(A/N: This is the LAST chapter. I'll be adding a sappy note at the end, but I wanted to give that warning from the beginning. Enjoy!)
While living in the small town you were from, you always imagined New York as the place where all of your dreams could come true.
You told yourself that if you moved there, you could make it.
Your academic and professional journey had been lackluster in Illinois. The biggest thing that you accomplished was directing a middle school play all on your own. It hadn't been easy dealing with preteens and overbearing parents, but it was nothing compared to a real job.
Moving to a new city all on your own, with no plans, had been the bravest thing you'd ever done.
Everyone doubted you when you did it.
They said things like: You were too trusting and naive. You'd never make it in a fast-paced, cut-throat city like New York.
Even if you somehow did cope with the lifestyle change, there was no way that you'd ever find a job connected to the theater. At best, you'd work at a coffee shop and sweep the local company's floors, they thought.
Being the director of Exit Ghost was more than you and anyone else thought that you could've ever accomplished.
You achieved your wildest dream.
So why weren't you happy?
The next several weeks went by in a fast-paced, melancholy haze.
Charlie spent almost all of his time getting ready to move, and although you didn't leave his side for a moment, you could feel his constant stress and distraction. It would be false to say you spent time with him. He was there physically but not in spirit.
He only had one more week in New York, which would mostly be spent packing and getting the theater ready for you to take over.
You couldn't think of a more bittersweet situation.
"This is a good one," Charlie said, holding up a glass food storage container. "It has a lid too." He added, holding it up to show you. "You need this. Get rid of the plastic ones you have."
You were helping Charlie pack up the apartment and every time he came across something that he didn't want to take to LA, he would set it aside for you. It was sweet and something about having your apartment filled with his belongings made this somewhat more bearable.
"Thanks," You told him, folding up a blanket and placing it in one of the boxes that he was going to ship to Nicole.
Seeing the apartment almost empty made your heart hurt.
But you knew it was nothing compared to the feelings Charlie was having. He was leaving behind the space he raised his son in, the city where he established himself as a director, and the state where he fell in love with you.
Occasionally, you'd glance over and see him wipe quickly at his eyes, getting emotional when he'd run across one of Henry's toys left behind or a family photo.
You were doing your best to comfort him by giving him quick distractions of hugs, snacks, or words of encouragement. But understandably so, they only seemed to help momentarily.
"I think there should be a good stack of sweaters for you too if you want them." He smirked, glancing over his shoulder at you as he opened the cupboard. "I set some aside for you to keep last night."
You giggled softly, taping the box shut once it was full. "You know I love your sweaters."
"I know, honey," Charlie said affectionately, eye scanning his rows of mugs. He picked one out, his favorite, and wrapped it in bubble wrap so he could add it to your box of belongings.
You took a step back from where you were standing so you could scan the room, trying to decide what you would start picking up next. You looked at his bookshelf, photos on the wall, and the collection of records. You were overwhelmed.
Your eyes landed back on the couch, now empty, besides the table sitting in front of it.
You reminisced about all of the memories you had on a piece of furniture that wasn't even your own. The times that you and Charlie had secret moments alone huddled together whispering.
"Do you remember our first kiss?" You called out to him.
Charlie had been sorting his old, crappy silverware from his newer pieces when you asked him. His mind had been wandering to the fact that he would be getting rid of items that Henry grew up around, things that held so many memories.
It was causing his mind to wander, wondering what experiences he could have with his son in LA if he could ever win his trust back. It was a depressing idea.
When you asked about your first kiss, he couldn't help but laugh, his whole face lighting up. Charlie needed that. Something happy to focus on.
He stopped his sorting and abandoned the silverware altogether, turning so that he could leave the kitchen and join you in the living room.
Charlie ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face as he stood beside you.
You were both staring at the couch, letting the nostalgia hit you as you remembered what it had been like to share your first kiss on the same cushions that were in front of you right now.
"Oh, I remember." He chuckled, "How could I ever forget?"
He stole a look at you and felt a wave of emotions run through his body. You two had been through so much together. It was almost comical to remember a time when you'd been too scared to even kiss.
Charlie took a seat on the couch, the exact spot he'd been in that night. "Come here," He suggested gently, patting the area next to him.
You grinned, glad to see him not only playing along but also not as sad as he'd been previously that morning. You sat down, staring up at him expectantly.
"You had to spend the night, didn't you? It was storming outside and Nicole wouldn't let you leave because she was worried you wouldn't make it home safely." Charlie said, thinking about it. "She told you to spend the night, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack."
You laughed, remembering. "I thought I might too." Your heart fluttered as you thought back on it. "You brought me some pajamas of yours. I wore your shirt home and I don't think I gave it back for months."
Charlie laughed out loud, nodding. "Well, you were wearing one of your cute skirts. I didn't think that would be exactly comfortable..." He trailed off as he stared at you. "When I saw you in my clothes... I couldn't help myself. You looked like an angel."
You felt your skin heat up in flattery. "I couldn't sleep and when you came out to say the same, I knew I was in trouble."
Charlie grinned, reaching forward to brush some hair away from your face, his touch lingering on your cheek. "You were so scared of the storm."
"And of you." You admitted, leaning into his touch.
"Of me?" Charlie hummed, scooting in closer to you.
"Mhm," You nodded, "Of all the things I wanted to do with you. How wrong it was. You made me so happy and I knew you shouldn't. I was so scared."
Charlie didn't say anything. He had felt the same way. He searched your expression, this thumb gently moving against your skin, over your cheekbone.
"I'm still scared." You admitted in a quiet voice.
He understood. You two were finally together, truly together. But it was hard to find a sense of relief. There were so many factors that could affect you two in the future: long distance, everyone's opinions, the stress of managing both.
Charlie swallowed hard, jaw tensing. "I am too."
You saw the anguish in his eyes as he said it and it made you exhale shakily.
Charlie held your gaze, feeling comforted by it and also devastated at the realization that he wouldn't be able to have this every day when he was in LA. He wouldn't be able to touch you and look into your eyes this way.
"Do you remember what I asked you before I kissed you for the first time?" He asked in a low voice.
You thought about it often, how it all played out. He didn't even have to ask. You remembered every detail.
"You asked me if I wanted you." You replied.
Charlie made a noise of agreement. "When I asked, I wanted to make sure that you wanted all of this. That you wanted to be involved with someone like me. I wanted to know that you were aware of what you were getting into. It wasn't just about a kiss."
You nodded, urging him to continue.
"So I want to ask you again. I need to know that you're ready for a life with me, everything it will bring. It won't be easy." Charlie said, his hand on your cheek, slowly sliding to the back of your head. "When I ask you this, you need to consider what I'm saying."
You were unsure of a lot of things in your life right now. But the only thing that you weren't questioning was your love for Charlie.
Charlie stared at you, taking in all of the features that drove him crazy and made him fall for you.
He took a deep breath, his lip trembling nervously as he did so.
"Do you want me?" Charlie asked, his tone pleading and serious.
You felt his question in the pit of your stomach.
You let it process, not questioning your answer but letting the weight of it sink in.
No matter how difficult it was, you would always want Charlie. All of him.
"I want you." You told him confidently, not breaking eye contact.
There was a moment of charged silence. The both of you could feel the electricity buzzing between your bodies, the connection you had that couldn't be broken by a stressful situation or a distance of a thousand miles.
Charlie's grasp remained on the back of your head, cradling it gently as he pressed his lips down against yours. He paused there, his lips stagnant on yours, taking in the sensation of being close with you.
It dawned on the both of you:
This felt like your first kiss all over again.
There were aspects of apprehension and caution, all of the worries the two of you had in the back of your minds, knowing you were moving apart from each other.
But there was also that excitement. The promise of a future, no matter what it would bring. The release of tension. The solace of putting your heart on the line for something bigger than just a kiss.
Charlie's tongue ran along your bottom lip, deepening it and when you parted your mouth, he slipped his tongue inside.
You made a noise, a brief whimper of pleasure, as you pressed against him. You put an arm around his neck, drawing him in closer.
This was like the first time too. A needy rushed pace of just wanting more of each other.
Charlie let go of the back of your head so that he could run his hands down the sides of your body. He paused when he got to your hips, gripping them and pulling you towards him so that you settled in his lap.
You continued to kiss him through this motion, hands pulling at the material of his soft shirt, grinding down against him.
Charlie groaned, his hands squeezing and alternating between your ass and your thighs. He slipped a hand down the back of the pants you were wearing, his touch grazing over your lace panties.
"You remember what else we did on that night? Right here on this couch, the same spot." Charlie muttered against your lips, voice gruff.
You giggled breathlessly, nodding. "I do."
"Tell me." He growled softly, his fingers hooking under the side of your underwear, teasingly pulling on them.
Your skin was on fire from the memory of it. "You made me cum."
"I did," Charlie grunted. "Right on my lap."
You shuddered and nodded, kissing him in between his words.
Charlie's hand that was on your hip slowly slid forward, under the material of your pants and underwear. "Let me do it again. I want to make you cum just like this. My perfect girl. I want you to cum for me."
You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as you felt the way he was pushing your thighs apart and slipping his fingers against your folds. "Please."
Charlie sighed at the feeling, warm and inviting. All his. "Good girl. You're such a good girl."
The first time he did this with you, the night of your first kiss, you'd been facing the other way. He sat you on his lap and told you to watch the tv and be quiet for him. It had been erotic, one of the hottest things you'd ever experienced. But this was different.
You were looking into his eyes, kissing him, and you didn't have to hide.
It was just the two of you.
Before, you felt so guilty.
Now, you only felt a closeness to him.
The first time he made you cum, he told you to call him Mr.Barber and ask for his permission to have your orgasm.
It was pure lust.
Now, he looked you in your eyes as you said, "I love you, Charlie," and made you cum:
Pure devotion.
Later that night, you stood in front of your mirror, inspecting your appearance.
You held two different pairs of earrings up, judging which one you liked better before settling on the ones in your left hand. You put them on with a sigh, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were preparing for.
Tonight, everyone at Exit Ghost decided to put together a 'going-away' party for Charlie.
At a laid back bar, everyone occasionally went to for happy hour. You'd been a few times, but it had always been uncomfortable, having to hide your love for your boss in a crowded room.
Now, you weren't precisely uncomfortable, but you were sad.
The fact that Charlie was moving was always on your mind. You thought about it when you fell asleep and when you woke up. Having a party for his departure didn't exactly seem like your idea of a good time.
You hadn't told anyone at Exit Ghost about your relationship with Charlie, but most of them had been able to connect the dots. Those who did know were respectful, at least to your faces.
The excitement that Frank displayed when he first found out had been hilarious. He was so proud of Charlie for choosing to live his life to the fullest.
You glanced at the time and mumbled, "fuck", under your breath. You were running late, which you'd been expecting because of how long you took listening to music in the shower.
You grabbed a pair of shoes and put them on, glancing at your reflection to make sure that you were okay with their appearance before you rushed into the kitchen area of your apartment, gathering your purse and belongings.
As you did so, you passed the box of items you inherited from Charlie's apartment that day.
He packed most of it, a few kitchen and utility items that he thought you needed. You didn't know what was inside besides the sweaters sitting on the top.
Even though you were aware that you were running late, you couldn't stop yourself from peering inside.
You took the sweaters from the top and set them on the table, admiring all of the thick, soft shirts he left behind, knowing that they would be far too warm for him to wear in California. You knew you'd enjoy wearing them to bed, wrapped in the comfort of him.
You ran your fingers over the material. You had memories of him wearing most of them.
You stared at the dark blue one he wore the first time you touched him in his office when he almost kissed you.
The beige-colored one was what he was wearing when you opened up about your past with him. You told him the hardships you went through with your ex-boyfriend and Charlie held you close while you cried. You remembered the way your tears looked as they soaked onto his shoulder.
You swallowed hard. You just finished your makeup. You didn't have time to cry.
Under the clothing, there were plenty of things bubble-wrapped: mugs, Tupperware, an expensive wine opener.
You wondered if Charlie knew how much the items he was leaving for you meant to you.
You felt the annoying pricking of tears in the back of your eyes, thinking about the fact that he was going to be far away within a week.
Showing up to work, coming home at night, eating take-out in your pajamas... All of it would feel lifeless if he wasn't by your side.
You had no one else in New York.
In the same vein, Charlie didn't have anyone in LA either. He had Henry and partly, he had Nicole and her family. But it wasn't the same.
He wouldn't have you.
"Dammit," You muttered, wiping at your eyes while trying not to smudge your mascara.
You glanced down in the box and moved a few things aside, making sure that you took a look at everything. Pressed against the side of the cardboard, you noticed what looked like a piece of paper.
Upon further inspection, you realized it was an envelope as you grabbed it.
On the front, in Charlie's familiar handwriting, it said: "A reminder:"
You made a noise of confusion as you carefully tore it open, peering inside.
It was a yellowed sheet of paper, wrinkled, folded, and worn.
You pulled it out and exhaled deeply when you realized what you were holding.
At the top of the note, it read: "What I love about her"
Your hands were shaking as you took a slow seat at your table. You remembered this. It was a letter that Charlie's therapist suggested he write to you, hypothetically, not planning to give it to you.
He let you read it one night and it was how you found out that he loved you.
Your eyes scanned over the words, each one piercing your heart. You'd give anything to be back in that moment, to relive the bliss that you felt when you first found out that the man you were in love with felt the same way about you.
For the first time since you, you saw it initially, you reread the note, letting the sentiments wash over you:
What I love about her:
I love that she always surprises me. I think I have her figured out and then something happens and she's opened up this new side to me and I'm left speechless again. I love being the one to peel the layers away and see more of her. I love that she trusts me to do that.
When it comes to directing, I always preferred working alone, but when she's around, she breathes light into whatever we're working on. She impresses me with her innovations and she makes me excited to improve. I don't think she realizes it, but she's my muse.
She is smart. Very smart. And creative. She looks at the big picture where I sometimes get caught up with details.
She's one of the only people who can make me laugh just by looking at me. We can be in a room full of people, and if she looks at me a certain way, I know what she means, and I can't help myself from cracking up.
Everyone loves her. Really, everyone. I have never heard someone say a bad thing about her. She has the ability to have a ten second conversation with someone and make them fall in love, platonically or not.
She has all of these cute knick-knacks around her apartment. And all of them have a story.
I love that she always wants to eat, just like I do, and she hasn't judged me when I wake up in the middle of the night and want a snack. She has no idea how to cook and I think it's adorable.
She moved to New York from the Midwest, all by herself, and that's a scary thing to do
She's genuinely kind and she worries about everyone around her and she never does that thing where she makes you feel guilty for how much she cares about you.
I love that she's bold. She can be shy at times but when she's passionate, she speaks her mind.
She's very articulate. I'm jealous of the way she's able to express her thoughts.
I never have to guess what she really means because she's always honest and her intentions are always pure.
She's never passive aggressive. When I make mistakes, she tells me and she never makes me feel stupid for it.
She doesn't talk about her past, but I can tell that she's been hurt before. And I don't love that fact but I love that she was willing to take a chance on me anyway.
I have the urge to protect her, even from silly things like taking the wrong subway or ordering the wrong kind of bagel.
I love the way that she makes my heart pound and my palms sweat. I haven't felt his way since high school. I go to bed thinking of her and when I wake up, she's still on my mind.
She makes me feel alive again.
I love her.
By the time you read the last line, you were sobbing, all previous worries about your makeup dashed because of the overwhelming feeling you were experiencing right now.
The love you had for Charlie was rare. You didn't know anyone in your life who felt so strongly about someone in the way you did for him.
Although your relationship wasn't perfect, far from it, you were fucking lucky to have him.
People went their entire lives chasing passion that came so naturally for the two of you.
You remembered how Charlie carried this letter everywhere with him in his wallet. He wanted it close to him as a reminder of all of the good you brought into his life. And now, he was giving it to you. A reminder that he loved you, even from miles away.
You glanced at the box beside you, filled with Charlie's belongings. More reminders that he wanted to give you that he cared about you. He wanted you to think of him as much as he was going to think about you.
The idea of Charlie getting on a plane by himself, starting over somewhere new, on his own, caused a new wave of quiet cries to leave your body.
You needed him, always.
But Charlie really needed you.
"What am I doing?" You mumbled to yourself.
You looked around your tiny apartment, the one where the power always went out and the landlord was an asshole. You didn't like it there. You never did.
The only thing you liked about New York was Charlie.
You couldn't stay here without him.
You couldn't let him move without you.
Grabbing frantically for your purse and your phone, you stood up and rushed to the door.
You needed to talk to Charlie.
Inside the cozy, welcoming bar, Charlie drummed his fingers nervously against the table in front of him.
"She should be here soon," Charlie said with a slight smile after the person sitting in the booth beside him asked if you were coming or not.
He checked his watch and let out a deep breath. He hoped you were coming soon.
When you were helping him pack, you commented that you weren't looking forward to his going away party because it would be too sad to watch everyone say goodbye to him.
A part of him wondered if you decided not to stop by because of it.
"You're next." Frank elbowed Charlie as he walked back to his spot from where he'd previously been standing behind the microphone.
Charlie's eyebrows raised. "I didn't sign up."
It was open mic night at the bar and for a group of actors and otherwise, theater lovers, the ability to sing for an audience for fun was perfect.
Charlie sometimes participated, especially after a few drinks. But he had so much on his mind. He was far too anxious to stand in front of a crowd of people. The last thing that he wanted to do was perform.
"We put your name on the list," Frank replied with a happy smirk. "Come on. We have to hear you sing something one last time."
Charlie swallowed hard. One last time.
"Oh, that's alright. Maybe later." Charlie tried to deflect, automatically reaching for his cocktail and taking a huge sip to calm his nerves at the thought of it.
"Charlie. Charlie. Charlie." Frank began chanting, causing the other people in the curved booth they were sitting in to join in, saying his name over and over to work up his courage and to pressure him into giving in.
He sighed, shaking his head and holding his hands up in a way that made it clear he was attempting to get them to be quiet.
"Looks like we have Charlie Barber up next, singing a song from Company for us." The man sitting behind the piano announced from his mic, reading off his sign-up sheet. "I was told that he's moving to Los Angeles next week. So I think he deserves a big round of applause for some good luck on his journey!"
Charlie groaned, a polite and uncomfortable smile forming on his face as the bar patrons clapped and shouted for him. Most people there were involved with Exit Ghost, so hearing their boss's name over the speakers caused a reaction.
He couldn't say no now. Everyone in the room was staring at him expectantly.
"Okay." Charlie sighed, picking up his drink to finish it before setting it back down on the table as he stood.
The claps intensified, encouraging him.
Charlie made his way to the microphone, cautiously adjusting it to his height.
If he didn't have so much on his mind, he might have made a joke about how short Frank was compared to him, but he couldn't find the words right now.
As the piano began to play the familiar tune, Charlie took a deep breath, eyes shutting momentarily before he opened them again.
He wished you were here.
The subway ride had been painstakingly long.
In reality, it didn't take any more time than it usually did. But glancing at the time and seeing the minutes tick by, making you later and later, made the ride feel drawn out and unnecessary.
Especially with the thoughts that were buzzing in your brain.
You felt like your entire body was vibrating, pushing you closer to Charlie so you could tell him how you felt.
You were practically jogging as you got closer to your destination, glancing down at your phone that had the directions displayed on the screen to make sure that you were headed in the right direction.
It was cold out, you could see your breath each time you exhaled, and its discomfort only made you want to get there quicker.
Charlie was always so warm.
As you got to the entrance of the unassuming and almost classy bar, you wasted no time in pulling the door open and walking inside.
As you stepped inside, you found yourself frozen in place as you processed what was occurring:
Charlie was singing.
Your first thought was to laugh out loud. Not because he didn't have a good voice or because he was embarrassing himself, neither of those things were true. But it was a bit humorous that you happened to walk in at this exact moment.
But as you settled in your spot, back resting against the wall behind you, the smile slowly faded from your face as you watched him.
Charlie didn't notice you walk in; his eyes were focused ahead of him, not looking at anything in particular. You could see that he was imagining as he sang, having visions of something particular as he performed.
You heard him sing this song before when he whistled to himself or gave you a lullaby before bed. But you'd never seen him put passion behind it before.
He meant what he was saying right now. Every bit of the lyrics came from his heart.
"Somebody need me too much. Somebody know me too well." Charlie's deep and smooth voice rang out from the speakers, "Somebody pull me up short. And put me through hell. And give me support."
You were in awe. Of his talent and your love for him, but more so, the look in his eyes as he did this.
The entire time that Charlie sang, he thought of you. He listened to this song often. It was one of his favorites. But until now, he'd never processed how much the lyrics mirrored his relationship with you.
It was all making sense to him. Charlie loved you so much because of the life you brought to him. All of the mediocre, monotonous days he had before meeting you were history.
You made him alive, Charlie thought, as he crooned the words: "For being alive. Make me alive."
He was doing his best not to get emotional as he sang, imagining your face and your touch with each word.
Charlie continued with the song as you made the same connections.
It took everything in you not to run up to him right now and embrace him.
You could see how scared and desperate he was by the twinkle in his gaze, the way that his hands grasped and waved with each line of the song.
As broken as you were to say goodbye to him, Charlie felt just as helpless to say goodbye to you.
"But alone. Is alone. Not alive." Charlie sang, his voice cracking slightly as he did so, doing his best to keep his composure in front of everyone.
Without you, it would be hard for Charlie to feel alive. He'd be alone.
Alone was alone. Not alive.
You couldn't let Charlie be on his own. You couldn't let yourself be on your own.
You needed to be with Charlie.
As the tune continued, your heart was pounding in your chest, making it hard to hear the piano playing under the sound of his voice. You were forming connections and making conclusions, causing your adrenaline to spike.
"Somebody crowd me with love. Somebody force me to care. Somebody let come through." Charlie's singing came out in a melodic but purposeful tone. He was speaking to you through the lyrics, even if he didn't know you were in the room to hear it. It was everything that he wanted to say to you.
"I'll always be there. As frightened as you. To help us survive." Charlie's mind wandered to your interaction earlier that day as he thought about those words.
You were thinking the same thing he was:
When the two of you sat on the couch and looked into each other's eyes and admitted that you were scared for the future.
You were frightened. But Charlie would always be there to help you survive.
"Being Alive." Charlie's voice was louder now, bold with the thought of you in his arms, "Being Alive," He repeated, gripping the microphone closer to him, knuckles white with the force of it.
You were so in love with him.
You couldn't let him go without you.
"Being Alive." He sang, now soft, almost defeated.
The tears were present in Charlie's eyes as he sighed deeply, pushing the microphone away from him although he kept his hold on it, not wanting anyone to hear the way that his breathing was shaky and forced.
As the room cheered for him, he swallowed hard and let his eyes scan across the crowd of people.
When Charlie focused on the building entrance, he froze when he saw you standing there beside the frame.
He thought he imagined it at first, blinking hard to make sure that it wasn't a hallucination.
Locking eyes with him, your breath stopped short.
Feeling overcome with love and desperation, you reached for the door handle, opening it and stepping outside into the frigid air. There were too many people in there, too many witnesses to the intimate things you were experiencing.
Charlie watched you leave and immediately abandoned his place at the front of the room, making long strides towards the spot you'd just been standing in, ignoring the way that people were calling out for him.
It was like no one else was around him but you.
He called your name as he stepped outside, wildly searching for you.
You leaned against the side of the building, arms wrapped tightly around yourself to shield yourself from the cold. You were shaking and you weren't sure if it was from the temperature or from the choices you made a moment ago.
Charlie repeated your name, this time more gentle as he looked at you, closing the gap between the two of you as he approached.
"Where were you? I-" Charlie began speaking, but you cut him off.
"I have to tell you something." You said. It was far more important than apologizing for being late.
Charlie frowned, nodding, wanting to hear it.
"I can't stay here in New York." You began telling him, your words rushed and fueled by emotion.
"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, his eye twitching as he stared down at you. There was no way you thought what he thought you were thinking.
"I can achieve my dreams wherever I am. I proved that to myself. I found a career here and can find a career in any other city I choose to be in. It doesn't matter where my job is. All that matters is where my heart is."
Charlie swallowed hard, pulse-quickening. He was trying his best not to get his hopes up.
"Wherever you are is where I want to be." You told him, crying openly from the sincerity behind the statement. "That's home."
Charlie let himself cry, too, doing his best to process what you were saying.
"I'm moving to LA, Charlie." You said to him, "I'm making that choice for myself."
Charlie's chest rumbled, a mix between a sob and a laugh. A slow grin spread on his face despite the emotion running down his cheeks. "What?" He asked in disbelief.
You took a step closer to him, smiling in the same way that he was. "I booked my flight. I'm coming with you."
He couldn't believe it.
It was what he wanted all along.
But Charlie didn't want to tell you that. He didn't want you to know how devastated and depressed he would be if you weren't with him. He wanted you to decide your future independently, and he didn't want to influence it.
"You're coming to LA?" He repeated, needing clarification. "Are you willing to give up the opportunity at Exit Ghost to move across the country with me?"
You nodded, giggling slightly at how happy it made you hear him say that.
"Are you sure?" Charlie asked, chuckling a little, blinking away tears.
"I've never been more sure." You responded, moving closer to him.
Charlie stared down at you, thinking it over.
There was so much uncertainty when it came to his future.
But he had you.
It was all he needed.
"I love you," Charlie said, closing the distance between your bodies as he put a hand on the back of your head, the other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you against him.
You felt safe in his arms as you wrapped yours around his neck.
"I love you too." You told him, bringing him down closer.
Charlie pressed his lips against yours, acknowledging the fact that he was holding his entire world in his arms as he kissed you. You were his everything.
And there it was.
That reminder of why Charlie loved you so much and why he needed you as much as he needed the air that he breathed.
The pounding in his heart, the tears pricking the back of his eyes, the touch of your skin against his.
You were the only one who gave it to him:
The feeling of Being Alive.
~~~
(And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. It has been such a journey to complete this fic. Sitting down and writing about Charlie has gotten me through some tough times, and I feel really grateful to share it with other people. It means so much to me that others can enjoy something close to my heart. I plan on including an epilogue at some point, so please keep this story in your library to be notified once I do if that is something you're interested in. I appreciate you more than I can describe <3)