a / n : 

I M P O R T A N T

so this is it. the last chapter. before reading this, please note that: 

a) this is not the end hadley and dexter's story 

b) the previous chapter ended with hadley going to see dexter, but please do notice and realize that dexter also tried to come see hadley -- this was a conscious decision that i made in order to demonstrate that when something goes wrong between two people, it isn't enough that only one party intends to fix it. even if, for example, hadley came earlier, it doesn't mean things could have been fixed. if dexter hadn't wanted to patch things up between them, then they wouldn't be. 

c) please understand that both characters are different, and both of them contributed to their ruined relationship. it is their character differences that somehow always led to them never truly seeing each other eye to eye, and i hope you stop blaming one more than the other. 

d) CALM YO TATAS THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE AFTER THIS. 

enjoyyyy!

love,

sam

* * * 

N I N E T E E N

THE FIRST THING Hadley notices is his hair.

She shouldn't have been surprised. Dexter has been going on about getting his hair cut before leaving for college for weeks now, and now here he is with his hair clean-cut and his freckles prominent, like they always are by the end of summer, little dots peppered across his face like coordinates on a map she knows by heart.

Except she no longer holds the map in her hands.

Looking at him now feels a little like looking at a stranger—a college boy with pretty eyes and a smile that looks a lot like the morning sun.

She has woken up to this sight many times now in the two years of their friendship, and the last time she did was a morning that changed everything. Now here they are. Nothing but strangers in the making.

It's Hadley who speaks first.

"Hi." Her voice is unsteady, nearly inaudible, but Dexter hears her.

"Hi."

The expression on his face is hard to read. Hadley doesn't quite know what to say next, or where to go from here. The last time they talked to each other, Dexter had told her he was done with her, that he no longer wanted her to be a part of his life, and she should have left it at that. She should have let him walk away, should have accepted the fact that she never really deserved to be anywhere near him anyway.

"Adrian let me in," she explains, her eyes flitting around Dexter's room. "I, um, I wanted to talk to you." She bites down on her lower lip, almost like she regrets speaking.

Dexter says nothing at first. He stands by the door, looking at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. And then he moves, shutting the door gently behind him. He stays there, leaning back against the door, and when Hadley looks, she realizes he looks unsure himself.

"I dropped by your place," he says. "Just now." His eyes fixed on the floor, but then he lifts them up, locking onto her gaze. "I wanted to talk to you, too."

Hope surges into her chest, wild and unexpected. "You did?"

"Is it really that surprising?"

She drops her gaze, blinking fast. She swallows past the lump in her throat and wills her voice to come out steady. "You said you were done with me. I didn't—it didn't seem likely that you would—I just—" She cuts herself off, staring hard at a discarded candy wrapper on Dexter's carpet, unable to put into words the hopelessness, the dread—the regret—she felt the moment he walked away with her heart tied on an invisible string attached to his, dragging lifelessly behind him.

He was done with her.

He said so himself.

Her brain no longer remembers the exact words he'd said, but her heart seems to remember and it's still bleeding all over the place. There's only so much a person can do to hide a bleeding heart and Hadley's hands are too small to keep everything from spilling out.

"Hadley."

She struggles to look up, and she lifts her eyes just in time to see him moving towards her, quick and purposeful, hands—hands she once held, hands she knew, hands she longed to hold again—reaching for her without hesitation.

In a second, she's in his arms.

In a second, she is home.

"I'm sorry," Dexter murmurs into her hair. Then he pulls away, just slightly, and puts his hands on her face. Only when he swipes his thumb across her cheeks does she realize that there are tears tracing unwelcomed lines down her face. "God, I'm so sorry, Hadley."

She shakes her head furiously. "No," she says, her voice thick but frail. "No. Dexter, it's not—you didn't do anything wrong—"

"I didn't mean it," Dexter murmurs with urgency. "I didn't mean it, Had. I'm sorry."

"Don't," she says. "Please don't. It's not your fault."

* * *

But it is. Dexter knows this, and now he rests his forehead against hers and says, "Had, I took advantage of you."

The words leave a bitter taste on his tongue, but they needed to be said out loud.

"You were drunk and confused and I—I shouldn't have—" He takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes, his hands quivering against her face. "I should have stopped."

Hadley pulls away. "No, Dex. Look at me." He does. There are tears in her eyes and Dexter can almost taste them. "I'm just as at fault as you are. Please don't blame yourself."

"You were drunk, Had," Dexter says. "You didn't want—"

"I did."

Dexter stops. He looks at her, searching for answers he badly needed to find.

"I mean, maybe I was drunk. But—but that doesn't mean I didn't..."

Now Dexter is confused. What did it all mean? A spark of hope ignites in his chest and he's trying so hard to keep it from spreading. He no longer wants to get his hopes up. It's a lesson he should have learned before, and it's a lesson he's still struggling to learn now because what was she trying to say?

Silence falls between them. He takes it as an opportunity to take her in, his eyes falling on the trail her tears had left behind. He finds the little dimple by the corner of her lips, the one that dips just slightly when she smiles, and he fights the urge to skim his thumb over it.

"What happened?" he finally asks her, putting his heart out on the table between them. "Two years ago?"

Dexter can tell that she has been expecting this. Still, she doesn't answer right away. She looks at him like she's terrified of the question, and Dexter fears she'd run away or hide from it, and he can't have her bolting out now.

"I loved you, Had," he whispers in the space between them. "I get it. We were young, we didn't know any better, not back then, but I—" He cuts himself off, his eyes stinging. He swallows, then, "I knew you were the one. I knew I wanted you to be the one."

"Oh, Dex, that can't be true—"

"But it is," Dexter rushes in. "It is true. God, Hadley. Why is that so hard to believe? Didn't you feel it? Not once, not ever? When we were together, did you never feel like—like we were the real deal?"

"That's not it."

"Then what is it?" he asks her. "What was it? Did I do something wrong? Was I not enough? I tried, Hadley. I tried to keep us from falling apart, but we still did, and for days all I could think of was that if only I tried harder, if only I was better, if only I was enough then maybe—"

"How can you think that?" Hadley asks him. "Oh, Dexter, you were enough. You have always been enough and—"

"Then why did you throw me away?" His voice rises against his will. "Was I reading the signs wrong? Did you not love me the way I—"

"I loved you, Dex." A tear streaks down her face. Dexter watches it fall, hanging on her chin for a moment longer. "More than you know."

"Then why?"

"Couldn't you see?" Hadley asks him. "It wasn't that you weren't enough, Dex. I was the one who wasn't enough. I was never enough, and you deserved so much—so much more than me, Dex, and somewhere deep inside, you know this, too."

Dexter's eyes snap to hers. "What?"

"I'm not pretty," she says. "I'm not talented. I'm boring and dull. I don't do anything remotely interesting, and you? You can have the whole world, Dex. You can have so much more than—than this."

"What are you talking about, Had?"

"Oh, come on, Dex. I'm not that special. Even I can see that. I never deserved you, Dex. never, and I knew one day you would realize this, and when you did, you'd leave me, and I was just speeding things up because—"

"Jesus, Hadley." He brushes her hair away from her face, tilting her chin up, willing her to look at him. "Is that how you felt? All this time?"

Hadley doesn't say anything, but her shoulders begin to shake. Dexter feels dizzy, somewhat, and seeing Hadley unravel like this right before his eyes, knowing this was his fault, knowing those tears were caused by him was torturous, and Dexter couldn't help but pull her against him.

"I don't know what on earth made you think like you weren't enough, Hadley, but you were. You are. You have always been enough, and you were everything I ever wanted," he says. Then, quietly, he adds, "You still are."

He thinks he hears a sob escape from her lips. He tightens his hold on her but she squirms away to look up at him. "What are you trying to say?" she asks him, her eyes wide and wavering.

The words are begging to be let out of his chest. They claw at his ribcage, fighting their way out. I'm still in love with you, Had. The unsaid words burn on his tongue, but Dexter sees how scared she is. He looks at Hadley—really looks at her—and realizes she isn't someone fleeting after all.

Everything begins to make sense. For the first time since the day they broke up, he feels like he finally got the punchline; that he finally understood why she'd thrown them away. Why she didn't want to introduce him to her parents. Why she never let them go further. Why she'd given them up.

Hadley never thought they were going to last.

She believed he would one day leave her—that he would one day think she wasn't enough, and God, how wrong she is.

I'm still in love with you, he wants to tell her, and it would be so easy to just let the words out—but he doesn't.

He shouldn't. Not now and not like this.

"What I'm trying to say," he tells her instead, "is that I don't want you out of my life, Had. I never did, and I never will. You're amazing, and I hope to God you realize this, because you really are."

Hadley doesn't seem convinced and Dexter steps closer. He cups her face in his hands and leans forward, just slightly, to brush his lips against her forehead.

"I'm sorry," Dexter murmurs. "For saying I was done with you. I didn't mean it. And I hope you still want me in your life too."

For a moment, she says nothing.

Dexter holds his breath. He wants so bad to tell her he's still in love with her, but he keeps his mouth shut, because he's not just in love with her—he loves her. The kind of love where it doesn't matter if she isn't in love with him, because more than that, more than the need to hold and kiss her, Dexter feels a need to be there for her, if not as something more, then as a friend.

It's the kind of love, Dexter realizes, that would stay even when he's no longer in love with her, and he holds her now, wishing—hoping—she still wanted him in her life, too.

But she is still silent and Dexter's eyes begin to sting again. He begins to regret this whole conversation, and he almost pulls away, ready to give up.

But then he feels her move. Slow. Careful. Afraid.

But brave—braver.

She closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest, her fingers finding handfuls of his shirt.

Dexter's heart soars. he holds her close—and closer still.

One day, he will tell her of these feelings. There is still so much to say, so much to look forward to. The two of them are leaving for college soon and a bigger world awaits both of them. A world that is much larger than this town and all he'd ever known, where his love for this girl began and heaved and ebbed and flowed.

There is so much of this world they've yet to see, but Dexter?

He doesn't have to see the rest of it to know that the years could pass them by and this town could change from what it is now to nothing but a catalogue of all the things he'd grown to love and still he'd want Hadley to be part of his life.

And one day, he will try to win her heart back. It's a promise he makes to himself.

For now, though, he says nothing. He holds her close. He breathes her in. One moment after another, after another, after another, until they all but blur into nothing more than a memory of a girl who has always been enough and a boy who never told her she was until now.