Meant To Be

Come Back...Be Here

A/N: Come Back...Be Here (Taylor's Version), of course. Just to clarify. 

We broke down halfway between night and morning air 

If you close your eyes can you picture yourself there? 

If I could I'd turn back the clocks, I'd make this right

I'd bring you back to me, I'd give us just a bit more time

- Clocks, from FOUR's fourth album, Already Gone 

The next day sort of passes in a weird blur. I went straight to my room after I got back last night, and I'm not sure what Maggie and Anya told the other girls, but everyone gave me space.

Maggie brought me tea and didn't ask any question, for which I was grateful. I'm not sure what she would have asked. I'm not sure what I would have said.

I have class, but I'm not even sure if my notes are legible. It's weird, because I thought I would be more upset, but I'm sort of numb? In a weird, out of body sort of way? And then there's a part of me that's happy. That's just reliving the time we spent together.

Holland was - I mean, I've never really felt like I connected with someone before. And we had a couple of magical hours and I talked to him in a way I've never really talk to anyone before, but I have no idea if he feels the same way. Like, maybe this is just how it is for him? Maybe he's just really good at talking to people. Maybe he just knows the right things to say.

Maybe he wasn't half as affected as I was. Maybe he just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to spread the fact that he'd walked in on me in a towel all over the Internet.

So I'm second guessing everything, but not really? It's almost like the two sides are balancing themselves out in my head. And maybe it's just me trying really hard not to think about it so I don't break down, but it sort of feels at peace.

I'm not going to lie, though. I check my phone way too many times, just on the hope - the vague, infinitesimal hope that he'd, I don't know, text me? I don't even know what I would be expecting. I don't even know what he would say.

They flew out this morning. I think they're going to South America next, which seems sort of out of order to me, geographically, but I'm not going to pretend I know anything about tour planning.

He hasn't posted anything on Instagram. Neither have Ever, Will or Noah. (I'm not Internet stalking them, okay? I'm not. I just - I don't know.)

I just want to hear from him. I just want to know if he's thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about him, and yeah, I know that's stupid. He's making me stupid. I guess I kind of forgot that about guys. How stupid they make you.

I can tell that Maggie and Anya want to ask a thousand different questions, but they haven't, which I'm grateful for. I'm grateful for this space.

This newfound peace and maturity only lasts until I'm browsing Instagram and waiting for a pot of water to boil and Holland's name pops up in my notifications. I let out a high pitched noise and drop a knife, point down, into the kitchen floor.

"What the - " Darya, who up to this point was peacefully eating her dinner at the kitchen table, leaps up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry," I say, grabbing the knife and placing it by the sink. "Sorry."

"No worries," she says, eyeing me skeptically. I attempt to smile reassuringly but I suspect I look more deranged than anything.

I wait until she goes back to eating her pasta to grab my phone and hightail it to my room, sinking down against the door. I rest my phone against my knees and try to calm my racing heart.