A/N

I promised weekly updates and I'm here to deliver! Just a heads' up, we're just past the halfway point of this story, I think...? This story confuses me a lot because of the chapter titles—in retrospect, I really shouldn't have numbered it like that!

If you ever need to contact me, please message me on my instagram (hepburnetteswp)! It's a lot easier for me there since my wattpad inbox is pretty full.

Happy reading!

x Noelle

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– 1

i r i s   g e r m a n i c a

For hope.

(then: –1)

"WHERE ARE WE going?"

At her question, he shoots her a glance over his shoulder and grins. "What part of 'it's a surprise' don't you get?" he says, tugging her along when she falters.

"The surprise part," she admits. "You know I'm not good with those. If it's anything too big or scary, you're not going to have the reaction you were hoping for."

"Don't look so worried, it's honestly not that big a deal. Here we are," he says, pulling her to a halt in front of a shop.

She blinks at the big neon sign on the storefront. "You brought me to a tattoo place?"

"Yes."

"Are you making me get a tattoo?"

He laughs at that. "No, but you're welcome to if you want one. Preferably somewhere only I know about," he adds teasingly, and they're in that stage of a relationship where the slightest innuendo makes her blush. He smirks at that, and holds the door open for her. "No, I'm the one getting a tattoo. I had to book a slot because this place is pretty popular."

She nods and looks around at the art on the wall, and the various tattoo designs on display, while he checks in at the counter. When he returns, he pulls her towards the empty space on the bench. They sit for a moment or two in silence, with only the echo of faint buzzing in the background, until she can't stop her curiosity. "What're you going to get?"

"I don't know," he says with a shrug. He studies the designs on the wall for a few seconds, before he asks, "What do you think about the head of Medusa on my chest?"

She stares at him, torn between amusement and horror. Given his totally straight face, she can't for the life of her decide whether he's joking or not. "I, uh...well, it's your choice and I respect that. I'll probably have to blindfold my eyes or something, or we'll have to do it in the dark, just so I won't get nightmares."

He chuckles. "I was only joking," he says, to her relief. "But I'll admit, I'm kind of tempted to get it now that I know how accommodating you'll be."

She rolls her eyes at him, and he winks back—a silent banter that only the two of them understand. In the back of her mind, she wishes desperately to capture this moment: the gleam in his eyes, the curve of his lips, sunlight threaded in his hair. She wants to close her eyes to remember it, but every second she closes her eyes means a little less time to look at him.

He must've noticed her smile fading, because he suddenly frowns. "What's wrong?"

She looks down at her lap, picking at her nails for awhile. "What do you think of Linville?"

"You mean our rival college?" She nods, and his frown deepens. "It's pretty much the same as Riverton, except as football captain I'm obliged to say that their football team's shit. Why do you ask?"

"They have a solid curriculum, like the one I took at Riverton. I probably won't have much trouble catching up, coming out ahead even."

"Emma." His voice is quiet; the look on his face serious. "Are you trying to tell me that you want to go to Linville instead?"

"Well, it's not a bad school..."

"Anything less than your dream school which you worked so hard to get into, and actually qualified for, is a bad school because you're settling. And I told you before: don't settle."

"I know!" She runs a hand through her hair and lets out a deep sigh. "It's just that...things between us are so good, you know? I want to find out where things go from here, but I'll never be able to if I leave."

"What're you talking about? You leaving is exactly how we'll find out where things will go from here. Whether we'll make long distance work, or whether we'll go our separate ways—we'll only ever know if you leave."

"But..." She bites her lip at the look of hope on his face—and shit, she really hates to do this to him, but one of them needs to be realistic at least. "Long distance relationships never work out, Dylan."

His lips quirk in a faint smile that's a little sad. "Do you really have that little faith in me?"

"No, of course not, I trust you! But no one I know has ever made long distance work, and we've only been dating for a month."

He shrugs."Flo and I started dating when we were fifteen and look how that turned out." He seems to sense that she's not really convinced, because he sighs and pulls her closer towards him. He sits at an angle and tucks her knees between both of his, so that they're directly facing each other. "Be honest," he says gently, "hand over heart, this school is your dream, yes?"

She nods.

"Then go chase it. Attend your classes, graduate as valedictorian—which I know you will, and take time to consider your job offers. And then you can decide whether you want to continue living there, or come home to me, or we can even make a new home halfway."

She blinks back sudden tears and gives him a watery smile. "That's in the middle of the ocean."

He cups her cheek and brushes away a stray tear with his thumb. "We'll make it work," he says, and pulls her into his arms. She tucks her head beneath his chin and closes her eyes. For a moment, they stay like that, with his arms around her shoulders and his pulse steady against her skin. She breathes him in and hopes that his words will come true.

She hopes they'll last.

After awhile, he pulls away and reaches into his bag. "Here," he tells her, as he draws out a pen and a piece of paper. "Write your name on this."

"What for?"

"For my tattoo," he explains, and raises his eyebrows at her. "You didn't really think I'd have the head of Medusa on my chest, did you? Your name in your handwriting," he adds, tracing a line across his right wrist, "I want it here, so I have something to remember you by."

A wide smile spreads across her face—he's so ridiculously cheesy sometimes, but no one has ever made her smile the way he has. "You could have a lock of my hair," she teases.

"Are we living in medieval times?" he shoots back.

A small laugh escapes her at that, and he grins and pulls her close again. He places the pen and paper onto her lap, and presses his lips against the side of her forehead, so that she can feel his lips against her as he speaks.

"Your name on my skin," he murmurs in a low voice that only she can hear, "I never want to forget you."

She lifts her head and meets his gaze for a moment. There's not a trace of teasing or irony on his face, so she smiles and picks up the pen. She must've written her name a hundred times before, but this feels like the first.

Emma. Every loop, every line, every letter has a new meaning—her name will be indelible; she can't ever be forgotten.

(she can.

indelible ink means nothing,

if his heart can no longer remember.)