This was it.

She was sure of it.

The music had died down until it was nothing. The drinks had slowed until they were dry. And the dancing – when all their breath had been lost and the soreness in their limbs could no longer be ignored – had stopped. It was well past three in the morning, edging on four, and without the preoccupation of something exciting, the exhaustion was slowly creeping in. Their hearts were light, but every part of their body, from their legs up to their eyelids, was heavy with sleep.

The night was coming to its end, and Maddie was having so much fun, she hadn't even noticed it coming. She forgot that this was all a temporary arrangement. Come tomorrow, they would have to go back to the way things were. Come tomorrow, Carson would probably put most of his walls back up, and so would she. Come tomorrow, they'd go back to pretending to be strangers, and tonight would be their best kept secret. Tonight would be the last time that they would be a 'they,' and tonight was almost over.

They were walking, side by side, down the street. They hadn't spoken since they left the club nearly five minutes ago, and even then they hadn't said much. They hadn't said much in hours, actually. All communication between them was through movement– arms, hips, hands, lips.

Now, they were going to go back to the hotel, and that would be that. In a few hours, they'd wake up and go to the airport and sit with their friends, and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

This was the end. She was sure of it.

The warmth that the drinks and dancing had provided was slowly wearing off against the cool air of the night. Her heart rate had slowed down and her breath had come back to her. It was quiet enough now for her to think, and the drinks had worn off enough for her to feel everything fully, but all that remained was dread.

She dreaded getting back to the hotel. She dreaded Carson walking her to her door and saying goodnight. She dreaded how she would have to pretend they hadn't spent the night together. She dreaded pretending she was fine with the way things would be between them. Most of all, she dreaded having to pretend that she didn't still love him.

Carson eyed her over carefully, with her chin tucked, staring at her feet. He let the knuckles of his fingers brush against the back of her wrist. The touch was light, but it was enough to get her attention.

"You tired?" He asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

She shrugged. "Aren't you?"

"I guess so. I hadn't really thought about it."

Madeline came to a sudden stop. "Wait," she said. He listened, pausing and turning to face her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and bent over to take her shoes.

"Seriously?" Carson bemused.

"My feet hurt," she mumbled quietly, releasing her hold on his arm and standing up straight. She carried her shoes in her right hand and they began walking again.

"We can go sit for a bit, if you want," Carson offered. "The Louvre isn't that far from here. We can just stay until you can walk with your shoes on."

She didn't give him a verbal answer because there didn't seem to be a need. He was leading them in the direction that he wanted to. Even if she hadn't willingly given him that control, it wasn't like she knew one direction from the other; she had left her phone back at the hotel with Luna – back when she could have fooled herself into believing this was going to be a short trip – and it wasn't like she knew the streets of Paris well enough to figure out how to get back to the hotel on her own. It didn't matter to her much; wherever Carson led, she would follow.

If the city felt quiet and empty before, it was completely still now. The sky was taking on a lighter blue, and the flicker of stars was slowly disappearing, one by one. There were no cars whizzing by on nearby streets, no more night owls heading to and from clubs nor tourists determined to see all of Paris. They were completely alone and, now, it was suffocatingly obvious.

It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes before they entered into the outer courtyard of the Louvre. There were a couple security guards patrolling the perimeter, but they practically had the place to themself. Maddie led Carson over to one of the fountain pools, and they down on the ledge next to one another.

Maddie placed her shoes down on the ground in front of her, not yet putting them back on. Carson stared at his hands, wringing them every so often like he was biding his time. Maddie was kicking her feet like a child, flailing them up and then letting them fall until they crashed into the wall of the fountain. Still, they said nothing.

A security guard passed by and eyed them over warily, but determined they weren't much of a disturbance before moving on.

The only thing that seemed to be keeping them sitting on that ledge, not speaking, was the shared disdain for going back, and for their night to be over. Maddie's feet stopped hurting a while ago. In honesty, there wasn't really a need to stop at all– she could have managed. But she wasn't going to say no to having just a little more time. Her shoes still laid below her feet, and she didn't plan to put them back on until Carson said something.

Carson was exhausted, fighting back a yawn or two, and knew well enough that he would be more than a little grumpy when the chaperones woke them all up. It wouldn't take them long to get back to the hotel from here, but every minute they spent sitting on the ledge of the fountain was one less minute they had to sleep. He didn't care, though. They stopped walking so Maddie could rest her feet. It seemed they had been sitting for a sufficient amount of time, but she still hadn't put on her shoes. He certainly wasn't going to ask her to put on her shoes either, no matter how tired he was getting.

They watched as they sky grew lighter and lighter, and the shadows of the night were fading into nothingness. Day was fast approaching, and the night was swiftly coming to an end.

It was something they were both firmly aware of. Now or never.

Carson spoke first. "Dylan says you're smoking weed again."

"Dylan needs to shut his mouth," she snapped, surprised in herself to have found the energy to be bitter. He gave her a moment to relax before pressing further.

"Are you? Smoking weed again?" He said it like he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it straight from her.

"It's not a big deal."

"I think it is a big deal."

"It's just some nights before bed. To help me sleep."

"Some nights?"

"Okay, every night," she confessed, forgetting why she even tried to lie to him in the first place. "Does it really make a difference?"

"Yes," he responded. She could tell he was frustrated with her, maybe even angry, but he spoke softly like he was afraid that if he went too far, spoke too hard, he would scare her into silence. "Why do you do it?"

Maddie shrugged, "I've always done it. A lot of people do it, actually. It's not-"

"No, Maddie," he said shaking is head. He kept his voice even and calm, but that definitely wasn't how he was feeling. "The last time you were getting high every night just for the sake of it was-" he cut himself off.

"Was when Damien cheated on me?" She asked, turning her face toward his. Carson didn't respond. Instead, he tucked his chin and kept his lips pressed in a firm line. She took an uneasy breath, "The last time I needed to get high to fall asleep at night was after walking in on Damien fucking another girl in his bedroom– learning that he had been fucking that girl, and other girls, for months. The last time I wanted to get high everyday was when I felt so numb from anything other than the horror of watching him fuck another girl. I couldn't scrub that image from my mind. Ever. And the weed helped. That was the last time I was getting high every night."

"I'm not like Damien," Carson said, but it was only a whisper, and she could tell he was contemplating the truth of that statement.

"No," she responded, her voice firm and full of conviction. She longed to reach out and touch him, affirm that she meant what she said. Thinking better of it, she kept her hands to herself– day is coming and he isn't hers to touch any longer. Instead she said, "You're nothing like him."

His shoulders relaxed, and watching it happen unsettled Madeline; it hurt to think he was so worked up over this, that she made him so worked up over this, that she made him feel like he had been bad to her. His words came out raspy and uncertain, "Then, why?"

He finally brought his eyes up to meet hers. Like always, his body language gave away nothing, and, like always, his face was indifferent, but his eyes gave him away. They were droopy with sadness and glassy with confusion– and hurt.

"Do you think breaking up with you was easy for me?" She asked. "Do you think I wanted to do it? Do you think I don't see the way you looked at me – that moment when I said we were over – every time I close my eyes? Hell, it's all I ever see. It haunts me. You haunt me."

"Madeline," he started, some uneasiness in his voice now.

"I feel dead inside every time I see your face, because every time I'm forced to remember how broken you looked. I can't talk to you without remembering it. I can't look at you without seeing it. I can't sleep without dreaming of it, over and over again. It's my nightmare, Carson."

Maybe she could have cut herself off. He didn't look sad anymore, nor confused. Hurt, yes. The muscle in his jaw twitched and his lips had curled into a frown. He had pushed himself up from the ledge, and was pacing out in front of her.

He paused about five feet away from her, the lighting from the fountain painting him a pale blue. "Then why do it? Why break up with me if it wasn't easy?"

She shook her head and used the heels of her palms to rub her eyes. "I can't- I can't go through this with you again. I can't make you understand."

He still looked upset, even more so, but now he was also frustrated with her. She could feel it in the way his body tensed up and his eyes locked on hers challengingly. He ran a hand through his hair and turned away from her.

She stared at his backside, willing him to turn back and face her again, to argue this out with her even more. But he was done arguing with her, she could tell. Madeline sighed and reached down to collect her shoes. She slid on them on quietly before sliding off of the ledge.

She looked up at the sky, finding one lone star dancing in the quickly-paling night sky. It would be gone within ten minutes, but as long as it was there, as long as it was visible, the night wasn't over, not yet.

Carson still had his back to her, clearly trying to calm himself down. She crept behind him slowly, and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. He startled a little, but he didn't shake her off, nor did he turn to face her. She moved in closer, resting her cheek against his back and letting her other arm slide around his torso, splaying her hand across his stomach. She felt him place a warm hand over hers as the rest of his body seemed to melt into hers.

"I wanna dance with you," she muttered quietly against him.

"We danced all night."

"I know," she pulled back, and he followed her, turning around so that her arms would stay around him. "Just once more."

"There's no music."

She shook her head, bringing her hand up from his shoulder to the side of his face, running her thumb over his cheek. "We don't need any."

It should have been awkward– it probably looked awkward. But it felt amazing. She wrapped one arm tightly around his neck, her face pressed into his chest. He his left hand placed lightly on her hip, gently pulling her in closer. His other hand was clasped around hers as they swayed slowly.

They stayed like that for a while, not a single word passing between them. At some point, Madeline dared to look up at him, finding that Carson was already looking down at her. She gave him a small smile, and that seemed to break down his final barrier. His lips curled up softly and his eyes glistened as he let his hand slip from her waist, pushing her out to spin her around.

She let out a laugh as she practically collided into him when he yanked her back into him. He let his hands fall to her waist and swiftly picking her up. She raised her arms in the air, tilting her head back and closing her eyes while she let the wind dance across her skin.

Carson's eyes stayed on her the entire time, and as soon as she opened her eyes again, they locked on his. He loosened his grip on her ever so slightly, letting her body slip through his hands to carefully bring her back down.

But there it was again. The urge to duck her head down and kiss him. To kiss him and never stop kissing him– not for air, not because the night had ended, not for the world. This was the perfect moment, while their bodies were already pressed together. So she did it.

She reached forward and placed her hands on his face, pulling herself down onto his lips. His hands caught on her ribs, and his arms slipped around her backside, tightly holding her against him, keeping her feet from touching the ground.

His tongue was heavy on hers, like an anchor keeping her in place. His cheeks felt warm in her palms, and yet she craved to be touching him more, to be closer to him than she already was, if that was even possible. Her heart was beating wildly, and she was sure he could feel it against his chest. She took a ragged breath in from her nose, and his familiar smell invaded all of her senses, making her stomach twist and every hair on her skin stand up straight.

They fought off the need for air as long as they could, dragging out the kiss as long as they could. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips from hers, and she allowed her feet to finally touch the ground once again. He rested his forehead against hers, one of her hands was carding through the hair at the back of his neck, as they caught their breath.

Madeline sighed, and looked up to the sky, finding that she could no longer see that final star. All around her, windows in buildings were slowly being turned on, and curtains were being drawn open. A jogger on an early morning run passed by, their steps quick and rhythmic, matched with their even breaths. Far away, they could hear the sound of a car horn, faint and lasting no more than a second or two.

Soon, there would be more early risers roaming the streets, taking morning walks or trips to the nearest café. There would be heavier sounds of traffic, as locals set off for work and buses picked up their earliest passengers. There would be tourists swarming the Louvre to get in line for opening.

The world was slowly waking up, and the night was over.

Carson checked his watch and sighed, "We should get back." He moved away, running his hands over his shirt in an attempt to flatten it out, erasing the evidence that they had kissed, almost as if he was trying to erase the kiss in its entirety.

This was it. This was their end. But there was still so much left she wanted to say, so much she still wanted to do. Now or never.

"I wanna kiss you again," Madeline blurted out softly, her voice barely carrying in the wind, but he heard it. His eyes were back on hers, awake and alert. Maybe it was the champagne still coursing through her, or the memory of how Carson was holding her while they were dancing, or the way Carson was looking at her now with his undivided attention. Or maybe it was just a spur of the moment, inevitable sort of thing that kept her going. "I want to kiss you again and never stop kissing you."

Carson's face flushed, but he turned his head away to hide it from her. "You can't say that to me."

"It's true, though," she continued. Carson shook his head and removed his hands from her waist. He pulled back, taking a few small steps away in order to put some distance between them.

"I miss fighting with you," she told him. He paused, and turned to face her again. He didn't like how quickly her face changed. Seconds ago, she was beaming and smiling from ear to ear. Now, her lips were pouted and her eyes were heartbreaking. "I know it sounds silly, but I do. I miss waking up to a good morning text from you, and I miss knowing you're mine. I miss your hugs and your voice and your irritating habit of being naturally good at everything. I miss talking to you and being near you and you. I just miss you, Carson. I miss every little trivial thing about you, and about there being an us. So much so that I even miss fighting with you because I just want you. Fighting barely scrapes the surface of what you could do with me, what I want you to do to me, and yet I crave it. I want it so much I can't even properly describe it. I want you so much I can't even describe it."

"You need to stop," he told her. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "I'm serious, you need stop talking. I can't hear that– I can't-" He ran a hand over his face, "I can't bear it, Madeline. You can't tell me how much you miss me, how much you want me when you are the one that broke us up– when you're the one keeping us broken up."

"Carson, I-"

"You don't understand, Madeline." He closed his eyes for a few seconds longer than a normal blink should last, shaking his head. "Do you know how many times a day I have to hold myself back from calling you my love, or baby? I am still so in love with you, Maddie. It all still hurts. I can't listen to you speak about us or me when there isn't an us left for me to hope for."

The night was over. But she was not ready for it to be. Carson seemed he was okay with leaving things like that. With their last kiss being born out of exhaustion and desperation.

It had been five weeks without him. Five weeks not loving Carson while still being in love with him. Five weeks. Five weeks was enough to figure it out– hell, five minutes was enough to figure it out.

She survived without him, and she could keep surviving without him. But she didn't want to.Now or never.

"Five days," she stated stoically. There was no hesitation in her tone, nor any explanation following. She just blurted it out with wide eyes and a serious manner about her as she stared into him.

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

"I leave for college in two and a half months, sixty-eight days to be exact. You leave right after me. That gives us sixty-eight more days in the same state, in the same town, in the same world. Sixty-eight more days." She paused to make sure he was still listening, and following along. He looked confused. "I'm asking for five of them."

Maybe in her head, it sounded more romantic. Right now, she was kind of certain it came out like she was proposing a business deal. She was talking about getting to have him, to love him, for five more days, and somehow she made it sound like a doctor demanding you stay off your broken ankle for a certain amount of time. Carson opened his mouth to say something, but she kept him from having the chance.

"You'll have sixty-three days to recover from whatever damage we do to each other in those five days. Sixty-three days to get over any feelings we'll still have. Sixty-three out of sixty-eight days is a lot. So give me five. Please."