Sunlight streamed into the room, bright behind my eyelids. I rolled over so that my face was in the shade before slowly opening my eyes. It was the first time in a while I'd woken without an alarm, and it felt a little weird. Then, I realised it was more than just the lack of my phone's shrill alarm tone that made something feel off. My arm was tucked over the covers, but they were dark blue, not my familiar pale grey pattern. This was not my bed.

Startled, I scrambled to sit up. Next to me, still fast asleep, was Carter. We'd never spent the whole night together before before. How did I end up here? I was a little relieved to register that I was at least dressed, albeit in what I presumed was one of Carter's t-shirts on top of my underwear. Once I'd recovered from the initial confusion, I became aware of the throbbing in my head. Things began to make sense, coming back to me in fragments.

I looked down at Carter. His hair was ruffled, mouth slightly open. Remembering everything I'd learned last night, my heart ached. My Dad was a cheater, his Dad was abusive. And I loved him, more than ever. This was the boy I loved, next to me in bed. Oblivious.

I reached out and grazed my thumb across his cheekbone, so tenderly that I barely touched him.

Not wanting to wake him, I moved carefully as I climbed out of bed, thankful that I'd apparently fallen asleep on the outside. Standing up made my head rush. I wasn't a big drinker, but I was experienced enough to recognise a hangover, and this was a killer one. I spotted a glass of water on Carter's bedside table, which I gulped down quickly. My bag was in the corner of the room, so I made a beeline to it and was relieved to find a packet of chewing gum inside so that I could get rid of the awful taste in my mouth. Unsure of what to do next - I couldn't see the clothes I'd been wearing last night and I really didn't fancy doing a walk of shame in nothing but Carter's Bengals shirt - I sat down on the chair at his desk.

Vaguely, I recalled the events of last night. How I'd burst into tears, then insisted to Carter that I wanted to go out and get drunk. He'd taken me to a bar where he knew "a guy", hence the hangover despite the fact I was still underraged in this country. I remembered kissing Carter, multiple times, not caring that he had friends there who could see us. In a way, I'd wanted them to see - that he was mine and I was his, whether we put a label on what we were or not.

Now, in the cold light of day, I couldn't imagine being so brazen in public. Everyone knew Carter and his reputation, so did I really want to take pride in being another one of his girls?

In bed, Carter made a faint murmuring noise and rolled over so that I could no longer see his face. A mortifying thought occurred to me: what if, in a bout of drunken candor, I'd spilled my feelings to him? Even just accidentally admitting that I liked him had been totally unsuccessful; there was no way he'd deal well with a declaration of love six years in the making.

But, surely, if I had said something, I wouldn't have later ended up in his bed. Not that I had any idea how that had happened; beyond drinking many shots and the kissing at the bar, my memory became increasingly hazy.

Another grumbling noise came from Carter's direction. I glanced over to see that he'd rolled over again and was now beginning to wake up. He yawned loudly, stretched, then rubbed his eyes. After blinking a few times, he seemed to notice me in his room.

"Morning, Syd." His voice was gravelly in the morning, another thing about him that I hadn't known before, and that I now loved.

"Hey," I whispered, partly because I was unsure if his head was as painful as mine and partly because even the sound of my own voice was too loud.

Carter pulled himself up so that he was sat up against the headboard. Probably noticing that I was more than a little worse for wear, he asked,"How's the hangover?"

"Not good," I replied with a grimace. "You?"

"Oh," he laughed, as though I'd asked something ridiculous. "I don't get hangovers - at least not from the amount I drank last night. Although, to be fair, I think you may have had a little more than even me."

This was unfathomable to me; I couldn't imagine drinking even half what I did last night without waking up with a pounding headache. It made me wonder just how much he drank on other nights out.

Carter swung his legs around so that he was sat on the edge of the bed. His chest was bare, and the covers were strewn across his middle. For a panicked moment, I thought he might be naked. Not that we hadn't both been naked around each other, but that was in moments of heated passion, not asleep together or casually getting ready in the morning. But, when he stood up, I saw that he was thankfully wearing boxers.

Still, the question persisted in my mind. "Did we, um, have sex last night?"

His back was turned to me as he rooted through his wardrobe for an outfit, but I heard him laugh.

"I wasn't going to take advantage of an almost blackout drunk girl," he said, then turned and smirked, adding, "No matter how many times she asked me to."

Oh, God. My cheeks burned with humiliation. Why was drunk Sydney apparently such a flirt?

"So, what exactly did happen?"

Carter was now dressed in a scruffy, faded Yale Bulldogs shirt and some jeans, making me feel particularly underdressed. He sat back down on his bed, facing me and close enough that either of us could reach out and touch the other if we wanted.

His eyes were focused on mine and his smile was tender as he explained, "Well, once you got to the point where I was having to hold your hair back while you threw up in the parking lot, I figured it was time to head back. I would have taken you back to yours but you were in a bit of a state - no offence - so I figured I'd just bring you back here so I could look out for you. Then, you passed out pretty much the moment your head hit the pillow."

His expression was warmer, more open than usual. I bit down on my bottom lip, resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss him. Now, more than ever, I wanted him. I wanted the understated intimacy of being together - for him to be the one who looked after me when I was sick, who put me in one of his t-shirts before bed, who'd share soft smiles with me in the morning. It was a kind of longing I'd experienced only once before, six years ago, when I first fell for him. Only now, at nineteen, a relationship was that much more real, more significant, and I yearned even more deeply for it.

The tricky thing was that that now a relationship came with a whole lot more baggage - so much so that the possibility of one had become unreachable.

***

I didn't get back to my dorm until gone midday. Eventually, we'd located my clothes from the night before (thankfully, last night's choice of jeans and a blouse meant it wasn't obvious to the public that I was still wearing the outfit I'd gone out in the night before) and then Carter had insisted on buying me a coffee. Seriously, it was like he was trying to show off just what a great boyfriend he could be, if only he let himself.

"Flat white," he announced, handing a to-go cup over to me then taking a sip of his own.

Then, at the door of the coffee shop, we parted ways. He told me that he'd text me later and then he was gone, beckoned away by a guy I didn't recognise. As I headed back to my place, I allowed myself one more glance over my shoulder to see him heading in the opposite direction, occupied by an animated conversation.

Inside, I was relieved to find both Maya and Alice on the sofa. Maya was leaving that afternoon, followed by Alice the following morning. It occurred to me that I hadn't thought to ask Carter when he would be going home for the holidays. If he would be going home.

I quickly answered their inevitable questions (and insisted that they only spoke in hushed tone due to the hangover I was nursing). It was difficult to explain; the revelation about my Dad's affair was too fresh to say out loud and Carter's family was his own business, so I put my night of drowning my sorrows down to a simple night of end of exams partying.

"So... what about your feelings? What's going on there?" Alice asked tentatively.

This was something I saw no reason to lie about, not to the girls. Dejectedly, I admitted out loud what had been growing in the back of my mind since I'd first bumped into Carter back in September, "I love him."

I could sense how Alice was almost restraining herself in getting excited over this; even Maya seemed touched. I wished so desperately that this could be different, that we could be excited about my realization. Instead, I felt tears prickle in my eyes.

"I can't even tell him," I said. "I accidentally told him I liked him and he freaked out. Commitment, relationships, feelings - they're not his thing. So, I'm in love with him and he'll never know."

Maya sighed heavily, but neither spoke. What was there to say? My hopelessness was contagious. I shut my eyes, feeling a couple of tears slip out. My hand moved quickly to brush them away, but my throat ached and my eyes stung.

"God, I feel like I'm in a Taylor Swift song - pining over the cute guy on the football team," I joked, but my voice was taut and I felt my face crumple when I began to cry.

"It'll be okay," Maya said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"Maya's right," Alice added. "Some time apart over the break will do you good and you'll move on from all this sooner than you think."

I shook my head. "I don't know how to move on from him. I think... I think there's always been a part of me that's loved him, even when we were apart. Six years, loving him has been a part of me."

"You know what else is a part of you, Sydney?" Alice asked, meeting my eyes with an assured expression. "Your strength, your determination, your intelligence. I'll admit that I'm always going to root for romance, but I mean it when I say that there is so much more to you than the boy you love."

I smiled, even whilst more tears trickled down my cheeks. I'd truly won the lottery with my roommates. "I'm gonna miss you guys over Christmas."

"Thank God for group Skype calls," Maya said, glancing between us with a smile. It was odd to think that at one point I'd been totally intimidated by her; now, despite the fact I had no doubt that she could be pretty terrifying when she wanted to be, she was simply one of the trio.

***

After a long goodbye with Maya and then Alice, I was a little disorientated to find myself alone at this university for the first time since I moved in. Properly alone, without the knowledge that Alice would be back from Sam's the next morning, or Maya was just out at class.

As someone who'd never exactly had the widest social circle, I felt like I'd done pretty well for friends in this first semester. I knew that my Mum, who'd always worried too much about it, would be happy to hear it. Besides the girls, I'd been able to chat to a few people across my classes, most notably Michael.

Then, of course, there was Carter, defying categorization, as usual. I still had no idea when he was leaving or if, this time, I'd be the one leaving him. But the thought of saying goodbye to him for the next few weeks made my stomach sink, so I decided to delay it by pulling my phone out and sending a text to Michael. What are you up to today?

I was halfway through a comfort rewatch of Legally Blonde (because in times of heartbreak, Elle Woods is always the answer) when Michael replied: not much, wanna hang out?

An hour later, I was lacing up my boots to go out and brave the cold with Michael. I tugged on my coat and grabbed a thick, woolen scarf - the temperature had dropped severely in the past week - before heading out the door. Despite it now being mid-December, Christmas had barely crossed my mind as anything other than the reason I was soon to return home. Usually, I loved anything festive, and it turned out Michael did too, so when he suggested a small town nearby that held a Christmas market, it was a no-brainer.

Michael had his car with him at college, so I met him in the parking lot outside his building. En route, he explained how he'd found the town after getting lost while driving back from his home in Pittsburgh. There had been a signpost up for a Christmas market throughout December, so he'd made a mental note to visit.

"So, how's life?" He was facing the other way while he made a turn, but I didn't have to see his face to know exactly what he was hinting at.

Not taking the bait, I replied, "Life's good. I'm going home for Christmas on Friday, so it will be nice to do something a little festive over here before I go."

As if on cue, Mariah Carey began warbling the beginning of All I Want For Christmas Is You on the radio. Michael reached over and turned it up, singing along casually and very off-key. I laughed, joining in quietly.

It wasn't long until we were pulling into a parking lot outside a small, old fashioned looking cinema. Getting out the car, I felt myself smile in awe. It was like stepping into a fictional town: there were Christmas lights twinkling everywhere I looked and the air smelled like pine trees.

"Good find," I told Michael as we headed in the direction pointed out by a sign for winter wonderland.

The town was quaint in a way that reminded me of my sleepy little village outside York. Well, if my town had been dressed up to be the set of a made-for-tv Christmas movie.

It was freezing, so when we spotted a coffee shop that seemed to glow golden with against the bitter outside, we headed straight towards it. Inside, Michael chose a gingerbread latte and I went for a praline hot chocolate. We sat at a window seat and I cupped my hands around my mug, relishing in how it warmed my frozen fingers.

"So, how's life for you?" I felt like too much of mine and Michael's conversation had focused on Carter and I ever since that ill-fated blind date.

"It's good," he replied. "I mean, not hooking-up-with-the-cutest-guy-on-the-football-team good, but still decent."

I rolled my eyes.

"He's not the cutest," I said, though a little half heartedly because, honestly, I had no idea what the majority of the team looked like. Really, I just felt like I ought to protest something about the statement, even if it was all true.

"Sydney, one of the downsides of having a bunch of straight friends is the amount of sports games that involves attending, so trust me - you've done well."

"Okay, fine, he's hot," I admitted. "But it's not like he's my boyfriend."

Michael gave me a look, raising his eyebrows as if to say yeah, right. "It didn't look like that a couple of nights ago."

"You were there?"

"No, but my roommate was. He's friends with Carter, and then yesterday he mentioned that Carter had brought a new girl out with him. A redhead." Another pointed look at me. "Apparently you and him were looking very coupley."

I shook my head vehemently. "Not coupley. Drunk."

Michael just shrugged, as though he knew the truth, and took a sip of his latte. Then, entirely changing the subject, he asked, "So, how have your first few months in America been?"

"Good," I answered. I thought of Carter. "I guess in a way, it just feels meant to be."

Michael nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Do you think you're happier here than you would have been if you stayed in England for college?"

At this, I paused. I was glad I'd chosen to take this risk, I'd never doubted that. I wasn't sure about opening up to Michael like this; we didn't know each other that well. But there was something in his face, in the sincerity in his eyes, that made me want to talk to him.

So, I answered the question. "As much as you can know something like that, I feel pretty certain. Obviously, Yale is great and the people I've met have been great, too. But I could have that anywhere. I guess I just wanted a change of scene, a bit of a new life, so to speak."

"Were things bad for you back home?" he asked gently, no pressure.

"Definitely not bad, and sometimes pretty good. But never, like, amazing, I guess. Not quite good enough to get rid of my restlessness for something more."

In the background, Michael Buble's voice played through muffled speakers, singing some indistinct Christmas song about being alone for the holidays.

This time a year ago I'd been newly in a relationship, albeit one that was coming to an end after a matter of weeks before it became anything of significance. Yale had still felt like some distant dream and Carter Pearson was merely a name that would occasionally spring to mind with a sense of nostalgia. A lot could change in a year.

The entire day with Michael felt like a montage from a Christmas movie - ice skating and eating warm sugar cookies and admiring light displays. It was perfect, really, so much so that I didn't check my phone at all until we got in the car that evening to head back to campus.

I was surprised to see a missed call and three messages from Carter, at several points throughout the afternoon.

Hey Sydney, what's up? Then, Are you free today? Finally, only twenty minutes ago, I'd love to see you tonight before I leave. Text or call me if you can.

The last message was jarring. He was leaving tomorrow? Even though we'd not discussed when he went home, I'd presumed that it wouldn't be until I left, at the earliest. After all, his family situation must have made it difficult to be back, so surely he'd spend as long as possible at college. At Thanksgiving, when near enough everyone I knew had returned home, he'd stayed. But now I was suddenly being forced to accept that we were going to be spending the entire break thousands of miles apart.

Three weeks without him felt like an awfully long time; a lot could change in a year, but even a few weeks was long enough to turn what I'd grown familiar with upside down.

As soon as Michael's car pulled up in the campus parking lot nearest his dorm, I leapt out. After thanking him for the day and suggesting we meet up again before we both went home on Thursday, I quickly left and brought up Carter's number on my phone. It rang only twice before he picked up.

"Sydney, I'm so glad you called."

"You're leaving tomorrow?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.

With my phone propped between my ear and my shoulder, I fiddled to get my key in the lock of my front door. I mentally thought out my plan of action: put on a little makeup, sort out my hair which had been flattened by the beanie I'd worn all afternoon, grab something to eat. Then, I could go to Carter's and spend the rest of the evening with him.

"Yeah, I'll tell you about it later," he said. "Can you come over tonight?"

"Give me like half an hour and I'll be there."

True to my word, twenty-seven minutes later I was ringing up to Carter's dorm. My heart was beating faster than usual, in part because of how I'd rushed to get here, but also due to the irrational nerves I felt. It felt like I had to make tonight special because it was the last time I'd see him for a while. With our history, I didn't like idea of him leaving, even if I knew we'd both be back here in January.

"I'm happy to see you," Carter told me as he made us both a cup of coffee in his cramped kitchen. It was probably too late in the evening for caffeine, but I took the liberty to guess that we'd be up pretty late tonight, regardless. "I wanted to get to say bye before I go."

His back was turned to me as he moved to his fridge to get the milk. I hovered behind him, awkwardly half-leaning against the counter. Feeling weird, I pulled myself up so that I was sat on it. He turned to me, holding a cup in each hand, then put them back down on the counter. A slightly crooked grin on his face, Carter moved towards me until he was standing between my legs. We were the same height like this. I enjoyed being eye to eye with him, so close that I could see the flecks of grey and teal in his eyes, and notice for the first time a tiny, pale scar on his left eyebrow. He leaned in and kissed me slowly.

When I pulled back slightly, he didn't move, just smirked against my lips as he informed me, "We're home alone. No one's gonna walk in."

It wasn't the reason I'd stopped, but I let it convince me anyway. His hands went to my waist, slipping beneath both extra layers I'd put on to protect myself from the cold outside. In here, I didn't need either. But Carter seemed to be in no rush to take any of our clothes off; instead he was almost languid in his movements.

Again, I forced myself to pull away. Talk first, kiss later.

This time, Carter moved back too, brow furrowed with confusion. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't know you were leaving tomorrow," I said, hoping my voice didn't sound too dejected.

Carter shrugged. "It was a last minute thing, that's why I was trying to get your attention to see you earlier."

His fingers were gently rested on my thighs now, his touch barely noticeable through my jeans.

"Is it hard for you? Going home, I mean," I asked carefully. I didn't want to ruin his mood, turn our last night together into something miserable. But I was conscious that I was the only person he'd told about his family and I'd sworn to myself I'd be his friend, so I had to at least show him that he could talk to me about it.

"Oh, I'm not going home yet," he replied, like he'd assumed that was self-explanatory.

Oh. "Where are you going then?"

"My friend, Olivia, invited me to go with a bunch of others to this lakehouse one of her friends owns."

I nodded, but then something struck me. Olivia. "Olivia as in Kyle's sister?"

Carter looked surprised that I'd remembered. Perhaps he'd forgotten that he'd blown me off for her when we first met over coffee. "Yeah. Kyle's not going, but I have some other mutual friends who will be there."

Hadn't he said that he and Olivia had ended things? Were they back on again? Unsettled, I pushed myself down from the kitchen counter, making Carter take a step back from me.

"Are you... seeing her?" Translation: is whatever you have with her the same as what you have with me?

Again, the shrug. Instead of being cool, mysterious, it had shifted into showing an infuriating indifference. "I guess. We've been on and off for a while, really."

That stung. I swallowed thickly, turning away quickly to hide the hurt in my expression. I knew we weren't exclusive, so obviously it wasn't cheating. But I hadn't been able to help how part of me had been convinced that maybe I was the only one for now. Or, at least, there was no one else he was close enough to go on a trip with.

But, really, it didn't matter. Carter had made it clear since the start that we would never be more than some no-strings-attached fun. I'd known that this entire time, but I'd told myself that maybe I was one of many, but at least I was one, and that was better than nothing. Now, I wasn't so sure.

"How long's the trip gonna be?" I tried to make my voice sound light and easy, then hoped he wouldn't detect the slight tremble in it.

"A few days, maybe a week, then I'm going home for Christmas"

Taking a deep breath, I turned round to face him. Mild confusion still lingered on his face. I couldn't believe how oblivious he was to how I felt. Even Michael, after that one awkward date, had sussed out my feelings for Carter, before I'd even detangled them myself. But Carter himself seemed to have no idea that, right before his eyes, my heart was breaking.

"I think it's probably a good thing we're going to have some time apart," I said quietly. My eyes flitted between the floor, our coffee cups still sat untouched on the counter, his shoulder.

"Why?" He took a step towards me, reaching out a hand to touch my arm. I shrugged him off.

"I thought I could do this whole casual dating, friends with benefits thing, but I was wrong. I just think we were never cut out for anything... complicated."

The confusion in Carter's expression shifted to something I couldn't decipher. "I thought we were working well together."

"We were. It's just not me to be seeing someone in any way if they're also seeing other people," I explained.

I wanted desperately to tell him the truth, because it felt so obvious. I'm in love with you, you idiot. Just let me in.

Instead, of course, I stayed silent as Carter paused for a while, then eventually said, "Okay, if that's what you want. As long as we're friends."

I forced a small smile. "I think we're always going to be friends, Carter."

He smiled back, momentarily flashing straight white teeth, and it took everything in me not to cry. I'd thought I'd known heartache at thirteen, when I'd laid on my bed and cried over the gorgeous boy from across the street who'd kissed me then disappeared. As real as those feelings were, I was also young and naive then. This was the real, agonising heartache: standing in front of him, close enough to touch, to kiss, even, but knowing that I could never have him in the way I wanted.