A/N: Yes, this is from Noah's POV. Again. Because I started writing the chapter in Chance's POV, accidentally switched to Noah's POV in the second paragraph, and didn't notice until I'd already finished. And I was too lazy to go back and fix the whole chapter, so I just fixed a paragraph or two. Anyway, this is the last chapter (!!! aksjdhf) but stay tuned for an epilogue ^-^

2 3 - N O A H

Chance's moving day comes far too soon.

When I arrived at his house this morning, there was a moving truck in front of his house and workers in the living room. Now, there's still a moving truck in the driveway and workers in the house, but the living room doesn't look like a living room anymore—more than half of the furniture is gone, as is any sense of homeliness. The house is just an empty shell now, devoid of memories. Devoid of warmth.

It's hard to imagine that tonight, he'll be sleeping in a different bed in a different house in a different city. In a different city two hours away where I won't be able to pop over to his house whenever I want to. Where I won't be able to come over and make him hug me when I need a hug. It's hard to imagine because I don't want it to be true. It feels so wrong.

His door creaks when I push it open. "I finished helping your parents with the kitchen," I announce quietly. He looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of stuff. "Want help getting your stuff together?"

He glances at his cast with small trees drawn all over it, wincing at the ache. "Yes, please. That'd be nice. But let's take a super long time so we don't have to leave so soon."

"But then you won't be able to unpack everything tonight."

"I don't care," he insists with a stubborn pout. "I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to go either. But you can't avoid it."

He slumps, as if hearing me say it out loud makes it more real. "Yeah."

Instead of hugging him, I take his arms and wrap them around me. After all this time of me being the one to hug and comfort him, it feels nice for him to hold me. Especially because he's much taller than me, so I fit in his arms much better than he fits in mine. And the tighter his grasp gets, the more comforted I feel. It's like he's squeezing all of the sadness out of me, at least temporarily.

"We should really get my stuff together," Chance says unconvincingly, not moving at all. I just hum. Eventually, he does move, but he doesn't get up and start packing. He just turns around to face me, his eyes staring into mine.

"I'm going to miss you," he whispers. His breath puffs lightly across my face, sending a shiver through my whole body.

"I'm going to miss you too," I murmur, pulling him in for a kiss. And suddenly all I care about is how close I can pull him in and how tightly I can hold him there. And then I try to memorize the feeling, soaking everything in until I think I have to break away because I'm out of air—but even then, I don't pull away. Until his mom walks into the room.

"Oh my," she says, covering her mouth. "This is awkward."

"It is," I agree, my cheeks on fire my voice coming out breathy. "Sorry, Veronica. We'll start packing now."

"Thank you," she says, relief evident in her voice as she bolts out of the room, not so discretely slamming the door behind her. Chance and I stare at each other for a long moment and then break out laughing.

"Oops," Chance says through a fit of giggles. "I wasn't expecting that to happen."

Because I'm not able to think straight, my mind goes straight to the fact that when we get married, we're going to have to kiss in front of more people than that. And then I start chiding myself for even considering that at a time like this. At a time when there's no way of knowing for sure that we'll even stay together, let alone keep in touch. But I'm trying to be optimistic.

"Me neither," I agree, pushing those thoughts out of my mind and trying to force the blush from my face. "Oh well. I guess she can't unsee that now. We should actually pack, though."

"Fine," he grumbles.

I start taking his clothes out of his dresser, leaving a pair of pajamas out for him so he can have something comfortable to change into tonight but putting the rest in boxes. The clothes are followed by his books, school stuff, and his box of pens.

"Can I have a pen?" I ask him. "I'll write you letters with it."

He frowns skeptically. "Not that I object to the concept, but somehow I doubt you're going to write me letters."

"Well, no, I'll probably just text you," I admit, chuckling sheepishly. "I'll draw pretty things with it?"

He laughs. "Sure, go ahead. You should send me pictures of your doodles!"

I select a purple ballpoint pen from the box, clicking it open and shut a few times before sticking it in my pocket. And then I take another pen when he isn't looking, just for good measure.

After grabbing a few more loose things from his closet, Chance closes the boxes and tapes them shut. "Done."

"Now what?"

"Now," he says, "we take them downstairs."

"But they're so heavy!" I whine. He shrugs.

"It won't be too bad if we do it together. I don't see why you're complaining. You don't have a broken finger. Come on. You grab that side."

"Tough love," I sigh.

Together, we lift a box up and carry it down the stairs, grunting. I shake my hands out and sigh in relief once we set the box down before I remember that there are another two upstairs. Sighing again, this time in disappointment, I resign myself to my fate. I'm not sure how Chance is doing it, with his cast and aching arm and everything.

By the time we finish carrying everything, my arms are achy and tired, and I'm feeling even more horrible than before since he's closer to leaving. But his parents smile at me thankfully, and it makes me happy that I can help them out.

"Why don't you two go out for lunch?" Veronica suggests. "You've already helped quite a lot. You must be hungry. Be back by two, okay?"

"Thanks," I respond after realizing Chance won't because he's staring stubbornly at the ground. I pull him away. "Where do you want to go?" I ask him.

"I don't care. I'm not hungry."

"Let's go to Mugs and Kisses then," I decide. "We can go sit up in Emma's dining room, above the shop. We'll have privacy there. I'll convince Emma to leave us alone for a little while."

"'Kay."

He's retreated back into himself, becoming complacent and letting me guide him with a simple and gentle tug. And part of me wishes I could do that too, right now—tune everything out, remove myself from the situation and the painful emotions. Drown in the numbness. But I can't bear to do that to Chance when I know he's doing much worse than I am, so I stay present.

When we arrive, Emma's at the counter serving a long line of customers. She waves, and I point upstairs to let her know we're using her dining room. She nods permission.

After walking up the stairs, I lead Chance to the dining room and pull out a chair for him. He sits down, but it's more like a fall than a controlled motion. Especially because after he sits, he just kind of slumps over.

I wander into the kitchen, opening a few drawers and cabinets before deciding to wash a bowl of grapes and fetch a box of crackers from the pantry. "Here," I say, putting them down in front of him. "Please try to eat something."

He shakes his head. "I think I'll throw up if I eat." His hands are shaking.

"Just try," I plead, sitting down in the chair next to him. He turns to face me, swinging his legs over my lap and leaning forward to bury his head in my shoulder. And then he breaks down sobbing.

"I don't want to go," he chokes out between gasps. "I'm scared. I hate moving. It's not fair. I finally have a reason to stay somewhere and I have to go."

"I know it's unfair," I tell him, unsure of what to do. I've never really seen him this emotional or upset before. Sure, he's been sad, but he's never really let it all out. He's never cried this much, this hard. He's always tried to cry as little as possible, as gently as possible. And I can't tell him everything will be okay—I don't want to make promises that I can't necessarily keep because they're out of my control. I just try to assure him in every way I can.

"I'll come visit you every weekend. And your mom will drive you back here sometimes. Emma will tag along sometimes, too. I'll text you and call you all the time. I'm not going to lose you, Chance. I love you, damn it. I love you to death. I'm not going to forget about you. I can promise you that."

He lets out a shuddering breath and wipes his eyes. "Thanks," he whispers, reaching for a grape. I reach for his hand and stop him before he can grab one.

"Do you really believe me?" I ask. "Or are you just saying that?"

He shrugs helplessly. "I don't know."

"How do I make you believe me?" I ask him sadly. "I meant it. I meant everything. Do you trust me?"

He nods. "Just...hold me."

I do.

Eventually, he manages to force down all of the grapes and a few crackers, though I can tell from his face that he isn't happy about eating. He's still nauseous, probably. But his hands have stopped shaking, so maybe it's a good thing after all.

After he finishes eating, I take one of the pens out of my pocket and start doodling on the back of his hand. I draw a variety of things, but most of them turn out to be hearts in some form or another. Big hearts, small hearts, a bunch of small hearts in the shape of a bigger heart. I just keep doodling because I don't know what to do when I stop. I just keep doodling because I want him to have a constant reminder that I love him.

Once I start running out of space, Chance tugs the pen from my hand and puts his hand out on the table, fingers spread apart. "I have an idea. Put your hand out, too," he tells me. "Your palm goes on top of the back of my hand, like this. So that our fingers alternate."

I don't know where he's going with this, but he isn't zoning out right now, so I'll take what I can get. My hand fits snugly over his, warming his ice-cold and clammy fingers. Once I've settled, he leans over and kisses my cheek.

"Close your eyes," he instructs. "Don't look until I tell you to."

My eyes flutter shut, and soon after, I feel the pen tracing out something on my fingers, just above my knuckles. But I don't open my eyes and peek, as tempting as it seems. I wait patiently until he removes his hand from my grasp and nudges my side gently.

"You can open your eyes now," he says. "Look at your fingers."

I bring my hand up to my face, finding the letters I, O, E, and O, one per finger. "What does that mean?" I ask, repeating the letters over and over in my head as if that will reveal some sort of hidden meaning. Unfortunately, I can't come up with anything.

"Check your phone."

I reach into my pocket and grab it, not surprised to see a new message from Chance. It's a picture, though, not actual text, so I have to unlock my phone to see it. There's something about the look on his face that's giving me a weird feeling, making my heart pound in anticipation.

"Oh, Chance," I whisper as soon as I see the picture, "you're going to make me cry."

"Don't cry," he protests softly. "I don't want to make you cry. That'll make me cry. I don't want to keep crying."

"Okay, I won't cry." I lean over and give him a hug. "Thank you. I'm keeping that picture forever. I love it."

We just sit, soaking in each other's company until it gets to be one thirty. I can feel dread slowly building up in me when Chance and I make our way slowly back downstairs, neither of us wanting to leave, but I force it down.

When Emma sees us, she runs out from behind the cash register to meet us, leaving a confused and annoyed customer waiting behind at the counter. "So you're really leaving?" she asks.

Chance nods. "Yeah. In half an hour."

Emma wraps him in a hug, but not one of her playful squeezes—a real, genuine one that makes his chin start to tremble. "I'll come visit you if I can get time off work," she promises. "Text me whenever you feel like it. Make new friends. Refer them to my shop." She tries to make a joke, but none of us laugh or even smile. Including her. It just falls flat.

Chance hugs her back, and I can tell that he's trying really hard not to cry. "I will. I will."

Emma wipes her eyes and laughs. "Sorry, I'm not exactly making this easier for you, am I?"

"It's okay." He glances at his watch and sighs. "I really have to go. I promise I won't punch another tree on the way. My finger still hurts from the first one."

"Bye, little guy," Emma says. "You got this. It'll all turn out well, I promise. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"See you soon," he repeats. But when he doesn't move, I have to take his hand and tug him towards the door.

The cool air outside makes me shiver, and I don't warm up at all as we walk. But Chance starts shivering—or trembling, I can't tell which—much harder than I am, so I take off my sweatshirt and give it to him.

"Keep it," I tell him. "You don't have to give it back to me."

He nods, slipping it over his head and bunching the sleeves around his hands. "I'm never taking this off," he declares.

"You're going to have to someday," I tell him. "But for now, keep it on. It makes you look adorable."

He smiles. "Oh my gosh, this is the sweatshirt cliché. Even I know about this."

"It's a cliché for a reason," I tell him. That's all I can say with the lump rising in my throat, making me swallow hard so that I don't start bawling.

All too soon, we arrive back at his house. His parents are standing in the driveway, having a last-minute discussion with the moving truck driver. The truck's doors are closed, so all of the stuff must be packed away.

"Thanks for being on time," Robbie says as we walk up to them. "Are you just about ready, Chance?"

Nodding his head, Chance says, "Nope."

I squeeze his hand, just now realizing that we'd been holding hands ever since we left the shop. "It's not far," I whisper reassuringly in his ear. "I promise I'll visit as soon as possible. It'll just be a few days, okay? I'll come this weekend."

"I've gotten used to this, though. I'm not used to being lonely anymore."

"Make some friends," I encourage. "We can go places and you can meet people."

"I guess."

"Bye, Noah," Robbie says, giving me a hug. I hug him back.

"Thank you," Veronica adds, hugging me once Robbie steps back. "You've made Chance so happy. I can't thank you enough for that."

"Thanks for doing this for him," I respond. "I'll come by and visit pretty often. See you soon enough."

"See you soon," she says.

I walk back over to Chance, gently wiping the tears off his face. "I'll visit you soon, Abbie," I tell him, pulling him close and rocking him back and forth.

"Yeah," he says, kissing me one last time and then breaking away. "I'll hold you to that."

He doesn't remove his gaze from me as he walks to the car and opens the door. It's only when he has to get inside that he looks away, and then as soon as he's sitting again, he looks back, holding my gaze for as long as he can.

Once he closes the door, the car starts to move, pulling out of the driveway. I move off to the side, waving as they drive away. I can barely see Chance waving through the window.

As soon as they turn the corner, I sprint back home, shutting myself in my room. Because it isn't the walls that scare me now—Chance helped me get over that for the most part. Yes, my fear isn't completely gone, but it's much better now. It's the loneliness that's far worse. It'll be the loneliness that keeps me awake at night. It'll be the loneliness that slowly destroys me.

I cry myself to sleep that night. The pain doesn't go away even though I know everything will be okay, that everything will work out. Because knowing that things will be okay in the future isn't the same as being okay in the present.

The next morning, I open up the picture Chance sent me, and it makes me smile despite how hollow and empty I feel in the inside. Because when he puts his hand in mine and interlaces our fingers, the IOEO on my fingers and the LVYU on his fingers turns into I LOVE YOU. Which is all I could ever ask for.