OUR FINAL HOURS in Vegas were a blur of experimentation. A game of catch and release. The unmentioned question being how far can we go, and how often can we go there, before self-control slips away from us?

Kissing between showers. A brush of his hand against my waist. Lips to my shoulder, to the side of my neck. A full-on makeout session in bed that got my hormones extremely bothered. Takoda made me dizzy. His wandering hands and wandering lips. His smile. The way he said my name—like it was a sacred thing, something meant to be revered.

While I debated getting over my anxiety and going down to the lounge for some wine an hour before we left the hotel, I received a few texts from my sister asking what we were even doing in Vegas. I replied to them with a smiley face because what else was I going to say? I like to kiss your best friend and need a few extra hours to do so?

By the way, I saw some of the photos from the event last night and you looked so hot!! she sent a few seconds after seeing the emoji. I've screamed about it in my stories already

The first thing Takoda said when he saw me was "damn", I typed.

Two crying emojis came in, then, I'm taking a screenshot of this and sharing it and tagging the both of you. You're making me wish I wasn't so single

As promised, she did as she said, cropping out the unimportant parts of our conversation. Can I get a little commotion for this?? she wrote at the top of the post.

After getting ready, I checked for updates while I waited for Takoda. Xandra was back in her Southern California home, enjoying a homemade margarita in a glass nearly as wide as my head; Robin was taking silly photos of herself over brunch with some college friends—forgot about academia for a bit; my mom was taking equally silly photos of my dad by the pool—yet again; and my sister was talking honestly about the relationship between singlehood and her creativity in an AMA session.

I had twenty-five texts sitting in my requests.

Because I felt pressured to do so, I took a photo of my crossed bare feet on the carpet, used the dark academia filter, and shared it—sad songs in a hotel room, the remix.

Takoda's phone kept chiming on the bedside drawer the entire time, and I was tempted to put it on silent, but he walked back into the room, smelling like he ate diamonds for breakfast, before I could follow through with my plans.

I had no idea where he was taking me, but he promised it was walkable—even adding that walking was the best way to experience the Strip—so I tried not to complain, resorting to enjoying the view instead. His fingers found mine at some point, first in an intimate graze, then a warmth I knew all too well. The very busy pedestrian walkway—combined with the high risk of tripping over someone's feet—couldn't stop me from staring at our joined hands. At how well they both fit. At how much his dwarfed mine. I waited for the sun to hit right, and for his attention to be stolen by two energetic children begging their dad for a piggyback ride, before taking a picture of them, then one of him. The sun's rays bounced off the edge of his Ray-Bans, and I ended up capturing a beautiful near-silhouette of his profile. Even without touching it up, the photo was perfect.

We walked to the Venetian, which I'd only seen in photos online before now, and he took me to the Grand Canal Shoppes—an aptly named shopping mall that had my jaw dropping. We walked around, hand-in-hand, a bit aimlessly for a while, talking and laughing about God knew what, then he insisted on buying me something at one of the jewelry outlets, so I chose a dainty silver necklace with cute plant-inspired pendants on all three levels, and matching earrings.

He had me take off my old one and assisted in helping me get a feel of the new addition, something open and free about his presence today. I could almost see that cinematic light in his face, almost feel the questionable breeze in his hair. His cheeks had more color, his eyes were darker, far more passionate than they'd been in weeks, and it took me a moment too long to realize what was going on.

He was happy. Truly, genuinely happy. Inside and out.

The tips of his fingers kissed my collarbones as he let go of one of the glittering pendants and regarded me quietly in the full-length mirror in front of us.

We remained that way until the store attendant had to go check out something for another customer, then he placed his hands on either side of my waist and leaned down to mumble in my ear, "I'm so happy you're here, Cleo."

He let his lips brush against the shell of my ear once, and it was only then I realized I was looking at him through the mirror. When I caught my expression, it was like I was a kid again, excited about the world all over again. I looked like I was about to burst into tears, but there was this other glazed look in my eyes that I could only chalk up to how strongly I felt for him in that moment. I was so used to marveling at the way he looked at me—as if I painted the sky itself—that I never took a moment to wonder if I looked at him the same way.

It wasn't too far off, anyway. Takoda was quite literally everything to me. With him, I reached a height of happiness that was only described in poems and books. The kind that made you raise an eyebrow, that made you doubt, that made you question what you thought you knew. For two years, a lot of myself was anchored to him, and when he left, the pull was so furious that those parts of me ended up getting dragged off and I was left incomplete. Everyone would advise against it, against not having a life outside someone, but how were you supposed to live outside the person that made you feel like you just started to live?

As I watched Takoda behind me, I was hit with the thought of what would happen if he left again, if things fell apart again. No one would mumble nice things in my ear or make me lose my bearings. No one would hold me the way he did. I had all these new memories to hang on to, to make things worse, and I didn't know why I let the thought linger, but in that moment, I didn't think it was inevitable.

His phone chime drew me out of the thought in the end, and I consequently pushed it to the very back of my mind.

I got a new set of rings, then two more necklaces, all with the intention of paying for my stuff, but he beat me to it and gave his credit card to the beaming young man—Riley, according to his lopsided name tag—at checkout. The tips of his blonde hair were green, and he wore a hat that said, This man is against store policy. I tried not to laugh and complimented his studs instead.

"Your boyfriend would look great with studs, though," he said, his voice flirty in a way that made me think of a publicity manager. I wasn't sure who exactly he was flirting with though, or if he was only trying to convince us to buy more stuff, so I played along until I was roped into asking for male jewelry. I ended up getting Takoda two minimalistic necklaces, one chain and one pendant. Our total was way over seven hundred dollars, and I nearly had an aneurysm as Riley manned the register. Takoda bought me tickets here, booked a fancy room in a luxury hotel in Las Vegas, handled the fees for my makeover, got me food several times, and now he was paying for my expensive jewelry. I wanted to spoil him, too.

"You shouldn't have done that," I told him the moment we stepped outside.

"What?"

"You promised you were only buying me one thing."

"I lied," he said simply. "Happy now?"

I faked a huff, and he chuckled before playfully elbowing me. Then he put an arm around me, and it was almost enough to get my mind off it. We stopped for tacos at a food court, and I let myself be silly when it was time for pictures. Then we quietly watched a couple take a ride through the canal. The scene was quite cinematic, and I regretted not bringing my Nikon along as I pulled out my phone for the nth time.

On the walk back to the hotel, I forced him to let me take fulls of him, and he protested and entertained passersby for a while before eventually giving in. Instead of taking photos though, I switched to video, and he was still for a few comical seconds before my laugh gave me away.

"Are you recording a video?" he asked, and I laughed even harder. "What's wrong with you, Cleo?"

"I'm sorry."

"No." He started walking towards me, and I backed up, hoping I wouldn't bump into anyone. "You're not."

"I am. You're just so beautiful."

He stopped walking when he realized I wasn't going to stop. "Can you stop moving?" A laugh slipped out at the end, and I shook my head. "Okay. I'm just gonna stand over here then."

I was drawing the attention of a few people, but I didn't mind. I just wanted to be unfiltered for a few minutes.

By the time we returned to our hotel, the sun was going down and we were a combined mess. We almost tripped over each other's feet as we stumbled in one after the other, laughing with stomachs half-full. I wasn't sure what was so amusing, but I dropped myself onto the couch with what I was sure was a dopey smile.

"That's very flattering," Takoda commented as he took off his watch with half of his attention.

"I'm so high on today." And because I felt like I could say it, I added, "On you."

He gave a smile I saw in his eyes, focusing on the clasp of his watch for a moment.

"Oh my God, are you blushing?" I asked with a laugh. "I made Takoda Calebs blush."

He shrugged, his expression still intact. "Well."

He fumbled with the top button of his shirt for a moment before undoing it, and I got off the couch without processing my thoughts. Then I took my spot in front of him, took his hand, and forced it down to his side. "Let me help you," I said, not meaning for my voice to come out the way it did.

"Why does everyone keep babying me?" he asked as I went for the next button, and I practically heard his heartrate increase.

"Maybe because you're very cared for." I glanced up at him. "And people can't help it. Maybe because you deserve it." I moved on to the next one, letting my fingers dance against the strip of bare skin. "Maybe because it's nice taking care of you, seeing you doing well." I didn't really know what I was saying, but I kept on. "Take your pick."

He made a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat. "I see."

"Mm."

He put an arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him, and I couldn't help but smile as I continued to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I don't know how it's possible, but . . . I think you get more beautiful every second." He caressed my cheek with the back of his index finger. "Every time I look at you, it's like I'm seeing you for the first time all over again."

"Research shows you find a person more attractive when you have feelings for them."

He was quiet for a beat too long, and the filtered air in the room stood still, as if anticipating his response, too. "You really believe that?" he finally asked.

I nodded, sparing another glance at him.

"So if you have feelings for someone, does that mean you don't find other people attractive?"

"Oh, definitely not. I'd still marry Shawn Mendes if he asked." That made him laugh, and I joined him for a bit before continuing. "But towards the person you have feelings for, their beauty feels unmatched, somehow. Like yes, there are other attractive people in the world, but I wouldn't give this person up for anyone else."

"Except Shawn Mendes."

"Except Shawn Mendes."

He laughed again, and my heart seemed to pulse with it, with his happiness. "There's only one explanation for why you look more beautiful then."

I finished my work on the buttons and raised my gaze to his. "What?"

He stared at me for so long, the edges of my vision blurred and a deep-seated fear formed. Fear of what his words would do, fear spouting from the thought of whether or not I wanted to hear them. The tips of my fingers had started to go numb when he spoke again. "I think I'm falling deeper in love with you." Vegas went unnaturally quiet. It was like one of those scenes in movies where the rest of the world ebbs away until it's only the main character and their love interest. "The kind of deep I'm scared I won't be able to find my way out of."

His voice had dropped a few octaves, and I just stood there with no idea what to do. I was cold, too. Pleasurably cold.

Takoda brushed pieces of hair from my face, his touch a big contrast to the look in his eyes. It was soft and thoughtful, while the latter burned with a passion that was a little too intense. I almost couldn't stand it, almost wanted to make a joke, step away.

"I'm madly in love with you, Cleo. It's cliché, it's mushy, but . . ." He nodded, as if telling himself something I couldn't hear. "I don't know if I'm in a place to love you as much as you deserve, don't know if I ever will be, and that's the part that sucks. It's why sometimes I might seem detached, dissociated. Like I—like I don't want to be with you. You deserve someone who'd give you all of them without hesitating. You deserve so much."

I didn't mean to speak, but the next thing I heard from my mouth was, "You're enough for me, Takoda. Scratch that, you're more than enough." I took a pause, swallowed the emotions blocking my airways, then let out a big breath. "And I love you, too. Madly. Sometimes I feel too young for these emotions. I doubt their realness. But you're standing here right now and I'd rather be here than anywhere else." I placed a hand against his chest, right over his beating heart. "You saw me when no one else did. For a long time, you kept my head above water."

"I also hurt you," he interjected. "Nothing would erase that. I won't ever forgive myself for it." He scratched a spot above his left eyebrow. "That one I'm sure of."

I felt a sting in my chest, and for a moment I thought I was having a heart attack. Maybe subconsciously, I didn't want to go back to L.A. with the weight of the day he looked me in the eyes and told me to go home, the first time he didn't ask to drive me even if it meant calling for a ride or walking back to Hidden Hills, the first time he was cold to me, jaw locked, eyes hardened with exhaustion and regret and something I still couldn't decipher now.

The first time I found out about him and Xandra as a collective.

Did he tell you about me?

It physically hurt to think about it, to recall Xandra's face, to recall Takoda's, and I realized that this was the first time since it happened that I let my memory go that far back. I usually skipped to the part where he told me I was a mistake. To the part where I almost crashed my car and ended up crying from both the fear of nearly killing myself and the hurt I felt as it overheated on the shoulder of the road. To the sleepless nights and missed calls and unanswered texts. To the resulting pain and, eventually, the hate.

I released a sigh that made me realize how tired I really was. "We should—we should talk about that."

He nodded. Watched me quietly for a second. "You're ready?"

"I think I am," I breathed.

"Okay." He took off his shirt and discarded it on the couch, his eyes remaining on me. My hand stayed on his chest, and the Cleo that was scared of confrontations wanted to kiss him. She didn't want to go here, didn't want to taint this soft air, didn't want to bring back all that pain, but the Cleo that had grown in more ways than one knew she needed the closure.

"Okay," I parroted with a nod of my own.

chapter 30 is just a remix of chapter 20. it wasn't intentional, i promise.

big apologies for how late this is. in the end, i think it wasn't writer's block and the chapter just wanted to be perfect. i realized while editing this that it's probably one of my favorites so far. not only does it highlight takoda and cleo's dynamic & past, it also marks the end of act 2 and the beginning of our gradual descent into the chaos of the 3rd Act™. good things fall apart by jon bellion 😇

and to Jenn—thank you to Jenn! the grand canal shoppes scene wouldn't have happened without her. i highly recommend googling it for visuals, by the way.

now. on to act 3!