The Space Between Us [Five Feet Apart Fanfic]

Will

It's raining in New York when Stella knocks on my hotel door.

It's been two weeks since our phone call - I should have given her more credit. She must have found me easily.

Hope and Jason have something to do with it, I suspect. They left earlier today before the rain set in, saying they wanted to go have private time with each other.

I had told them, loudly, that it was too much information, and Hope and Jason had smirked at each other. Now I think I know why.

As I pull the door open, saying "I hope you two got it out of your systems," Stella blinks at me with her fist still raised to knock.

She's changed since I last saw her. Her hair's shorter, brushing her shoulders and sprinkled wet from the rain. She looks... vibrant. Flushed cheeks, skin filled out where bones used to show.

Stella's staring at me the same way I'm looking at her, and I'm suddenly self-conscious about my faded shirt and bare feet.

She's in a wine-dark jumper and jeans - like what she used to wear. A bag is slung over her shoulder - probably, I suspect, filled with lists and highlighters and perfectly sharpened pencils.

She's managing to look both pleased with herself and also shy, which is such a Stella expression that it feels like the last four years never happened.

My mouth opens and shuts. Finally, all I manage to say is, "you talked to Hope and Jason, didn't you?"

Stella allows herself a smirk. "They were only too happy to help." She adjusts her bag strap, adorably self-conscious. "Hi, by the way."

"Hi," I say, and my voice is unsteadier than I'd wanted it to be.

"Do you..." she bites her lip. "Do you want to maybe go get coffee or something?"

I hesitate for the briefest of moments before saying, "what the hell. Sure."

And five minutes later, after scrabbling for my shoes and wallet and a nice jacket - why do all my clothes have creases - we're walking out into the misty rain together.

"There's a good place just down here," I say, leading her down the street.

I'm very aware of the space between us - at least six feet. As we walk, I move closer to her by inches, until it's our usual five-foot rule. Stella looks at me sideways and then away, and I can see she's trying not to smile.

The coffee shop is bright and busy with people getting out of the weather. There's a space by the window that we claim for ourselves after we order drinks.

I ask Stella if she wants me to buy her a chocolate pudding as well, remembering that was one of the only things I used to see her eat in the hospital. She laughs and it breaks the ice, even though there's no pudding on the menu. So we get a mud cake slice instead to share.

Sitting at the small table, I'm uncomfortably aware of how close we are, how my knees keep brushing up against Stella's whenever she moves.

Her eyes are luminous from the grey light outside, I can my reflection in them. How pale I look.

She's making me feel dizzy. She's making me feel things I haven't felt in four years.

"Here," Stella says, pulling out her bag. "I wanted to show you something."

She rummages in it, dark hair falling into her eyes, and holds up a book. A very familiar dark sketchbook. Five feet apart printed neatly across the front in my writing.

My throat tightens, and I have to focus on breathing before my lungs stuff up. "You kept it."

"Duh!" Stella grins. "And I've added a few things." She holds it out to me. "Start from the back."

So I open the book from the last page. She's stitched in a bunch more pages then it used to have, in a carefully-measured way so that it looks like part of the original book.

The last few pages are still blank, but as I flip through backwards I can see Stella's turned the whole thing into a kind of sketchbook. Photos and polaroids at her smile up at me from the pages, bright and alive.

Stella with her friends Camila and Mya, all three of them in bathing suits and laughing at the camera. Stella with her parents and the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Stella with a surfboard, eyes squinting against the sun, grinning.

Stella, Stella, Stella. The pages are marked with ticket stubs from plain flights and brochures from historical tours and torn out maps. She's added highlighter marks and notes - of course - and sometimes there's writing that looks like script for some of her youtube videos.

I keep flicking, entranced, until I flick onto one of the pages with my cartoons. The ones I'd drawn her just after she'd gotten her new lungs. Stella, spinning on the ice. Everyone sitting together at my surprise birthday. Both of us holding the pool cue.

And then, I reach the very first page. On the inside of the cover, Stella's written in neat dot points under the heading Stella's Master List.

It's very different to her old lists - everything looks enjoyable, for once. There's go to Paris (try their hot chocolates) and ride in a hot air balloon and make a Youtube video at the beach (invite friends!!) and go to a funpark with Camila and Mya and try surfing - beginner course and camp under the stars.

Everything is crossed out with a neat line through it, except for one thing. The last dot-point.

I look up. "You wrote my name on a To-Do list? Is that a pun?"

Stella flushes pink instantly, with a surprised laugh. "N-No, I didn't mean it like that!"

I raise my eyebrows, somehow darkly pleased that I could make her blush. "If you say so."

I close the book, running my hand along the cover before looking up at her again.

"What do you think?" she asks, and her voice is falsely casual.

"I - " my throat tightens again, "it's amazing. It's so like you to make something like this."

Stella grins. "I'll take that as a compliment." She reaches forwards to take the book back, and her fingers graze mine.

Both of us freeze. There's no taboo for contact now, which somehow makes it more terrifying than before.

Stella's cheeks are still coloured as she puts the book back in her bag. "So, what would you say if I asked you to fill up the last few pages with me?"

The way she says it - the way she's so accepting of her short time left, makes me feel suddenly helpless. I want to get up and knock over the stupid tiny coffee table and grab her tightly, hold her until there's a solution. A cure.

Stella's eyes are wide and earnest as she looks at me. Brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she says softly, "you can think about it, Will. It's okay."

And after a moment, all I say is, "we should get back before it starts raining any heavier."

Stella nods, and stands up. We make our way out of the shop and into the wet street, which is usually empty because of the weather.

Stella waits for me to lead the way, and as we move into the rain she reaches out tentatively and puts her hand in mine.

I stop, and she stops with me as I turn to look at her.

God, she's beautiful.

I take a step closer. We're only three or four feet apart now. "Stella, I don't - "

"It's a risk," she says softly, "but only a small one. Way less than before."

"I know," I whisper. "But... are you sure?"

Stella takes another step forwards, then another - the space between us shrinking. Three feet, two.

She lifts up her other hand, touches my face. Her eyes are sad and somehow still hopeful. "Will. I'm sure."

I can barely feel the rain now - I'm only aware of our breaths mixing and her fingers on my cheek and her dark, parted mouth.

"We should get back to the hotel," I say unevenly.

Stella smiles, almost shy. "Okay."