I nod, then reach up to remove his glasses, carefully setting them down on his desk. “It’s just that... yeah, I mean...”
“What?”
“Nothing. Were you writing?” I ask, slipping off his arms and moving around the room. I bend to pick up some of his scattered clothes, unsure what I’m even doing. My head’s been spinning all afternoon and most of the night, replaying everything he said. I even tried calling Steven, but he didn’t answer—and I get why.
I don’t even know why I came here tonight. Or what I intended to do.
I left episode fourteen of season two ofThe O.C.paused right at the spider-kiss between Seth and Summer, threw on the first clothes I found, grabbed Maggie’s car, and drove here for no real reason.
I walked in the rain for half an hour before I managed the courage to go upstairs. And even when I knocked on his door, my goal wasn’t to end up in his room.
I just wanted to talk. To finally confront what happened. But the second he opened the door—his shaggy hair, those freckles scattered across his face, that expression that always undoes me—something inside me snapped. My mouth started moving, my body leaned forward, and suddenly I was kissing him.
And I swear my brain stopped functioning the moment he picked me up and kicked the door shut behind us.
But now... now I’m afraid. Terrified, and I don’t even know why.
“Nova, what’s wrong? I thought that—can you stop picking up my clothes for a second and talk to me?”
“What were you thinking?” I ask, holding up one of his T-shirts.
He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall by his door. God, he looks so tall like that.
“You’re so—frustrating!”
“Frustrating? How can I be frustrating if I’m not even saying anything?”
“You beg me to say I don’t love you, then you hear me admit I’m madly in love with you, while you offer me grapes like nothing happened. Then you show up here in the middle of the night, kiss me, and now you’re folding my clothes because you’re wound tighter than a violin string! How am I not supposed to be frustrated when I don’t even know what you want?”
I throw the shirt back on the floor and step toward him. “You’re frustrating too!”
He arches an eyebrow. “Why?”
I force myself not to stare at his bare torso and lock my eyes on his instead, folding my arms across my chest. “Because I don’t understand what you want either! Maybe I’m incoherent and don’t know what I want—but neither do you! What do you even want from me? The la—”
“I’ve always known what I want!” he snaps, cutting me off. “Do you know why my bed’s covered in crumpled papers?”
“What?”
“Do you know why? Do you know why I fall asleep clutching my guitar every night? It’s because I can’t stop writing. I can’t stop composing. And I compose because I can’t get you out of my mind. I’ve written dozens of songs—all of them for you. You’re in my head, in my heart, in my soul. It’s like a disease. And the worst part? I don’t want to get better. I like being sick. I like having your face in my mind when I lie awake searching for a reason to keep fighting. I like my head being full of lyrics and melodies because of you. I can’t do without my muse, do you understand? I can’t do without you anymore. Nova Elizabeth Dehlia Marshall, I’ve admitted it—I’ve loved you all my life. So stop running from me the way I’ve been running from you. Please. Every broken piece of me belongs to you. I may not know everything, but I know what I want. I want you. Your heart. I know you’re scared and you think there’s no place for me and you anymore, but I swear there is a place for us.”
“Vincent, I—”
He interrupts again, stepping closer, then drops to one knee and takes my hands in his. His voice is shaking, raw.
“I breathe when you breathe. I hurt when you hurt. The music I compose belongs to you, Nova. My soul belongs to you. My fucked up mind finds peace only through your laugh. And I know that I’m fucked up, that I fucked up a lot. I know this isn’t fair to Steven, but you’re all I want—forever. You may not be my Nova anymore, but I will always be your Vincent—the Cars-obsessed boy you gave your hand to twelve years ago. I can’t erase you from my heart. And if even the smallest part of you still loves me, if that part of you is what brought you here tonight—”
This time, I silence him. I tug him up until he’s standing again. I step onto his feet, boots and all, and wrap my arms around his neck.
“You know I hate when you kneel in front of me. I don’t like it.”
“I know...” he murmurs, his hands warm on my waist.
“Then why do you do it?”
A small grin ghosts his lips. “Because I’m in love with you.”
I lean closer, our mouths just a breath apart, our breaths mingling. My heart is racing. “Are you going to keep saying that?”
