And when I can't be with you, dream me near
Keep me in your heart and I'll appear
All you gotta do is turn around, close your eyes, look inside
I'm right here.

-Right Here, Miley Cyrus

.

.

.

The California sun softly slices through your room on a Saturday morning in June.

"Chase!"

It's a chore to open your eyes and your memory from the day before is kind of muggy, and your throat feels like sandpaper and your head is pounding. Rubbing your eyes, your green eyes meet your best friend's face and Michael piles a tux on you, plastic wrapping and all.

"Dude," Michael says, sitting on the foot of your bed looking slightly drained himself when he smiles. "It's your wedding day, man."

You sit up and remember last night – a whole of lot typically stupid guy bonding, and drinking with Bacardi, Smirnoff and hard liquor that goes down smooth and burning. You hold your head, the pounding slightly amplifying and the light giving your green eyes a stabbing feeling. Michael tosses you a bottle of aspirin and you slap his outstretched palm in gratitude and slight nostalgia because he's your best friend since the tender age of eleven since he picks you to be his best man at his wedding to Lisa last year in his hometown of Atlanta. And you hear stories of his and Lisa's honeymoon in Alabama since they are both real Southern people and have family down there.

Makes you miss Boston, your family, warm pretzels at Fenway with a Boston Red Sox game to match and your older and fraternal twin sister by eight minutes, Nora. You both turn twenty-six years old this September while your wife-to-be turns twenty-six on the first of this month.

"Thanks, man," you glance at the bottle of aspirin and grin. You're marrying the love of your life and you're going to be bound to her forever. It's all so wonderfully mind-boggling.

"You're welcome. Had to drive my slightly hangover, tired self over here to make sure you weren't dead."

"I'm touched," you stifle a yawn and in more remembrance your eyebrows furrow. "Wait, is Logan up already or is he like comatose from last night's debauchery?"

"Ooh, big word."

You shrug lightly, pushing the tux out of your way but it's still on the unmade bed.

"Seemed fitting."

Michael sighs and explains. "I'm on my way over there right now. I woke up and Lisa called me to tell me she was on her way to Lola and Vince's house to meet up with the girls to get the whole makeover spa thing over with before going up to the church to get dressed and whatnot – it's a whole estrogen-fest over there. Vince and James were going to be here soon so we can just be guys, but due to a time crunch, they're gonna meet up at the church," he stands and jingles his keys. "Anyway, I'm off to Casa de Reese – and you know Logan debauchered more than all of us and hit the bottle hard."

The screenwriter in you wants to correct him for coining yet another term worthy of the Michael Barrett-English Dictionary but really, grammatically incorrect but instead you smile, still sleepy but a little more awake.

Michael muses with a laugh, "Or he's hungover and Quinn left him to play Mr. Mom? I think that's more painful I love Addie to death but that girl is a firecracker. Okay, I'm gone – I have to head over there and then tend to some things the missus left for me at the house since I'm going to be a dad in like three months.

"Stay Michael."

He grins at the goodbye you make up in Senior Year and slaps your outstretched palm.

"Stay Chase," Michael replies. "We'll get over this hangover before you reach the altar."

"Crossing my fingers, man."

He looks down at his buzzing phone, and leaves quicker.

Yep – still goofy, slightly overly sensitive but best bud for the last fifteen years but he's still the same Michael Barrett.

You roll out of bed, and realize you need to shower and shave. And fast.

.

You're all showered and nearly dressed and in the middle of actually putting product in your hair because really, you'll never really lose the bushy hair and you don't really want to. Maybe minimize it, definitely but have it completely disappear? No.

A sigh escapes you and you go from slightly hungover to completely wired so tightly, you feel your heart thudding against your rub rage and you will with every fiber of your being to make your hands stop shaking. Maybe it's from the anticipation of marrying the girl you've been so intertwined with since the tender age of thirteen or maybe it's what happens when you consume three cups of Folgers Coffee to rid yourself of the drilling in the back of your head before you freshen up and shower.

There's a knocking on your door, and after your phone's been ringing off the hook since Michael leaving, your suppress the urge to groan and roll your eyes when you pick yourself up to answer the knocking on the door of the condo you share with your fiancée.

You open it and it's like looking into a mirror.

She's all smiles with a sick sense of humor that hard to understand, evident tattoos with the stud embedded in her right nostril ever since you both turn fifteen years old. You look the same, expect you accept the fact that you have pale skin stubborn against California sun and she has little faded brown freckles that line the bridge of her nose.

She will always have that sharp tongue but you smile playfully, knowing she will never be able to reach your height by a solid three and a half inches.

"Nora," you envelope your twin sister in a hug and she hugs back just as tight.

"So, I heard my brother was becoming Mr. Zoey Brooks today."

"I missed you."

"Likewise, you crazy kid," she softens, murmuring against your shoulder. "So much."

She pulls away, stepping into your house and lets out a low whistle.

You close the door.

"So, this is where the co-existing with the obvious pro-creating happens, huh? Nice digs," she says, green eyes sweeping over the house as her heels tapping lightly against the hardwood floors. She moves the cushion over because she's the slightly, messy 'don't care about my surroundings' kind of girl and Nora plops herself on the loveseat, stretching her legs out, lightly brushing her side-swept fringed bangs out her eyes while her black hair is cut short like a girly boy cut. A smile plays on her lips. "I cut my hair even though it's been black for nine years. Heard you were getting married and said what the hell. So," Nora pats the spot beside her. "Let's talk, little brother."

"Eight minutes isn't that much of a difference. We're equals."

"And yet I beat you to the womb, and right out again," she replies, jokingly punching the air in mock victory. "Yes!"

You laugh, sitting next to her. God, you miss your talks and your deep conservations. You are literally night and day, and have traits the other lacked. She's bold and doesn't care about conventions and rules – Nora really won't mind punching out paparazzi or falsely sobbing to get out of a speeding ticket and you're not getting into that whole weekend when you go to a Kings of Leon concert together because that's a crazy weekend and it's not up for discussion but yeah, it's one of the many secret, twin things you share – but she protects you.

Sometimes, you don't like it but you let her because it's the way she is.

And you can't hold that against her because you love your sister.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Nora's looking at you, giving you that look.

"Who else?" she replies, seriously. "Anyone marrying you should be talked about."

"Nora – "

"Quiet, you," she says, with a playful sharpness pointing a finger in your direction. "My show in Vancouver two nights ago was fucking awesome, I wrote you and Zoey a wedding song in fifteen minutes and Roxbury Avenue is already working on the third record due in the spring but you know me. It's your wedding – not even all that crazy work will keep me away. Chase, I'm going to be honest with you about something."

You blink and your eyebrows furrow, as your twin slightly bites the corner of her bottom lip.

"Why do I feel the need to be worried?"

"Because you're the worrying type. Now, listen," Nora lets out a laugh to compliment her famously raspy voice. "When I met Zoey, I loved her but I wanted to hug her and punch her in the face all at the same time."

"No, really. Isn't that a shock?"

Nora's face takes on a look of surprise and your lips quirk into a knowing smile.

"Wait – you knew?"

"Yeah. To be honest, I wasn't up to the idea of you marrying Jesse two years ago, but you can handle yourself like I can," you assure her. "I love Zoey, Nora. It's been a crazy thirteen years – from meeting her, to being her best friend to dating her to breaking up with her," you pause and Nora rests her head on your shoulder and you lower your voice. "And then getting back together and asking her to marry me. You can stop trying to protect me."

"No."

It's short and she sounds six again. She's looking at you like you ask her to stop breathing.

"Why?"

Nora shrugs, ruffling her hair a little.

"Because I don't know how not to watch over you, Chase," she shoots you a knowing look, dark red lips in somewhat of a smirk. "Let's face it – if I wasn't around, you'd be walking around with an insulated helmet for life. And maybe wrapped in bubble wrap."

"Hey!" you defend. "I'm better now."

Nora crosses her arms.

"But I am, Nora," you defend, because you're more aware of shoelaces and cracks in the ground and stuff and you're a pretty defensive driver.

"I know," she cracks a smile. "But I couldn't resist the opportunity to make you squirm."

"You're so evil."

She sticks her tongue at you. "Damn right – but I'll always love you and want you to feel safe," her eyes are serious and it feels like she's looking through you, rather than at you. "As long as you're happy, nobody's getting shot or a tire iron to the face. But seriously, don't ask me to stop protecting you. I'll ease up a little bit. Happy?"

"I guess, I can handle that."

"Good," Nora smiles fully, and lightly squeezes your knee. "Zoey will be a good addition to our brood of crazies. I thought you loved her."

"I do. Be nice to her."

"I'll be an angel and re-paint the white picket house while I'm at it. The Matthews Family Reunion this year is going to be insane – well, even more insane."

You turn to her, the question automatic. "Is Aunt Charlotte planning it?"

"Yes," your sister nods seriously with a sigh. And she cringes. "Nothing's worse than walking in to find your middle-aged aunt doing…things to that pizza delivery man in the opposite position. I died a little on the inside when I realized I couldn't stab my eyes out."

You cough awkwardly, "Try mistaking the girl's DA's underwear for a really big pillow case. I touched it – with my guitar hand. One of the lowest points ever."

"Oh, shit!" Nora cries, eyes bulging with surprise. "Gross – but I still win. Remember what Aunt Char did to our pet bunny, Henry. Damn rabbit never had a chance."

Your laughter blends with hers until there's a comfortable silence.

"Wanna fly to Boston with me?" she asks a little quiet for her character, like it's your sixteenth birthday again and she's crying and sobbing over the phone and she's sounds so fragile and incoherent. And she's not supposed to. It's not her. You feel like you're talking to a stranger for that fraction of time because the chinks in her armor are

("Chase, she's dead. Grandma's dead, the cancer got her – she was s'pose to be in remission, dude!" you hear Nora sob and mutter oh my god to herself over and over, beginning to hyperventilate unaware you're standing there and you're on the other end. The bright red birthday robe is becoming tighter or is that your chest? Suddenly, you feel nauseous and you can't breathe and if you don't get out of here your legs going to give out.)

Nora continues, with a shrug.

"You know – for our twenty-sixth birthday? We'll hold off on the party this year. I mean, I'll have a party but just not on that day. Seems disrespectful considering it's been ten whole years since. So, you in or what?"

"Does Jesse know what you're planning?"

"Nope. But I'll tell him when the time's right."

It's almost ten years, and you try to live and move on. But every so often, your grandmother crosses your mind and you almost drift, forgetting your surroundings.

She'd be proud today.

You smile back, "Oh, in that case I'd love to go with you."

Nora lifts her head from her shoulder and sighs, standing up. "Okay, nope. I'm not going to be a downer on your wedding day," she lightly shoves at your shoulder and you come to realize that maybe the girls closest to you like attacking your shoulder because it's weird and affectionate. "I'm going to run home and get dressed before Mom starts blowing up my phone. She's relentless like that. But I'm proud of you. Married life is awesome."

Oh, your mother – Sharon Matthews. She's the kind of mother who is all about family values and togetherness when every holiday from Thanksgiving to Hanukkah comes around, regardless of the fact that you're sort of a non-practicing Jew and she will never get over your sister's conversion into Buddhism. In her eyes, you are still a little, innocent boy and your sister is the problem child she loves unconditionally regardless. Luckily, your father, Dave, doesn't care what you do with your lives as long as you and Nora grow up to be "well-rounded individuals with the access to free, self-expression".

"Hey, you don't have to tell me twice."

The clock says ten thirty now.

"Crap. Uh, I'm going to run home and get dressed. Jesse says hey," she says, planting a quick kiss. The heels of her boots tap faster to co-ordinate with her movements. "I'll see you at the church. Break a leg. Not literally, dude."

Smiling, you take mock offence and roll your eyes.

"And the award for Low Blows goes to Nora Caroline Matthews."

"You have the coordination of Bambi on ice," Nora's green eyes twinkle with amusement and she kisses you on the cheek while giving you a one-armed hug. You hold her frame in a response hug seconds longer because she's the only one who shares everything with you – literally. "But hey, I loved you regardless. Shit, I gotta go cry my way out of a speeding ticket. Later, bro."

"Behave yourself."

"Fat chance!" she playfully winks at you, the tapping of her heels getting farther and farther.

Only she has the mind to not open the door to her black vintage Convertible but clear the jump into the driver's seat while wearing heeled boots.

How very Nora of her.

Honking twice, she drives away and you give a short wave and close the front door.

Your heart's still skipping a couple of beats and you're left wondering when the heck your palms get so clammy and sweaty.

But you blame on it the coffee.

It's all the caffeine's fault because you're cool, calm, and collected – sort of.

It's only your wedding day and you find the feeling of your heart ready to escape out of your chest oddly comforting in that holy-crap-I'm-marrying-Zoey kind of way.

Now, where's that newly bought hair product?

A/N: This is Forever & A Day under a different title and plot. It's still Choey but with a new angle. I was going to do the typical wedding thing and then I wrote that I realized that I love Nora Matthews more than I should so she basically exploded and the talk with Chase grew longer and longer and turned into this – which is great since I like to keep my ideas fresh and interesting. Weddings have been done to DEATH in this fandom anyway. And I like setting trends – not following them.

Of course, I had to be put Michael in there. He's Chase's best friend and in this case, his best man – le duh! Um. So there's nothing else going on in my life right now just that I'll be turning 20 on Thurs and on Wednesday, I'll be forced to knock back shots against my will. What lovely friends I have – so if I'm out of commission or sound weird then you know what happened.

Review if you want. I don't care about the number of reviews as much – I'm mellowing out.

-Erika

PS. I will be writing a oneshot on the song Fireflies. And lucky for you, I have a little bit of Choey juice left in me. Anyone wanna make a video of them with that song – it would make a bitchin' birthday present for me. And it's just SUCH a Choey song. I can't imagine it with Zogan or even with Quogan (we've already established their song as Check Yes Juliet by We The Kings. End of story. Done) So, actually THAT will be my last for the ship. Ever.

I'm working steadily on my Zogan oneshot and actually listening to what songs have a Logan/Zoey vibe. So far, I have Bad Romance, Insomnia by the Veronicas and Poison by Elise Estrada. Check those out.

PPS. I'm free from school tomorrow! HELL TO THE YES. And if you're a Glee fan, we must talk about this new episode. Especially that Will/Terri scene. I thought he was going to pull an Ike Turner on her, I swear. That's how scared I was for Terri. And I don't even like Terri.