Guess who's back, back again.

Yas is back, tell a friend!

RECAP:

 Zoey found out that Nico's departure to England is in less than twenty-four hours. He convinced her to forget about it for the time being. They were at his going away party, when Zoey got overwhelmed by her emotions and left, crying. James encouraged her to make him stay. Now, they were about to face reality.

-

"what does it even mean to be human? 'cause when I see you, I see an explosion in the sky. I see a supernova, I see the reflection of the full moon in the ocean and when I touch you, I am touching the beginning of everything. I see you for what you are, and quite simply, my love, you are my universe." –from Dakota Wint's a nervous wreck faking fine

Nicolas Bear Forrest

             "WE'RE going to have to un-pause, now, aren't we?" I said, watching her struggle to hide her tears. She gulped and took a step towards me. The hue of her hair was almost black in this light.

"Indeed," her eyes met mine. They held mettle and courage.

I wished I could go back to any moment other than this. Because any fight we had ever had wouldn't match up to the one we were about to have. If I could, I would kiss her again. I faced her anger more than once, but I'd never seen her so upset. It was as if someone twisted one of my arteries—seeing her in this state hurt my entire body.

She took a huge breath, "I don't want to fight with you."

"You know I never want to," I grabbed her hand and led her to the porch. We sat on the steps. She put her hands on her knees and faced me.

"What's your reason? Your motive, whatever. Why do you want to leave?" she asked.

I couldn't look at her in the eyes. "This isn't where I belong. This isn't my home; I can't see myself going to college here. I have a life back home. My friends, my mum, everything I know—it's over there. My dad and I, we made a deal the second I landed here. If I wanted to stay, I could. If I didn't want to, I could go back."

"Your dad's here, Forrest," she replied. "You're going to leave him?"

"We'll see each other on holidays. We're both fine with it."

"Where are you going to live?"

I admired the way my shirt was loose on her, the way she did it more justice than I could have ever. "With my cousin, Adrian. He has a flat in London."

"When's the flight?"

"10 a.m. I need to get there at least two hours before."

She let out a shaky breath, took out her phone and stared at the time. A frown appeared on her features, then a thoughtful expression. She tucked in a shorter strand of her hair behind her ear.

9:55 p.m.

"I'll make you a deal," she said.

"I'm all ears."

Truthfully, I preferred a calm Zoey over a mental one. Yet her freakish tranquility was bizarre. The Zoey I knew would have thrown a fit.

My previous plan was to simply refrain from telling her. I wanted to avoid her tears and her protests; I hoped that my last time seeing her was the last mail delivery today; when the taste of her lips and her smile were the remainder of her in my eyes. But my dad, being the man he was, spilled the beans and here I was.

(Deep down, I was thanking him for telling her. I couldn't bare the idea of not seeing her for so long. Any second with her and of her rigmarole could have been enough to fill the void that would be created when I left.)

"If I give you, um, seven reasons to stay before you leave, will you stay?" questioned Zoey, eyes shining with a newfound sense of vigor.

The answer was determined in my mind, but what I answered was: "Why seven?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, "seven is a lucky number. It's also the most powerful number in the Wizard world. I mean, Voldy had seven hocruxes, Harry is born on the seventh month, and the Weasley family has 7 children—"

I held a hand covering her mouth, "you're such a nerd." She bit my palm and I instantly took my hand back before she inflicted serious damage upon it.

"I'm serious, Forrest. If I give you seven reasons to stay, will you?"

The ticket was booked. I should go back to the house, sleep until 7am and head to the airport. I'd say goodbye to my father and step onto the plane that would take me back to where I came from.  If I gave her a definite yes, I would be lying.

So, I avoided the main question. "Do I have a choice?"

"Considering the fact that I care about you more than I care about chocolate and that I think our story or whatever it is doesn't finish tonight, you really don't," she meant to say it nonchalantly, but I noticed the softness hidden beneath her words.

"I should go sleep," I said.

She smiled, "don't play that sleep card bullshit on me, Forrest. I know you; you'll stay up and be fully awake. Besides, it won't take more than three, four hours."

Zoey got up, wiped her butt and clapped her hands together. She offered her hand to me and chuckled. I held her hand just for the sake of holding it, pulling myself up without her help. She pointed to the space in front of her, then took out her phone and dialed a number.

I zoned out of the conversation, knowing that she wanted to explain the situation to one of her friends, but all I understood was:

"Diana!"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"No, we didn't have angry sex."

She put her hand on the speaker, and looked at me: "She says she'll drop off the rest of the gifts at your place."

I nodded. "That's cool with me."

"No, I'm not going to tell him that James bought him condoms."

"You just did," I added in.

She blushed and bid her goodbyes to Diana. Heading to the car parked in front of the mail house, she ushered for me to unlock the car. I did, then just as I was about to open the door for her, she removed my hand from the handle.

"I can open it myself," said Zoey, "I have two hands, don't I?"

We both got into the car and I started the engine. I said: "I thought all girls liked the whole gentleman ordeal."

"Are you stereotyping girls?" she replied, eyeing me very seriously.

"No? I just meant—"

She leaned over her seat and squeezed my hand. The action was enough to confuse me for a second. "I was kidding."

"Where to, princess Zoey Willow Hunter?" I questioned.

"If this were a fairytale, I'd say to the moon," she mused, "But for now, take me to the diner."

"Don't tell me what to do," I said, out of habit.

She rolled her eyes, "don't pretend you don't love it."

"What, the diner?"

"No, me telling you what to do. The fact that I'm cooler than you makes anything I tell you to do by association cooler."

"Zorro?"

"Hm?"

"Shut it."

-

"I feel like these pancakes get better every time I eat them," I moaned, savoring the melting taste of pancake in my mouth. Zoey sprayed maple syrup on her pile, taking small bites from them. She glanced at me and grimaced.

"Number 1: don't eat with your mouth open, you five year old child. Two: you tasted these like, once. And—" she paused, closed her mouth. I raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

"This is reason number 1," she announced. "You should stay because in England, you won't have these amazing pancakes and even greater company."

"So I should stay for food?"

"Pretty much."

I fiddled with my fork, trying to ease the rising bile of words down my throat. I wanted to blurt out that she couldn't make me stay, no matter what she said. But then again, this was the last night I would ever spend with her. I didn't want my last time with her to end on bad terms.

"You showed your okay human being side the day we came here for the first time with James and Joel, you know," she said.

I swallowed the mush of food, "okay human being side?"

"Yeah," she mumbled. "It's at moments like that that you can see a person clearly, when they're a mess. 'Cause before that, you were a dick. But that food fight showed a different side of you."

"I saw that side the second I met you," I replied.

She laughed, "You were rude as heck!"

"Sorry bout that," I joined along, "I wasn't at my happiest. Actually, no. I was being a bit of an arse."

"Still are," a smile toyed at her lips.

"Right you are," I said. "I just saw a weird, cute human being. I still do."

"Thank you," she beamed.

I gave her an intrigued look, "you think being weird is good?"

"Being weird is a blessing, my dear Nico B. Forrest."

And because I knew that it was the perfect chance and I'd never shared this with anyone else, not even Beth, I said: "want to know what the B stands for?"

"You won't!" she gasped, putting her hands on her mouth.

"You have to guess, though."

"Okay!" she sounded like a giddy freak. "I need clues."

"It's related to my last name and it growls."

"B—no way." Realization dawned on her features.

"Yeah."

"For real?"

"Yes, Hunter."

"Nicolas Bear Hunter!" she giggled, then composed herself, realized what she just said, and became a frozen human being.

"Did you just say what I think you just said?"

She bit her lip, (she did that action many times and she had no fucking idea how crazy it drove me.) "If you're implying that I may have accidentally gotten our last names mixed up, then you're right. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was a total slip of tongue. It's just that you said my last name and I was thinking about your middle name and I got confused. You know me, I get confu—"

I put my hand over hers on the table. She stiffened for a moment and relaxed. She ran her bottom thumb on my palm, taking another bite of the pancakes. The smell of maple syrup hit my nose stronger, and I realized just how different yet similar Canadians are from the British. We showed pride for our home; defended it like it was our one true love.

"You're right," I said. "Great food and great company are fuckin' amazing. But I honestly hope, for your sake, that when you get married, you don't impose your last name on your husband."

"Funny, right? Our last names?"

Hunter.

Forrest.

"A hunter hunts in forests," I said.

She smiled, "I'm hunting your bear."

"Was that a bad sexual innuendo?"

For the second time that night, she blushed beet red. It was quite a sight. Her light spray of freckles over her nose, the scattered embarrassment on her cheeks, the way her lips got all red. "Course not."  

"Bear, Forrest?" she burst into laughter. "It's adorable."

"My mum and I fought all the time about it; she was the one who chose it. According to my dad, the day I was born, she made a horrible joke about how brilliant it would be if my name was Bear Forrest. After a long discussion, they managed to mesh both of their name choices into mine," the memory was still vivid in my mind. Hearing my dad tell the story to anyone who asked. "She used to say 'my two men: a Forrest husband and my cuddly Bear.' "

Zoey's eyes met mine and I almost let myself get lost in them. They were warm and welcoming; giving solace to anything. She was like these pancakes, a bit hard on the outside; yet unbelievably soft on the inside. She gave me a small smile and squeezed my hand.

"She sounds like an amazing woman," she said.

"She would've either loved you or hated you," I replied honestly.

She chuckled, and said: "Ready for reason number 2?"

"Hm," was all I said.

She took out her phone, unlocked it and searched for something on it. She made a weird face at whatever she was looking at and found what she was looking for. She turned the screen so I could see it as well.

It was a picture of her and me, at the Mail Convention. She was wearing the blue dress, her nose lightly puffy from her sickness. I remembered Walters forcing us to stand as close as possible to make us look like great friends. My arm around her waist, she was smiling widely. I rarely smiled in pictures, but the obligatory "cheese" made me smile as well.

"This was taken at New York City, the city of lights, I think. The point is, even if we had a crappy time, we managed to look good together. There are two reasons, actually. The first being that even if we can make each other feel like shit, we can be messes together. I was sick and you took care of me. I appreciated that to a point you couldn't understand. Even if we fought later on, we have a good memory printed on a picture."

I glanced at her, "what's the second reason? Or the third, actually?"

"We could go back to NYC together. We could go to the MAC again, more than once. You could come to the France trip the seniors are having this year. We could see different pieces of the Earth together, and create our own memories, doesn't matter good or bad, there."

"But, I—"

Zoey locked her screen and gave me a sad smile, "I'm not done yet, now am I? Four more reasons to go."

She stood up and dropped a ten dollar bill on the table. "To the Nico mobile!" Rushing out of the restaurant like a sugar high child, she leaned by my car, waiting for me to unlock it.

"Open the car," she demanded.

I walked to her, "impolite."

"Please," she protested.

And just as she was about to continue, I put my lips on hers. I placed my hands on the car, unlocked it with the small remote and savored the taste of her lips on mine. She hummed against my lips, pecked my jaw and pushed me off.

It was better than the pancakes. Anything about her, really, surpassed any good I had in my life.

 "Nice way of shutting me up," she congratulated. "I applaud you."

"Thank you, I try," I started the car.

She unexpectedly looked through my glove compartment, observing each CD. She let out a small gasp and put one in, skipping to one of the songs. (Also one of my favorites.

"Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift

the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?"

Zoey sang along loudly, damaging my ear drums. She positioned her head close to my ears, so that she'd be screaming in them. She was ruining the song—yet rendering it better at the same time.

"Hunter, please," I managed to say.

She shook her head, bobbing it to the music sweetly. Then she turned to me and sang a specific lyric: "Was sort of hoping that you'd stay."

"Fucking shit," I turned down the volume of the song. "Hunter, please stop?"

"Reason number 4, you won't have a person who makes you want to hate songs forever."

She was right.

"Do you like this one?" I pointed to the title of one of the songs on the CD. She replied that she didn't know it. I put it on, enjoying the sweet sound of guitar and bass in my ears. It was She Way Out by the 1975.

Only the music flew through the car, the bass pumping lightly from the speakers. Zoey looked out the window, tapping her leg in sync. She took a deep breath, then another—then another. And breathed out.

"You alright?" I asked her, taking a second to put my eyes on her.

"I'm fine," her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. "I'm perfect. I couldn't be better."

Obviously she wasn't fine, but I decided to let it go. She didn't seem like she wanted to talk about it. I skipped the song and found one that I heard her hum once. She straightened up at the sound of it, singing along softly. I joined in, she smiled at me.

"Wendy run away with me. I know I sound crazy, don't you see what you do to me? I wanna be your lost boy," we both sung.

Once the song was over, she said: "take me to your favorite place here, and I'll tell you the fifth reason."

-

And an hour later, we were standing in front of a big sign saying: Little Italy, where your pizza dreams come true! It was a pizza restaurant that I'd found on my first week in the city. It was unpopular; populated with Italians and wannabe Italians. Hidden behind Tim Hortons , it was in my grandmother's stories. There was one in Italy. My grandmum told me about how she met my granddad there, while serving as a waitress. It was love at first fight. (She dropped hot tomato sauce on his head.)  

"A pizza place?" asked Zoey, wonderingly staring at it.

"Yeah, shall we?" I offered my arm.

She chuckled, "we just had pancakes, Forrest."

"And?"

"Well," she pondered upon it, "I can make place for pizza. Pizza is everything." She slid her arm through mine and we walked in together.

A chubby waitress called Allegra smiled, heading towards us. She patted my shoulder.

"Is this Zoey?" she uttered in a thick accent. "The girl you love?"

Zoey shuffled her feet, smiling uncomfortably.

"Yeah," I said. "Could you get us a table, please, Allegra? The nice one, by the balcony. And—"

"A cheese pizza with slices of chicken, black and green olives, no peppers. Any soda," she imitated me, horribly. Winking at Zoey, she nudged her: "very beautiful, you are. He has very good taste in pizza and in you. He never stop blabla about you. Zoey this, Zoey that! I tell him shut up and bring the girl!"

"Thank you Allegra," I gave her a forced smile, hoping she got the hint.

A few minutes later, she led us to our table. It was in the back, right in front of a gigantic painting. The metal chairs felt cold to touch, but it felt good, considering the summer heat. I pulled out a chair for Zoey, who was star struck by the painting.

It was a painting of a beautiful woman, in the 1900's, dipped in a man's arms, smiling at him as if the world could end at any moment and they wouldn't care. Her hair escaped her bun and fell to the ground, as the man held her waist and grinned at her. Their surroundings were blurry. I guessed that the painter wanted to display their love.

"I love this," she mumbled, in awe. "It's so beautiful."

"So do I."

Allegra asked us for our order, and Zoey looked through the menu. "I don't know what to pick, can you choose for me? Surprise me," she said to the waitress.

"Yes! I like her," she pointed to me and turned to Zoey, "you trust the right person, Bella Zoey!"

She trudged away, making Zoey smile. "She's beautiful," she said.

"You like this place?"

"Forrest, I like white. I like cheese. But this place? I am in love," she gushed.

I gave her a smile, "good."

Once the pizza had arrived, we dug in, enjoying the pleasures of life. Zoey moaned more than once while tasting the pizza —I had to restrain myself from grabbing her and making out with her like the world was about to end.

 She wiped her mouth twenty minutes later, groaning about how I was the reason she was never going to be healthy. (There was no doubt about the fact that to my eyes, she would always be fit.) Sipping on her drink silently, her eyes were glued on the painting. She sulked in the absence of conversation, deep in thought.

"Reason five, this," blurted Zoey, who was even more beautiful than the painting and Allegra. "Stay for this place. Stay for Allegra. Stay for the pizza. Stay for the painting. If you leave, you'll miss out on ever visiting this place ever again."

"Two left," I said. "Don't waste them."

"I'm not counting on it, Forrest," she crinkled her nose.

And another hour later, it was nearly 1 am. Zoey called her mom and told her she was sleeping over at Diana's. Her mother was very considerate; asking her if she was alright about me leaving.

Even I was starting to not feel alright about me leaving.

But I prepared myself for this; the consequences of my decision. I had to handle it properly, for I couldn't back down from this. If I did, I knew I would regret it for the longest time. I was destined to do this; I could do this. I needed this.

The first thing I'd do when I got back was already known, even if the rest wasn't. I would go visit Mum, tell her all about Zoey and James and Joel, how Dad was doing and Canada. Then I'd head to Adrian's place and settle in. School would start. Everything would reach a peak of normality. Hopefully.

"Here?" I asked Zoey, driving into the small parking spot.

She nodded, and I parked the car in front of the lake. I could see Zoey's island a little further away, saluting us. Zoey took my hand and led me to the rocks by the edge of the boats. I was careful to where I stepped my feet, she was incredibly rapid. She knew her way around her, I didn't.

Zoey sat on a big rock, patting the space next to her. We were beside each other, looking at how the water flowed peacefully, as the moon shone on it. It was a sight to remember, seeing Zoey half-heartedly throw minuscule rocks into the lake. It swallowed the rocks, almost as if a piece of her would always be there.

"Stay for this, Nico. Stay for this gorgeous lake and the painting house and the island. Stay for this moment," she murmured, just loudly enough for me to hear. "Stay for this."

I laid my hand on top of hers, but she didn't even glance at me or react. She blinked heavily, and put her head on my shoulder. "That's number 6."

"Will you be okay when, if I leave?" I asked her, because the question haunted me for so long.

She sighed deeply, "Honesty?"

 "Please."

"I'll miss you a lot. And I know I'll eventually be okay but I don't think I will be. But I—I don't want to force you to stay. It's your choice. And I know I've been naming all this reasons and I probably seem like a desperate freak, but it's cause I don't want to lose you."

"I know," I whispered. And because it was cold, I wrapped my arms around her and held her. I wondered if that was the same way the guy in the painting felt when he put his arms around that woman; as if he was holding a priceless diamond.

She said: "what do you plan to do there?"

"I'm going to school. I've got A levels to repeat and a year of Sixth form to repeat. I need it, my grades weren't horrible but they weren't amazing either. I'll live in central London, where I'd be close to everything."

"Tell me about what London is," she said.

"It is beautiful," I admitted. "It is rainy and can be depressing, but I love it. It's like family, you can never love every member but you love it as a whole. Speaking of, I'll be with my cousin, which will be great. I'll see my aunt and uncles, I haven't seen them since the funeral."

"Do you miss her?" and her breath on my arm was warm.

"All the time. It hurts less now, but I still get nightmares. It's like these dark thoughts that scream: you could've been better. And I know I could have. I should've been better to her and to my dad. I shouldn't have been so angry at the world."

"Are you still angry?"

"Not anymore. Not since—"

You.

"Not since..." she trailed off, expecting an answer.

"Not since you," I said.

"Good."

She yawned, snuggling against me. I thanked God that we were surrounded by big rocks, which wouldn't risk us getting hurt. I held her as I should have, thinking about nothing at all. As she got heavier in my arms, I thought about bringing her home.

"Nico?"  She said, half-asleep.

"Yeah, love?"

"The last reason is because I love you," she said. I was almost completely sure that she wasn't aware of what she was saying, because she was slightly slurring her words. "You never say it back."

"What?"

She shook her head a bit, "you never say it back."

"You know I do."

"I know," she mumbled. "I love you and I don't think I ever will stop. Stay."

I didn't answer, refraining from giving her an answer that would upset her. She began sleeping, eyes closed and breathing steady. Once I was certain she couldn't hear me, I kissed the top of her head and said: "I love you too, Hunter."

The only reason I'd never said it back was because I didn't want her to remember the way I said those words and hold them against me. Because I knew I would hurt her and it terrified me, but I knew it was for the best.

So, I carried her to the car, drove her to Diana's house and dropped her off there. Diana hugged me and wished me luck. I let go of Zoey, caught the last glimpse of her and left.

When I got home, my Dad was still awake, watching TV. He patted the seat next to him and handed me a bottle of lemonade. A football game was playing; an old one at that.

"Remember how you told me that when you wanted to run off, Zoey made you stay?" he said, out of the blue.

"Yeah."

He gave me a sad smile, "I wish she could do that again."

-

So like...I was supposed to take a break?? but it's been only two weeks???

IT'S CAUSE I LOVE YOU ALL. Thank you for supporting me and being sweet and lovely. I love you all a lot to be honest. THANKS FOR THAT. I feel a lot better.

dem zico feels doe.

NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LAAAAAST. BRUH.

(also, I'm not sure I should be saying this, but let's just say that the next chapter will be the last in Mailboy, but it won't be the last time you see Zoey and Nico.)

also, happy early Valentine's day! cheers to those, like me, who will be chilling with netflix and food.

love, yas