Try listening to All This Time by OneRepublic and If My Heart Was A House by Owl City while reading this, because they were major inspirations for this story.

The night of the Frostival Imogen falls asleep with a smile on her face and her old stuffed giraffe in her arms, replaying her ride to the top of the Ferris wheel over and over in her mind. Fiona not leaving Degrassi sounds almost too good to be true, and she can't believe that it's actually happening, that something is finally going her way. Maybe her luck is changing after all.

"Well...what if I'm not?"

—

It turns out she isn't. Fiona does every single thing she possibly can to convince her mother to let her return to Degrassi short of threatening to run away, but when it comes down to it family loyalty wins out and she stays by Laura Coyne's side.

She puts off telling Imogen for a few days, instead letting their texts and phone calls and Skype sessions proceed as normally as possible, trying to avoid the subject of what will happen when they get back. Every Twitter update that pops up on her iPhone from Imogen that has her tagged sends a pang straight to her heart, and she wants to throw the damn thing against the wall and get some relief. She doesn't, though, and focuses on her breathing and calming down and being rational. This isn't the end of the world. She can do this.

—

The look on Imogen's face says it very well might be the end of the world.

Their Skype connection is grainy at best, and the two of them are moving seconds slower than their voices are transmitting, but the younger girl looks heartbroken. "What do you mean you're not coming back to Degrassi?"

Fiona sighs, toying with the tie that's part of her ensemble today. "My mother needs me here in New York. I did everything I could to try and get out of it, but she absolutely refuses to let me go back until things are sorted out here."

A spark of hope ignites in Imogen's eyes and it kills Fiona to know that she has to extinguish it in a moment. "Well, how long will it take to do that? Maybe you can come back before the semester is over and - "

"Imogen, this could take months. I'm not going to make it back before the semester is over. I'll be lucky if I can make it into Vanderbilt Prep again and graduate with the class of 2012 here."

There's a long, long silence and for a moment Fiona wonders if the call has frozen and then dropped, but finally Imogen sighs and takes off her glasses, rubbing at her eyes. "Then what does this mean for us?"

"We can do what we've been doing. Texting, phone calls, Skype sessions. I can visit on weekends; you can come to New York. We can work it out." Fiona shrugs, figuring that long distance relationships can't be as hard as they're portrayed to be in movies. After all, New York is only, what, 300 miles from Toronto? That's hardly an issue; only an hour and a half by airplane.

Imogen puts her glasses back on and stares down at her keyboard, almost as though she's contemplating typing something. "Fiona, do you really think that'll work?"

"Of course it'll work. Why wouldn't it?"

"Because you'll be there and I'll be here. What if you meet some gorgeous New York socialite who sweeps you off your feet and you forget all about me? Or what if we both change while we're away and when we're together we don't fit right anymore?"

She hadn't thought of the second part, so it takes her a minute to formulate a response. "No to the first part, and, well, people change, Im, but I'm sure we can deal with as the time comes. I'm willing to work with it if you are."

The pause on the other end of the Skype line coupled with the lack of eye contact tells Fiona all she needs to know, and she very slowly ends the call, surprised at the lack of tears in her eyes.

—

Almost five years later, Fiona is striding down Fifth Avenue, headed to Saks for a much needed day of shopping after a stressful day at her internship at the ELLE branch in New York when she bumps into a woman heading the other way. The woman has her head bowed, clearly poring over some kind of map, and isn't watching where she's going. The two of them take a ungraceful tumble to the ground, Fiona just barely catching herself before she face plants. The other woman isn't quite as lucky and ends up on her hands and knees, the contents of her purse scattering on the sidewalk.

"Oh, my God, I am so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going, I was trying to read this damn map - New York is so complicated, you know - and I just - " the woman babbles, scrambling to pick up her things. Fiona helps, gathering a lipstick, a compact, a small pair of scissors, and a package of tissues before handing them back to the woman. It's only then that she gets a good look at her, and, God, is it a good look.

The woman is about five six with short, choppy blonde hair around her chin and stunning hazel eyes. She has the prettiest, most delicate face that Fiona has ever seen, and there's an instant kindness and warmth radiating off of her. "I'm Fiona," she suddenly blurts out, holding out her hand.

The other woman doesn't even bat an eye and just laughs, shaking her hand. "Summer. Nice to meet you, Fiona."

Summer. The name rings throughout Fiona's head and the more she looks at Summer the more she can see how the name fits. The woman practically embodies the spirit of the season, dressed in a yellow babydoll dress and with a smile so adorable it could put puppies to shame.

"Would you like to have coffee sometime?" It's out before Fiona can even think about it, before she can even realize that this random girl that she's just run into is probably straight and has no interest in getting coffee with someone who literally just mowed her down in the middle of Fifth Avenue, but Summer surprises her.

"I thought you'd never ask."

—

Coffee turns into dinner which turns into a stroll around New York which turns into a make out session in the back of a cab which turns into a struggle between Summer trying to open her apartment door and Fiona, who is sucking on her pulse point, and right now Fiona's winning.

Eventually Summer wins and they fall into apartment, barely remembering to kick the door shut before Summer has Fiona pressed up against the wall. She hastily mutters "Shh, my roommate," against Fiona's lips before her hands slip under Fiona's shirt, and Fiona could care less about her goddamn roommate right now.

After another few minutes of heavy touching, Summer takes Fiona's hand and leads her to her bedroom, kicking that door shut as well before pushing Fiona down onto the bed and straddling her.

—

The sunlight streams in through the cracks in the blinds and catches Fiona right in the eye, causing her to groan and roll over into the warmth of Summer's body.

Or, more exactly, where Summer's body should be.

The sheets on the blonde girl's side of the bed are cold, like she hasn't been here for hours, and there's no note or anything. There's a sinking feeling in Fiona's chest and she knows without even having to check that this was just a hookup for the other girl and nothing more.

Burying her face in her hands for a second, Fiona contemplates her choices before finally pushing her disheveled hair out of her face and sliding out of the bed to put her clothes back on from last night. She's never done the walk of shame before and she sure as hell didn't think she was going to start now.

When she leaves Summer's bedroom and crosses the living room, she's horrified to see the back of another girl in the kitchen, clearly making breakfast. The girl must hear her footsteps, because she calls to her without turning around. "Hello! You must be another one of Summer's friends. She left a while ago, something about having to go into work early. She does that a lot. Don't expect her to come back or anything; she's kind of a bitch like that. Do you want some pancakes?"

When the owner of the voice turns around, Fiona simply stares for a second before pointing behind Imogen and saying in a monotone voice, "Your pancakes are on fire."

—

Somehow, after the pancake fire is put out (Imogen has no idea where they keep the fire extinguisher and Fiona has to improvise by throwing a towel over the pancakes) and new ones are made, the two of them are seated at the breakfast bar. There's silence galore, but there's also chemistry, something that neither of them can deny. Fiona can hardly even glance at Imogen for wanting to kiss her.

In five years, Imogen has done a lot of growing up. Gone are the glasses and the buns, and in their place are contacts and long, silky, straight hair. The odd clothes have been replaced with a more normal style, and she looks healthy and happy. She looks beautiful, in a word, and Fiona didn't know that it was possible for her to become more so than the last time she saw her. It makes Fiona self-conscious. She feels like she hasn't changed very much since high school. Sure, her wardrobe has been updated, and she's lost some weight, but that's the extent of it. She's still the same Fiona Coyne.

"How did you end up in New York?"

"How did you end up in my roommate's bed?"

Fiona is taken aback by Imogen's acerbic tone and glances back down to her pancakes, blushing bright red. She uses her fork to toy with her food, finding that she's suddenly not very hungry at all. Beside her, Imogen sighs.

"Photography opportunities are far more present in New York than they are in Toronto."

"I ran into Summer on the street and asked her on a date."

So they're going to do a question for a question and an answer for an answer.

"What are you doing now?" Imogen this time.

"I work as an intern for ELLE magazine. You?"

"Freelance photography. I guess you're not seeing anyone?"

"No. You?"

"I haven't seen anyone since we broke up."

The news stuns Fiona. It's been five whole years. Imogen went through all of university and half a year in New York without seeing a single person? They didn't even date that long; only for a few weeks. She knew that their bond was intense, but she didn't think that it had been that deep, at least not on Imogen's side. She'd be lying if she said that she didn't think of Imogen a lot more often than she cared to admit.

"Not a single person?"

"No."

The one-word answers seem to close that particular topic and Fiona tries a different angle.

"Do you still talk to Eli? Or Adam or Clare?"

"Yeah. Eli and Clare are happy, still in Toronto. Adam started dating Katie a few years ago and I guess that's going well."

"Katie Matlin? The Katie Matlin?" Fiona can't help but be incredulous; the girl was terrible to her in high school and she can't imagine her being nice to Adam, let alone date him. But as long as Adam is happy, she's happy for him.

Suddenly Imogen stands and puts her plate in the sink before turning around and crossing her arms, staring at Fiona.

"Don't you think it's time for you to go?"

Fiona is caught completely off guard, stammering out a reply. "I - I guess so."

She picks up her bag and heads to the door, throwing a confused look behind her, but Imogen is already scrubbing the plates in the sink and paying no attention to her ex-girlfriend, so Fiona slips out quietly.

—

Later on, when Fiona is in her own apartment by herself, eating Chinese food out of the carton and watching reruns of Friends, she thinks back to where it all went wrong with Imogen. She knows it was with the Skype conversation, but why was Imogen so ready to end it all so quickly? And why can't she just move on and get Imogen out of her head? And why can't Imogen seem to do the same?

Fiona's cat, Mason, leaps onto the couch beside her and she sighs, putting down her food and placing him in her lap. "Oh, Mase, where did I go wrong?" She scratches behind his ears, listening to his purring. "Should I go back and talk to her? Or will that make things worse? I feel like I've been driving myself crazy for the past five years, and now that she lives, what, ten blocks away, it's only going to get worse. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and ask..."

Mason purrs in response and bats at a strand of Fiona's curly hair, and she smiles down at him in response, chucking underneath his chin. "You're the best listener, Mason. The only guy for me, clearly."

—

Fiona ends up standing outside Imogen and Summer's apartment a few weeks later, trying to work up the nerve to actually knock on the door. She's rehearsed so many speeches, so many things that she wants to both ask and tell Imogen and she just wants to - just wants to talk.

Finally she squares her shoulders and, before she can lose her sudden burst of courage, knocks on the door, stepping back a bit. There's a shout from inside the apartment, a thud that sounds like someone tripping over something, the slide of a chain, and then Imogen is opening the door, all smiles and bright eyes, both of which disappear when they see Fiona.

Fiona's brain kicks into overdrive. "I don't know why you hate me because I wanted to make things work so much in high school because I liked you so much. I wanted to be your girlfriend even if it was going to be tough and even if it was going to be a lot of work because I was willing to do because you were worth it. I don't know what happened or what I did wrong or why you suddenly didn't want to do it, but I'm sorry for whatever I did. It's been eating away at me for the past five years and I just want to know. So please, please, please just tell me what I did wrong so I can go back to my apartment and eat my take out with my cat and watch TV and try and feel like a normal single loser on Friday night." It all comes out in one breath and by the end Fiona is panting, eyes wide.

Imogen looks stunned, like she can't believe this is happening in front of her right now, like this anchor from her past has been dragged up from the depths. She pinches the bridge of her nose and opens the door wider before turning on her heel and heading into the apartment. Fiona takes the cue and enters, shutting the door behind her.

She finds Imogen pouring them both sodas, and she's touched that the girl remembers that she can't have alcohol. She's not sure why she's touched, since it's a huge thing and everyone should remember it, but she still is. Out of nowhere, Imogen starts.

"I did it for you. You were going off to New York to start this brand new life and to meet brand new people and be a brand new you. I knew that you'd wanted to reinvent yourself since Holly J left and you were alone, and it was the perfect chance for you. Having your weirdo girlfriend from back home in Toronto was only going to bring you down, and I just wanted you to be happy, you know? So I broke up with you. I figured that a girl like you would forget a girl like me in no time and pick up a hot socialite and be one of those power couples and be ridiculously happy and we'd both move on and life would be fine." She chuckles wryly.

"Except I can't forget you. It's ridiculous. I compare everyone to you and no one measures up and I hate it. There's always some flaw and I always think that you don't have it, or I think that you wouldn't say that, or I see something and think that you would love it. It's awful. Fiona, you haven't even been in my life for five years and I don't even know how much you've changed, and I've fallen in love with you."

Fiona's absolutely rooted to the spot she's standing in, overwhelmed by all of the information coming at her. Everything that Imogen is saying is how she's been feeling for all of these months, except she hasn't had the capacity to verbalize it. She's never thought it was possible to fall in love with a person who wasn't there, but maybe, just maybe, it is.

"Oh, Imogen..." she breathes out, watching as the smaller girl sets down her glass on the breakfast bar and avoids Fiona's gaze.

"Imogen Moreno, you complete and utter ass. Did it even cross your mind that not being with you would make me unhappier than anything else? That being with you was the best thing that ever happened to me? That maybe, just maybe, I was falling in love with you and that no socialite in the world could hold a candle to you? I'd pick my weirdo in Toronto any day of the week."

There's a fire in Fiona's eyes as she rounds the counter and Imogen meets her gaze steadily for a few seconds before flicking down to her lips and that's all the invitation Fiona needs. Her lips crash down onto Imogen's and it's sloppy and there's a clash of teeth because there's still anger in there somewhere, but their second kiss is softer, nicer. Imogen's hands go from gripping the counter to cup Fiona's face and Fiona's hands settle on Imogen's waist.

When the kiss ends, Imogen drops her head onto Fiona's shoulder and sighs. "I always hoped you'd come back."

Fiona grins, recalling Imogen's words from high school so many years ago.

"We must be soul mates."