Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
ONE MONTH AFTER THE WEDDING
He'd been staring at his phone for hours. Four beers deep, still in yesterday's jeans. The apartment smelled like old takeout and failure.
He could still hear himself saying it. Don't fucking call me again.
He hated himself for it, and he hated how final it had sounded.
Four years together, gone, and he'd been the one to slam the door.
The silence after gutted him worse than any fight.
He swore he wouldn't call, that she deserved the peace he'd stolen.
One month later, his thumb hovered over her name.
One ring. Two. Three.
"Jeremiah?"
He pressed the phone harder against his ear.
"Bells. Hey. I know I shouldn't be calling but—fuck. I'm sorry. For what I said after the wedding."
Her breathing came through and nothing else, long enough that he almost hung up.
"I wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me."
"No." His voice cracked. "I was so fucking mad, Bells. And I just—I wanted you to hurt too, you know?"
"I know you're hurting, Jere. I am too."
He pressed his palm over his eyes. "I just… God, I just needed to hear your voice. To know you're okay."
"I'm okay," she said. "And you will be too. Not right away. But you will."
"Take care of yourself, Jere."
"You too, Bells."
He sat with the phone against his jaw until the screen went dark. She had Paris and a version of herself that didn't include him.
He had no idea who he was without her.
ONE YEAR LATER
The beer in his hand had gone warm an hour ago. Rain had been coming through the window sash since October and the apartment smelled like it.
Jeremiah sat on the edge of the threadbare couch with his ankle restless and the phone in both hands.
A year of pulling doubles at a restaurant he hated. A year of his dad asking when he was going to get serious about his future.
He'd stared at her name a dozen times before he pressed it.
One ring. Two. Three.
"Jere?"
"Hey." His voice came out rough. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"Happy Thanksgiving," she said. "I… wasn't expecting to hear from you."
"Yeah. Guess I wasn't expecting to call either." He got up off the couch and stood in the middle of the room with nowhere to go. "I'm in Boston. Alone. Dad's working, Con and I aren't really talking. And you're in Paris."
"I am."
"Is it everything you dreamed?"
"It is, Jere. It's beautiful. I didn't know the world was so big."
He was standing in the same room he'd been standing in for a year, lying to her the same way he lied to his dad.
"I'm glad you're happy, Bells." He swallowed. "You're still the only person I wanted to call today. Even after everything. That's probably fucked up, right?"
"Not at all," she said. "I hope you're okay."
"Yeah." He forced a laugh. "Living the dream. Boston's great. Everything's great." He looked at the beer going warm in his hand. "Got a whole spread going over here. Beer. Second beer."
The lie caught in his throat.
He hung up before he could hear what she said back.
Everything lately felt like August, bright for a second and gone before he could get a hand on it.
He needed air, and he needed to stop sitting in it.
He pulled his jacket tighter and stepped into the biting night air. Streetlights spilled golden pools across wet pavement, shadows stretching between the brownstones. The scent of roasting turkey drifted from open windows, vanished into the cold.
His phone stayed in his pocket. No more calls.
He'd figure out how to be a person again eventually. Just not tonight.
"Jeremiah?"
He froze. When he turned, recognition hit before he could place her.
Daphne. From Finch. Art history, front row, the one who actually did the reading.
He hadn't thought about her in years.
"Holy shit. Daphne? From Finch, right?"
"I thought that was you." She hesitated. "You look... different."
"Yeah, well." He ran a hand through his hair, longer now, messier. "A year'll do that."
"Rough Thanksgiving?" she asked.
He huffed a laugh. "Takes one to know one?"
Her smile was small, sad around the edges.
"There's a coffee shop two blocks down," she said. "Want to not be alone?"
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I really do."