stutter » a. irwin

epilogue.

dedicated to jo & juju, the two bestest friends who have continually supported me through this story, gave me the best ideas, encouraged me to write, & will support me to the end.

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He'd almost missed her.

He had gotten to the shop an hour earlier than he was supposed to be, simply because he was unable to concentrate on anything else. Whether he was excited, nervous or maybe just nauseous, he wasn't quite sure, but what he did know was that he wanted her to show up more than anything.

And so, he had stepped into the shop for the first time since that fateful day so many months before, ducking his head abashedly as his hazel eyes met the warm, but stern ones of the man at the counter who knew exactly who he was and why he was there. He could almost picture that day like it was yesterday, asking the man for some napkins, but more importantly, the blush across her cheeks and her frizzy hair and her stuttered words.

She was why he was waiting here now, with his too long legs tucked uncomfortably into a booth and muscles aching from the hard wood paneling of the bench.

The sound of a door opening was heard, and ignoring the amused chuckle from the counter, he craned his head quickly to observe the newcomer, feeling a pang of disappointment when he saw a flash of red hair instead of blonde. A glance at his phone indicated that there were 15 minutes left, and while his long fingers drummed on the table impatiently, he took the time to observe the actual coffee shop.

Immediately, he softened. It embodied her; he could almost picture her settling down in the armchair by the corner, writing something of sorts while drinking from a cup of coffee. His eyes lingered on the spot where his life had changed for the better, and although he knew it was impossible, he still wondered if there were still specks of tea left from their encounter.

And then he thought of other things, like how at first she was just a cute girl to have fun with, but then he'd seen her with his family and she had opened up to him and he couldn't stop himself from feeling a little too protective over her, because of course, she was just so damn easy to like.

And then he thought of the mistakes he'd made, what seemed like hundreds of thousands of mistakes, including taking her for granted in the worst way possible. The worst thing was, that he didn't even fully understand why he had done them, and if he couldn't forgive himself, then who was he to expect her to?

He stood up abruptly.

The anxiety began to creep up on him and he locked himself in the toilet, splashing some cold water on his face. He grasped the edges of the sink and leaned his head down as droplets fell from the edge of his chin to join the steady stream of water still running down the drain before looking up into the mirror.

He had made her cry.

And if what he was feeling now was what she felt almost all the time, only unexpectedly, and maybe even worse, than he really was a bigger dick than he thought he was. His fingers turned white as his grip on the sink tightened, and he stomach dropped as he thought of how she looked in the hospital. All because he had used her anxiety against her. The anger at himself all kept rushing back, and he had to dunk his head under the running water again before surfacing.

"You deserve happiness," Calum had told him once his initial anger at Ashton subsided. "And if how she makes you feel is something worth keeping, I know you'll do everything you can to make things right."

"You make her weak, but you also make her better." Rachel had admitted softly over the phone. "And I know she does the same to you."

"Fuck." He muttered, slamming his hand down on the tap and exiting the bathroom. And then every part of him froze, because she was there; he knew without a doubt from just seeing the back of her head.