HI EVERYONE!! I haven't been updating (OBVIOUSLY) because life got in the way, but I logged on recently and saw so many kind messages and saw so much love for my story so I had to finish it up!! I'm doing great and hope you're all staying safe and healthy during this wild time! Hope you enjoy this chapter, I promise not to make you wait years for the next update xo

PS I READ YOUR COMMENTS AND YALL ARE FUNNY AF LOVE U GUYS :')

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I'm not going anywhere.

Vincent's exact words reverberated in my head while I took shelter under the hot spray of water in my own shower. It hadn't been that long since I was home last, and yet it felt like it had been years. Weirdly enough, because Vincent was here last time too, it felt normal for him to be waiting for me in the living room.

You and I just make sense.

That one sent a shiver down my spine in the best way. It came when I had just turned off the faucet, leaving a sudden veil of silence in the bathroom. My heart picks up a little, the tiny butterflies in my stomach begin to flutter, and something within me felt whole. I could hear Vincent's voice in my head, as calm and sure as he had been when said it thirty minutes ago.

Thinking about Vincent's sweet words was a welcomed distraction in the middle of the chaos. It was nerve-wracking for a completely different reason, and yet it didn't feel explosive or on the brink of failure. It was exciting: unexpected but not unwelcome.

My mind lingered on Vincent while I changed into something more comfortable and sat down in front of my mirror to brush my hair. I regarded myself in the mirror for a moment, simply analyzing my own reflection, almost instantly recognizing the dark circles under my eyes.

"Lily?" Vincent's voice between quick knocks on the outside of my door startle me before I see the door start to open. "Are you decent?"

I can't help but smirk a little and joke, "Would it matter if I was?"

A moment later, he takes a step inside and spots me sitting across the room, fully clothed, and lets out a dramatic sigh. "I thought that maybe I'd get lucky." After I laugh, he cracks a smile. "Can I sit in here? It's getting cold downstairs."

Completely aware that my mom probably hadn't turned the heat on yet, I try to seem nonchalant as I nod. "Yeah, sure. That cream blanket on my bed is super warm."

His gaze trails to my bed, where my favorite cream blanket was sprawled on the lower half, and I watch his eyes light up. "Is that knit?" Vince asks as he takes a few long strides across the room before collapsing on the edge of the bed and taking it in his hands. "This is the softest thing I've ever touched."

I grin at myself in the mirror as I drag the brush through my damp knots. "I know, right?"

"I'll pay you for this if you let me take it home," Vincent deadpans, his gaze completely serious. "How much do you want for it?"

The eager edge in his voice had a boyish playfulness that instantly made me smile while I look at him through the mirror. "You're not buying it from me."

"Fifty bucks," He counters, not wasting any time.

"There's no amount of money that you could offer me that would make me sell that to you," I tell him confidently. I untangle the last section of hair with my comb and stand up to face Vincent. "It's priceless."

Vincent's gaze slides down my body slowly upon examining my clothes for the first time. They were nothing special-- a pair of black sweatpants that I had to roll at the top and a black cropped tank top that left a small amount of skin on my stomach exposed-- and yet the way he was looking at them, you would've thought he had X-Ray vision.

My breath catches in my throat unexpectedly when his eyes slowly rake down my body before climbing their way back up to meet mine. They looked cloudy, yet complimented his half smirk half smile exceptionally as he looked at me and pat the spot beside him. I smiled a little myself and slowly approached the spot, and sat down beside him.

"You're beautiful," Vincent murmurs, so casually and lowly that I almost didn't think he actually said it. "Do you want some magic blanket?"

I laugh at the nickname he had given the knit blanket, and nod. He grins at me and then scoots back until he's sitting with his back against the headboard. I follow suit and get comfortable beside him, but I barely settle in before he grabs me and pulls me into him.

Vincent places me between his legs so that I'm leaning against him and wraps his arms around me in an unexpected act of affection. Very gently, he places the blanket over my legs and his, and as if it were natural to be like this with him, I got more comfortable leaning against his chest.

"Sixty?" Vincent tries again, and elicits another laugh from me.

"Vincent, I'm not selling you the blanket," I tell him, feeling inexplicably calm all cuddled up to him.

I couldn't understand why it felt like second nature in this position with him, why I wasn't even a little bit nervous or felt out of place. It's like the moment he walked into the room, a sense of calm overcame me, and being closer to him only helps.

He hesitated before answering, but there was no uncertainty in his voice as he began to speak. "We used to have a blanket like this," Vincent starts slowly. "My mom would knit a lot. I was pretty young, but I still remember having all the knit hats and gloves and blankets and all that."

Vincent stopped, and after a beat, I asked gently, "Do you still have it?"

I was expecting to feel him tense up or continue to hesitate, maybe even try to change the subject. But instead, he let out a breath and found my hand before he says, "After she died, my dad got rid of all of it. He didn't want to look at anything that reminded him of her," I intwined our fingers and squeeze his hand a little. "I always resented that."

"People grieve in their own ways," I murmur quietly, and he lets out a sort of noise in agreement, and squeezes my hand back.

"The thing about losing one parent is that you lose the other one, too," Vincent says quietly, so quietly that I wouldn't have heard it had his mouth not been close to my ear. "At least for a little while. And when he got rid of all her things and the stupid knit blankets, it just felt like I didn't have anything left of her. She was just gone. And then he..."

He trails off before he can explain what happened with his father, but I was certain I already understood. Unfortunately, we had been in the same position before. When I lost my dad, my mom basically shut down for months. She made sure we were fed and healthy each day, but that was the extent.

"I understand," I murmur. "It's like you go through this big, life shattering loss, and then you have to pick up the pieces alone. Or that's what it feels like, at least."

"Exactly," Vincent sighs deeply, gives my hand another squeeze, and pauses for a long moment. "I'm sorry you understand."

His words send me spiraling back to the night I found him drunk in the bathtub at a party, when we ended up walking home and talking about the loss of his mother. It felt like we had come so far since then-- no more angry quips, yelling or getting irritated beyond belief. Now, he was my only sense of calm.

I hesitate for a moment before asking, "How long did it last?"

I didn't have to be more specific. Vincent knew what I meant. How long did the "can't get out of bed" go on? How many meals did Vincent have to make and eat alone? How long did he have to suffer the loss of his mother while his father became a recluse, mourning the death of his wife?

"It was bad for a few months after," He says quietly. "But even when he got better, he just threw himself into his work. I don't think he realized how bad he had become until I left for college."

My heart ached for him, for the little boy who lost his mother and suddenly didn't have his father, either.

"He's been trying to make up for it," Vincent continues. "It's just hard to forget."

I nod, thinking back to the days directly following my father's death, and the way my mother had shut down completely. I try to shake the thoughts out of my head, not wanting to think about those dark times, and let out a shaky breath.

Vincent must have felt the same way about wanting to banish those memories from this thoughts, because when he spoke again, it was in a more lighthearted tone. "Fortunately for us, one of his over the top attempts at making me like him is giving me a credit card," He muses, reaching in his pocket and producing a wallet. "Which means free food. You hungry?"

And that's how we ended up cross legged on the floor with a thousand takeout containers from the 24/7 Chinese food place down the street an hour later. We were both hunched over various containers, stuffing our faces with lo mein and sesame chicken until our stomachs hurt.

Vincent's presence was more comforting in that moment than I ever would could have realized. He kept me sane while my brother was undergoing emergency surgery, he kept my mind occupied with meaningless conversation, and he listened to me thoughtfully whenever my thoughts wandered back to Danny.

Eventually, it felt like we had worn out every conversation topic except the one I really wanted to talk about. "So, did you win?"

Vincent's eyes shift from his pork fried rice to my face and he smirks a little. "Of course we won."

I grin at him, my heart feeling a little less heavy. "How do you feel? Were you in pain at all?"

He sets the rice container down on the floor and gives me his full attention. "It was a little sore from all the playing time, but other than that, everything feels perfectly fine." His small smirk shifts to a grin to match mine. "You healed me, doc."

We eventually cleaned up the containers from the floor and ended up sat on the couch beside each other. Tiredness washed over me in waves, and yet I was too anxious to hear from my mom to fall asleep.

I shifted from beside Vincent to face him, leaning against the back of the couch as I studied him for a moment. Suddenly, all I could think about is what he said at the hospital. You and I just make sense. I hadn't been able to give him a proper response at the hospital-- I had been too drained, to emotionally exhausted.

But now, watching him as he taps away on his phone, I realized I felt the same way. I had spent far too long acting guarded with him, pushing him away every chance I got. And yet with all the time I spent pushing him away, he still came back, telling me that he was here to help me. He never left, never gave up. He was still here.

"I just texted my dad that I'm with you," Vincent says as he locks his phone and puts it on the coffee table. "When he gets out of surgery, he'll call."

I nod, my mind momentarily flashing to the memory of Danny's eyes lighting up when Vincent told him that he played quarterback. He looks at me, catching me as I studied him, and when his electric eyes connected with mine, I felt words bubble up my throat.

"Vincent," I say softly. "I really appreciate you being here."

His gaze is soft as he looks at me, and his hand finds mine in my lap to give it a squeeze. The warmth and familiarity of his touch sends my heart tripping over itself for a mere moment before regaining a steady beat.

"Of course," He murmurs. His eyes searched mine as he hesitated a moment, like he wasn't sure if he should say what came out of his mouth next. "I meant what I said at the hospital. I'm here for you."

I stare at him a long moment and ask, "I've been pushing you away for weeks," I say. I meant to say more, to elaborate that I had been so defensive and guarded around him, but by the look in his eyes, I could tell he knew exactly what I meant with that simple sentence. "Why did you keep trying?"

My voice wasn't as strong as I intended it to be, and I wanted to recoil at the emotion I could hear in my own words. But this was the point. To be vulnerable with him. To stop acting so guarded around him.

Instead of seeming confused or unable to answer, Vincent smiles at me. It's not a full out grin, or a sneaky little smirk, and he doesn't even have a boyish glint in his eye. Vincent's smile is warm like the sun on your skin, like he was so genuinely pleased with the question that he wanted to warm me up as he answered.

"You're so worth it," He says with a small chuckle. "I've known since the first time you came to the field. You have such a kind heart, but you don't take anyone's shit. Including my own." At this, I can't help but crack a smile, and his grows wider. "You don't try to be someone you're not. You're real, even if that means screaming at me to get my head out of my ass, or getting on my case for drinking before a game." Vincent shakes his head with a smile and looks directly into my eyes. "You've always been it, Lil. I was just a little bit slow on the uptake. But once I realized, I knew that I wasn't going to give up unless you really wanted me to."

My heart was doing somersaults in my chest to remind me that it was, indeed, still functioning. You've always been it, Lil. His words were repeating like a symphony in my head, reeling magically for what felt like an hour but really was only a second.

I didn't realize I was grinning until my cheeks started to hurt. I shook my head like I was trying to shake what to say into my thoughts, but it didn't even matter, because what came out of my mouth was:

"You sure have a way with words, Bradshaw," I commented, visibly flustered by his declaration. He grinned at me. "I had no idea you were so obsessed with me."

Vincent bellowed out laughing-- thankfully, I may add, because my word vomit was making the decision to be funny instead of serious-- and I smiled wider. I leaned forward and kissed him, absolutely positive that he would feel what I was having difficulty saying. Our lips felt magnetic as they moved together, making the warm feeling in the pit of my stomach grow exponentially.

When I pulled away, I looked up at Vincent with the remnants of my smile from before the kiss, and said quietly, "I knew I liked you the moment you said you preferred dark over milk chocolate."

He chuckles softly, his eyes warm and inviting as they looked into my own. "Who knew chocolate could seal the deal?"

I was thankful that he didn't expect me to declare my feelings in a grand gesture the way he had. The truth was, no matter how comfortable I felt with him in that moment, Danny was still on the back of my mind. Mounds of stress, worry, heartache, all being shoved into the dark corners of my mind so I can feel like it's okay to breathe for a few hours. Even though Vincent was the best distraction I could have hoped for, I think we both knew that I wasn't able to emotionally reciprocate at the moment.

As I start to realize that all I really wanted to do was lay with him, Vincent reads my mind and puts his arms around me to draw me closer to him. He holds me there on the couch as we curl up against the cushions, settling into a comfortable type of quiet, and I finally shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be to get through the next few hours.

"Will you give me a play by play of the game?" I ask quietly, just wanting to be comforted by the sound of his voice. "I want to know all the highlights."

I can hear the smile in his voice as he starts to recount the game-- while adding embellishments about his 'godlike' performance, I may add-- as I cuddled into his side. Without realizing it, sometime between Vincent praising his teammates and exaggerating his win, I fell fully asleep against his chest.

I don't know how many hours we were passed out together on the couch before the shrill sound of a ringtone woke me up. I could hear Vincent's ringtone too, followed by his groaning from underneath me, but I focused on my own. I fumbled to pull the phone out of my pocket, squinting my eyes against the light pouring in from the windows, before finally dragging it to my ear and answering it.

"Lily, it's Danny," My mom's voice pours through the phone all at once. "Get to the hospital as quickly as you can."