all of this hurts. I want you to believe me. I need you to believe me. I need you to know I'm not just being nice, and this isn't just a job. Maybe it started that way, but it's not anymore. This isn't because of Greystone, or any of that bullshit. It's because of you — and everything you are. Of course I thought about stopping you when you left. Of course there was a reason to."

I was in awe. I was unable to blink, or respond, or think. I was unable to process anything as Reed's hands raised to cup my face. His thumbs lightly brushed my cheeks, his eyes intense and unyielding as they pleaded for understanding. My Reed, who always carefully considered his words, who chose them so intentionally and tried to say as little as possible, was now giving me so much. It was a stream of words that washed over me, bathing me in their unrelenting outpour.

"You are stubborn, and ambitious, and goddamn dangerous, and absolutely incredible. You're so brave — too brave. It makes me nervous, and I'm constantly worried around you, and about you, and I've never felt that before. Not like this. You stress me out, because I want to protect you even when you don't need it, and I'm losing my mind because I don't know what these feelings are. Avery, I don't think they can be anything but feelings designed specifically for you. It's like this feeling has never been felt before, by anyone in the history of existence, because it's only from you, and for you. Maybe someone else has felt it, or will feel it in the future, but I don't care because I am. I'm so lucky and so grateful I get to feel it at all. You stress me out, Avery Woodsen... but I'd welcome every wrinkle, grey hair, and sleepless night because I cannot get enough of you. You're leaving, and I will never get enough. There's no such thing as enough."

"Reed," I started. He shook his head and stepped closer.

"This is the hardest thing I've ever gone through, and it's the greatest thing I'll ever have. These feelings might be mine, but they belong to you. They'll always belong to you, even if we say goodbye. I won't let you leave here thinking I'd ever say no, or thinking I don't want you, because I do. I want you so much... but I can't ask you to stay. I won't. You asked for truthful explanations. The truth is I can't ask you to stay. It's all I want, but you have to go. And it's okay. It will kill every part of me. It will rip out my soul altogether — but it's okay. I'd rather feel that than be the one who held you back. Just know you can't take these feelings with you. You will have to take my very goddamn bones with you if you wanted to do that."

"I—"

"So, yes, Avery. I'm overwhelmed, and you are overwhelming, and I've never wanted to say so much to someone before. I've never felt like such an idiot before, unable to stop talking, but you deserve words. Look, I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you, or if you gave something up. You're saying we can have both, but what if we can't? What if even long-distance can't prevent you from having to make sacrifices? And those feelings I mentioned? They're tearing me apart because I don't know how to tell you I love you. It doesn't feel like enough to just say it. I don't know how to show you, either. Sometimes I wonder if it's because I'm selfish, and scared of what'll happen if I do. Terrified of what will change. If maybe I couldn't tell you because I was scared of how much it hurts. So, look, I'm selfish about these feelings, because I want to act on them. But I can't. I know without a doubt I'm selfish when it comes to you, and I can't be."

"I don't understand," I abruptly said. "You're not selfish at all. How could you think that?"

"You have so much to accomplish that's just waiting for you. You have places to be. If there's no having both, and one of those places isn't my arms, I can't ask you to stay. I refuse to let you compromise. I didn't stop you because I can't ask you to split your time when D.C. will require all of it. You have a world to change and countries to visit. You have places to see, and stuff to do, and I can't ask you to try to juggle long distance on top of all that. I don't want you to feel guilty about going, or not being able to come back, because I know you would. You'd drown yourself in guilt because you're too much of a good person. And I... I don't want to suffocate if I can't visit you. So, Avery, I didn't stop you because I'd rather die than hold you back. I'd wait forever for you — I just don't ever want you waiting for me. You are incredible, Avery. I won't be the reason you stop or slow down, or hold back from being incredible, because you already do that too much. It already kills me. It's time for you to show everyone else how incredible you are, and not be held back by anyone. Not by yourself, and definitely not by me."

His voice cracked. He tried to drop his hands from my face and step back, but my hands flew up to hold his. I held him with a tight grip and forced him to meet my eyes again.

"That's not your choice, it's mine. Somethings might have to be sacrificed so I can have both, and I'm okay with that, but being with you isn't the sacrifice. It's never a sacrifice to love someone. Long distance can be hard, but it's not impossible. If I do choose to slow down, or make certain sacrifices, that's not your choice. It won't be your fault, either. It will be because of me and what I want. Do you understand? That part isn't your choice."

"Yes, it is." His voice caught in his throat. "Because I won't put myself through that."

"Through what?"

"The guilt of knowing you chose me."

I'd never heard such anguish from the man in front of me. He tugged away and stepped back. Emotion sizzled in every one of my cells, and my own desperate frustration began to grow.

"No! I refuse to accept that. That is a cowardly excuse and you are not a coward, Reed Sterling. It's your turn to listen to me. You're so used to being the one making the hard choices, but you don't have to this time. This isn't your choice to make. You don't get to make this choice for me! You don't get to feel guilty about what I decide to do, or what I decide I want. And I want you. I want cups of coffee on porches, and puzzles, and crosswords. I want AC/DC, and throwing balls with Rolo together. I want you. And if you don't want this, then fine, but you don't get to tell me what I want, or what I get to sacrifice to make me happy. I'm choosing both. I'm choosing me. Neither of us have any idea what the future holds. I might never become a diplomat, and I might never make it to D.C."

"But—"

"No. Being with you wouldn't be a sacrifice, and there is room for both you and my career in my life. I don't have to choose. I won't let you make me. There are always sacrifices to be made. They are unavoidable. But I get to decide when and where I make them."

It felt as if electricity crackled in the air. Both of us were confronting the root of our insecurities, our fears, our doubts. Both of us were working through what was really holding us back. He thought I'd lose my drive, my ambition, and my advantages if I was with him, but didn't he see I'd gain so much more even if that was the case?

"I'm tired of thinking, Reed. It's all I do. I overthink everything and I'm so tired. I'm tired of doubting myself, and doubting you, because I can't stop thinking. Or because I'm scared. I know what I feel, and I don't have to think about this. I don't want to. I just want to live."

The world was holding its breath. This was the moment. This was the moment that choices were made. Reed stepped closer.

"I want you, too," he hoarsely admitted. "I just worry what I'm asking you to give up."

"I don't care what I give up. I just want you."

I hoped my words gripped him like his words had always gripped me. I couldn't read Reed's expression. So I waited and watched the battle rage in him. Not the final battle, because love required choices be made every day, but the biggest battle. The one that would turn the tide, or seal our fate. Just when I was about to explode, or scream, Reed finally spoke.

"There is something spectacular about you," he murmured. He stepped a little closer. Something was blazing in his eyes and it made me weak in the knees.

I mustered a thin smile, trying to lighten the spreading burn. "And overwhelming?"

Reed remained serious as he stepped closer. "I will always be overwhelmed by you."

"That doesn't sound like a good thing."

"No," he paused. "It sounds like a promise."

Then Reed stepped even closer. His hand found my waist; his other hand found my cheek. His fingers tangled in my hair.

Then, suddenly, he was pressed to me. His lips found mine. His body curved with my own. And this time, it wasn't to protect me from a bullet; it was for a much better reason.

It was desperate and hopeful. It was hungry and delicate. I felt tension leave my body as his lips tried to ease my fears, and ease his own.

He kissed me.

I stopped thinking. His lips gently erased the crippling self-doubt, the poisonous intrusive thoughts, the heavy overthinking that weighed me down. He removed the weight that tied me to earth and invited me to visit the clouds with him.

It was powerful, but it wasn't just him. It wasn't just his touch relieving that burden; it was me, too. I was accepting what I wanted. I was accepting I had to do it myself, but I could also let people help me; a contradictory realization that still made sense. I had to meet him halfway and be willing to discard the doubt, to strip away any self-loathing. I had to be willing to let go. He could only take what I was willing to give up. I was ready to give up what weighed me down, or at least start to. It'd be a long journey, but I hoped it'd be with Reed by my side. I'd be by his, too. I hoped he'd let me do the same for him.

Reed pulled back, both of us panting softly as we tried to catch our breath. He searched my eyes, but there was nothing to hide. For once, both of us were completely vulnerable; for once, both of us weren't running.

"I will always be overwhelmed by you," he said firmly. "And it is a good thing, but it's also so much more than that. It's my promise. To respect you, forever. I'll respect you and everything you are. Whoever that is and whoever that will be. To love and respect you, and try my best to protect you. I love you, Avery. Whether you become Ambassador Avery Woodsen or not, whether you're with me or apart. If we're thousands of miles away or I'm by your side. I will love and respect everything you are. I only wish I'd said it sooner."

My hands found his cheeks this time. I yanked, much to his surprise, and his lips fell against mine once more.

Enough talking. Enough thinking.