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Author's Chapter Notes:
Wrote this a while ago, but only ever put it up on livejournal. Thought I'd post it here so I wouldn't lose it again and have to go searching through lj for it and also for those of you who might not have read it before. Title comes from the song of the same name by Some By Sea.
He’d made promises to her. Made them over lukewarm cups of coffee and boxes of paperclips (the brightly colored kind, the green ones being her favorite). Made them over two person solitaire and in between paper sales.

Promises like, “Pam, I swear,” and he was laughing here, because it was part of some joke that was starting to turn into something besides a joke, “I will never leave you behind.” And she had her head bowed as she tried to control the fit of laughter she’d been launched into, even though he’s sure neither of them could even say what it was that was so funny. He just looked down at the endearingly crooked part in her hair and felt something familiar that made his right hand squeeze his left elbow even harder.

She’d made her share of promises, too. Though hers were often made over the mouths of beer bottles and bowls filled with peanut shells. Hers were often made over long walks back to his car (which he intentionally parked as far away from the building as possible) and on those nights when she seemed so alone that he sort of hated the world for it.

Promises like, “Jim, listen,” and her arm was slung around his neck as she pulled him in closer to the sweet smell of alcohol on her breath, the smooth skin of her forearm against his pulse, “I promise that we’re going to be friends for a very long time.” Then she’d gone to move her arm and somehow managed to knock over the bowl, peanuts scattering across the bar and she’d laughed so loudly and honestly as he grabbed her hand to keep her from falling to the floor. When she’d composed herself again, she’d leaned towards him, pressing her forehead against his (and he’d played along, because really) and said in a whisper as her eyes watched his lips because she was too close to look him in the eye (or this is what he chose to believe), “I mean, always. Forever.” With such resolve that he stopped breathing for just a minute and thought, yes, that would be enough for him.

He’d sworn and she’d promised.

With words like “never” and “forever” and other things that meant in no way would things change.

He thinks maybe they should’ve made more promises that weren’t jokes or drunken admissions. Because now there were state lines keeping them apart and he can only assume that forever and always and that guaranteed long time must have run out at some point because her voice doesn’t change at all when he calls for Michael.

And if he’d had his fingers crossed on the other side of her desk, she wasn’t aware of it. And if she’d had her fingers crossed while she had them wrapped around the neck of her bottle, he hadn’t seen.


unfold is the author of 102 other stories.
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