The dreamy morning streamed through the blinds into the almost-empty room, creating soft, fuzzy stripes against the white walls they had always intended to paint, but could never agree on a color for. Max supposed that was a problem that would come with them on their journey, to be unpacked along with their boxes and furniture when they reached their new home. Their new, old home.

From where she sat, encircled by open cardboard boxes which were scrawled upon in permanent marker with a mixture of lazy descriptions and giant, capitalized profanities, Max could hear echoed guitar riffs playing from Chloe's laptop somewhere down the hall. She was probably in the kitchen, as the music was accompanied with enthusiastic "dert-na-nert-ner's" and the melodic clinking of dishware as it was lifted down off of shelves. What a strange sort of nostalgia it was, Max thought, to so dearly miss a place that they hadn't yet left. It was very similar to that feeling of dread in the times of greatest contentment, the inexplicable longing for the moment that was still going on—because that was the thing about moments, wasn't it? Even the ability to rewind time could only serve to delay their ultimately inevitable end.

Wowser, that was depressing.

It's time to keep moving forward, Max. That seemed to be the soundtrack of her life. This is the start of a new experience. It's a new chapter. I should be looking forward to it. She sighed. I just hope we're making the right decision.

Too late, Max realized that the hallway had grown quiet. Suddenly, a bright flash went off, filling the room with a blinding light that caused her to look up in surprise.

"And here we have the wild Maximus Dork-a-tron in her natural state of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing done!"

"Hey!" Max cried, rubbing the floating, yellow dots from her eyes. "I've gotten a lot done! Look at all these packed boxes. I'm like, a packing machine."

The blue-haired girl grinned broadly, plucking the photo from the analog camera around her neck and shaking it. "Awwww, look at you, all thoughtful and shit. I almost feel bad for interrupting."

"Ugggh," Max groaned, jumping to her feet and maneuvering around the mountain of boxes to grab for the photo. "That was so not fair. I look totally zoned out!"

"You look cute. Even if you are procrastinating."

"Excuse me, and what are you doing right now?"

"I am taking a break to visit my favorite SuperMax in the whole world. Obviously."

"Mm-hmm." Max folded her arms over her chest.

"I packed, like, half the kitchen and then I got bored, okay? Packing is hella boring."

"It is boring," Max agreed, pushing her oversized glasses up on her nose. "I think we're almost done, though. Aren't we?"

"Uhhh, yeah. I think so. Pretty sure we've just got the bathroom after this and then we're good to fucking go, yo." Chloe's eyes drifted over to the top of one of the boxes, where a thick book with a worn, wrinkled cover played the role of a coaster beneath a half-empty glass of milk. "Heeeey, I remember that album."

Max followed her gaze and smiled. "Oh, yeah. I found it in the drawer while I was packing. Funny, considering where we're going."

"Gimme, gimme, gimme!" Chloe said, reaching towards the album with grabby hands. Max lifted the glass of milk and grabbed the book out from under it, then placed the glass down on the windowsill instead. She lowered herself down to the floor and scooted against the wall, cracking the album open gently. Chloe jumped and plopped down beside her enthusiastically, bumping against Max as she made herself comfortable. The blue-haired girl pulled the open pages onto both of their laps so they could look together.

The photos pasted in were like an immediate rewind through time. The Everyday Heroes selfie, never turned in. A selfie of Max in her dorm room mirror. Various people and things around Blackwell. Rachel Amber 4 Ever. Chloe dancing on her bed.

"Holy shit, Max. We look like such babies!"

"We were babies. Only eighteen and nineteen."

"Fuck, dude. How did we even handle all that crazy shit?"

"We had each other."

Chloe on the lighthouse bench, drenched in sunlight. Firewalk with me. An empty grassy knoll with no doe to be found. Chloe laying on the hood of a junked car, pointing a gun to the heavens. Chloe in the cozy chair.

"I still want that fucking chair."

"Are you cereal?"

"I'll never get over it. My ass was on a cloud. You'd understand if you had tried it."

"Uh, I was kinda busy being a detective."

Morning-hair Max and Chloe with bags under their eyes and huge smiles on their faces. Max in Rachel's red flannel, ready for the mosh pit—or not. Squirrels. Birds. Chloe leaning at her desk, looking beautiful and alive and not in a wheelchair.

"Awwww. Even back then, you still took the weirdest photos of me. Nothing's changed."

"I was so happy to have you back. I wanted to remember you just like that. Always."

"As if I'd ever let you forget me."

The final photo in the group was of Max and a tipsy Warren, sporting his black eye with pride, in front of the Vortex Club's End of the World Party. Max was smiling, humoring the boy, but her eyes were full of that familiar, unmistakable fear. Even now, it was hard to look at.

"Warren," Max breathed, a bittersweet look of nostalgia crossing her face.

"The one, stupid photo that saved the day. And I almost didn't let him take it."

"There was no way you could have known. You were freaked about Rachel. Besides, you believed me when I went back. That's all that matters."

"Of course I did. I'll always believe you." Chloe shook her head. "That whole thing was so fucked up."

"At least my nightmares have stopped. Mostly."

Chloe frowned, turning to the girl with concern. "Maybe we shouldn't look at this anymore."

"No," Max said. "I want to. It's been so long since I've seen these. Besides," she added, playing with the fraying sleeve of her hooded sweatshirt, "I'll have to face these memories again anyway. It'll be better if I get a head start."

The next page contained no instant photos. Instead, they were all grainy, rectangular print-outs of photos taken on a smartphone.

"My photography dark ages," the smaller girl commented.

"Look how far you've come since then," Chloe said proudly. Max nodded, reaching out to gently touch one photo in the corner. She and Chloe lying on a bed, heads together, taxed beyond recognition. Max's eyes were closed and Chloe looked about ready to join her. It was raw, but worth remembering.

"I'm glad you took these," Max admitted.

"Somebody had to."

"They're here—Vanessa, they're here!"

"Oh, thank god," the dark-haired woman rushed to the door, enveloping Max in a tearful, constricting hug. "I'm so glad you're okay! I can't believe you had to go through that storm! Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, Mom," Max said, her voice muffled beneath the lumpy sleeves of her mother's sweater. Despite her words, she clung on tightly to the woman. "Really."

"Chloe Price," Ryan Caulfield greeted, extending his arms out to her. The blue-haired girl smiled and leaned into the man she hadn't seen in five years. Back then, Chloe could never have predicted that their next reunion would take place under such insane circumstances. "It's been so long. I'd ask how you've been, but—obviously, you've seen better days."

"Uhhh, yeah, definitely," Chloe agreed. "Thanks for putting us up. I really don't know where I would've gone. I'm—uhh—I'm kinda homeless right now."

"Is Joyce-?" Vanessa turned her attention from Max upon hearing her words, and Chloe nodded quickly.

"She's fine. She made it," she assured them. "She stayed behind to help out with the relief effort. She's going to bunk up with one of the other waitresses in the next town over until she can figure something out."

"What about your stepdad?"

Chloe took a deep breath, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "They haven't found him yet. But Mom says she'll let us know as soon as she hears anything." Sure, she hadn't exactly liked David, but that didn't mean she wanted him in harm's way. Especially after he'd saved Max's life.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," Vanessa said, and she, too, embraced the girl tightly. "You know you can stay with us as long as you need to. Our home is your home. Just like it always has been."

"Thank you," Chloe said genuinely. She flashed a look at the smaller girl beside her, who was being extremely quiet, and her heart dropped into her stomach. She felt horrible just speaking about what her family had lost, knowing the guilt and pain it was causing Max. Despite what the other girl thought, this whole mess—the storm, the deaths, the fucked-up time nightmare—it was all Chloe's fault. She knew that. All she had wanted was to spend time with her best friend again, like when they were kids. She had been selfish. If she had just tried harder to convince Max to correct the timeline and let the universe take her when it originally wanted to, none of this suffering would have had to happen. It was not only the most logical decision, it was what was right.

And yet, somehow, Max had chosen her. Chloe Price, the least deserving person in the universe, and the one everyone was so quick to abandon and throw away. Max had placed Chloe's meager existence over the lives of an entire town. She still didn't really know how to feel under the weight of that knowledge. It was—well, it was a lot to process. All she knew was that she was never, ever leaving Max Caulfield's side.

Max let out a little shiver, and Vanessa pulled her daughter towards the door.

"Let's get you two inside and warmed up. We've got the fire going."

"Was the drive okay?" Ryan asked as they walked up the steps, carrying the suitcase that contained what was left of their possessions. Chloe nodded absently.

"It was fine once we got out of—uh, you know, the debris and stuff." This was fucking awkward.

In the Caulfields' kitchen, Max and Chloe stood against the island, watching Vanessa Caulfield putter around, trying to be helpful. Chloe stared at the floor, and Max stared into space. There was so much to talk about, but all of it was far too heavy after the day they had had. The fireplace crackled and popped cheerfully from the living room—normally, one of the most relaxing sounds in the world, but tonight, all Max could think of was the Two Wales Diner bursting into flames right in front of her, and the town burning all around her.

After the storm, they had spent four hours driving up and down the streets of Arcadia Bay, looking for any sign of life. It wasn't as bad as it could have been—many buildings were still standing by the end, though all were mere shells of what they had been before the storm. Many houses, though, were destroyed, entire lives washed away by that nightmare's storm. The Two Whales had made it through, somehow, barely. Even amidst all of the grief she felt, Max would never forget the flood of relief that had washed over her when she threw open the door to the diner and saw Joyce and Frank looking at her with huge, tear-filled eyes. Of course, that relief was soon replaced with horror when she noticed Warren's lifeless body, pinned between the back of a booth and a car door that had pierced through the side of the diner.

Warren. I'm—I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Kate, her family, and a huge part of the congregation of her church had made it, too, hiding out in a cellar beneath the sanctuary. Max supposed that maybe there was something to be said for prayer, after all.

Blackwell's buildings had held up as well as they could have, for the most part. The roofs had major damage, many windows had broken, and the grounds were an absolute mess, but it had otherwise protected most of its inhabitants. When Chloe and Max had gone back, Stella, Trevor, and Daniel had all come running up to them separately, grateful to see more survivors, unaware that it was Max who was to blame for the disaster. Then, of course, there was the bad. Max had found Courtney and Taylor, but no one knew where Victoria was. Neither Dana nor Juliet were answering their text messages. Brooke's and Alyssa's Facebook pages, normally filled with witty statuses, scientific musings, and poignant book quotes, were now plastered with photos and heartbreaking messages, wishes of "rest in peace" written over and over again like a broken time loop.

Yeah. Some angel you were, Max.

"Do you want me to make anything for you?" Vanessa asked. Max shook her head.

"Um, no offense, but I kind of just want to go to bed," she said quietly. "It's been a really stressful day." Max's parents both nodded understandingly.

"Of course. I'm sure it has. We'll talk in the morning, if you're up for it," her father said, his reddish hair glowing beneath the dim kitchen lights. "We made the bed up in your room. I hope you don't mind sharing it like when you were kids." He paused, looking over the state of the two bedraggled girls in front of him. "I'm so thankful that you're here. Both of you."

"We're thankful to be here," Chloe answered for Max, feeling the truth of her own words.

They all exchanged hugs again, and then Max led Chloe up the stairs to the small room that had been hers for the five years prior to Blackwell. She opened the door and breathed in the old, familiar smell. The room was much emptier than it had once been, since she'd taken most of her things with her to Blackwell, but her furniture was still there, as well as nearly all of her book collection, an old jewelry box, her bulletin board, and some posters on the wall. Despite the lack of clutter, Max still felt more at home there than she ever had in her dorm room.

"Home, shit, home," Max joked quietly, recalling Chloe's words before they'd entered the Price household together for the first time in five years. It had only been—what, six days ago? To her, it seemed like lifetimes.

"Now, this feels like the Max's room I used to know," Chloe said, looking around. "Wow." The blue-haired girl sat down on the edge of Max's full-size bed, and Max shuffled over to sit beside her. "What a fucking day, huh?"

"I don't think it's all totally hit me yet," the brunette said, her face drawn with a resigned solemnness Chloe wasn't sure she'd ever seen on her friend's face. "I've just been on autopilot since the lighthouse. It's like, all I want to do is cry, but the tears won't come out." Chloe squeezed the girl's hand tightly.

"It's over, now, Max. The storm. Nathan. Jefferson. It's all over."

"Yeah," Max said, distantly. She scooted back, lying down against the cool pillows.

"Hey," Chloe persisted, following her friend backwards. "Listen to me. I know everything is fucked to hell right now, but we made it, Max. We fucking survived. Together."

"I just wish I didn't feel like such a monster." Max curled onto her side, burying her face in Chloe's shoulder.

"You're not a monster. Remember what I said at the lighthouse. You didn't ask for this shit. The fucking universe just threw it at you and expected you to deal with it."

"I was so selfish. I just—I couldn't lose you again. Even when you gave me that photo, it just wasn't even an option. Arcadia Bay never even had a chance."

"Maybe it wasn't supposed to! For all we really know, that storm was coming with or without you using your powers. Shit happens! People die!" She looked down at the floor. "Sometimes, people just die."

"I could have prevented it. I could have gone back and told people. I could have saved someone."

"You did," Chloe said, picking the girl's head up and meeting her eyes. "You saved me. And now it's us against the world. Just like before."

"Just like always," Max said softly, her eyelids drooping. She lay her head back down against Chloe's, and the blue-haired girl laced her fingers through Max's. "I wish I could just lay here forever and never face the world again."

"We can, if you want to," Chloe replied. "I'm not moving."

The brunette only nodded, the sands of sleep piling up around her, and Chloe smiled wistfully at the girl. If nothing else, Max deserved to be able to rest. Trying not to jostle her, the older girl reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out her phone. She held it out in front of them and brought up the camera app, tapping the button indiscriminately. Maybe her best friend was rubbing off on her, but she'd felt a strange need to capture this single moment of peace before it was lost to the inevitable chaos of the following days.

"Love you," Max mumbled sleepily into the crook of Chloe's neck. The blue-haired girl closed her eyes too, feeling more comfortable than she could ever remember.

"Love you too, Max. Always."

Max gently laid her head on her Chloe's shoulder, and Chloe moved to stroke the girl's long, blonde-tipped locks.

"That photo was taken on the worst day of my life," Max reflected.

"I know. I didn't even know what to do for you. I still get pissed, thinking about everything you had to go through."

After a few seconds of silence, Max sighed. "Sometimes, I can forget. Never for very long, but there are days when everything is going right and we're just doing our thing and it doesn't even cross my mind." She rotated her head to look at the girl beside her. "Does that make me a horrible person? To want to forget?"

"Fuck that," Chloe replied immediately. "You deserve to live your life without having to think about all that awful shit 24/7."

"It's gonna be harder, now."

"You still wanna go?"

"We have to, Chloe. I already told them yes."

"So what? There's still time. Just say the word."

"No," Max said, taking a deep breath. "We'll go."

"Good," the blue-haired girl agreed. "'Cause those dishes were a bitch to pack. I had to tetris that shit."