Dawn of Adventure {Book One of The Paths We've Traveled}

Chapter Fifty-One: Regrets and Moving On

Juvia leaned against the doorframe, knees threatening to give out from under her. The fingers of her left hand remained fisted tightly in the fabric of her dress, chin trembling as she stared at the man on her doorstep.

"Hey Juvia," he murmured, hands shoved into his pockets. Strands of hair lay draped across his forehead, hiding pieces of his icy blue eyes. Snow fell from above, and Juvia couldn't help but think that he looked like an angel.

"Gray, my darling," she breathed. Her hair was a mess, half pulled up and resting in a tangled heap at the base of her neck. Her tights were torn at the knee, her dress rumpled and stained, as well as soaked through with water in several places. Bags stood out under her eyes and her voice seemed strained and exhausted when she spoke his name. But her cheeks were aglow, likely from embarrassment but perhaps just from sheer joy, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked like a mess. Gray thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

They stood there for several long moments, simply taking each other in. She tucked hair behind her ear. He shifted his weight from one leg to another. She shivered from the cold air hitting her wet skin and clothes. He shrugged his coat higher.

Juvia bit her lip, the urge to laugh or cry or shout or yell or just anything nearly bubbling over. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sobbed. Here was Gray, her Gray, and she had no idea of what to say, no idea of what to do. She'd dreamed of this moment for years, and yet now that it was actually here, she had no idea what to do. Should she throw herself into his arms? Should she scold him for what he did? Would he even want her after so long? What if he had moved on? What if he no longer loved him? What if he only came here to break things off? What if-

A cry broke the silence of the house and through her dangerous thoughts. Juvia jerked, her eyes immediately pulling away from Gray and instead looking up at the stairwell behind her. She recognized the voice and the plea; every night it was the same. Still, she hesitated to rush inside, instead sending a shy glance back at Gray.

"Is that...?" Gray trailed off, voice breaking.

The Water Woman nodded, a lump in her throat. He read my letter. But why didn't he call? She took a shaking breath, steeling herself for what was about to happen. "Do you," she cleared her throat, "do you want to come in?"

"Uh, yeah. I would." The lines of her lips pressed together, rising in a tight smile as she stepped back, allowing her love into her house. Air rushed into his lungs and back out, releasing all of his worries into the freezing night air. Then he took those steps forward, closing the distance between him and Juvia. Only a half foot of space separated them, and she lost the ability to breathe. A tear slipped from her left eye, leaving a shimmering track down her cheek.

Another cry rang through the house. Juvia sniffed, dashing a hand across her face and turning to the stairwell, oblivious to the hand Gray had started to raise. He let it drop, clearing his throat and pretending it hadn't happened. "Upstairs," she murmured, setting her shoulders to face whatever new monster had been conjured tonight.

Gray trailed behind her as she led the way through her house. It was small and cramped and dim and messy, but it was hers. The living room and the kitchen blended together, a small table shoved into the far corner under a window serving as a dining room. A hallway divided the far wall, a door at the end that he guessed led outside and several more doors that were a mystery to him. There was barely any space on the floor beside the path from the stairs to the door, and even then, the couple still had to weave around books and toys and piles of clothes.

But they made it to the stairs, and they began the descent upwards. Gray's attention was drawn to the assortment of photos lining the narrow stairwell. His eyes danced from one portrait to another, Reedus's talented hand visible in every stroke and line. This time his hand really did rise, fingertips brushing gently over a framed canvas. He'd never posed for this picture, and yet staring at it made him believe he had been. He wished he had been. The love in their eyes, the gentle hand on her waist, their arms and hearts full.