Chapter Text
2021. San Francisco.
In a room full of people, amongst the comfortable quiet and the rain's patterned knocks on the window panes, your voice gave sound to the words you wrote. The rain was fitting for a reading of your newest novel, considering how it was inspired by what had transpired after that fateful day fifteen years ago. You still remembered how it felt, walking away from Art in the aftermath of the storm, feeling intrigued by the possibility of your future, none the wiser about the way things would turn out.
The indie bookstore was small, but it made it easier for you to look at your supporters when you took occasional breaks from the pages. Everyone's eyes were on you, but instead of discomfort, you felt at ease. Reading these words to the readers who had supported your works still felt unreal after four releases and all these years since you first became a published author. Your heart swelled in your chest as your eyes swept over all the people who gathered here for you. They looked up to you, they found solace and comfort in your books. That made you realize you weren't alone in your feelings, despite the perpetual solitude that you chose for yourself after Isaac.
Your reading ended, followed by answering questions, and signing. You got to meet wonderful people who expressed their love for your books and talked about your newest release. No one knew the idea was drawn loosely from your own experience. It was the truth that you held close to your heart. The idea of being capable of loving more than one person in literature wasn’t new. And like most, it usually tailspinned out of one's control. You knew it well, and you put it into your own words. In the end, your protagonist walked away from everything, freeing herself of the entanglement. It stemmed from your understanding of your own role in the circumstances. Loving Art and tolerating everything that was attached to him was an inescapable loop once your connections had intertwined so deeply that neither of you could unravel. You accepted that you and Art were nothing more than a missed opportunity, and maybe, in another lifetime, you would find each other again. But in this one, you chose to move on.
Avery helped you wrap up the signing, and when you were about to walk away from the table, a familiar voice caressed your ears.
“Do you have time for another autograph?”
You could recognize him from the first consonant he uttered. You turned your head and were greeted by his warm and familiar gaze. There wasn't a need to run, to hide like you did two years ago. You felt nothing but a quick skip in your heart before returning to its normal pace. From this distance, you could see the subtle fall and rise of his chest that made him look slightly out of breath. The white tee he was wearing was speckled with raindrops, making it cling to the definition of his torso better. He had let his hair grow out since you last met, the damp curls held tension at the nape of his neck. His eyes held yours, and you were taken aback by its intensity and familiarity. The colour was a muted blue under the artificial light of the bookstore, and the speckle of light brown remained.
Avery spoke up before you could.
“Sorry, but signing hour is over.“
You touched her shoulder.
“It’s okay. I can do it. I’ll be done in a minute.”
Avery gauged your face, looking for a sign of uncertainty or discomfort. You nodded and assured her you'd be alright, only then, she left you alone with Art. You lowered your voice, not wanting other people to hear.
“Sure, I can sign your book.”
Art blinked as if he didn't expect you to actually indulge him. He retrieved the books from the bag on his side and placed them on the table.
“I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to get signed, so I brought a few that I have.”
Four copies of your books, from the debut to your newest, spread out before you. You took your time flipping over each of them, your eyes tracing over the faint underlines on the sentences you wrote. You imagined Art's own hand turning the pages, carefully underlining what he liked, what resonated with him. The books looked like they were read over and over with frayed edges, worn pages, and slight curls on the corners. You quieted the voices in your head, questions echoing in the chamber of your mind and picked up a pen. You opened your new release and looked at him expectantly.
“What do you want me to write?”
“Anything you want.”
“When you say that, do you mean the literal sentence ‘anything you want’ or …”
You trailed off, watching a smile slowly make its way to his lips, mirroring yours.
“Anything your heart desires.”
“Alright. ‘Anything your heart desires’ it is then.”
You placed your pen on the page and made a move to write it, but he stopped you by touching his fingers on the splayed book.
“How about ‘yes, I would like to go out for dinner with you’?”
You considered him. The playful smile was still on his lips, but from where you were standing, he seemed pretty serious.
“Is that a real invitation?”
He nodded.
“I mean it.”
You straightened up and looked at him fully for the first time since he made his presence known.
“I came to San Francisco just to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t seem to get over you.”
His unexpected honesty was so brutal that it almost took your breath away. You parted your lips in bated breath, not daring to say another word that could ruin the trance he seemed to cast over you.
“You're always on my mind. I haven’t stopped thinking about you ever since you left.”
“Art …”
You swallowed the lump of emotions that had gathered in your throat, unsure of how to respond to his admission. Art looked at you with an understanding, telling you that he didn't expect you to say anything back. The boy you fell in love with years ago, now standing in front of you, had stripped his soul bare and laid it out in front of you. The downpour of your emotions swirled together, seizing your heart in a tight grip. It made your skin bloom in heat. You saw Art's mouth move before you could process the words themselves.
“I will be here for another week. Please, I would like to see you before I leave.”
He extended a piece of paper towards you, and a sense of deja vu hit you. History had the tendency to repeat itself, and here you were, with the man who once was your everything. He looked at you like his sole purpose was to please you, to do whatever you wanted him to.
“Are you here because I’m the second best thing you can get?”
You asked in a self-deprecating tone.
“No, I’m here because I want to. And you’ve always been the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
You blinked at the sheer honesty in the way he said it. No hesitation in his voice, and no humour in his eyes. But words could only mean so much. Actions eclipsed everything else.
“What about Tashi?”
“We’re not together anymore.”
You nodded, feeling that there was more to it, but it was neither the time nor the place. You took the folded piece of paper from him, and before he let you have it, Art said.
“Anytime. Anywhere. We can meet up and just talk.”
You stayed silent. Art continued.
“And if you don’t want me, I will leave in a week and never come back or contact you again.”
You nodded, showing your understanding. You crouched slightly to sign his book, and when you gave it back to him, your hands touched, and it sent a touch of thrill down your spine. You left the table and not once looked back at Art. He didn’t know it then, but you still had his number saved on your phone. After your encounter two years ago, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it.
/
The next two days were spent with you thinking about Art’s offer and pondering the outcome of your choices. What would your decision say about you as a person? Going back to the man who had hurt you wasn’t something you wanted for your character, that was why you ended your book the way you did. But you also knew the matter of the heart was more complicated than that. Not everything could be sorted as black or white. The definitive decision to choose one over another, because it was viewed as the right thing to do, was a conformity of normality and a complete rejection of nuances and consideration for perspectives that didn’t align with what was deemed morally right. What you ultimately decided would be the culmination of your experience alone, of the connection you had with Art, Tashi, and Patrick, and not a reflection of your morality. What applied to others might not apply to you, and vice versa. Each person in a collective could have wildly different experiences, none were the same. And you didn’t have to justify yourself to anyone.
You opened your contact and scrolled until you reached Art’s number. After a deep breath and another moment of waiting for the rational part of you to scream profanities at your decision, you clicked on his contact and pressed call. You waited patiently, listening to the calming beat of your heart. Anxiety perched at the corner of your mind, ready to jump in at the idea of Art not picking up his phone, and him showing up at your book signing event was his way to toy with you. But Art shut out all of the background noises when he picked up at the fourth ring.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He sounded out of breath, and in your head, you imagined how he must have run to his phone and hoped it was you who called. You bit the inside of your cheek at the image and realized that he was waiting for an answer from the other side of the line.
“Where are you staying?”
“The Ritz.”
"Between Pine and California?"
Art confirmed with a quiet 'yes'. You wanted to tell yourself no, that this was a bad idea, but these thoughts wavered the more you wanted to look upon them further, to dissect them into bits and pieces. The absence of the self-loathing that you were so used to was noticeable. After a moment of contemplation, you breathed out and said.
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
"I can pick you up."
You shook your head before realizing he couldn't see you.
"There's no need."
“I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
You went through the motions, getting dressed, and getting into the car and backed out of your apartment's complex's parking lot. Your fingers drummed on the wheel restlessly as you imagined what might happen, what you would say to him, what you would ask. Should you feel shame? Guilt? In the empty vastness of space between you and Art, you tried and tried to fill it up with excuses. Anything that would make you turn around. Yet, the car still moved forward, and it didn't stop until you reached the Ritz-Carlton hotel.
/
You found Art waiting in the lobby, just like he said. You went to the bar of the hotel together and ordered yourselves drinks. You sat in the plush chair across from each other, the distance between you comfortable and not at all suffocating. You took your time, taking notes of something new about him that you hadn't noticed before. And Art seemed to have the same idea. Finally, you broke the silence first.
“Did you actually read all of my books?”
“Of course. It was the only way I could be close to you.”
You remembered what Tashi told you, and tried to tame the bashful smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. At that, an amused expression touched Ar's face.
"What?"
"About two years ago, the night before your match against Patrick, Tashi told me that you read my books, even annotating them. I didn't believe her at first. Then, I realized that she must have told the truth because even though she didn't gain anything from telling me, she did it anyway."
Art nodded, his eyes looked away as if to contemplate the thought.
"Did it make a difference for you?"
"A little bit. But it didn't matter. You were still with Tashi."
You admitted in a casual tone and took a sip of your drink. Art looked down at his, turning it in his hand.
“How did you know I was at the bookstore?”
Art looked at you through his long lashes.
“Your website. It said you'd be there for a reading and signing event.”
You inclined your head. Art, in his own way, was guileful and at times manipulative, but this time, you couldn't blame him. Your participation at those events was public information, and Art used that to his advantage.
"Why now?"
"I had things that I needed to sort out first before I could be good enough to reach out to you."
You thought about what Art said at the bookstore.
“When you said you and Tashi were no longer together …”
“We're divorced. Been that way for almost two years.”
“Was it mutually agreed upon?”
“Not at first. I ... initiated it.”
You took a moment to absorb that information. Finally, you said.
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“You loved her a lot. And yet, you were the one to ask for a divorce. You stood up to her.”
Art shifted in his seat and leaned on the table, touching the outside of your hand on the stem of your drink.
“You made me realize that I was always second to her. Tennis has always been her first love.”
You allowed him to take your hand fully in his. The warmth of his palm spread to yours, and it made your heart pound. Art picked up where he left off.
“I believe that at one point, she truly loved me. But it turned into something else, with all of the buildup of resentment and time she couldn't take back and mistakes she couldn't undo. And you were right. Her shortcomings weren't mine to bear."
Art told you about what happened during the match in 2019. Patrick's signal, serving like Art, was a way for Patrick to rub it in Art's face that he slept with Tashi the night before. Your heart broke for him, having to find out about it that way. You reached out with the other hand, rubbing back and forth along the length of the arm that was holding you slowly. You stayed like that for a while, until the weight of the moment had dissipated into the air, only lingering on the outside like a distant memory. Art's voice was rough when he spoke up.
“In the end, your protagonist …”
“What about her?”
“She walked away from everything. And ... here you are, with me.”
“I am.”
“What does that say about us?”
You took a deep breath and mulled over his question. The answer surprised you, even though you were the one who made it real.
“That our story doesn’t end there, two years ago, when it should.”
The two of you had shifted closer to each other, and from this distance, you could see the beautiful swirl of colours in his eyes. He closed them when he pressed a kiss into the palm of your hand as if to savour the sensation. You caressed the smooth skin on his cheekbone as he whispered.
“I meant what I said at the bookstore. I have never stopped thinking about you ever since the day I met you. You're constantly on my mind.”
You felt your body go weak at his words. You murmured, afraid of the quiver in your own voice.
“It's been a very long time.”
"I know. Even though I was with Tashi, if you called, I would've dropped everything to come to you. I will always be at your disposal."
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
/
The ride up to his suite was quiet, and it stayed like that until you were tangled in a passionate embrace like there was an invisible force that drew your bodies together. Art took his time in exploring you, reacquainting himself with your body, and you with his. You needed each other's touches and heat as if everything could end right then and there. His lips trailed all over your body, paying extra care to your sensitive spots and laving up your scent, leaving faint love marks on your skin. You glowed in the attention he bestowed upon you. Your nails scratched up his back, complimenting the loving bites you left on his pale skin. You gave into the throes of euphoria, neither of you holding back. When he slid home inside you, you felt a relief like never before.
Your blissful moans and unabashed grunts of pleasure last for hours into the night. Later on, you lay in Art's arms with your head on his chest, listening to the gentle beat of his heart and the muted sound of the world from the other side of the window. A sense of tranquillity washed over you, and in your mind, there was no doubt or regret. But you had to make sure that he felt the same.
"Are you regretting this, yet?"
You asked with a small touch of humour, trying to mask your worries. Art tilted your face up to look at him, and you could only find earnestness in his eyes.
"Never. I've never felt happier. Do you ... regret this?"
You placed a kiss on his chest, your hand squeezed at his side.
"No, I don't. I can't think of a time when I felt like this with someone else."
And you didn't hate yourself for admitting that out loud. The look he gave you was pure adoration. After everything with Isaac, being here with Art felt like everything had finally clicked into place. Art sighed, trailing his hand along the side of your arm.
"Me neither. I mistook competition for love and worthiness, and accepted the constant stress and worries that I'm not enough as something that just came with it. It should've been like this."
You cradled his face in your hand, your eyes locked and intertwined in the pool of emotions.
"You've always been enough for me."
Art moved his head to kiss you deeply, and you relaxed into it. After everything, you had become different people who found their way back to each other. When you were together, there was no expectation. You didn't have to be someone else for him, and he didn't have to fulfill the role others had expected of him.
You lost yourself again and again in Art's arms. Just like your protagonist, you were free in the end, albeit in a different way. But that was the beauty of it. Your happy ending didn't have to be like hers. It was yours to mould and shape. And you chose to have it with Art, the only man you had truly loved, who had always known you in the way nobody else had.
Your future with Art was an unknown territory, but you thrust yourself into it. You knew you would be okay, with him being truly yours at last.