If I thought waking up in Owen's apartment was awkward, it was nothing compared to the atmosphere in the office.

The universe really wasn't going easy on me. Of all the days I'd spent in the office with no technical issues, it had to be today that the computer started playing up. There'd never been so much as a blip before. No random crashes, no corrupt files, no unexpected viruses. Just smooth sailing—until now. And of all the technically-minded people Greg could've chosen to come take a look, it had to be the one guy in Walden I most wanted to avoid.

Just my luck.

It didn't help that a computer was pretty much essential to do my job. Without it, I was totally lost. Short of throwing on a red polo and offering a helping hand on the arcade floor—which, believe me, I did consider—there was nothing to do but sit there. In silence, searching for something else in the room to focus on while Owen puzzled over the computer.

The elephant in the room was huge. We could barely breathe for the size of it, squeezing into all corners and forcing us closer together. He must've heard what I said in here. I hadn't exactly lowered my voice, and the knock had come with suspicious timing—right with the lull in conversation. Like he'd been waiting for a moment to interrupt as to not walk in at the wrong time.

Ha. There hadn't been a right time this whole morning.

Even now, my heart was racing a million miles an hour. I couldn't take this whole situation; there was nothing I wanted more than to escape. But all I could do was sit and watch him hunched over the computer, and try not to get too caught up in the cute way his brows were furrowed together in thought.

Stop that, Sydney.

"I'm not so sure it's an easy fix," he said eventually, after what had to be fifteen agonising minutes. "I don't think it'll be up and running today. It might need a complete system upgrade—the thing's pretty ancient."

"Right," I said. "So I can't use it?"

"Afraid not. Do you have any work that doesn't need it?"

"Not really." I shook my head. "Look, it's fine, though. It's not urgent. I'll just take today off and tell Greg I'll make up the hours another time."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Honestly."

He nodded in agreement, but the dip in conversation just meant we found ourselves staring at each other. His eyes shifted gingerly over my features, studying them so closely it felt like he was prising off my mask—and all I wanted was to snatch it back. He must have heard. It wouldn't be this tense if he hadn't; we surely would've been able to find two words to say to each other.

Awkwardness fed on silence, and right now, we were well and truly letting it feast.

"Well, uh, I'll let Greg know what's going on," he said eventually. "I won't have time today to take a closer look, but hopefully tomorrow should be good to go."

I was nodding, an automatic reflex more than anything else, but things couldn't stay this way. Something had to give. Just like that, the words were bubbling up inside me, clawing their way up my throat. In the end, I was powerless to keep them down. "I can't keep doing this."

There was a pause, and then Owen's brow furrowed as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "Doing what?"

"I don't know what you heard," I blurted out. "Well, actually, that's a lie, because I've got a pretty good idea what you heard, but I still can't do this. It's too much. And I'm sorry, because I know I'm about to make things unbearably awkward, but there's no getting anywhere if we don't tackle it head on."

He looked like a deer caught in headlights—except it was my words barrelling towards him at full speed. "Um, I'm not sure if—"

I interjected before he could get more out. "We have to. Because, in all honesty, if we don't have this out now, I can't trust myself not to crawl under a rock and avoid speaking to you ever again. And that'd be kind of a shame."

"Sydney... I'm sorry, but now's not really a good time," he said, averting his gaze to the floor. "I told Greg I'd stop by as a favour, but I'm actually just passing through on my way to a meeting in London..."

My train of thought was suddenly halted, screeching on the tracks as the brakes slammed on. "Oh. Okay."

Just like that, my heart was in the pit of my stomach. I was probably reading too much into it, but it still came as a blow to the chest. A meeting. In London. Something so simple, and for the majority of people totally uninteresting, and yet at the same time a hallmark of career progression out of reach of an unemployed graduate. The only trip to London in my agenda would be visits to a string of tourist hotspots using money I shouldn't be spending.

"But, I mean, I should be back by this evening..." Owen continued weakly. The conversation had no real purpose—like we were both clinging to the threads of half-formed sentences, hoping for the off-chance that something solid would pull us through. "Do you think... maybe... we should talk about it then?"

A chance. Admittedly a few painful hours away, but still something.

"Sure," I said quickly, the words rushing out in a sigh of relief. "I mean, that would work."

"Okay. How about you stop by my parents' house?"

The sure had been on the tip of my tongue, but it didn't take long to jump back down my throat. I knew what he was saying. Behind spoken words, the real meaning was as clear as day. His parents' house. Not his apartment. In other words, let's keep this away from my girlfriend before she kicks your ass.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, "and it's not that."

"What?"

"I have to stop by my parents' place anyway when I get back, and since it's a lot closer to your house, I just thought it'd be easier."

"Oh. Right." I swallowed. "That's fine."

"Okay, cool." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "How about I drop you a text when I'm back? It'll probably be just after eight."

"No problem."

"Okay." We both paused, awkwardly shifting between hesitant eye contact and firm looks at the floor, until Owen cleared his throat. "Well, I've got to head off and catch my train, so I better get going. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," I said. "See you later."

And then, after one timid little wave, he was gone. Only an empty room and muffled quiet remained as he disappeared through the office door, moving in the direction of bigger and better things—all while I had no option but to pack up my belongings and head home.

***

That evening, stood before Owen's front door, I felt about ready to puke.

Technically, it wasn't his front door anymore, which just made things worse. Rather than a brass knocker and dark green paint, it was much more: a gateway to what had once been, if I was feeling dramatic. Three years ago, I'd spent as much time in this house as in my own—perhaps even more.

I was running through everything in my head, trying and failing not to freak myself out, when the door flung open without warning.

I hadn't even knocked, but Owen was there.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Was that creepy? I saw you walking up the drive, and I thought I'd eradicate the chance of an ambush from my parents if you rang the doorbell."

He looked... ruffled: the only word I could think to describe him. His curly brown hair had been unsettled, any kind of style ruined by a windy day or restless hands—or both. For once, he wasn't wearing a polo, but a T-shirt, which was grey in colour and a little stretched over the shoulders.

I hated myself for thinking it, but he looked cute.

"They're out in the garden," he said, briefly glancing over his shoulder. "So unless you're really dying for a reunion, we can head upstairs?"

"Sounds good," I said quickly.

He moved aside, and for the first time in three years, I stepped inside Owen's house.

I was okay walking up the stairs. A hallway could only evoke so much emotion, after all, aside from a few framed photos on the wall that I did my best to ignore. It was easier than I thought. Maybe, just maybe, this whole thing wouldn't be a big deal.

But then we reached his old bedroom, and everything hit at once.

It had hardly changed; if anything, the room was just slightly emptier, like the surface of his most essential belongings had been scraped off and moved out. The walls were still that same shade of dark blue, all of the posters in their original place—apparently none of them had made the move to his new apartment. I even recognised the striped bedsheets. And then, suddenly, all I could think about were the nights I'd spent curled up in that bed, Owen snoring gently beside me, our legs intertwined and his breath on my cheek.

It'd been so long.

"You okay?"

He was looking at me strangely, and I broke out of the daze just in time to notice.

"Fine," I said. "It's just... God, it looks exactly the same."

He smiled. "Yeah, I think my parents are having trouble accepting that I've moved out. They even keep the bed made and fresh, just in case I come back for the night."

Maybe you will, I thought. Maybe you'll realise that the whole situation with Katie has to be wrong, because it just feels off, and you can surely feel it too.

I let myself sink down on the edge of the bed, hearing the mattress squeak with the movement. I'd forgotten about that. How it was completely impossible to have sex quietly, and how we'd always end up torn between losing ourselves in the moment and not making it blindly obvious to his parents downstairs. Back when the whole thing was new and exciting, and we couldn't get enough of each other.

What I'd give to feel like that again—or at least be permitted to.

I had to stop thinking about it, because I was already on a downward spiral, and if I carried on I thought I might start feeling tearful. So I started talking. "How was your meeting?"

Owen sat down beside me, causing the mattress to let out a second squeak. The distance between us was carefully calculated: not too close, but not enough to be cold or distant. The safe zone, where he liked to linger. "It was okay," he said. "A bit boring, really—I'm not sure I'd have stayed awake if it wasn't for all the free coffee they served. But... yeah. Things are happening."

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah."

The conversation ebbed away again, and silence rushed into the space. This was the moment to say something smart, to keep the words flowing and the awkwardness at bay. Think, Sydney, think.

But I left it too long, and before I knew it we were staring at each other aimlessly once more.

At this point, the elephant in the room was so big it was forcing us out the door.

So I decided to drag Owen out with me.

"What did you hear earlier?"

There it was: out in the open, no warning, free to wreak havoc however it saw fit. And the award for the bluntest, most painful question went to... me.

Like ripping off a plaster.

"Um..." He fidgeted on the spot, his eyes now drawn to a thread on the hem of the duvet. "I'm not really..."

He was going to deny it, I could tell. But there was no way I was about to pretend this whole thing never happened. Nope, nope, nope. Back into the deep end, Owen, because I'm not letting you get out of the pool here. Even if I have to drag you under.

"Look, there's no need to pretend," I said. "I wasn't exactly being quiet about it."

"I just..." He stopped, pausing for a deep exhale that he spent running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say, Sydney. It's complicated."

"I know. It's complicated for me, too, but... I want to figure it out."

"You broke up with me." The words came out with more force than we both expected, and I found myself taken aback. When he looked up and our eyes met, the sudden connection was jarring. "You remember that, right? It took me a long time to get over it—a really long time. At one point I thought it was going to affect me forever. And now you're coming back with this..."

"I did break up with you," I admitted, "but I was eighteen. I didn't know what I wanted back then. You remember how it was. University was creeping up on us, I had this whole vision about starting this new life, and... well. I thought leaving absolutely everything behind would solve all my problems. I should've known it wasn't that straightforward."

The intensity of Owen's gaze was making it difficult to concentrate. "Are you saying you wish you'd never done it?"

And there it was: the question that could change everything, whichever way it went. He'd dared to ask, but things would be a whole lot easier if I had an answer. The long pause just made it even more obvious that I didn't.

"I don't know," I said eventually. "I really don't know. Maybe it's just because my life feels spectacularly fucked up right now, or because being back home is seriously messing with my head. But there are times when... I just can't believe how much I like you. It makes no sense, because if I liked you then I never would've broken up with you in the first place, but... my head's telling me one thing and my heart another."

The outburst left me open, totally vulnerable, and I could already feel instinct telling me to run away. I'd gone too far, and there was no going back. It would be easy to revert to my default, to do what I was best at: flee when things got hard. But I couldn't, not now. Not if I was to ever get what I wanted.

For a long time, Owen didn't say anything. I could almost see the words turning over in his head. I was all prepared for some sort of long-winded speech, because it seemed like what he'd do. What I got instead was short and mumbled.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I wish it didn't have to be like this."

The breath I'd been holding escaped me. "You do?"

"Of course," he said gently. "We had all those good times together. Really good times. It's not like I don't miss them sometimes."

He was admitting it. The words were tumbling out of his own mouth, unprompted, like they'd been locked up all this time. How long had he kept this inside? Had it always been there, since our breakup, repressed by time and then whatever he had with Katie? What if my decision had just been a horrible misjudgement, and all we had to do was backtrack?

"I miss them too," I breathed, hardly daring to let the words out in fear of shattering the moment. "Being here... it's made me realise that more than ever."

Only then did it occur to me how close we were sitting—had we moved without realising? My knee was grazing his leg, the type of touch so light it sent tingles across my skin, and once I noticed it was all I could think about.

"I know we had our moments," he said, as our gazes locked from just inches apart, "but we were good together."

I could feel something rising, the anticipation in the air electric. I didn't know how we'd kept it at bay so long, and in that moment, I didn't want to delay the inevitable for another second.

I leaned in, letting my lips find his.

For the first second, it was everything I wanted. Anticipation that felt like it'd been building for years suddenly sparked, swelling around us, leaving my heart pounding in my chest. Finally.

But then Owen jolted, yanking himself away, and everything turned to ice.

We broke apart, and when I caught sight of his expression my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. "What are you doing?" he asked, with enough force in his voice to see me shuffle backwards.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"I thought that was what you wanted too." The look on his face, however, made clear how wrong I'd been. "I mean, with what you were saying..."

"I've got a girlfriend," he said. I knew it already, of course, but in that one moment it hadn't seemed to matter. The way we'd been looking at each other had to have meant something. But cold hard reality had set in, and with every second passing I was feeling more like a terrible person. "You should know I'd never do that."

"I'm sorry," I said again, my voice weak and timid. "I just thought... when you said we were good together..."

"We were good together. But that doesn't mean we were right."

The words were a stab to the chest, a searing pain that wouldn't let up. Despite my determination to give nothing away, I could feel tears welling in my eyes—more of embarrassment than sadness. I swallowed over the lump in my throat. "How do you know?"

"Katie means the world to me." His voice, remarkably level, was full of conviction. "Being with her has made me the happiest I've ever been. I wouldn't throw that away for anything."

Of course he wouldn't. I'd completely misread the situation, too caught up in my own arrogance to ever assume the truth: that Owen could be happy without me. Once upon a time, he'd been happy with me—but we weren't eighteen anymore, and times had changed. However close we'd become, I couldn't barge right into this new life and expect to pick up where we left off. It wasn't fair, and as I realised now, it was never going to happen.

"Of course," I said quietly, willing myself to stay together. "I'm sorry. I should never have done that."

"You're a great girl, Sydney. I appreciate all the time we've spent together, everything we've gone through. I don't regret a second of it, because without you, I wouldn't be who I am today. But I've realised a lot since then, and one of those things is how much I love Katie. I'm sorry, but it's always going to be her."

I so badly wanted to hold myself together, but the tears were overwhelming, and I had no power to stop the first spilling over and rolling down my cheek. I didn't move to wipe it away—instead, I kept my eyes firmly on his. "I understand. You deserve each other," I said, my voice cracking on the last word. "And I don't deserve you."

There was nothing else to say. Owen looked like he wished there was—it'd be easier if he could do something to make me feel better. But the truth hurt, and I had to accept that if I wanted to move on.

So this was the moment I stood up, mumbled a goodbye in the face of his pitying expression, and did the best I could to save face.

I'd reached the bedroom door when his voice sounded behind me.

"Sydney," he said, his subsequent pause leaving me no option but to turn and face him. "We'll still be friends, won't we?"

For a second, I thought about it. Visions of summer days flashed through my mind, the time we'd spent together over weeks gone. Easy conversation, lazy reminiscing, reams of laughter. A reconnection I hadn't expected, and yet now couldn't picture living without.

So when I finally did say something, I managed to stay strong, despite the tears. "Yeah," I said. "I'm sure we will."

---------------------

Oh my oh my oh my. Well... did any of you predict this outcome? I think maybe some saw it coming, but your shipper hearts didn't let you believe it...

I'M SORRY. PLEASE DON'T HUNT ME DOWN. It's interesting, because I think if I wrote this story when I was 16, I probably would've broke up Owen and Katie and let Sydney live happily ever after with him. But I've grown up a lot since then, and I really saw something honest and stable in Owen's relationship, and it started to mean a lot to me that they weren't just ripped apart for the sake of Sydney. A harsh lesson for her in not always getting what you want, but I think it'll do her good in the long run.

What are your thoughts? I'd love to know! Share them in the comments :)

- Leigh

(PS. This isn't over. There's a little more to come.)