I didn't realize how anxious I was until I actually landed in Nice. Atlas had a sleek black car pick me up from the airport, and as we coasted along through the streets of Monaco, passing layers of old historic buildings on one side, and the Mediterranean Sea on the other, my heart crackled like it was being filled with static. When we'd crossed into Monte Carlo, I'd crossed the point of no return. Atlas Vaughn had me...and I think he knew it too.

It had been almost a full week since I sprained my ankle (my official diagnosis came when I got back to California and saw my regular doctor), and just when I thought I'd never have to get used to hobbling around on a bum leg ever again, here I was. I thanked the driver as he dropped me off in front of Atlas's building, and I kept my head down as I hurried myself into the lobby as fast as my busted ankle would allow. I didn't want to look up - the thought of knowing people might have been looking at me made me jittery.

I exhaled a tight breath as I took the empty elevator up - the same elevator that sparked mine and Atlas's entire sordid affair. That spark was now a full blown wildfire, and yet here I was, running into the burning building.

When I got to his door at the end of the hallway, I paused, clutching the straps of my duffle until my knuckles ached. I sucked in one last breath and knocked quickly, before I had a chance to second guess everything and just hop on the next flight out of there.

When the door swung open, I could literally hear the air whooshing out of my lungs as Atlas came into view. He looked more casual than I'd ever seen him as he leaned against the doorframe in dark grey sweatpants and a tight black Gucci t-shirt, but all it made me want to do was fling my arms around him and bury myself in his warmth. When he smiled at me as he stepped aside and let me in, the little resolve I had crumbled. I threw myself into his arms and damn near squeezed the life out of him, as if his touch alone could heal all my wounds. Maybe it could.

"Hey hey hey," he whispered softly into my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist. "It's okay. You're okay."

He let me linger, and fuck did I want to linger for an eternity, but my resolve returned.

"I'm sorry," I pulled away sheepishly and let out a sigh. "I'm...I'm a little overwhelmed with everything, I didn't mean to jump you like that, I just..."

Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes and threatened to unravel me right there in his front hallway, but that soft smile of his just stitched me all back up.

"Don't be sorry." He shook his head. "I'm glad you're here. Really, I am."

He dipped his head down just enough to brush his lips against my cheek, and lost myself in his warm, woodsy scent. He pulled away slowly and ran his hand up to my shoulder, casually sliding my duffle bag off.

"I'll take this."

"Oh, look at you being sweet," I managed to throw a coy smirk his way. "Must be something in the water."

"Well," he nodded his head towards my ankle, slipping his arm around my waist and gently guiding me forward into the foyer. "You make it easy to be."

I was forced to take in more of his apartment than the last time I had been there, mostly in part to the actual streams of sunlight coming through all the large windows, cutting across the hardwood floor like knives and illuminating every corner. Atlas kept his apartment immaculately clean, although I'm sure it helped that he was gone three to four days a week. There was a racing simulation setup on the far side of the living room, with a big, pilot-esque headset hanging from a cushy chair and three massive screens. I scoffed at myself on how I'd missed all that the first time I was here. Phantom raised his head up at me from his enormous bed, his fur longer than last time I'd seen him, catching all the shine from the sun.

"I can see he's been working on his stay," I said to Atlas.

"He's just showing off now," he chuckled in reply.

"Gee, wonder where he gets that from."

We eventually made our way out to the balcony, and I felt more at home than I should have looking out at the sea, watching brilliant white boats worth more than my car gently slosh up and down in the oscillating waves. I felt him come up beside me, leaning against the railing and brushing his shoulder against mine, but I didn't look at him.

"I can't believe you live here," I sighed out.

He pointed across the harbor towards a collection of smaller white buildings, but still carried the same air of regality that the entire city had. "My mom lives over there, still in the same condo I grew up in. I moved into this apartment the day after I turned 19."

I let out a sigh and pressed my palms into the cold metal of the balcony railing. "I guess that says a lot about us and where we live when our idea of moving out is just across town. I couldn't leave Encinitas either, and my dad still lives in the same house I grew up in, too."

"I think when you travel as much as we do, coming home is different than it is for most people. No matter where I go, I cling to the familiarity of this place. I've been getting my coffee at the same place since I was 15, which in hindsight was way too young to be drinking coffee like that."

That got a chuckle out of me. "Me too. Large iced americano from Island Provisions. Hasn't changed since I was 17."

I let myself lean into Atlas a little more, and he casually draped his arm around my shoulder. I began to understand that maybe it wasn't the place itself that felt like home for us - it was people we clung to there.

I allowed myself to steal a glance at Atlas, who nodded and squinted into the distance, like he was trying not to let that smirk of his crack his stoic facade. He made a showing of looking down at his big silver watch, and I had to bite back more memories of the last time I was here. Five months ago I was sure I'd never see him again, even if it was just to return that stupid watch. Standing out there beside him, tasting salt in the air and feeling far too comfortable with his skin on mine, that first night in Monaco had all come full circle. Like the hands on the face of a watch.

Admittedly, the time zones were screwing with me. My body definitely thought it was only lunch time, and my stomach groaned. "I don't suppose there's a place around here that will deliver me a large spirulina smoothie and a jalapeño pineapple pizza?"

Atlas sputtered out a laugh. "First of all, what the fuck is spirulina, and second of all, everything about that sounds gross. Come on, I've definitely got better alternatives."

He beckoned me back inside towards the kitchen, and I hopped up onto one of the barstools at the island as best as I could, tucking one leg underneath me and letting my throbbing ankle hang off the side.

He produced two wine glasses from a cabinet above one of two sinks immaculately carved out into the granite countertop. "White or red?"

"Whatever you're having," I replied, letting a coy smirk pull at my lips. "And now that you've said better alternatives, I expect you to deliver. I turn into a gremlin if I'm not fed regularly."

Atlas chuckled as he slid my wine glass over to me. "I'm sure you're a cute gremlin, though." 

I smiled through the heat pooling in my cheeks. "So does that mean you're going to feed me or not?"

"Well let's see." He paused and ran his hand down the side of his face. "If you want, I can make pasta. There's also pasta. And if you really beg...pasta."

"Wow, I didn't think it was possible for anybody to be less domesticated than my best friend, but here you are." I chuckled. "I guess being a housewife is not one of your career aspirations."

"It's a shame too," he shook his head. "I do look pretty good in that frilly maid outfit."

I held my hand up at him, and he laughed. "I'm slightly alarmed, but also not surprised."

Atlas hopped up to sit on the kitchen island, and in what seemed like slow motion, he gently ran his fingers down my forearm, leaving little trails of heat everywhere he touched.

"I don't want to try too hard and then end up fucking everything up," he said, the softness of his voice taking me by surprise, almost as if it didn't actually come from him. "I'd rather just stick with what I know and impress you thoroughly with my pasta skills."

"I guess you're lucky I'm always in the mood for pasta," I grinned up at him.

Atlas hopped off the counter and put his hands to his hips. "Okay then, out."

"What?"

"Get out of the kitchen," he shooed me away. "I don't need you hovering over my shoulder telling me how to not burn things."

I slid off the bar stool and held my hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. Would I be able to hijack your shower? I need to scrub off the jet lag and bruises to my ego."

Atlas nodded and led me back towards his bedroom, and I brushed my hand over the plush grey comforter I remembered being tangled up in all too well. He flicked the lights on to the bathroom, and I didn't know why I expected it to be anything other than pristine. It was bright under all the chrome lighting fixtures, where I could catch little glints of silver in the white granite counter. The shower was lined with the same granite, behind a thick glass door.

He produced a small stack of towels from a closet and placed them on the countertop. We stood in silence for a moment. I hated the way I noticed the little flecks of green in his eyes, and I hated the way my heart lurched at the sight of him gently running his tongue across his bottom lip.

"You okay?" he finally said and nodded to my ankle.

"Oh, yeah." I grabbed a towel off the sink to try and deflect whatever was crackling in the air between us. "Thanks."

He turned to leave, but my instinct took the wheel. "Wait, Atlas."

"Yeah?" He turned back around, and the silence ballooned again, like all the lust between us made it seem tangible in such an enclosed space. He studied me, and I wondered if he knew what was going through my head and everything that could have happened in that god damn shower. After a moment, instinct surrendered.

"Nothing," I shook my head. "Just uh...don't burn the pasta."

He grinned at me one more time before leaving and shutting the door behind him. I took the coldest shower possible.

"This is bullshit," I grumbled, tossing the controller to the couch cushion. "This is why I stick to Super Smash Bros."

I shouldn't have been surprised that Atlas was not the kind of person that would ever let anyone win in anything, and he kicked my ass six ways to Sunday in FIFA. I reached for my wine glass and nudged aside my empty pasta bowl with an aching wrist.

"No normal human can push buttons that fast," I continued with a groan.

"Oh don't be a sore loser, Savannah," Atlas chided with a far too brilliant grin etched into his face, revealing the tiniest dimple on the corner of his chin.

"You'd know all about that wouldn't you?" I jabbed back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He shrugged, but he slid just a bit closer to me, and I felt his knee bump mine.

"You make that face," I stated plainly.

"What face?"

"You know, that dissatisfied with third place face. Your nose wrinkles and your eyes get all dark, and it's kind of cute in a I might stab you sort of way, but-"

Atlas had now slid himself right up next to me, draping his arm over the back of the couch and he lowered his head down so that I could feel his breath dance across my cheek. He smelled like wine and the faintest bit of cologne, and I was suddenly overcome with the urge to reach up and brush that lock of white hair away from his face. Instinct and a harrowing level of lust took over again, and it nudged me even closer to him. Even with a raincoat and an umbrella, I was never truly prepared for the storm that was Atlas Vaughn.

"If I open another bottle of wine, will you stop analyzing the way I accept trophies?"

A sudden jolt of panic shot through me when I realized I had just damn near exposed myself and my moment in Silverstone, where I did in fact physically see him less than enthralled with a third place finish before getting sprayed with champagne by Callahan fucking Jane.

The thought pulled me away, but just far enough that I could still make out the little dusting of faded freckles under his eyes.

"I'll take more Pinot, thank you sir," I smirked.

Atlas groaned as he got up from the couch, taking all the warmth with him. "Well, it's the least I could do after embarrassing you in FIFA."

I barked out a laugh. "Well aren't you quite the gentleman?"

While Atlas poured us more wine, I took the opportunity to check my notifications. It might have just been the wine, but seeing my mother at the top of my text messages threw my stomach for a whirl. I didn't have much of an opportunity to process the nuances of her bullshit as music fluttered to life from every corner of Atlas's living room. I immediately recognized the opening guitar strums as Place to Hide by O.A.R., and I let a smile make its home on my face.

You and me could just be crazy

Time ain't on our side,

And I need you badly

Atlas appeared in front of me with a wine glass in one hand and his other hand extended out to me.

"Wanna dance?" He asked with a grin, and his blue eyes gleamed even in the dim streaks of warm light from the kitchen. It was like I'd been sucked into another galaxy, and it took me right back to the night we first met.

Except now, it was more than spilled rum in a sticky night club. Now, Atlas Vaughn had me, hook line and fucking sinker. Now, he was everything I never even knew I wanted, in all his enigmatic, larger than life glory.

"I thought you'd never ask," I replied as I slipped my hand into his. He gently pulled me to my feet and led me around the glass coffee table. With his arms around my waist, he swayed me back and forth, like a tiny ship on the vast ocean, feeling every ebb and flow, every dip and curve. Everything else around us faded away.

"Is this the playlist I made you?" I asked with a grin.

"Of course," he replied with a chuckle. "But I think after careful consideration, this song is my favorite."

He says treat me like a devil

Heal that little girl who

Treats me like an angel, fell upon the world

But she don't like the seasons, they're out of her control

Phantom eagerly pranced around underneath our feet, and after almost tripping over him, Atlas leaned down and lifted him up into his arms, throwing Phantom's front paws over his shoulder and continuing to dance. I reached up and gave him a quick pet before Atlas put him back down, and he scurried away. Atlas swooped me back into his arms, and we cackled as he nearly knocked the wine glass out of my hands.

My grin widened as I thought of Gemma, who insisted that making a playlist for someone was definitely not platonic, and now dancing around in Atlas's Monte Carlo apartment living room to music I had given to him, I finally understood.

To hell with tomorrow, it's out of my hands

I'll hold you up now, when you're too damn tired to stand

I don't wanna be like you, you don't wanna be like me

We just wanna run forever through the darkness we can breathe

I sang along, but he sang along with me, and I lost myself in the sound and the lyrics and the feeling of Atlas Vaughn holding onto me like even if the world ended in that moment, we'd be alright.

With another bout of laughter, Atlas spun me around a few times and pulled me into his chest, letting the fingers on his other hand settle in the little space of bare skin between the bottom hem of my t-shirt and the top of my shorts.

And she said the rain is picking on me

The thing is, it always seemed to me

Been around the world, but it's you I need

One by one, now this ain't over till it's done

"Atlas..." His name left my mouth in a soft, wistful sigh.

I kept my hands on his chest, feeling the thumping of his heart under the fabric of his t-shirt. He ran his hand up the crook of my neck and to my cheek, slowly lowering his head closer to mine. Every second we inched closer felt like there were still miles to go, but there was part of me that didn't want to ruin the simplicity of it. Like we were just kids getting ready to kiss under the bleachers at a high school football game for the first time, just trying to figure each other out. It made us human.

When our lips finally touched, the spark was instantaneous, and it set off fireworks in my chest. This wasn't anything like our first kiss, or our second or our third. This was the kiss you were just so sure of. The kind Hollywood movie directors take 100 shots to get right. The kind you look back on and realize your life was never the same afterward.

All you need is me. All I need is you.

well i got an angel on my shoulder
the devil made me colder
the iron made me bolder
and all i want is life now

place to hide / o.a.r.

this was the final posted chapter in the previous draft before being removed, and while 'monaco, reprise' used to be just one, semi-thick chapter, it's now been broken up into THREE thanks to some changes and lovely new content (including that dancing scene that i'd probably die for - the song is linked above so go back and read it while listening, its worth it)

so now, whether you're a "returning" reader from the OG draft or a new reader, it's all new from here on out, and that makes me inexplicably happy. when i was first reposting this, i'd still have bits of anxiety just stemming from things that happened with the last draft, but i was determined to get through it to write and share what i consider to be my best story. now, i have essentially zero negative association with this story anymore, and part of it is thanks to you guys for being respectful of my creative integrity, and for making me feel like this story still had a place here. thank you for loving and supporting not only sav and atlas, but me and my love for this story. i'm so grateful. xoxo