Chapter Text
The apartment was empty, almost tauntingly so. There wasn’t so much as a goldfish to keep Rory company, but that was fine. She’d never been a stranger to her own company, and she didn’t mind it. She talked to her friends often, called her mom every day, and stopped to pet the stray neighborhood cat on the way home from work. Her existence was repetitive, but it was comfortable and it was her’s. There weren’t a lot of times in her life where she didn’t have a man to call after and this was one of the rare occasions when her voicemail box wasn’t filled to the brim with male desperation. And she liked it. She liked relying on herself. She liked being challenged to enjoy herself without second guessing her every move and how it would make someone else feel. She was concerned with herself and herself only. It was peaceful and rewarding and reflective, and felt like everything she’d ever imagined being a grown-up would be.
Somehow, though, on the late nights when sleep simply wouldn’t come, when she was making the commute to work, when there was no one to share her thoughts on a new book with, she found herself wandering to the past. Not longingly, but nostalgically. She remembered the boy who understood her, who somehow owned a piece of her soul, who she would have done anything for — who she did do anything for. For the one who wrote in the margins of her books, for the one who brought her food when she was home alone, for the one she fought for. For The One.
She didn’t want to go back and change things, but she did wonder. If she’d made him stay in Stars Hollow instead of running off on his own, what would they have become? Most likely, they wouldn’t have lasted. He had issues and she was utterly naive back then. Still, would he be sitting with her on the couch, snacking on day-old takeout and chatting about how ahead of its time Little Women was? Would they be having endeared arguments about modern literature? Would he take her tightly in his arms and press a gentle kiss to the uncombed tangles of her hair? Would she smile at him and trace the faded whites of his scars, whispering softly into the gentle atmosphere that she loves him because even all these years later, he still needs to hear it over and over again to believe it?
Maybe he had that now. Maybe he was laying in his partner's loving arms as they fell asleep together on the couch. Maybe he found something in them that he never found in her. Maybe it was peaceful. She hoped so. She hoped he was happy, whenever he was.
But, no matter how happy either of them became, as she read an old book with his scribbled thoughts still marked onto the paper or sipped on a cup of coffee a little too strong or saw a boy with brown eyes shielding a life of uncertainty, she would think of him and wonder if he was the one.