2.6 | Forget Me Not ✓

-3 || helianthus

A/N

Aww, you guys, you've been so sweet in the last chapter with your comments! Thank you for making my week. As superficial as it sounds, comments are a huge form of affirmation, for me at least, when it comes to writing. So I really appreciate every single one of them!

Anyway, leave a "+1" here if you've read Notorious! You're either gonna really love this chapter, or really hate it. (love. probably. hopefully.)

Enjoy!

x Noelle

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– 3

h e l i a n t h u s

For longevity.

(then: –3)

"CAN I COME in?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, she glances over to the doorway. He's leaning against the doorframe, with a small smile that seems to brighten the whole place. She returns his smile, then tries not to wince as the cut on her lip begins to sting. "Sure."

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" he asks, as he saunters over with that usual confidence he has. But she's spent enough time watching him to notice the little things: the way he falters as he reaches her bed, his hand fiddling with the strap of his bag, and the other hidden behind his back.

"Not at all," she assures him. "My friend just left, and I've no visitors for the rest of the afternoon."

"Your friend?" He throws a glance over his shoulder, then turns back to her. "Is that the girl who just left? She looked pretty upset."

"Yeah, that's Scout. She's on her way to break up with her boyfriend. She doesn't trust him very much after...this whole thing," Emma explains, waving a vague hand around the room. "She seems to think that he's a little responsible for what happened. I told her that there's no solid proof he knew, but she's pretty adamant about it so..."

"He probably knew," Dylan says unexpectedly.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shifts a little on his feet and continues, "I heard that they were good friends, and they hung out all the time, so it's likely that he was at least a little aware of it."

She lets out a slow breath. "It doesn't matter if he knew. It's not his fault anyway. It's no one else's fault but the one who put me here."

Dylan nods, but he doesn't say anything to that. His gaze meets hers, honest and open, and heat rises to her cheeks. She quickly lowers her eyes and gestures to the chair beside her bed. "Have a seat."

He starts to sit, then stops. "I brought you something. Two things, actually." He finally raises his other hand that he's kept hidden behind his back, and holds out a single, long-stemmed white daisy.

A small smile flits across her face as she takes the daisy from him.  "You bought this for me?"

"Yeah." He averts his gaze from hers and reaches into his bag. "And one more thing."

For a moment or two, she stares in silent confusion at the golden trophy that he's holding out to her. And then she realises what it is. Her smile grows. "Your team won?"

"Just regionals," he says, with a shrug. "It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal, I've seen how hard you train the team. Congratulations, I knew you could do it." She admires the shiny trophy for awhile, before a thought occurs to her. "The match was today?"

"Yes."

"Then what're you doing here, instead of being at the after-game party?"

He clears his throat and shrugs again. "It's always the same thing. Same people, same parties. And I wanted to see you," he adds, as he settles down on the chair beside her bed. From the pink on his cheeks, it's clear that he's a little embarrassed by his bold admission, but he forges on anyway and fixes her with a steady gaze.

Oh, she knows that look. She's not blind or oblivious, after all. It's a look that cuts right to her heart; she can feel a slight, involuntary ripple that spreads through her, warm and lovely. But she fists her hands within the blanket and steels herself.

"Listen, Emma," he says, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you—"

"Dylan, before you say anything..." she trails off and takes a deep breath. "I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I spoke with my dad last night," she says quietly, looking down at her lap. "The school told my parents what happened and they're not happy. Dad's already preparing his team of lawyers, and he and mum will fly over first thing this weekend. But they want me to go back with them, and they want me to attend another school. That used to be my dream school before we moved here, and it obviously has much better prospects, but..."

"You should go."

She looks up. "Really?"

He meets her gaze steadily and nods. And when he smiles at her, it's genuine, even if a bit sad. "I've told you this before, Emma, you're way too smart to be stuck in this old town. You should grab any opportunity you can with both hands, and never let go. It's your dream, after all, and you shouldn't have to give it up again."

Something tightens in her chest. It's not sadness; it's not hurt. She rarely ever feels any of those emotions around him. It's gratitude—that finally, someone understands her so perfectly; and a hint of wistfulness—the what-we-could-have-been-but-will-never-be that hangs in the air between them.

"Thank you," she tells him softly.

He smiles and shakes his head. "When do you leave?"

"Probably by the end of this summer."

"That's not too bad. And, hey, who knows? Maybe we'll still get to meet each other in the future."

The corners of her lips finally lift in response to his infectious smile. "I'd like that," she says. She doesn't hope for many things, but, this time, she hopes desperately that she'll get to see him again.

(she will, and many more times, over the summer.

this is only the beginning.)