#Big thanks to livelovecaliforniadreams for letting me use her incredible GIFs.

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Imakememories - A dribble about the aftermath.

"Come in" he does, the scent of garlic, tomato and something else he can't quite put his finger on assaulting his senses as he steps through the threshold of the door. This day was one of the best in a while and Freddie was doing all he could to savour it, to slow time down for just a little while so he could catch his breath. What better place to do that than a pictorial walk down memory lane? Not.   

It was his fault really, he was the one that still after all these years couldn't bear to see her sad. As if jumping in front of a taco truck to save her life wasn't enough, ten years later and his first reaction to her experiencing any kind of loss, even that of photo kind, was to make it better. In hindsight he supposed it wasn't really all that bad of an idea, he'd seen a buzz feed article a few years ago about some children who recreated the scenes from their childhood for their parents for a calendar and that looked fun, easy even, just a simple bonding experience between people who had spent their lives together. What could possibly be the difference? He'd spent his life with Carly, this should have been the same. Only it wasn't.  

Ever since their discussion a week prior things had been different. If he's being honest with himself, the truth is that things had probably been 'different' since the night of his birthday, or when really thinking back on it, their time in the honeymoon suite on the girls trip. But going that far down memory lane leaves far too many questions and he's not sure he's ready to hear the answers to them, or in any case to be reminded of what deep down he already knows. No, pretending all of this is a fresh and new problem seems like a safer much more self preserving way to go.   

She'd come over after their fight, his favourite ice cream and apology in hand and he'd tried to stay strong, he'd really really tried. He couldn't help that the moment she smiled at him stupid desert, all the feelings of wanting her to feel the weight of his loss, the weight of his anger, vanished. Looking back on it he thinks the truth is that in that moment it wasn't his break up with Pearl that caused his anguish, in fact in that moment the only thing he felt towards Pearl or from the loss of Pearl was.... relief. What he felt as a result of feeling that relief though, well that was a different thing entirely, a sharp slap in the face if ever there was one. The stunning realisation that even after all these years he was right back where he started, desperate for a girl who once again had no ability whatsoever to recognise his emotions, or even worse, maybe saw them and still chose to turn the other way. For years she’d been using him as her emotional crutch, the get out of problematic life choices-free card. The not quite good enough. It was a familiar song, and all but guarantee that his heart was about to be broken again. It's only a matter of time really, it always is.  

It's why he stepped in before she could, why he'd told her they needed to find out how to be friends. While he was keenly aware that his feelings for her had somehow found their way back to the surface, unlike the last ten times, he was not going to give himself the chance to believe that it could ever be anything more than that. So he friend zoned her. Could it even really be called friend zoning if the person you're friend zoning has spent the last 20 years of your life telling you that you're just their friend? Probably not. Maybe it was friend confirming? Running scared shitless? Whatever it was, for Freddie it was the only way he knew to protect his heart.  Which is why standing here after a day of Carly flirting with him all through out recreating moments from their childhood is.... heavy. Seeing her in that dress, even heavier.   

He holds his breath. She's beautiful and fuck if that doesn't make it harder. Here he is trying to hold himself together and just get through this next memory and she has the audacity to look like that.  It makes him want to leave, walk out the door and bury his head under the mountain of decorative pillows he knows are waiting back at his moms. How she manages to both take his breath away while simultaneously making him want to go blind is an art form he swears only she has been able to master. It’s the feeling he likens to a black hole and gravitational pull, or the sun and world that rotates around it. One day the earth will get too close and then BAM, the sun will burn it to the ground. Life with Carly is like that, a gentle tightrope walk where you try not to get burned. 

He's fighting both of those two warring emotions when she speaks.   "Do you remember the night I wore it?"  It takes him a few seconds, his mind going through a montage of memories before it finally stops and no.. no, this could not be happening. She wouldn't, she couldn't.   "Is this..." he begins, but somehow the words fail him as he feels everything coming to a screeching halt, his stomach seemingly somersaulting as the weight of what this is supposed to be encompasses him.  

He's nervous now, half fright and half flight as he pushes himself to stay anchored to the ground. Its not like having the rug pulled out from under your feet shout be fun, but this impending sense of doom is something else.  Two divorces down and even that didn't feel as gutting as the scene in front of him does. God, he's mellow dramatic, what is wrong with him? How does he allow her to have so much damn power over him?! He's angry again, and watching her happy and excited smile as she starts rambling about their special moment in Italy only brings that feeling on in strides.  

"We got all dressed up for that fancy dinner but then the restaurant was closed for the feast day of St Gepetto, the patron saint of little wooden boys"  She's still speaking as she steps out to link their arms, pulling him closer into the scene he swore he'd never step foot in again, and it’s like being back there again. He’s still mentally processing the fact that this is happening, let alone really taking in what she's saying until he hears the tone in her voice become even more wistful as she starts to romanticise the moment which almost killed him.

"And I said "that's perfect" because I could live 100 years and never find a friend like you”.

And nope. He's done. He can’t.

"I can't believe you did this."  

"Does that mean..." she asks as she steps closer toward him. He cuts her off.

"I can't believe you recreated the worst night of my life.”

Shit. The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks, the confirmation of a truth he already deep down knew but never wanted to admit. THAT was the worst night of his life. Not when he was watching both of his marriages fall down the shitter, the business he believed in completely obliterated before his eyes, or having to crawl back to his mom like the scared little boy she always assumed he was. No, the worst day of his life was when the girl in front of him said those exact words she'd just repeated from all those years ago.

The anger is back. Anger at her. Anger at himself. Anger at this stupid situation and how fucked up it is that despite the fact that she is literally making a romantic story over the time she let him fly across the world using all of his savings just to rip his heart out of his chest and then offer him some gelato as some sick kind of consolation prize, he still thinks she's the most beautiful fucking thing in the world. She is the sun after all.

"That's not how it happened.... at all." He can't help himself.   

"Huh"   

The word vomit starts.   

"Right before you left for Italy, you kissed me, remember?" She nods, a small "yeah" slipping from her lips as she nervously waits for him to continue, her whole frame visibly rattled.  It somehow makes it worse. 

"And you were so lonely that we talked for hours everyday… And I planned that fancy dinner because I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend." He pauses, momentarily getting lost at the way her lips seem to be quivering slightly. He did that. He should feel bad, he does feel bad, he never should have walked through that fucking door. But then why is he the one feeling bad in this situation? She did it! She planned this whole ridiculous charade of a night. A big neon sign to the fact that she still doesn’t see him. Probably never would. Again with the warring bloody emotions. 

"What....? You never said that..." she's genuinely shocked, and he's so genuinely over this whole conversation happening that he thinks to hell with it, and goes all in.   

"You're right, because that old man came along. He said "look at the beautiful couple, and you laughed. You said no, definitely not a couple. Friends. Amici." His voice is cracking now and he hates himself for showing her how much it hurt, how much it apparently still hurts given he's standing here almost brought to his knees again.   

"But you weren't upset, you were fine... We ate gelato until that text..."

He cuts her off before he can stop himself. "Yeah, my family emergency? I made it up. I slept at the airport until I could get a flight home." Take that, he thinks. That’s what you did to me, to your best friend. He knows that admission will burn. Well good, he’s been burning since that night, it’s only fair. 

She's standing there like a deer in the headlights, her doe eyes wide as she looks back at him, confusion etched all over her face. She clearly can't believe it. And that shouldn't surprise him, their whole lives have been a case of mixed wires, her only wanting him when it suits her, only seeing him as something potentially when she's got nothing else going for her, or when she feels indebted to him. Fuck. This is why he doesn't let himself go down this path, it just reminds him how bloody pathetic he is to still be letting her pull all of his strings.   

How is it that even after spending his life loving this girl, she still misses to see him when he's standing in front of her.

"You slept at the airport?" She asks, her voice now at breaking point too.   

He cuts her off again as the emotions begin to bubble up to the surface again, the frustration taking its rightful place front and centre. "And I swore I would never let you string me along again"  

She takes a step towards him and he steps back. "Freddie, I'm sorry, but I did not string you along. "  

"You kissed me, and then a month later you laughed at us being a couple"   

"I laughed because I was uncomfortable" she insists firmly, finally coming to the party with her own frustration.

It's a relief, he thinks. It's one thing to be spilling your deepest kept secrets during a fight, but to be the only one fighting, that's just another kick to the balls. He's glad if anything, while he’s clearly not worth fighting for, he’s worth fighting with.    

"You said that in 100 years, I could only ever be your friend!"  "I said that our friendship was the most important of my life! That meant something to me! But I guess to you, being my friend is just a consolation prize"  

Fuck that. A consolation prize? He has to sit back and watch her fall in and out of love with guy after guy, pick up the pieces when they leave, give everything of himself to make her smile and she thinks he thinks it's a consolation prize? Being in love with someone who could never love you back but has no problem getting your hopes up and stringing you along is no fucking prize, he thinks.   

And further more, how dare she try to imply that their friendship meant nothing, that him putting aside his feelings and letting himself be constantly hurt by her so he could be what she needed, meant nothing. She had said she just wanted to be friends and he had respected that. Heck, he'd gotten married twice running from it.   

"That's not fair"  

"No" she says, squaring her shoulders back for the fight. "it's not fair that you made me the bad guy for all these years just because I didn't like you back".   

His stomach bottoms out again but this time it's along with a pain in his chest he can only assume is from his heart being ripped open again. She'd finally said it. 'I didn't like you back', something he'd always known, but the way she spits it out now, feels like it’s not just then, it’s now, proof of what a pathetic lovesick loser she still thinks he is. And to think, she thought all this and still chose to lead him on, probably thought she was throwing him a bone. It makes him sick.   

"If you didn't like me, why did you kiss me?!"   

"To give us closure so we could both move on!"  

Closure? Moving on? Fuck. He can feel the tears prickling at his eyes, his breathing starting to become heavy as he fights the waves of emotion that are erupting within. "Don't do it, don't let her see it' he tells himself. He fails.   

He has to get out of there. He can't do this anymore. He cannot let her have any more of his heart than she already has, and breaking down in front of her, that would be like serving his heart on a silver platter. I never stopped loving you. He's sure right now she'd stomp on it and then fling it over the side of the pent house, because isn't that what happens when you think someone is an annoying lovesick fool?  He's getting out of here. If he doesn’t, he’ll never forgive himself.

"Well thank you for the closure! That was awfully generous of you”.

He doesn't turn back, he can't. He doesn't want to see her face, he doesn't want to see the way her lips are trembling or the hurt fixed all over her features.   

No, she hurt him. Maybe it is her time to hurt! 

He makes his way to the door, the same one just five minutes ago he'd been nervously standing outside of in anticipation of the surprise inside. Well sur-fucking-prise, he definitely didn't see this one coming.   

He slams the door behind him.   

"Freddie!" He hears her voice through the wooden door as he practically jogs toward the elevator in the hall way. His exit. ”Come on, come on" he whispers whilst looking at the little digital screen above the grey metal doors that register what level the elevator is currently on. It’s mocking him. Five?! Fucking five? That's twenty whole levels away and sure he could go back home but how is he supposed to walk in their and be a dad when right now he apparently mentally is apparently back at the age of 16 navigating the streets of Italy to find a God forsaken taxi. Given the events of the past ten minutes, the idea of being anywhere even remotely near Carly right now feels impossible.   

"Fuck it" he mutters as he runs to the emergency fire exit, flicking it open before letting it slam behind him. What's 30 flights of stairs if it means getting out of her orbit? He’s done being burned, the sun can go fuck itself. 

He’s about three flights of stairs down when he realises he doesn’t mean that. Another six flights down when he thinks maybe he does. 

And isn’t it ironic now how he’s literally running away from her much like he’s run away from all those unspoken truths that have been haunting him for years. He’d been warned by everyone, hell, there was half a whole bloody panel devoted to telling him it would never happen back when they were tweens. But he was naive, stubborn, possibly insane? That’s the definition of insanity isn’t it? Doing the same thing and expecting it to turn out differently. His relationship with Carly was exactly that. He fell, she ‘fell’ and then she broke his heart. How did he ever think it would be different?

There was a time when he thought she really fell too, he thinks, as he finally gets down the last set of stairs, the neon ‘EXIT’ sign beaconing him forward like a moth to a flame. “Finally” he pants, his body silently praising the steady ground its finally found as he breaks out into the lobby of the Bushwell and toward the glass revolving doors where Gus the door man is currently standing. 25 flights of stairs are no joke. If it weren’t for the fuel of absolute despair and stubborn resolve he doubts he even would have made it past ten.

“Good Evening, Freddie” Gus says with a familiar nod. “Going out this evening? Will Miss Millicent be joining you? Miss Carly?” His thick Spanish accent curls around her name as he looks around toward the elevator anticipating either of their arrivals. 

“No” he says quickly, shaking his head at the very idea of having anyone near him right now. “Not tonight, I’m just…” he hesitates, “alone.” It burns.

And isn’t that the truth. He is alone. Somehow despite all of the love he spent his life chasing, at the end of it all, he’s exactly what he always feared; Alone.

The cool air greets him as he slips through the front doors of the Bushwell and into the busy night life of Seattle. Apparently while he was up there watching his world implode the rest of civilisation was continuing on without a care. And isn’t that the funniest notion, every day is the worst day of somebody’s life, he guesses he must just be super lucky to have been gifted two. 

Fuck. This was not meant to be his life. Sure, maybe as a child he’d been stupid and naive waiting around for her, but he had stopped that, he’d stopped it. He’d got fucking married. TWICE. So how the universe somehow conspire to bring him to this point… He just didn’t understand. 

Why was he never good enough? Apparently that was something the universe was also gangbusters on making him realise. What other explanation was there for the two failed marriages he had under his belt. Not only had he spent his whole childhood pining for someone who would never love him back, but then he’d gotten married, committed his life, his world, given up the possibility of  her only to once again be told it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough. And isn’t that what was about to happen with Pearl too? Were they not going down that same path? 12 months of dating, she’d met his family, spent time with his daughter, all of the things that prelude to the big question and then… She left. And why? Carly. Or no.. being honest with himself, maybe it was Him. It was always him.

“Fuck”. It hits him like a ton of bricks, the realisation that maybe, just maybe, the desolation of his marriage, his life, had more to do about the way he viewed letting Carly go, than it did all the other trivial things they fought about. He prided himself on always being able to say that at the end of it all he was nothing but a devoted husband, and while that was true, he thinks that maybe that wasn’t so much about being a devoted husband, but about doing whatever it took to play the part, to play the role of someone who is worth staying for. But they couldn’t stay, they couldn’t stay because at the core of it all, it was just a part. 

He’s stuck at the crossing of a busy intersection when the thought hits him. He did it too. Tonight he stood there and blamed Carly; Maybe subconsciously she’s right and he’s been blaming her on the down low for years, but he’s a hypocrite, he thinks. Except maybe even worse? Probably much worse.

The worst fate to him was always the feeling of being near her and knowing that no matter what he did she would never look at him and think “He’s it”. That he could give as much of himself, be as present as possible, wipe away all of the tears, pick her up time and time again and still she would never love him back the way he loved her. It was a blackhole that he’d been living in for the past fifteen years and while there were some seasons that were lighter than others, it was inevitable that like all seasons, the winter would return again. 

But isn’t that what he’d done? And on a level so much more devastating than anything she’d done to him. He’d married them. Where Carly had cared enough about him to say no, to stop it, to settle his expectations, he had done the opposite. He’d not only lied to himself, he’d lied to them. 

The memories of his past relationships come back fast and hard, a new filter over them that somehow makes the scenes playing out in front of his eyes both simultaneously better and worse. He was not the victim. Sure he was not horrible, he played the part well, perfectly even, but they knew it was an act, they knew it was a lie. Time and time again he stood in those rooms, laid in those beds, took the family photos, got down on one fucking knee, and all the while they knew, they knew, he wasn’t really there. 

How devastating must have that been? To be standing in front of someone and realise that they don’t even see you… To be invisible, fighting for someone who doesn’t even know you’re fighting. He remembers them both saying something along the lines of “Choose me.” At the time he’d ignored the obvious and instead laid the blame on his start up, naivety at it’s best. But if he could choose to believe that, who was he to blame Carly for believing he understood the ‘closure.’ Yuck. Still stings.

‘Freddie, I’m sorry… I’m not you. I can’t, I can’t just give it up, I’ve seen what that does and I just.. Maybe I’m selfish, but I can’t do it.” That’s what Gwen had said the night they’d finally decided to call it. At the time he didn’t understand but hindsight was a true bitch and now as he reads between the lines she was really speaking, it’s all there. She wasn’t talking about the job. Sure that was a factor, but what she really meant was the life. She didn’t want to be like him. She didn’t want to pretend to be somewhere and present when she was only playing a part. It wasn’t fair on him and it especially wasn’t fair on Millicent. 

Millicent. The only good thing to come out of this whole shit show. She must be worried, it was now 2 AM and he hadn’t even bothered to tell her where he was going. Last she knew he was heading to Carly’s for dinner. What was she thinking? Was she worried? Was she awake? She better not be awake and talking to Derek. He didn’t trust that kid. 

For the first time since he high tailed it out of the Bushwell he pulls his phone from his pocket. 2 missed calls. Neither from Carly. Hit stomach plummets.

He sends his mom and Millicent a text in the group family chat to say he’s fine and accidentally fell asleep at Spencer’s watching a movie, and hopes to God they haven’t already spoken to Carly or Spencer to clarify. By the only 2 missed calls sitting in his log and lack of messages in the group chat he guesses he’s in the clear. 

She hasn’t reached out though. She hasn’t called. She hasn’t messaged. That’s the more monumental realisation at the moment. There is no missed call, no text, no nothing from the girl he left standing shell shocked in a penthouse surrounded with their memories. First her photos disappear, then he does. He’s really fucked this up. 

She probably hates him, or worse, she probably thinks he hates her, and really he didn’t do anything to leave her with any other impression. ‘Thank you so much for the closure’ he’d said, and then literally walked out the door slamming it behind him, effectively giving her back closure on their relationship while simultaneously probably admitting he was still in love with her. Why else would he be so effected? What had he done?

He’d been blaming her all of this time, but he was just as much to blame. When she did it, she was horrible, when he did it, he was the victim. The truth is, when all was said and done they were both exactly the same thing, human. Carly and Freddie. Freddie and Carly. It was almost comical that even in their ability to rip hearts open, they were still the same.

Gwen had fled and so had he. Both emotionally and literally, as shown by the fact he was standing outside in the middle of the night dressed in a bloody suit, having an existential crisis. It was time to stop running. It was time to stop blaming.

He had a choice. He either chose to walk away once and for all, or he chose to stay. 

There was no choice. 

When it came to Carly there was never a choice. 

“Shit” He needs to go to her. Now.