PREVIOUSLY ON THE ARTGIRL QUARTER-SEASON FINALE:

Zoey in Silvercrest for her mom's wedding. Nico in London with his cousin and Jessie, Zoey's friend. Camilla is the new addition to the group. We are now the 21st December; nico's exams are done and he's travelling to Silvercrest to see his dad in two days. It's been three weeks since Zoey broke up with her cheating ex, James, and told Nico she needs space from him.

this chapter's for one of my closest friends and homies, Shiva, who is the -no joke-realest. Thank you for believing in me when I didn't.

Also, it is for everyone and anyone who has stuck with my writer's block, not pressured me to write and understood. I know I'm not great at answering messages, but you have to know that every kind message you say means the WORLD TO ME. You are a freaking gem. Each and every one of you.

please read the author's note later! and enjoy, loves.

so. I'm like hey what's up hello. I'm sorry for such a long absence. Two months? Three?Things got a little dull in the writing area and for a month, I hadn't written anything at all. But I broke through the rut!! and here I am !!!! the thing is: I'm not good with constant updates, unlike most Wattpad writers. And right now, it's SO rare for me to find the time to write. But I have a lot planned for Artgirl and it's my baby, so don't even consider the idea of me giving up on it. Thank you for understanding and if you didn't, I'd rather you stop reading now. The same thing happened with Mailboy, I stopped writing it for almost a year, so it took 2 years to be completed. I'll do my best to write when I can. Thank you. I love you all more than you'd think.

-

"I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses." -e.e. cummings. love that man.

-

the night of the 21st of December, 2017.

Nicolas Bear Forrest

"Drive safe," Adrian shut the door behind the last of the party guests. We made sure that every group of friends had a designated sober driver or had an Uber car pick them up.

Empty liquor bottles, scattered crisps and misplaced furniture were the usual leftover elements after a party. This one was in celebration of the end of midterms, we washed away the built-up stress and residue of strict memories in our minds with loud music. The smiles were present on most faces, ones of relief. On this same morning, the exams had ended. Even though the moment the doors open and we walked out of the room, all of the knowledge engraved into our minds started fading away; we needed to kick-start the holidays. And so the air filled with clumsy laughter and dances that didn't seem so awkward after a few drinks.

"I really, really love the smell of crisps," I said. "Don't you?"

Adrian nodded, "of course, Nico."

"Hm," Jessie added. She was sitting on the couch, bobbing her head to music. We had discovered a few hours earlier that she hated our taste in music and would rather listen to J. Cole, Jay Z and Drake's albums on her own earphones, at the maximum volume, than to anything else. "This is a really good song," she shouted. "Don't you think?"

Camilla and Adrian stared at her for a full five seconds, debating what to answer. As they were the only ones with a sober state of mind, they could actually think about what to say. Camilla didn't drink anything but wine and never did so at parties; she was the designated driver and mum with her friends. Adrian, who had once done a 45 second keg stand without instaneously throwing up, had to get on a 6 a.m. train to spend the holidays with his family.

"Yeah, it is," they monotonously said, proceeding to pick up stray crisps from the ground in a feeble attempt to clean up.

"Put it on speakers, Jess," I told her, pulling one of her earphones. "Let's enjoy the music with you."

She did, and began spitting out verses of songs we would listen to years ago. I wasn't surprised that she knew all of Drake's songs by heart, and sang them as if she was the female version of him. She held an empty beer bottle as a mic and aced every single song. Even though the last time I had listened to a song by him was a lifetime ago, I sang along with her; feeling as if we were in an empty arena, with a faceless audience and every movement gave me a shot of energy.

As if them observing us from afar meant two people missing out on the party, I trotted along to Camilla and Adrian and tugged them to Jessie's proximity. A new song came on, one with several singers. Jessie shared the improvised microphone with all of us, we took turns singing the verses the best we could. Camilla laughed and rapped Nicki Minaj's-or Rihanna's part in the song as if she had practiced before. Half drunk and half sober, we blended together better than tortillas and a guacamole dip.

Once the song was over, Jessie winced at the rest of the playlist and made a face at her phone. "I'm done with this," she said.

Adrian opened a cabinet between our rooms and took out a blanket, went to put it around her shoulders. "I'll get you some water and in a bit, I'll drive you home, then."

"No!" She threw the blanket on the couch. She giggled, said: "I'm done with hip-hop, Adriano. Una última canción, I prooomise. Quiero escuchar algo que puedo bailaaar, no estoy cansada, mi amor."

An hispanic song played, to Jessie's great pleasure. She sang along to most of the song, very loudly, and mumbled the parts she didn't know by heart. She was jumping onto her feet with the drums in the song, until Adrian told her that the neighbors would be complaining. (They threatened that if another person woke them up from their sleep, they would call the police.)

Despite Jessie's "No estoy cansada", she fell onto the couch as son as the song was over. An aloof smile on her face, she dragged Adrian down with her and they simply sat there, contemplating a closed TV.

Camilla looked down to them, "what are you doing?"

"Sitting," said Jessie. Her head was on Adrian's shoulder. The way he let her be there, it was a soothing sight to my eyes. People didn't need to be in love to give love to each other. He wasn't in love with her, not just yet. He was slowly getting there, and so was she.

I was suddenly envious of their obvious comfort. Without asking, I sat on the opposite couch. I shut my eyes, trying to push back the sour thoughts of a girl with short hair and an overly large heart. If she was here, I thought, she would be my Jessie. Maybe. If I hadn't fucked up once upon a time and being around her didn't bring me anxiety and love all at the same time.

"We're leaving, did you need anything?" a voice asked.

"No. Goodnight, Cam. Your Christmas gift is with Jessie. Have a merry Christmas, yeah? I'll be back on the 1st. Take care of her. The keys are in her bag, and the address is written on-"

A small grumble. "I know where I live, Adriano. And I'm perfectly able of taking care of myself. The only reason she's driving me home is because she's very pretty. Very. Like, her hair is very flowy. It looks like a pillow. And her eyes are like beautiful magnets, you can't not listen when she talks. It's very, um, pretty."

"Should I be jealous?" whispered Adrian, amused with his girlfriend's drunk ramblings.

"Not at all," replied Camilla. I could identify her voice from Jessie's, now. Hers was light and airy, every sentence reminded me of the feeling you had after laughing endlessly. The momentary insouciance and dainty smell of amity in the air. "And yes, I know where the address is. Your gift will be given after you get back. Because well, I didn't get you one. I'm late on my shopping. Have a merry Christmas. Thanks for everything."

I dared to open my eyes for a second, "Adrian?"

Three people looked at me all at once. "Yeah? You need anything?"

"You know what time it is?" Panic was rising up my throat. I stood up, feeling as if the universe was jumping up and down in front of me. "Is it midnight? Adrian."

I shoved my hands between every couch cushion. "Where's my phone? Have you seen your phone? My phone. I need my phone. Have you seen my phone?"

"It's half past two, your phone's in your pocket. What do you need?"

"I-" what I needed to say made sadness laugh. "Need to call my dad. He's got to be in a bad mood tonight. It's mum's birthday. Death day. It's her anti-birthday. Adrian. She-no. Her death day is in two days. Today is her birthday. I need to-" He squeezed my shoulder.

He gently shoved a sack of trash aside, "it's all right. I know. You'll call him in the morning, yeah? You're not too well at the moment. Tomorrow will still be the 22nd. You can call him then."

"Yeah, right. Right. You're most definitely right."

He said a few words to Camilla and told her to leave, that he could handle me, that he could take care of me. But I didn't need taking care of. I was fine. I couldn't be better. Everything was hazy and there were too many images in my brain; of Mum, Dad, of hospitals and bottles of medication. And they were cutting off my air, I felt as if the weight that visited every 22nd decided to take my throat as a home instead of my ribcage.

"I need air," I mumbled, then louder: "I need air. I need air. I'm going to the roof. Upstairs."

I shoved Adrian away and grabbed a coat; I might've been drunk but I wasn't dumb. Towards the end of December, everything was icy and cold. My shoes made a noise against the new face of snow, but I didn't have a chance of falling.

Slow, careful steps tried to synchronize my frantic heart along. I should've felt the cold breeze of air on my shoulders, or the crunch of snow under my feet. But I didn't feel anything. I made my goal to reach the 5ft brick wall that separated the rest of the city from this building. I set my elbows on the wall and blinked.

She is laughing too loudly at Dad's "I like you a latte" joke, she winks at me and tells me that she knows that he loves her laugh, so she gives it to him. As he gives her his love. Give and take, she says.

Blink.

She is coughing up blood into tissues while we're watching a horror movie. We rush to the hospital, as she humorously says: "I'm never, ever watching a scary film again. Bad luck, isn't it?"

Blink.

It's the morning of her 15th wedding anniversary. Dad and I decide to surprise her, by filling her room with fake flowers (the real ones aren't safe for her). She slept through the day, because the chemo was too rough on her.

Blink.

She's allowed to go outside to see the snow, for only five minutes. Dad dances with her in a wheelchair, and I can see them falling in love all over again.

Blink.

We celebrate Thanksgiving by making a dinner table in her room. She cries for two hours, kisses my Dad and doesn't leave a spot of my face untouched. She sleeps with a smile on her face.

Blink.

"We are standing here today to honor and pay tribute to the life of Gina-"

A hand was on my shoulder and I flinched. "Nico?" I didn't answer.

Camilla tapped her hands on the wall. "Adrian drove Jessie home. That's what he wanted all along, I think. I know he says that him being away will pass by quickly, but he's going to miss her a lot. She means the world to him."

"Yeah. I know."

And I was almost annoyed with her. I wanted to tell her that I didn't care about how happy Adrian and Jessie were, that their blissful little world was immaculate. I didn't want to hear about how much he loved her, or how much she talks about him when she's drunk. I didn't need to know about how happy they were. I knew it was selfish to think in such a way; I also knew that I loved him and that I was happy for him. Maybe it was jealousy-or envy, or raw sadness that brought these thoughts along. It would've been easier to be in pain if everything around me wasn't pulsing with life and laughter and love.

I didn't tell her anything. Because I hated being angry with anyone, with the world. She was happy, the kind of person who lit up people's lives and I needed that in mine.

"I don't want to leave," she said, softly. I know you want to be alone, but I'm going to stay here with you. If that's all right with you."

"I don't want to be alone."

"Okay."

Silence.

-

I couldn't be too sure if I woke up feeling numb from the vivid memory of Mum, or because I was still just a little drunk.

Considering the fact that it was two in the afternoon and my head was bound to burst off my body, I settled on the first option. I had woken up to a tray with a tall glass of cold water and two aspirin pills.

Most of the previous night's events were blurry and lost, but I remembered drinking too much and going to the roof with Camilla. Speaking of-she had left a small note beside the glass of water with a smiley face on it. I knew it was her, because Adrian had left something of his by my bedside as well. It was a big black bag with a card on top. I opened the card and squinted to read, it took me a few moments to be able to read the scribbled words. (It didn't help that Adrian's writing was the definition of cacography.)

Merry Christmas, you shite! Please get the Christmas cookies by the time I get home. Take care.

Inside the bag were five vinyl albums: The Beatles', All Time Low's Future Hearts, Fall Out Boy's Save Rock and Roll, Drake's Nothing Was the Same and the obvious clue that Jessie helped him out-Rihanna's Unapologetic. I stared at the smooth surfaces of the albums in my hands and thanked God for Adrian. A few years earlier, he came home with an entire suitcase filled with a turntable, sick speakers and a face scrunched up in determination. "If I'm going to be a radio host speaking to celebrities one day, I have to listen to vinyl records. It's a MUST. Do you hear me, Nicolas? A MUST."

A hot shower and a stack of pancakes later, I sat on my couch. Legs folded, dumb stare directed to a TV playing a show I didn't care about, an empty mind. I had a full day to spend and I didn't know how to make it pass. I had been so busy with exams, that the idea of rest had gotten buried under mountains of modules and late study nights. Staying home wasn't an option, because I knew that if I did: I would indulge into a momentary state of depression. A cycle of bitterness, anger that would hurt my friendships and completely falling apart.

Adrian was far gone. Jessie was hung-over; and I had learnt over the short lapse of our friendship that waking her up after a drunken night before 2 p.m. was bound to be the biggest mistake of your life. There were college friends that I could've called up; maybe even a few girls I could've asked out on a date. I was too tired for that. I was too tired to make any kind of effort at all. I needed a friend, one who wouldn't judge me at all and who could, maybe, bare through my crap.

"Hello?"

"Hi," I said. "Thank you for the aspirin. I'm pretty damn sure we ran out of it a week ago."

A laugh. "I always have some with me. I'm my friends' caretaker," she said loudly, then lowered her voice. "Sorry. How are you feeling?"

"Good. Did I embarrass myself in any way yesterday?"

I had a tendency to do that.

"No. Not really, except you tried to twerk at some point. It was quite lovely."

"You're kidding? Please, tell me you're kidding."

"Fortunately for me, I'm not. You got cheered on, and even though all you were doing was popping out your bum and wiggling it: you didn't look like a complete fool. There was a guy, someone named Andre, I think, who joined along and destroyed you. So, at that point: no one even remembered you."

Great.

I cringed. "Things like this make me want to either hide or go relive the night so that I could make fun of myself. What're you up to today?"

"Um-let me check my schedule," she shuffled around, "today, I've got sitting around and binge watching TV shows, in pajamas and eating crisps. So, as you see, I'm very busy."

"Ah. I see," I said, "you want to go out? The idea of sitting alone in my house all day depresses me."

"Get a dog then, it's much less lonely. Nico, I'd love to go-but it takes too much effort to get ready. I'm sleepy and tired."

"Change into acceptable clothes and come with me, then. I don't care if you have a bed head. Please, Cam."

"My bed head is-well, a bed head."

"I doubt it. Please? You won't regret it."

A long groan. "I hate you."

I smiled. "I'll meet you at the park bench in twenty minutes."

"Nicolas, I'm still in pajamas. I haven't put a comb through my hair and I still smell like leftover beer from your house. I'll meet you in hour."

"Fine," I had an idea of how to spend the day. "You know how to skate?"

"What-like on ice?"

"Yeah?"

"No. No. Absolutely not. We are not going skating. I've never gone skating and I'm just a big klutz, I don't need to be in a big body cast. NO."

"If you don't want to go, don't come to the bench. Yeah? I won't be mad."

An hour and two minutes later, she was sitting on a cold bench with mittens and a pink winter hat, grumbling obscenities about blaming me for her future death.

-

The tube was full, to say the least. Camilla and I had to stand up through both rides: Bakerloo and Piccadilly. Even though the time passed quickly, I watched people around me; wondered why they were on the tube. Camilla admitted that she hated the tube with a passion, she preferred walking or driving to places. I had insisted to go to the National History Museum by tube, but didn't tell her that even though I'd gone to that rink almost every Christmas holiday, I always went by tube. Traveling by car made the journey between two destinations short, no matter how long the ride was. Going by bus or tube made me see different kinds of people, feel as if I was traveling far away.

It was nearly two in the afternoon when we had arrived, and Camilla's stomach wouldn't stop growling. She blamed me, since I had interrupted her "TREAT YOURSELF" day. We ended up sitting in a subway shop upon our arrival and gulfing down a full sandwich before truly smiling again.

"I'm going to watch you skate, though. I'm not skating," she said for the millionth time. Our argument about her skating had been going on for the past five minutes. I was set on skating, while she had never stepped foot in an ice rink before.

"Camilla, I'll teach you. It's not that hard, honestly," at her raised eyebrow, I added: "I won't let you fall. I promise."

She finished her drink and sank a little in her chair. Bottom lip a little out in a pout, she stared at me for a solid twenty seconds before speaking again. The world could recognize her as an adult age-wise, but her eyes held all the heart and innocence of a five-year old, the kindness of an old woman and the face of someone who'd never done anything bad in their life.

"I'll break a leg. I know myself, I'll end up in a body cast by the end of the night and since someone refused to get here by car, you'll have to haul my arse on a tube back home," she said. "I can barely walk in snow before falling face first in it, you except me to go on ice on a blade?"

"Right, now let's imagine a seventy-year old version of yourself. White hair, teeth falling out, a wrinkly mess-"

"Excuse you, the women in my family looked great at seventy."

"Well, you'll be the exception," I tried not to laugh. "As I was saying. You're a big seventy year old mess, and you're thinking back on your life. Will you regret not ever learning how to skate? You'll be sitting on a rocking chair and just saying: "Oh my dear me, time has betrayed me and now I'm too old to skate, because at twenty-four-"

"Twenty-three."

"At twenty-three, I was such a fool and a scared kid who didn't trust her amazing, handsome friend-"

She slammed her hand on the table and looked at me in the eye, a smile threatening to break through the serious face she was trying so hard to achieve. "Let's skate, bitch," and in a softer voice, "if you ever let me go and let me fall..." she let her sentence hang.

"I won't," I smiled. "Let's go, then?"

We'd begun skating just as the sun had an hour left to set. Camilla had to get home in three hours, and I had no limits. I knew that teaching her how to skate would take up at least thirty minutes, without taking into consideration her potential hesitation.

There was excitement in her eyes when she put on the skates. Even though the rink was full with people, the walls weren't as crowded.

"You ready?" I asked, we were one step away from the rubber mat and into the actual ice. I'd skated every Sunday with my dad in the park behind our house in the winter, so I didn't need to get back to it. Camilla's hands were shaky.

She gave me a wide smile, even though I could see traces of fear in her eyes. "Can I trust you?"

"I won't let you fall, I promise," I assured her.

Her right hand was glued onto the wall beside her, as she stepped one foot into the ice. I put my hands on her waist and held her firmly. She started out with a slow slide on the ice, moving an inch at a time. Her knees were slightly bent. I realized that the only reason she was moving was that I was holding her and slowly pushing her.

"Camilla?" I said. "How are you doing?"

"This is fun," she remarked. "It's so fun. I'm skating! I'm freaking ice skating, Nico! I think you could let go for five seconds."

"It's too soon, we'll just keep going for a little more."

"No, let go. I can do this."

And I did. She moved for about two feet and then fell harshly on her knees. Her instinct was to put her hands on the ice, instead of falling face-first into the ice. It took us a few seconds to saying anything at all. I knelt down in front of her. Her shoulders were shaking and I almost thought she was crying.

"Camilla? You all right?"

"I," deep breath, "just can't move." She was laughing. "My mittens are getting wet and my leggings are most probably torn."

"Take my hand, and don't let go."

I put my hand on the ice, touching her spread fingers. She hesitantly put her hand on mine and clutched it. I pulled her up. She put her free harm onto the wall, clutching onto it as if her life depended on it.

"Let's try again, yeah?" I said.

So, twenty minutes, four falls and a hole on Camilla's knee later, I decided she was good enough to try to skate alone. Without a wall or my help. Thankfully, the people around us had somehow understood that I was trying to teach Bambi how to walk. We had a fraction of the rink all to ourselves.

I put myself far away from her and shouted: "Go!"

Camilla meticulously skated, keeping her eyes on me. We figured that keeping an eye on your destination usually helped. Her lips were slightly open, as she tried to take breaths to keep her frenetic self at bay. The moment seemed to go slower, and she was getting faster. When she reached me, she stopped, with her arms held out in front of her, to create some kind of balance.

She looked up at me, eyes big and wide. The hundreds of fairy lights hung above us seemed to shine on her face. I could see the beauty mark in the corner of her lips. The reflection of the light in her eyes, the way it always seemed to be there, even at 2 a.m.

"I did it," she grinned. "I skated. I skated!"

By the way she was glimmering at me, the way stars did: I thought she might have hugged me. But she kept repeating her words over and over, before falling. (She had accidentally started dancing.)

After making sure that she wasn't hurt, we headed back home. The sun had set and the lights of the city were flickering away. It was barely even six yet, but the day was already over. We got on the tube again, but this time there were less people. We sat down side by side, red noses and light hearts.

"Nico?" She asked, after a certain amount of silence.

"Camilla?"

She looked at me in the eyes and said: "Why me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she cleared her throat, and I saw a wall breaking in her eyes. "Why did you call me today? You could've called anyone else."

It took me a second to answer. "I don't know. I wanted to spend the day with someone who would make me happy."

"And did I? Make you happy?"

"Yeah. More than I've been in a while."

I thought she was going to say something else, because there seemed to be much more written in her eyes. Much more that she wanted to say, too many more questions. The momentary questioning silence was gone as fast as it had arrived.

We walked from the park to the entrance of her building. We were tired and I knew that my legs would kill me the next day. She insisted that I let her walk alone, but it was dark. I didn't trust the streets of London, and leaving so abruptly would leave the day unfinished.

A conversation about her favorite movie had ended. We talked about what would happen if we were in a movie. If I was the protagonist, she had said, Zoey would be the second main character. I didn't have a direct reply to that. Then, she asked me how I felt about her.

"I don't know," I said, feeling much like a child. "I don't want to try if she doesn't want to make an effort as well. I get it, you know. The whole James-cheating-on-her. But-I just wish she would let me be her friend. I'm not asking for more."

Camilla didn't say anything but a patient "mhm", so I kept talking.

"I used to miss her all the time, at some point. The first few months after meeting her. It was a raging ache, then a burning flame, then a flicker that just never died away. You have no idea how many times I almost called, almost told her that I was an idiot and that I was sorry, that I loved her."

"Why didn't you?"

"She hated my fuckin' guts. With a passion. No matter how much I would've tried to say, she would've stayed angry."

Camilla slowed her pace and so did I, as we approached her building. "You know how people say that what's meant to be will be?"

"Yeah."

"I think that's what it is with you and her. If it's meant to be, you'll end up together. Meanwhile, though, you should just try not to make her the center of your world. If you are supposed to be together, it'll happen no matter what. Don't let that flicker become a forest fire-"

"Forest. Clever."

"-if you know that on her side, it's still a flicker. And thank you."

We stopped in front of her building, and I looked at the metal gates behind her. If fate was involved in anything, it was to bring Camilla in people's lives and make them realize that having her around was the best gift you could get. She was truly and undeniably beautiful, without consequence or flaws that hurt others.

"Thank you for the ice skating," she said. "It was nice. Not as good as staying home all day and doing nothing, much safer too, but it was really nice."

"Thank you for deciding not to stay home all day. I didn't want to see anyone who wasn't my friend today. You're one of the only people who knew how bad I felt yesterday. Thanks for coming up on the roof with me."

"It's what friends do, right?" She threw a glance at me.

"Right."

Filtering and processing my words was a concept that I didn't recognize. She was too special. She left an unfamiliar taste all over me. Friends didn't do that."If say, one day, I had asked you to go out on a date with me, what would you say? Maybe a few years from now, when you've actually mastered the art of skating?"

"You're in love with someone else," she smiled. "I said keep the flame a flicker, don't let it die."

She then hugged me tightly and ran to the stairs of the entrance. "Merry Christmas, Nico! You want me to come down to drop you off at the airport tomorrow?" She shouted.

"No, I'm fine. I don't like airport farewells. Merry Christmas, Cam."

-

I've never skated either. in my life. #camillasquad

#camico

comment here if you think they're cute (lowkey) (aka just as a bromance) OR A ROMANCE

comment here if you think she has a crush on him

comment here if you're involuntarily liking them all while staying on #zico's side

comment here if you want her to fuck off

do not hate on her, though. please. she is not created to be hated. See her as someone who will help Nico without knowing it and make him happy, in ways that Zoey can't. (For now, anyway.) She is not a villain.

ALSO IDK WHEN I'M UPDATING NEXT BUT THE WRITER'S BLOCK IS OVER. I DON'T EVEN CARE IF THIS ISN'T MY BEST CHAPTER. I'M JUST SO RELIEVED. AND TIRED. AND HAPPY. MOSTLY HAPPY.

love, yas