#they’ve lived together for years. they have seen each other at their worst. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thosehallowedhalls · 3 months

Text

The 2 AM Christmas Tree Farm (2/2)

Pairing: Trystan Thorne/MC (Emma Rose)

Summary: Trystan is haunted by regrets. But when he's granted a wish to undo the worst of them, he finds that the price might be more than he's willing to pay.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

It’s the most surreal experience.

Juliana suggests that he spend today with her, since he took the day off anyway. Good thing, too, because he has no idea what he's supposed to be working on. He trails along as she irons out last-minute details for the ball, her signature charm and kindness ensuring that everyone receives her commentary with a genuine smile.

Every once in a while, he looks at her and his heart fills with joy at seeing her alive and obviously happy. Every time, however, a stab of pain and guilt follows. Pain, because he has lost the most important part of his life. Guilt, because wanting Emma back means wanting to go back to a life where two people he cares about died horrific deaths.

“Trystan?” Juliana tries to keep her tone light, but he can hear the concern underneath. “Are you all right? You’ve seemed distracted all morning.”

He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine. It’s like I told you earlier, I didn’t sleep well.”

She clears her throat. “Thinking about Vasili again?”

His gaze swivels to meet hers. “What?”

“It’s been eight years since… well, since it happened.”

He’s unwilling to let this chance go. “I’ve been thinking about it, yes. It was a difficult night.”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve never been as relieved as I was the moment you walked out of the cabin and knocked him out. I don’t know what he would’ve done if it had been just us.”

I do, Trystan thinks grimly. “It must have been so hard for you.”

“It was hard for both of us. But I try to count my blessings.” She kisses his cheek. “I have plenty of those.”

He hesitates for a moment, trying to think of the best way to bring up his next question. “It affected Sebastyan, too.”

“How could it not? Finding out that the person you trust most in the world is capable of murder…” She shakes her head sadly. “Well, it’s no wonder he’s never been the same.”

“Still, it appears that Bas has plenty of blessings himself.” He wonders if Juliana still knows him well enough to pick up on the jealousy he can’t quite keep at bay.

“Behave,” she says. “I know you don’t like him, but you know he has changed.”

“I do. Moving out at twenty certainly isn’t something the old Bas would have done.”

She fidgets, looking uncomfortable. “Do we have to talk about it?”

“Why shouldn’t we?”

“Come on, Trystan.” She lowers her voice. “He got over me a long time ago. It isn’t fair to him or Emma to bring that up.”

Understanding comes in a flash. “He moved out so he wouldn’t have to see us together all the time.”

“And it was the right choice for all of us. That distance is one of the main reasons we were able to repair our friendship.” She smiles. “And the fact that he wasn’t living in the same palace as most of your siblings is why he was able to convince Emma to give him a chance.”

He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to hear this, but he knows he has to. “He’s lucky she did.”

“Oh, without a doubt. This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. It might have taken them some time to get past the initial personality clash, but they’ve made up for lost time.”

“Right, yes. I never imagined they would get together when they first met.”

“Really? I could tell from the start. Whenever they got within five feet of each other, sparks flew.”

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. Stop talking. Please. “Did they? I never noticed.”

“Marguerite and I certainly did.”

“You talked about it?”

“Of course. She was the first to see it. She jokes that she would’ve paid more if she had known, when she hired Emma to find out who stole the designs from her collection, that she was hiring a future sister-in-law too.”

His heart in his throat, Trystan sinks his nails into his palms. “Sister-in-law?”

“Bas hasn’t said anything yet, but I know him. We’ll have another royal wedding soon.”

He can’t do this anymore. “If you have this covered, I think I’m going to lie down for a few minutes. It really was a bad night.”

As they stand in the parlor with their drinks that evening, he can’t help but remember the last family dinner he attended here. He couldn’t hold Emma’s hand or kiss her back then, either. But they exchanged covert smiles full of meaning – and promises for later.

This time, he’s standing with Juliana, something that would have made him inordinately happy once, as she chats with Marguerite. He supposes that he’s meant to be part of this conversation too, but all he’s managed so far are moderately well-timed monosyllables when they ask for his opinion on a topic.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Emma and Sebastyan standing close together, whispering to each other. They look lost in their own little world, and if he thought he’d been jealous before, it’s nothing compared to what he’s feeling now. She smiles at Bas the way she always smiles at him. Like he’s the only person in her world.

Feeling ill, he excuses himself and walks away.

He seeks shelter in one of the countless balconies in the palace, trying to breathe past the sheer grief of being thrust into a life he himself asked for without understanding the implications. This isn’t his life. He doesn’t want this to be his life. He wants New York, his friends, his job. Above all, he wants Emma.

As if conjured, she walks out and pauses upon seeing him. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

“No need to apologize. This balcony is big enough for both of us. And I told you to call me Trystan.”

“So you did.”

Apparently, Alternate Universe Emma can make him smile as easily as Original Emma. “But you’re planning to ignore me.”

“Yup.”

The single word amuses as much as it hurts. “Can I ask why?”

The look she gives him is so full of disdain, it feels like a punch to the gut.

“I deleted the mind-reading app from my phone, so I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to use actual words.”

It would’ve made his Emma laugh. But this is Sebastyan’s Emma. The one who has given her loyalty to his brother, so she has no love lost for the irresponsible older brother who pawned his responsibilities onto Bas and treated him like an annoyance on top of it.

“Tempting, but I’d rather not get deported today, thanks all the same.”

“Consider this a free pass to tell me what you think of me. Deportation is off the table.”

“Fine. You’re an adult-sized toddler who’s spent his entire life dumping his responsibilities onto others. First your siblings, now your wife. And to top it all off, you have the gall to judge Sebastyan for not liking you.”

The words stab like knives. His lips twist into the mockery of a smile. “I did ask you.”

Emma’s eyes narrow. “You’re actually upset.”

He gives a humorless laugh. “Do you know many people who would be unbothered by that character assessment?”

“Astrid, the twins, Patryk.”

“And now you’re comparing me to them. It’s like a giant hug.”

Her lips twitch. “I’ll give you this, you’re probably not as bad as them.”

“Probably. Well, I can die happy now. Probably not as bad as a bunch of sociopathic narcissists is exactly how I want to be viewed.”

The look on her face… It reminds him of the way she looked at him when they were first getting to know each other. Reluctantly amused. Intrigued against her better judgement. Whatever happens next, he wants to fall to his knees and thank the universe for once again giving him the chance to see her look at him without animosity.

“It’s good to have goals.” She walks to the door, stops for a moment. “This has been… illuminating. Your Majesty.”

He watches her go, his heart aching.

“Oh.”

He jumps at the surprised sound, his head swiveling to meet Juliana’s eyes. There’s no mistaking the hurt in them. Guilt churns in him as he easily imagines what she saw on his face when he looked at Emma.

Longing.

“Juli…”

She turns on her heel and leaves.

Juliana doesn’t say a word – at first. She talks and laughs like nothing has happened, giving nobody any indication that anything’s amiss. But when his parents and siblings retire to their suites, she whirls on him.

“Is there something between you and Emma?”

“No!” Not in this universe, anyway. But he must have hesitated for a split second too long because twin sparks of fury and pain light up in Juliana’s eyes.

“How could you do this? She’s Sebastyan’s girlfriend!”

“Juli, there is nothing between me and Emma.”

Something in his tone takes the fight out of her. Sorrow fills her eyes. “Do you realize how sad you sound when you say that?”

What can he say to that? Deny it? It’s devastating to him that he and Emma aren’t together. This was supposed to be their Christmas. The first of their lives together.

“I don’t… I’m not sad.” He’s not. He’s heartbroken. And from the look on Juliana’s face, he’s not the only one.

“You forget, Trystan, I know what you look like when you’re in love. I would recognize that look in your eyes anywhere.”

“I’m not…” The words die in his throat. He can’t bear for her to think that her husband is in love with another woman. But everything in him revolts at the idea of denying his feelings for Emma. He’s not doing that. Not ever again. “Juli, I swear to you, the man you married only has eyes for you.”

It isn’t a lie. He’s sure that the Trystan who married Juliana has never stopped being in love with her. But… that’s not him. He stopped being the Trystan that Juliana knew eight years ago.

“I’ll sleep in my rooms tonight.”

Her little sidelong glance tells him that she’s hoping he’ll protest. But he can’t. Different universe or not, the only person he wants in his bed is Emma.

He retires to his own suite and tries not to think that somewhere in the floor below, Emma is sharing a room with Sebastyan.

Firs and spruces. Hot cocoa and candy. This time, Trystan recognizes the Christmas tree farm immediately. Relieved, he wanders off in search of Jacob.

“Looking for me?” He appears out of thin air, dragging a Douglas fir.

“What have you done?”

“I gave you what you wanted.”

“This is not what I wanted. I wanted to save Juliana and Sebastyan, not lock myself into a completely different life!”

“You wanted to make different choices, and I gave you the opportunity to do that. Different choices lead to different lives, Trystan.”

He grits his teeth. “Undo it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that power.”

“Are you saying I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life watching the woman I love be in love with someone else? That I lost my best friends and my job? And there’s nothing I can do about it?”

“You misunderstand. I can’t undo it. You can.”

“How?”

“You have to accept.”

“Accept what?”

Jacob smiles. “Everything.”

The Christmas ball is magnificent.

It meets 21-year-old Juliana’s expectations and then some. Trystan has never seen the ballroom so exquisitely decorated, or actual enjoyment on the faces of their guests.

He finds himself sitting at the main table, next to Juliana and right across from Emma and Sebastyan. He was worried at first that Juliana’s behavior towards Emma would be different, but he should have known better. Juli would never hold someone’s feelings against another person. Regardless of who either of them is.

As the night unfolds, conversation turns to Emma’s job. Private investigators are unusual enough to perk their tablemates’ interest.

“What was your worst case?” Markarov asks.

Emma’s hand tightens on the stem of her wine glass, her eyes shadowed. Trystan knows, without a doubt, what she’s about to say. “Have you heard of the Heartache Killer?”

Some of the people at the table gasp. Others simply look confused.

“It’s the serial killer who murdered Sonja Dormer,” Juliana explains somberly.

“Oh, I remember that. The killer was never caught, were they?”

Trystan sucks in a breath.

“No,” Emma says, her expression shuttered. “As far as I know, the police never even got a real lead.”

“It’s a shame you couldn’t take the case after you found her,” Marguerite says. “You would’ve found the killer.”

“Yeah, well, I was hired to find Sonja. I wasn’t hired to find her murderer.” She sighs. “I wish I had been though. Her mother never got the answers she needed.”

Trystan stands up and excuses himself. It’s utterly unbecoming of a king, but he can’t be in this room any longer.

He makes his way to the same balcony where he and Emma talked yesterday. He needs the familiar to deal with the awful information he’s just learned. Eleanor and Tony are still out there. How many more victims are there now that the only people investigating are the likes of Morris and Holbeck?

He closes his eyes. How did he fail to consider that he and Emma only ever met because of Sonja’s murder? That the only reason she ever agreed to see him again after that first day was because he hired her to catch the killer? Without him and Emma, Sonja, Bethany, and Reese would never have gotten justice. Without the two of them, working side by side, Tony and Eleanor would still be at large, adding to their tally of victims.

It turns out he can’t undo his original life, the one he looked back on with such regret, without undoing the good he did for other people along with it. And if that’s the case… Does that mean he shouldn’t feel guilty in the first place? That he should accept that all lives come with good and bad experiences, that all choices lead to mixed outcomes, and you never know how far the ripple effect will reach? That it’s pointless to linger on "bad" choices unless it’s to learn from them?

Suddenly, something envelops Trystan. It’s a strange sensation, unusual enough that it takes him a moment to recognize it, break it down.

Relief.

Acceptance.

Peace.

The balcony, the palace, Drakovia, it all blurs around him. He feels a floating sensation for a second. Then it all goes black.

He awakens with a jolt. A quick look around tells him he’s half-seated, half-lying on the couch, the remote still in his hand. The Christmas tree he decorated with Emma glitters in the dark.

He’s home.

He stands, shoves his keys into his pocket, and leaves.

A quick visit to the bar lets him know that Emma already went home. He redirects his steps towards her apartment, knocking urgently on the door once, twice, three times when it takes her more than five seconds to answer.

“I’m coming! For the record, it’s too damn late for this.” She yanks the door open. “Trystan? What are you doing here?”

He drinks her in. She’s wearing the Christmas sweater that Ruby gave her after Thanksgiving, the one she made her promise to wear a few times before relegating it to the back of her closet. For all of Emma’s grumbling, he’s convinced that she secretly loves it. Her hair stands on end around her face, and her eyes are bleary with sleep.

It’s Emma. His Emma.

He takes one long step, gathering her to his chest with crushing force. “I missed you.”

“O… kay. Trystan, it’s been, like, three hours.”

He holds her closer. “It felt longer.”

“Hey.” She runs a hand up and down his back. “What’s going on?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I will, but… let’s just stay like this for a while.” He buries his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her. “Please.”

She says nothing. Instead, she tugs him into the apartment and leads him to her bed. They curl up together, not speaking, simply holding each other. It’s exactly what he needs.

“Emma?”

“Hmm?”

He cups her jaw and looks into her eyes. “I love you with every beat of my heart. You know that, right?”

She turns her head, kisses his palm. “Right back atcha.”

They lie there together until they fall asleep. For the first time, he doesn't regret a thing.

#trystan x mc #trystan x emma #crimes of passion #trystan thorne #detective rose #emma rose #playchoices #the 2 am christmas tree farm

54 notes · View notes

navnae · 1 year

Text

For the past few months Steve has been going on and on about a girl he’s seeing, well that’s what he told his parents. Steve didn’t really know how to tell his parents that he liked men and women while also having a metal head boyfriend as well. It seemed like a lot for him to tell them in one day but eventually he had to.

“Steve you’re making me nervous.” Eddie said while watching his boyfriend walk back and forth in his trailer. He understood for some people that their families weren’t supportive of how they live their lives and who they live it with. Eddie never had to deal with that because his uncle supported him no matter what and treated him the same way. Steve on the other hand was new to being in a steady relationship and dating a guy for the first time, Eddie had to let him deal with it all the best way could find.

“I’m sorry,” Steve stopped in front of Eddie who was sitting on the couch. He had all these images in his head about what could happen when he finally tells them. What will they think? What would his dad think? He quit basketball a few years earlier and that really pissed him off for awhile, Steve could only imagine the insults about how he wasn’t participating in sports because he became a “sissy” or he was influenced by kids at school. “I just want them to support me, support us.”

“Hey. Come here.” Eddie pulled Steve onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist giving him a tight squeeze in the process. Eddie caressed the side of Steve’s cheek, a light pink appearing on them. He something in Steve that he’s never seen before and it made his chest tighten. Fear was all over Steve’s face with tears forming in his eyes.

“Eddie, what if they hate me or tell me that I’m a mistake? I don’t think I can handle-“ Steve started to ramble and the tears just came running down his face. He started breathing heavily as his thoughts completely consumed him. Eddie pulled him closer and let him lay his head on his chest. He gently brushed Steve’s hair with his fingers trying to calm him down.

“Everything is going to be ok. They’re still going to love you Steve, look at me.” Eddie lifted Steve’s head so their eyes met. His big brown eyes were filled with tears and he struggled to keep eye contact.

“And if they don’t that’s on them. I love you and nothing or no one is going to change that.” Eddie spoke softly. Steve started to calm down a little after being reassured by Eddie’s words. Maybe he was overthinking everything and his parents would love him still. Steve admired Eddie’s delicate nature when he comforted him. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind Eddie’s ear and took in all of the beauty of his boyfriend.

“What did I do to deserve you.” Steve said softly while tracing over Eddie’s tattoos that were on his arm. Eddie took Steve’s hand and placed it near his mouth to give it small kisses.

“Being your authentic self made me fall for you and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.” Eddie leaned in and captured Steve’s lips. They kissed each other slowly, letting their movements stay at a gentle pace. It felt like the first time when they kissed during a firework show during the Fourth of July. A spark began between them that day and they’ve been together ever since, truly young love.

“I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you too.”

Today was the day that Steve was going to tell his parents about his relationship with Eddie. He prepared himself for the worst that could happen and Eddie scolded him about doing so. They got dressed for the evening to have dinner with Steve’s parents. Eddie thought it would be a good idea to be present when Steve explained to his parents about their relationship.

Steve thought it would’ve been better if it happens gradually but Eddie said there wouldn’t be a better time then to do this now. It felt like ages when when Steve finally pulled up to his parents house and he saw the house lights on. Eddie held his hand, squeezing it tightly to reassure him again that everything will be alright.

Both of them walked towards the front door hesitating on who should knock first. Steve was the one to knock since he was going to be the one doing most of the talking. The door opened and Steve’s dad was the first person Steve had to deal with first. His dad had a confused look on his face before quickly giving a small smile to both boys.

“Long time no see son.” Steve’s dad joked but it was obvious that he was trying to understand the situation at hand. He wanted to say more to Steve, instead he silently let both of them inside the house. Steve noticed the way his dad was looking at Eddie and his stomach was already turning with fear. His mom swiftly entered the living room making the vibe kind of brighter. She hugged Steve so tight that he didn’t think that she would ever let him go.

“My baby boy, I’ve missed you so much. Oh… excuse my manners, hello.” Steve’s mom reached her hand out to shake Eddie’s hand. Eddie shook her hand and showed a charming smile.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Eddie.” Eddie introduced himself. He didn’t show any signs of nervousness around Steve’s parents and that made Steve feel better about tonight. She kept her smile but now she was the one with a confused look on her face.

“Steve you didn’t tell us you were bringing a friend.” Steve’s mom said in a sweet tone even though those words weren’t meant to be. His dad chimed in almost immediately after looking somewhat angry.

“We said this was going to be a family night. You’re mother prepared a meal that would only be able to feed me, her, you and your girlfriend that you said you were bringing.” Steve’s dad made sure to glare at Eddie as he spoke. Steve knew it was time to step in because he refused to let his dad try to make Eddie feel bad in any type of way.

“There was a change of plans because,” Steve paused to look at his parents and Eddie. His heart was beating so fast as he prepared what he was going to say. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Steve’s parents were shocked to hear him say that. Steve hated that he lied to them for so long but he was trying to find the appropriate time to tell them. Eddie looked at Steve and gently rubbed his back, ignoring the looks that his parents were giving him.

“For awhile I was dating someone and it was never “the perfect girl” that you guys imagined, instead I met the perfect boy,” Steve held Eddie’s hand while trying to ease his nerves.

“Mom, dad, I have a boyfriend and he’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Steve finally got the words out of his mouth. He felt his body get lighter after being able to express his feelings after several months of hiding them. Eddie was proud of Steve for doing something so major even though it scared him to death and he didn’t know what the outcome was going to be.

Steve’s parents are silent for awhile as they looked at their son and his boyfriend that they were just finding out about. Steve’s mom walked over to Eddie and pulled him into an embrace. She started to tear up as she held him in her arms.

“Thank you for making baby happy.” She whispered so only Eddie could hear. Eddie wasn’t an emotional guy but right now he wasn’t too far from tearing up either. She pulled away and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You’re not mad?” Steve asked her just like he was a child. She laughed at his cuteness and shook her head. He hugged his mom tightly when she got closer. She kissed the top of his forehead once they separated. Steve was feeling good until he realized that his dad hadn’t said anything for the past few minutes. Steve’s dad walked towards him and lolled at him. Steve wasn’t in the mood to argue but if he had to he wasn’t going to back down.

“Steve,” he began to speak with a serious tone. Steve waited for the insults to come out and disrupt the peace. He clenched his fist as his dad stood in front of him.

“If that’s all can we please eat the food now I’m starving.” Steve’s dad joked and gave him a pat on the back. Eddie and Steve looked at each other being completely speechless. His dad sat at the kitchen table and started to eat. “Hey guys! The food is still warm, let’s have a nice family dinner shall we.”

“Told you.” Eddie pulled Steve in for a kiss and they went into the kitchen a joined his parents for dinner.

258 notes · View notes

twig-tea · 2 months

Text

Ossan's Love Returns: I Love This Show

I have so many feelings about this finale; and they’re very different from my feelings about the Perfect Propose finale (both very good but in extremely different ways) so having experienced both today has been a real emotional journey!

This episode left me feeing euphoric. I am not a huge crier, but Ossan’s Love always gets to me, and I cried four times during this finale. Then I rewatched and cried four times again.

There is something about how this show does such a good job of capturing complicated and loving relationships of all kinds–romantic, platonic, familial, other–and making me believe that they will support one another through anything, even as they whack each other with frying pans and despair at their loved ones ever having two braincells function at the same time.

That exasperated, eyes wide open, no illusions about who you’re with kind of love has been in the series from the first season, but in this season it feels so lived in. The comfort that all of the characters have with one another, having all seen one another at their worst already, is palpable. And the way the original gang were so open to the new characters and their absurdities was so touching.

There are so many things I love about this show. Haruta and Maki’s relationship makes me feel so proud of them, knowing how far they’ve come from Season 1, and everything they went through in that season and the film to get here. But even just taking the season as a stand-alone, there is so much growth this season. They go from a couple who have not been in the same city together for years to living together, and they have to learn to be in one another’s physical space. They have conversations with both sets of parents, they navigate whether or not to have a wedding, whether or not to have kids, and just how to show appreciation for one another in a long-term relationship.

The way Maki said that Haruta was his happiness, and Haruta said that he was happiest just looking at the sky with Maki (because Maki is his happiness too) made me cry twice. Maki is so competent, but Haruta is kind; and it’s his consistent, active kindness that holds their wider found family group together. The way Maki had to learn to actively think about Haruta’s happiness in the same way was that Haruta does all the time, in the same way that Haruta had to learn to be competent in cooking and cleaning so that he could take some of the burden off Maki, this is the stuff that gets to me.

The way this found family cares about one another, rallies around whenever one of them needs it, and shows up for one another consistently, also really gets to me. And this show knows exactly what it’s doing–there were some wonderful conversations this episode about what counts as ‘family’, and how sometimes the importance of someone in your life can’t be easily defined but that doesn’t make them any less important (that was another one of the times I cried). The final placard of the show read WE ARE FAMILY in sakura petals, and that’s what made me cry the fourth time (and is making me tear up now to think about).

And I can’t think about this gang without thinking about how so many of the relationships in it are complicated, like I mentioned above. The way Maki and Kurosawa cannot be in a scene together without sniping, but Maki calls Kurosawa for help when he needs it and Kurosawa leaves Maki an extremely touching note acknowledging Maki’s importance in Haruta’s life. The way Maro and Haruta are friends but Haruta also chastizes Maro’s causal speech every time they talk. The way Chouko has found a detente with her mother-in-law by bonding over a boy band, and how Chizu relies on the Arais for childcare but feels ashamed that she has to. The way Takegawa wants a relationship so strongly but holds himself back from making a[nother] move on Maki so that Maki and Haruta can have a happy wedding day. The way Haruta can’t return Izumi’s feelings but he leaves room for him to feel them.The way Chouko and Izumi bond over having lost a long-held love. The way everyone thinks Kiku is super suspicious but they still eat his onigiri. The way Kurosawa gifts Kiku his fermentation pot in recognition of the both of them holding onto unrequited love.

This show makes me so happy. I could keep explaining all the ways in which it brings me joy, but honestly, just go watch it. It’s on GagaOOLala right now, and @isaksbestpillow is working on improved subs for all episodes (the subs on Gaga are good enough to understand what's going on, but Siiiri's are better for understanding the nuances and jokes). You don’t need to have seen any of the previous content to enjoy this show. If you’ve ever lamented that BL isn’t funny; that BL doesn’t feature established relationships, that BL doesn’t have enough older characters; that JBL couples don’t kiss or show affection, then watch this show.

#ossan's love returns #bl meta #typed so that i can stop thinking it

35 notes · View notes

fairybinie · 1 year

Text

KISS, DON’T TELL — 05: passion

synopsis: popular and menacingly wicked choi beomgyu has the entire senior class wrapped around his finger. the high school drama club has cherished y/n as their veteran for four years. to fulfill beomgyu’s graduation requirements, he must join y/n’s drama club despite his grudges. unbeknownst to everyone else, y/n and beomgyu have their history. they’ve kissed before (or more like y/n has bitten his lip to bleed) and beomgyu hasn’t lived it down ever since. y/n cannot stand this guy. they can make it through the entire year as the leads in their play, right?

taglist: @iyeonjuni @odxrilove @iuwon @ijhyo @cherr-y-eji @ameliesaysshoo @enhacolor @cherrybeomgyu @wccycc @hyukabean @strawberri-uyu @hyuntaena @feyregels @boba-beom @luvnhwa @tyunsion @ashxxgyu @bibinnieposts @laylasbunbunny @robinsluva @shiguresohmas @h00nerz @beomsbeanie @stepout-09-15 @ox1-lovesick @soobsdior @ifwtyun @peachy-yabbay @sunlightwoo @ttyunz @rikijackson04 @miyawwn @aintgeluh @baekhyunstruly @wxderingthoughts @moontyuns @soobpricity @hyeinszn @txtbrainrot @phenomenalgirl9 @fatoompie @stellz581 @bluebearybeom @extriella @1-800-ryujin @galaxyhalloes @tae-ology @dekusgirl @xavi-in-kpopland @run2seob @obeymeharemowner @bailies-me @aestheticsluut

send an ask to be apart of the taglist!

prev / masterlist / next

a/n: written (3.6k). profanity, mentions of kissing, mentions of violence (hitting of the arm lol). sorry for the later upload than usual but we made it 😵‍💫

...

the familiar ringing of the school bell blasts through every speaker signaling for the next period. y/n feels a burst of energy flow down to their legs as they get up from the table outside, throwing every crumbled wrapper to the nearest trash bin. this was their lunch period that they would normally share with eliana, but she had her own matters to attend to. those matters being in spanish, aka her worst subject.

though it’s unfortunate that y/n doesn’t see soobin or kai this period, they were blessed to have majority of their classes with them. y/n doesn’t see eliana for any other class besides theatre, so it’s certainly a bittersweet feeling.

with their eyes glued on their dimly lit device, y/n walks with light steps over to the bricked wall that connects to the theatre building. they lean against it as they take a sniff of the warm air, peak september weather. the group decided to meet each other outside the building so they could head in there together, just as they always did every single day.

more students begin to walk inside as they say their greetings to y/n, to which they return a friendly smile and wave. y/n was practically the founder of the drama club, if it wasn’t discovered four years ago it certainly was now. y/n has earned their respect and developed a bond with each and every student with their kindness and motivation. true passion at its finest.

a florally fruity scent makes close proximity to y/n’s nostrils and their eyes dart around to follow the fragrance. just as expected, eliana jogs on over in the most effortless way, really captivating her beauty. nobody ever notices how gorgeous the girl is considering she has a scowl on her face every given moment, but once that smile steeps in, she’s golden.

“there’s my soulmate!” y/n beams as their nose scrunches in admiration.

y/n opens their arms to let their best friend into their embrace. they’ll forever be the only person eliana allows to hug her.

“hola mi compartimentó favorito!” eliana salutes with full confidence, receiving a hearty laugh from y/n.

“you’re getting there,” they say with a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

the two look around the corner to see soobin and kai on their way to them. the boys can be seen debating on some topic as their voices projectively become louder. y/n is not surprised that they’re here together, it definitely feeds into their gum skit they have going on.

“soobin!” y/n runs over to the tall blonde, greeting him with their infamous line. anytime they see him they make sure to say his name in the most relative way possible. soobin returns the gesture and the boys put their conversation on pause. y/n goes over to hug the younger boy, making sure to give kai’s cheeks a squeeze, exhausting to kai, but satisfying for y/n.

y/n stands further away from the pair and notices that their outfits are similar, so they see what they were talking about in the group chat now. was it really a coincidence, they never know with these two.

“are we ready for this next hour?” kai announces with enthusiasm, raising his hands up in the process. it earns a collective laugh from the other three.

“most definitely,” y/n shares as they look at the time on their apple watch. two minutes until class starts.

“have you seen beomgyu anywhere?” eliana asks, seemingly out of the blue.

soobin circles his eyes to the back of his head as a sly smirk rests on the lower half of his face. “what she really wants to know is if you’ve seen taehyun.”

the girl forces a smile with crinkled eyes as she punches soobin with full force in the arm, earning a yelp from soobin. he tries to hide the pain, but it’s no use. they all know how much that hurt.

“no, i haven’t seen either of them,” y/n answers with slightly darker eyes. “frankly, i don’t want to.”

the group senses the shift in tone and sympathizes with their friend, understanding where they’re coming from.

“hey, we’ll be here for you,” kai comforts with a side hug as he rests his head on top of y/n’s. “it might not be as bad as you think! but if anything, he’ll have to go through us.”

this brings y/n some relief and the group begins to walk over inside the class as eliana holds out the door. kai still has his arm around y/n’s and soobin follows loosely behind them, his other hand still soothing the sore arm.

“maybe not soobin, not with that weak arm.”

“you are so lucky you’re a girl.”

…

the gang heads to their designated seats in the front row; kai in the corner, soobin on his left, y/n in the middle, and eliana on their left. though there is no specific seating arrangement for this class, no one has dared tried to take their spots. not because of intimidation, but just through respect.

everyone is lost in conversation right when the beloved mrs. kim makes her presence on stage. with one singular clap, she grabs everyone’s attention.

“welcome, my precious students!” the woman says with warmth in her voice. she’s watched most of these people grow up and is pleased to see them continue on with their passion. “are we ready for this year?”

the room fills with unanimous cheer, which temporarily throws off mrs. kim, but she can’t help but chuckle to herself. her hands signal everyone to simmer down and the room slowly falls silent once again.

“i’m glad to hear that! i will say i am excited to work with some new faces,” mrs. kim scans the room with two fingers pointed up. “do we have choi beomgyu, choi yeonjun, and kang taehyun with us?”

y/n feels their previously relaxed demeanor begin to tense up as they avoid looking around the room. they were still hoping that this was all a dream and wouldn’t have to interact with choi beomgyu all year. they’re at ease once mrs. kim clicks her tongue with a tilt of her head.

“i guess not,” the woman gives a light-hearted chuckle and jokes, “maybe they dropped out last minute. okay class, i’m going to start you with-”

mrs. kim is interrupted when the door bursts right open and y/n already knows what to expect. their heart drops down to their feet while it pulses around their ankles. their lungs are barely intact.

“yes, i’ll buy you both burgers if you get through this today,” taehyun is heard hushing at his friends as he forces them inside, closing the door behind him in a quiet manner. much different than how their entrance was.

“well, look who we have here,” mrs. kim welcomes the tardy students, presuming who they were. “you must be our new additions!”

“sorry for being late,” taehyun excuses, his tone is reminiscent of a tired father’s.

“all is well, try not to make it a habit! go ahead and take a seat anywhere you’d like,” mrs. kim instructs as she pulls out her clipboard with the class list.

all eyes follow the three boys as they attempt to find their seats for the year. yeonjun seems to lead them towards the back, to which taehyun drags him back to the front. it’s assumed that the further in the back they all sit, the less motivated they would be. taehyun goes on to gesture towards his mouth with a click of his tongue. the older friend rolls his eyes and throws his lollipop into the nearest trash bin.

beomgyu leads the two boys into the second row, the first three seats on the left. yeonjun takes the corner, taehyun in the middle, beomgyu on the third. taehyun’s probably sitting between them just so the other two don’t slack off with each other. not a bad idea to say the least.

mrs. kim silently takes roll as she checks off each student she sees, already familiar with who’s who. in the meantime, all the other students hold their attention onto the trio in fascination, like a bunch of celebrities were making guest appearances. yeonjun already seems to be eyeing a girl in front of him as a few kids attempt to welcome beomgyu. the boy is known by everyone and although he was not aware of their existence until now, he still makes them feel special.

wonder how long that will last.

y/n continues to avoid eye contact with beomgyu as their gaze remains to be on their feet. it seems like beomgyu hasn’t noticed that they’re here, or hasn’t tried to look for them in the crowd. y/n slowly peeks from the corner of their eye and sees that eliana has turned their body all the way to her left, her hands on the top of her seat.

“you’ll get flies in there,” y/n mutters as they give their friend a nudge in the arm. they see that eliana has been gawking at taehyun this entire time with her mouth slightly open, not even noticing herself. the girl feels called out and turns around back to the front in shame.

y/n can feel a pair of eyes on the back of their head and they try to fight the urge to turn around and confirm the suspicion. too bad the feeling got the best of them. they look back in a slower pace and sees that no one appears to be staring at them. they take a look left to right, giving some smiles to the students they make eye contact with. they soon regret their decision as they make way to the corner where they meet gazes with him.

choi beomgyu.

a hint of white flushes y/n’s entire face as they can’t help but widen their eyes while simultaneously blinking them with worry. they pinch the top of their hand in hopes that when they open their eyes again he won’t be there, but unfortunately that did not work. beomgyu stares back at them with a cunning smile, the tip of his tongue hanging loosely on his mouth while his eyes radiate evil. his expression almost reveals that he’s finally found out where they sit and he’ll make due with that information. the boy forms a pout with his lips as he waves at y/n in a teasing manner.

y/n’s color changes from pale to a darker crimson, feeling exposed with his gesture. they shrink back into their seat in hopes that would make them feel better, but it can’t fix anything. soobin notices the interaction and places his hand on y/n’s knee with a small piece of advice.

“don’t pay attention to him,” he mutters into their ear. “that’s what he wants.”

beomgyu hasn’t let y/n out of his sight and sees the boy whispering to them. he has to make it apparent that he knows.

“i see you’ve gotten taller, steve,” beomgyu remarks out loud and everyone shifts their attention to where he is looking.

“it’s soobin,” soobin coughs out his correction with a slight roll of his eyes, turning his body front again. y/n can feel the satisfying smirk on beomgyu’s face and it taunts them.

“alright, class,” mrs. kim finishes with her attendance as she sets the clipboard at the edge of the stage. “i want to hit you with this question. it’s the same question i ask you every year, but this time it’ll really set up the play that we’re working on.”

“what is your passion?”

the class takes a moment to let the question sink in, though it doesn’t take long for y/n to come up with an answer. acting has always been their number one, they’ve been told they’ll have a bright future with it. it’s been the only thing that has brought them peace throughout these years.

“i specifically want to ask our new students,” mrs. kim sets her direction over to where the boys are sitting. “just so i can have a feeling of where you’re at.”

the woman points over to yeonjun first and he feels caught off guard, pointing at himself for confirmation. mrs. kim returns a confident smile as she waits for him to speak.

“what’s my passion?” yeonjun lets out an airy laugh while he looks around for a moment. “just like that?”

“just like that,” mrs. kim repeats, making it seem so easy and effortless. “what do you enjoy doing?”

yeonjun speaks out a couple filler words as he chuckles to himself, stroking the bottom of his chin in the process. “if you consider throwing parties a passion.”

some kids in the audience begin to throw out some whistles and affirmative responses, supporting what he had just said. soobin rolls his eyes with a forced smile, he’s never been into yeonjun’s parties. he’s never gotten invited, not like he’s interested anyways.

“yeonjun throws the best parties!”

“he really hits it on the dance floor!”

yeonjun snickers at all the praise with a wave of his wrist. “you’re all too kind.”

“do you enjoy dancing?” mrs. kim questions the boy with some fondness in her eyes.

“um, yeah, i guess,” yeonjun hesitates. “i’ve never taken it seriously though.”

“would you ever want to?” she pushes further with reasoning.

yeonjun takes a moment to consider his answer, like this is the first time he’s come to this realization. the frown on his face turns into a small smile as he shrugs his shoulders. “yeah, if i ever get that far.”

mrs. kim nods in assurance as she moves over to taehyun, realizing that he looks familiar to her.

“and you, mr. kang? i know you were here a couple semesters ago, do you enjoy to act?”

“respectfully, no,” taehyun chuckles. he’s always been the most approachable between his friends. y/n often wonders how he got mixed in with them. “but i’m really into cooking. i make these guys meals all the time!”

the boys on his side shyly put their heads down as they laugh to themselves. mrs. kim exchanges a few comments with taehyun about his favorite foods before she moves onto beomgyu.

“what’s your passion, beomgyu?”

the smile that was on his face previously turned into a slight frown. y/n notices his body tense up and they wonder why the sudden change in demeanor.

“i don’t know,” beomgyu steers away from the topic. his expression isn't like his typical lively one, it’s dead serious. “i don’t have one.”

y/n chuckles as they shake their head, not surprised that this is the route beomgyu is taking. he chooses to be public about himself when it’s for a joke, but in a serious setting like this, of course he’s not willing to say anything. perhaps it was revenge for his comment to soobin earlier, but something sparks y/n to speak out loud.

“oh really?” they turn their head midway to face beomgyu with raised, expectant eyebrows. “everyone has a passion though. you’re saying not even the choi beomgyu has one?”

soobin widens his eyes and lowers his voice with caution. “what are you doing?”

beomgyu sees through y/n and the devilish smirk appears once again. he sits up straight in his seat and folds his hands together on the desk and doesn’t break eye contact. y/n feels the intimidation seep through.

“i don’t,” beomgyu replies in a strong tone. there’s a glimmer in his eyes that always insinuates what he’s about to do next, something that y/n has dreaded since he’s shown up here.

“maybe it hasn’t bled through- i mean, come through,” beomgyu pretends to stutter while holding his laughter back. y/n can’t help but release an accidental gasp as their eyebrows furrow together in anguish.

“…but i’m biting on- i mean, counting on it,” the boy finishes his snarky remark, fully aware of what he’s doing. he relaxes into his seat knowing he’s won, leaving y/n to quickly spin around to avoid that stupid grin on his face.

mrs. kim doesn’t take long to move this along after giving each of them their own glance. feeling inspired by this moment, she uses this as an opportunity to transition to her next segment.

“and that is completely okay! as you’re moving onto the next stage of your life, you’re going to find things that you would eventually discover to be something you’re passionate about. you may even have a special person in your life who helps you realize you could do so much more with what you might consider just a hobby,” she takes the time to look each and every student into the eyes with a confident smile.

“that’s the lesson i want you to take away from this,” mrs. kim concludes with her hidden agenda. “it’ll be important for this year’s production.”

mrs. kim begins to walk down onto the floor, passing out papers for the next half of class. as she hands out these flyers, she makes one last comment before dropping the topic for now.

“i know y/n has helped others in this room, maybe they’ll help you too, beomgyu.”

…

the sink faucet squeaks on as warm water flows right out, and y/n splashes some onto their face. class is nearly over, but they needed some kind of relieving moment just before they left. luckily no one else was in the bathroom.

y/n shuts the sink off and grabs a few paper towels to pat their face and hands dry. as the towels are in their hands, their eyes slowly trail up to the mirror right in front of them. color has seemingly flushed back onto their cheeks and they look human again.

they wish a silly boy wouldn’t have this much of an effect on them. who knew one moment at one party would be his running gag to torment them throughout these years. he said he would never tell anyone, that should ease their mind, but the fact that he continues on with this and finds something new to mention makes them believe otherwise. he has any chance to just spill the truth and he hasn’t. they’re waiting for that moment.

it’s ironic, really.

y/n walks out of the tiled restroom and starts heading to the hallway that connects to the stage, back into the room. it’s right at this time where they’re not alone anymore and is accompanied by someone else.

if it isn’t the man himself.

“hey, y/n,” beomgyu sneaks behind them as he stands in close proximity. y/n flinches in response and stops in their place.

“oh relax, i wasn’t following you,” beomgyu holds his hands up in surrender, the smile not leaving his face. “i had to use the restroom too.”

y/n is persistent on showing no reaction, frankly, there’s not one to give. he’s just a prick.

“funny stunt you pulled earlier,” the boys recalls as he sucks in his breath. “you almost had me there.”

“what are you doing here beomgyu?” y/n cuts to the point with their arms firmly crossed.

“i had to fulfill my requirements,” he answers with ease.

“your whole posse too?”

“yeonjun, my number one fan, yeah,” beomgyu jokes. “taehyun just wanted to be here for the ride, i guess.”

y/n nods slowly, their annoyance on full display. “if that’s the case, just cut it out with what you’re doing. it won’t take long for everyone to figure out there’s nothing to you.”

beomgyu pretends to be impressed with a downwards smile until he closes the space between them and leads y/n to the nearest wall, his arm placed on top. y/n is thrown off guard with the contact and feels their limbs go loose.

“or maybe you get out of my way and don’t pull that shit on me,” beomgyu breathes out into their face. a cool breeze of minty air hits the tip of y/n’s nose. they’re too nervous to break his hold. “there’s a mic right on that stage, i’m sure everyone would love to hear the silly shenanigan you got yourself into a few years ago.”

there it is, his classic threat. he finds a new way to mention it every time, though they haven’t heard it in a while. y/n’s breathing is steady and they feel absorbed in his clean scent, jasmine flowers they believe. he’s wearing a simple brown hoodie that highlights his hair perfectly with relaxed blue jeans and white sneakers with brown accents on them. y/n hates to admit it, but he’s got a perfect sense of style. no wonder everyone can’t take their eyes off of him when he enters a room. y/n is lost in thought and their eyes quickly flicker down to his lips, regretting it instantly.

“hmm,” beomgyu catches the gesture as the smirk he’s holding grows bigger. “you want to kiss me right this time?”

those words snap them back to reality, releasing a stutter as they push him off so they’re back to the same position as they started out with. just standing in front of each other again.

“you’re a complete and utter dipshit,” y/n spits out, their stare is seething with hatred. it doesn’t have an effect on beomgyu, however.

“mrs. kim says you have to help me,” beomgyu recalls with an effortless shrug.

“i’ll help you drop out of this class,” y/n mutters under their breath. “if that’s what it takes.”

with that, they take a couple steps to leave beomgyu behind, heading back to the class. they hear beomgyu’s voice trail off in the distance and they wish they couldn’t have heard it.

“don’t bite yourself on the way out!”

acting isn’t hard for y/n. some might even say that they could be a good liar. to act like beomgyu doesn’t exist is one thing. to act like what he says doesn’t phase them, is another.

please do not translate, modify or repost on other platforms.

278 notes · View notes

numinousmysteries · 5 months

Text

Six Days Until the End of the World

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Four: Endurance

[on Ao3]

December 2012

Dana Scully has endurance. She was never the fastest kid in gym class but she’d often win running races because she knew how to pace herself. The others would sprint and burn out in the first 50 meters, while her short legs carried her past them and through the finish line. She considered running a marathon with some friends during med school but her demanding schedule didn’t leave time for adequate training, and Dana Scully doesn’t half-ass anything.

In college, her pre-med cohort dwindled over the years as her peers faltered in the face of organic chemistry and advanced biology labs but she worked hard and persevered. She wasn’t always a good shot but she spent hours practicing aiming at cans with her father until her arms ached from holding the weight of her BB gun and her vision started to blur. It paid off when she stunned her misogynistic instructor at Quantico with her spot-on accuracy in the firing range.

Her colleagues at the Bureau, and probably even Mulder himself, didn’t expect her to last long on the X-Files. It was supposed to be a stepping stone to bigger things, an amusing anecdote in her otherwise storied career. Her father instilled in her a repugnance for giving up and an intractable sense of loyalty, but that doesn’t fully explain why she kept chasing monsters in the dark. She’s outlasted the X-Files and almost two decades later she’s still by Mulder’s side.

It’s the last night of Hanukkah and six days until the end of the world.

She doesn’t fully share Mulder’s belief that colonizing aliens will invade the planet in less than a week, and she isn’t sure he’s fully convinced either. She knows they will be together, though, when it does (or doesn’t) happen.

They spent their early days on the run chasing leads, trying to uncover the plan for colonization, and doing anything they could to fight it. But the trail has long gone cold. It’s been years since they pursued even a dead end or red herring, and she can tell Mulder’s heart isn’t in it anymore. They live small and quiet lives now. They have each other, but not their son and not the answers they spent years searching for. He cracks jokes that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if all of humanity perishes in a fiery invasion or becomes slaves to an extraterrestrial master race in a matter of days. She suspects they aren’t jokes.

It’s Sunday and she’s barely seen him all day. He burrows away in his office most of the time now. He doesn’t tell her what he’s working on and she doesn’t ask. Back when they first became lovers, a lazy Sunday without any work was such a rarity that they’d spend nearly the entire day in bed exploring each other’s bodies. She can still remember every freckle on his body but she can’t remember the last time they made love, or the last time he made her laugh. Still, she endures.

“Six days to go,” she hears his baritone from behind her and she turns to face him. She’s at the kitchen table reviewing her surgery schedule for the week ahead and doesn’t hear him approaching.

“Should we escape to Acapulco now so I can at least go out with a tan?” she deadpans.

“You don’t tan, Scully,” he says, sliding into a chair facing her. “You burn. We both know that.”

She shrugs. “How do you want to ride out our final days then?”

“I want to find our son. Apologize to him for not being able to save the world.”

She grimaces. It’s as if he’s jabbing his finger into an open wound in her flesh, a wound that will never heal.

“I’d like that, too,” she says quietly, looking down at her notes now and away from him. “But it’s not going to happen.”

“I have a lead.”

Her breath catches in her throat. They’ve gone down this road before and it never ends well.

“It can’t be him,” she says.

“I think this time it is,” he says, leaning toward her from across the table. He speaks with an urgency she hasn’t heard from him in years. For a moment, they’re back in the basement and he’s trying to convince her there’s a swamp monster in St. Augustine or a lizard man in Louisville. The stakes are higher now and the possibilities even more remote.

“There’s a boy in Wyoming. The birth and adoption dates line up,” he continues.

She shakes her head. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’d agree with you if it weren’t for the video.”

“What video?”

“Come,” he says, leading her from the kitchen to his office.

Of course, she follows him. She doesn’t always believe him but she’ll always follow him. That hasn’t changed.

He taps on the keyboard to wake up his computer. The browser is opened to a YouTube video. On the screen, a cluster of kids face away from the camera in what looks like a school playground. The title reads MY BOY CAN MOVE SH!T WITH HIS MIND.

Before she can object, Mulder clicks play. In the video, the circle of kids opens up to reveal a tall, red-headed boy with blue eyes and a nose he hasn’t grown into yet. He’s holding a toy model of the Millenium Falcon.

“Do it, Jackson. I’m filming now,” a prepubescent voice calls from out of the frame.

“You can’t post this,” Jackson says. “My parents will kill me.”

“I won’t, I swear,” the off-camera voice lies.

“Fine,” Jackson says.

He extends his arms out with the spaceship in his hands. Then, he squeezes his eyes shut, furrows his brow, and the Millenium Falcon begins to levitate. It’s slow and shaky at first, but then it rises higher and higher until it’s roughly 8 feet in the air. The crowd of boys erupt in shrieks and Holy shits!

“Damn, this is gonna get like a million views,” says the filming boy.

Suddenly, Jacken opens his eyes and the ship crashes at his feet with a thud. “You said you weren’t going to post!” He yells and lunges at the camera. The video ends.

“I had some hackers look into the IP address that the video was posted from,” Mulder says. “It’s from a school in a small town in northern Wyoming. I was also able to get enrollment records from the school. There’s only one Jackson. Jackson Van De Kamp. Date of birth: May 20, 2001. I did a little more digging and found out he was adopted, in a sealed adoption, on April 28 of the following year.”

“When did you find this?” she asks, still staring at the screen.

“About a month ago. It popped up on some of the parapsychology channels I still monitor. I wanted to wait until I had all the information before I told you.”

“How many times have you watched it?”

“Hundreds,” he says. “It’s him. Look at him. It has to be.”

“Play it again,” she says.

They watch the video a second time, then a third, then again and again. She asks him to pause on the clearest images of William’s face and she touches the screen, caressing the pixels of his cheek with her fingertip. She knows in her bones it’s their son. Even if the dates didn’t match and he wasn’t demonstrating telekinesis in a viral video, she would know it’s him.

“We can get a flight now and be there by morning,” he says.

“And then what?”

That’s the part of the plan they’ve never discussed. She knows Mulder has never stopped looking for William. They were once in the car right outside the home of a family with a four-year-old adopted boy in rural Pennsylvania before getting a call from a source that it was a trap. They flew to Utah once to identify the body of an adopted, runaway eight-year-old in a morgue. In the storm of emotions that comes every time they’ve gotten close, she always feels a low rumble of relief. Relief that she won’t have to explain herself to him. Relief that she won’t have to tear a family apart.

“We can watch him,” Mulder says. “Make sure he’s safe. I’m sure there’s a local hospital that could use an experienced pediatric surgeon. And there’s nothing I’m doing here that I can’t do there.”

“You want to move to Wyoming?” She arches her eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks. “If it’s really him.”

“What about colonization?”

“Even more reason,” he says resolutely. “I’d need to see him one last time before it all goes to shit. Even if it’s just a glance from across the street. I’d trade everything for that and I know you would, too.”

He’s right. If the world is ending, Scully needs her son to know she never gave up on him, that she isn’t a quitter.

“Book the flight.”

#eightdaysofmulder #eightnightsofmulder #8dom #txf #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr

35 notes · View notes

grey-sides · 1 year

Text

my heart, a locket for you

Here is the Harringrove for Turkey fill for @chrisbitchtree! I hope you love it and thank you so, so much for donating!!

~2.6K words, explicit

Billy tells him when he’s in the bath. Steve has some candles lit, the lights turned off with a glass of wine in one hand and the radio playing in the background.

It’s funny that he doesn’t even care that Billy is walking in on him naked. They’ve kept each other alive through hazings, near alcohol poisoning, and heartbreak. Billy’s seen him naked before and at his very worst. Sitting in a bubble bath is nothing.

“I’m thinking of moving back to California,” Billy admits, shrugging. He’s wearing a clean t-shirt, one that fits him well enough to highlight his biceps and triceps and all the ’ceps that Steve wants to touch.

Steve takes a swallow of wine, does his best not to choke on it. Billy wants to move back to California. He’s probably always wanted to move back to California. And now that they’re graduated, there’s no reason for him not to.

“Back to where you’re from?” Steve asks and hopes his voice isn’t too strangled. He’s supposed to be relaxing, but Billy is dropping bombs on him.

Billy shrugs, grabs the bottle of wine and takes a drink. “Probably. Maybe. Still gotta find a place, but I figured I would let you know, you know? Give you time to get used to the idea of not having to see my ugly mug every morning.”

Steve has gotten painfully, irrevocably used to seeing Billy’s face every morning. But now he’s going to have to not see it. It makes his chest ache. He fills the hole with another swallow of wine.

“Well, good then. Means I’ll be able to have over more girls.”

Billy snorts, drinks more wine and leaves Steve to his bath. He flickers the lights a couple of times before he actually leaves and Steve laughs. They have time, Billy hasn’t enough found a place to move yet.

They moved in together for college, during their freshmen year. They had both moved across the country to go to Temple University, which Steve hadn’t expected but once he realized living with Billy wasn’t too bad- he hadn’t minded.

Billy was typically clean, or at least good at keeping his mess on his side of the room. He liked to wear just his boxers and a tank top around the dorm room, but Steve never minded. They worked well together, living in the same dorm room.

So they just stuck with it. Through their first cramped dorm room to a weird suite with two weird roomates, to their first off-campus place that they hosted parties in every weekend.

And when the holidays came around, Billy would drive home with him. One night to visit Max, middle ground at her mother’s, away from his father. And then he would charm Steve’s parents. Mostly his mother, but it was good.

It’s still good. It’s a nicer apartment than their first off-campus one, it’s for real adults with full-time jobs which they both have. Two shiny degrees tacked to the wall in the living room, opposite the television.

Steve doesn’t want to leave this apartment. Or, well, it’s not the apartment, really. It’s Billy. Billy will leave, go back to California and become one with the surf and sand again.

If Steve was a good roommate and not in love with Billy, he would offer to go with him. Spend a week looking at apartments, asking Billy to show him around. Giving him freedom and space and help.

But he’s selfish, he always has been. He wants Billy to stay as long as possible, have to ask the post office to order him some special newspapers from California so he can look at listings.

He wants to savor their nightly dinners, shared at the shitty dining room table Billy cobbled together in an elective. He wants to grab Billy a beer from the bridge and press it to the back of his neck until he smacks him every night. He wants to see if they both can fit into the easy chair Steve’s dad bought Billy to prove that he could.

“Dinner!” Steve shouts, scooping pasta into bowls. He has the salad bowl set on the table already with ranch dressing for him and Italian for Billy. There’s water there too, it looks domestic, friendly, like maybe they’re a family.

Billy waltzes out in his cut off shorts with his hair in a bandanna. It’s out of control these days, long and untamed. He used to bitch about finding a hairdresser, so Steve trims the ends for him.

“Hmmm you made pesto?” Billy asks, stretching so he can scratch his stomach. He crosses behind Steve while Steve carries bowls to the table and heads for the kitchen sink. Domestic.

Steve nods and wipes his hands off with his dishtowel, looking at the spread on the table. “Yeah, I used pine nuts this time because you said you like them,” he replies. He nods once and goes to wash his hands too.

Billy takes his usual seat, chair against the wall so he can see the door. It’s just something Steve’s gotten used to, living with him. He likes to see doors, any place someone can enter from. Steve knows it’s from his dad, but he doesn’t begrudge him for it. Billy’s allowed to have fears from that man.

“Thanks, are there any nuts left over?”

“Half a bag,” Steve hums. He picks up his fork and twirls pasta around it. “Stuck them in your cabinet by the fridge.”

Billy grins. “You’re the best.”

Steve flips him off as his heart warms in his chest. They dig in to eat and for awhile, it’s just the sound of their forks scraping the bowls, chewing and slurping.

“Harrington,” Billy says, eventually, looking intently at him.

“Hm?” Steve pokes his head up, looks at Billy with wide eyes. Billy doesn’t say a word, he just leans over and drags his napkin down Steve’s cheek. Steve blushes to the roots of his hair and looks down hurriedly when Billy pulls his hand away.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime, but you gotta get better at not getting shit all over your face, since I won’t be here forever,” Billy teases him.

It’s enough reminder to make Steve’s heart sink. Billy hasn’t really made any moves yet, he hems and haws about how hard it is to find a place without being there. But he hasn’t tried to find flights or listings, as far as Steve can tell.

“Yeah, would you get on that?” Steve chuckles, light, teasing. He doesn’t want Billy to leave. He can’t imagine asking him to stay.

Billy rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence leaves Steve enough space to wonder if maybe Billy doesn’t want to go either. Or…or if he wants Steve to go with.

Later, weeks or months or seasons, it’s hard to tell sometimes, Billy bothers Steve in his room. He hovers in the doorway and watches Steve, waits until Steve grabs a pillow to throw at him because he’s being silent and creepy.

“Asshole,” Billy mutters, catching the pillow. He throws it right back and Steve catches it with his face.

Steve sets the pillow down and fixes his glasses. He runs his fingers through his hair and raises his brows. He has a magazine open in his lap, reading an article about a movie he wants to go see.

“What?” Steve asks, pushing the magazine to the side.

Billy shrugs, licks his lips. “About California…”

Steve waits for him to continue, but it’s clear Billy doesn’t have any other thoughts. Or he doesn’t know what else to say. “What about it?”

“I’m really gonna go, you know?”

Steve nods slowly, shifts over on his bed because Billy insists on taking the right side. “I know, you said you would.”

Billy takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly. “You ever think about moving?”

Steve shrugs, wraps his arms around his pillow and hugs it to his chest. It’s late, the hour of honesty and loneliness.

“I moved from Hawkins, didn’t I?”

Billy lays back on his bed, looks up at the ceiling. His hair is damp, curled wildly around his face on the pillow. “Yeah. Guess we did.”

Steve could kiss him, wants to kiss him. He wants to lean over him and kiss him senseless until Billy is breathless and begging. Until Steve can leave his mark all over him so that no matter where Billy goes, he will never forget Steve Harrington.

“Why do you want to go back to California?” he asks instead.

Billy shrugs. “Always said I was going to.”

“Do you not like it here?”

“Summers suck, man, they’re so fucking humid.”

Steve hums, rolls onto his side to watch Billy. “But we get snow. And cheesesteaks.”

“Ohhh cheesesteaks,” Billy grumbles, humming. “With provolone, no whiz.”

“No whiz, never,” Steve whispers.

Steve licks his lips, there’s something here, in the space between them. Sitting on the sheets and waiting to be picked up and examined.

“And I’m here,” Steve adds. His voice is low, maybe he could say he coughed if Billy calls him on it.

“You’re here,” Billy agrees softly. He closes his eyes, his eyelashes touch his cheeks, the freckles dusted there. Steve wants to commit them to memory on the tips of his fingers.

“Don’t leave,” Steve mumbles. He swallows hard and reaches out, curling his fingers into Billy’s soft band t-shirt. “Don’t go back to California, not without me.”

Billy’s lower lip trembles and his eyes screw shut tighter. He looks like he wants to burst into tears. Steve knows the feeling.

“Don’t-”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? I want you here with me. Don’t go somewhere and not let me follow.”

Billy grabs his wrist, squeezes it and turns to look at him with shiny eyes. “I have to leave or I won’t stop loving you.”

“Fucking-!” Steve throws his pillow to the ground and surges up to kiss Billy. Idiots, both of them.

He untangles his hand from his shirt and cradles his cheek in one hand. It’s so warm to the touch because Billy contains the sun and he probably needs to go back to California to get it recharged, but they can go together. Later.

Billy makes a soft sound and one of his hands fits against Steve’s lower back. He forces Steve to straddle his waist, kissing back like they need to share air.

Steve leans himself into Billy’s embrace, spending just a moment marveling at how well they fit together. Of course they do, they’ve always fit together, it’s part of why living together has worked out so well.

He groans quietly when Billy tugs on his lower lip and slides his hand up to tangle in his hair. Steve tugs on the ends of it, huffing a bit as he rocks his hips down.

“Stay,” he whispers. “If we do this, you have to stay. You have to wait until we can find a place together.”

Billy nods, pulls back to look at Steve with bright eyes. “I’m gonna stay. Haven’t found a place anyway.”

Steve knows it’s the truth because Billy’s been dragging this out as much as Steve has been carefully not touching it to keep him here. He dives back in and slides his left hand down Billy’s body.

Billy groans next and starts to wiggle so he can get his shirt off. Steve has to put his mouth in the center of Billy’s chest and looks up at him through his lashes. He tugs his own shirt over his head too, dropping both of them onto the floor.

He’s suddenly glad that Billy likes the right side because then he won’t have to sleep in the wet spot. Or they can go sleep in Billy’s bed which has no wet spots. Choices, choices, Steve stops thinking about their choices.

They get undressed, still familiar, but breathing hard. It’s not from playing basketball in the summer or doing laps at the Y in the winter. It’s because they’re kissing and touching, hands sliding over skin, grabbing fistfuls.

Steve leans over Billy enough to smack around his bedside table. Condom, lube, he always has them, easy, accessible, sitting right out in the open because he’s twenty-fucking-three.

“Shit, you ever done this before?” Billy laughs.

“Fuck no,” Steve giggles in return. “Hands?”

“Hands, but I’m gonna learn how to do it for you,” Billy decides. He tosses the condom away but keeps the lube close.

Steve kisses his stomach and picks up the lube to wrap his hand around it. Maybe he can warm it, he wants to warm it for Billy like he’s never wanted to warm lube for anyone before.

Billy pulls him up for another kiss, one hand on his cheek, the other fitting around both their dicks. It’s dry, his hand is calloused from weights, but Steve moans anyway.

There’s nothing like being touched by someone he loves, he can’t help it. He huffs a couple of times and bites down on Billy’s lip.

Steve pulls back to get lube between them, too much, at least for now, but it’s fine. They’re gross, they’re boys, he loves Billy so much it’s not funny. He rolls his hips up and Billy moans next, friction.

“Shit do that again,” Billy begs. He has his hand curled around them both, so Steve can do the hip work.

He starts a slow roll, finding a rhythm that works for both of them. And he kisses Billy, his lips are going to be sore tomorrow from Billy’s facial hair, but he doesn’t care. He’s so focused on how their skin drags together, the rasp of his chest hair against Billy’s chest.

Steve’s toes curl and he really pushes himself into Billy’s hand, listens to make sure it’s good for Billy too. He wants this moment to last forever. He’s imprinting himself into Billy’s heartbeats if he wasn’t there already.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes. His hips rock up too, uncontrollable while he chases that release. Steve watches him, mouth hanging open. They can do this again later or tomorrow or any day from now until forever.

“Come on, show me how good you look when you come,” Steve coaxes. He wraps his hand around them too, has to take a deep breath to keep from shooting off, he wants to see Billy come first.

Billy grunts and focuses, looking down between them. Steve keeps rocking his hips, so focused on that pretty face, the furrow of his brows, the way his lips are sucked between his teeth.

When Billy comes, his face opens up, he drops his head back and almost laughs into his moan. Steve is totally transfixed, paused halfway in a thrust. He has to kiss Billy’s jaw and feels the wet splash of spunk between them.

Steve moans and slides through Billy’s come breathlessly. He comes a moment later, squeezing down hard on himself as he thinks of Billy’s blue eyes, searching for the heavens he’s found within himself.

Steve flops beside him. His chest is heaving, his hand and stomach are sticky, but his heart is soaring. He’s smiling, he looks at Billy and smiles even wider.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Billy turns to smile at him too, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss. He’s tender to the touch, when Steve splays his sticky hand on his chest.

“I love you too,” Billy mumbles when they pull apart. “Come with me to California.”

And Steve doesn’t know what else the future holds or if he’s even going to like California. But he wants to keep this life with Billy. So he just smiles and says, “Okay.”

#harringroveforturkey #harringrove for turkey #harringrove #greye writes #chrisbitchtree #lemon #stranger things

160 notes · View notes

hlficlibrary · 3 months

Note

any exes to friends to lovers?

Hi, anon here are some fics that fit what you're looking for...

After All These Years by LifeInAColorWheel

It’s been seven years since One Direction went on hiatus and it’s been eight years since Louis and Harry broke up. They’ve been strangers to one another since then.

But, over the course of a weeklong boys’ trip, history between Harry and Louis resurfaces.

Or, The one when Louis and Harry don’t talk, connect again years later, and reflect on why their love collapsed.

Be There by mission2feelike

Niall sits down dramatically, arms flopping to his side before he leans forward and looks right into Harry’s eyes. “So, your ex-boyfriend, who broke your heart four years ago, is coming to stay at your house for six weeks? And his daughter, your daughter, is coming to stay tonight?” Harry nods, worried if he speaks he’ll be yelled at again, but then Niall’s face softens, his ever-present smile is back and Harry hears him breathe out a small chuckle. “Okay, for the record, I think this is the worst idea you’ve ever had, but how can we help?"

or The one where their family has been torn apart and their hearts broken, but an accident, a snowstorm, cinnamon rolls, and the adorable Josie force Louis and Harry to finally face the truth, and each other.

Because I Had You (series) by If I Could Fly_ (ifIcouldfly_hs)

It's been five years since Harry broke up with Louis. It's been five years since Harry looked back in his rearview mirror to see Louis running after his car barefoot in the snow. Everything has changed, except that Harry still spends all of his time stalking Louis' social media. Everything has changed, except Harry refuses to settle down into a real relationship. He's trying - really trying - but every time he meets a guy with blue eyes he can only think about Louis. Harry is haunted. He can't even escape to a pub with his friends without seeing Louis in every pair of blue eyes around him...

It's been five years since Louis pulled himself back together and moved on with his life. Harry has been out of his life for five years, and except for an accidental run in at a shop one Christmas holiday, he hasn't heard or seen Harry since. He's happy, living the life he'd always dreamed. Everything is in its rightful place until his new friend Zayn invites him out to a pub one night and he runs into his ex.

OR The one where Harry and Louis' paths are destined to cross once again, and they have to decide if they can be friends or if being in the same city is enough to tear them apart even more.

#ask #anon #ficrec #minificrecs #exes #friendstolovers #ificouldfly_#mission2feelike #lifeinacolorwheel

21 notes · View notes

voloslobotomyservice · 4 months

Text

Elias Blackwood

(he/him)

Class: Oathbreaker of Devotion Paladin

Race: High Half-Elf

Age: 32 years

Background: Folk Hero

Game Progression: Middle of Act 3

Elias grew up in the small village of Goldenfield, raised by his mother and father. Mama took care of the home while Papa, a cavalier, would go away on crusade. He also has one younger sister, Elora, who was born eight years after he was. After his father failed to return home from a crusade, he decided to devote his life to becoming the best paladin he possibly could. He trained for years, practicing on his dummy and fighting off monsters and fiends to keep his hometown safe, while also helping his mother raise his sister, who was only three when their father passed. When he was in his early twenties, Elias moved to Baldur’s Gate to start his career as a paladin. His first night in the city, he went to The Blushing Mermaid and met Leila, a rogue half elf. Although they were never in a relationship, he considers her to be his first love. They were in each other's lives for over ten years, even sharing a home and a bed together. One day, the two were out on a mission beyond the city limits and were attacked by a pack of gnolls. Leila lost her life in this fight, and Elias blames himself for her death. If he had just been a bit more courageous, didn’t miss his swings, then he could have saved her. Leila currently serves as his Dream Guardian, adding on to his ever-building grief after losing her.

In Act I, Elias makes a poor lapse of judgement and decided to attack a bugbear in the goblin camp. The creature wasn’t aggravated, but he thought that it would if he stayed around long enough, so he wanted to get the battle over with. Because of his actions, he broke his Oath of Devotion. The Oathbreaker Paladin paid him a visit, and gifted him Oathbreaker powers, along with a slightly altered (hotter) look.

Just outside of Rosymond Monastary, Elias (32) ran into Elora (24), who he had not seen in over ten years. They would still write letters to keep in touch, but she became worried when he stopped returning her letters. Worried for the worst, Elora set off to go find her brother and hopefully bring him back to Goldenfield, as their mother had fallen ill and needed his help. She had wanted to be just like her older brother and trained to become a strong fighter. Elora asks to join her brother's party and to help with whatever mission they are on. Elias accepts, adding her to the troupe with open arms and a strange story about how a tadpole was placed in his head. (If she could she'd probably want to romance Karlach but this page isn't about her!!!)

Over the course of his adventures, he’s had three hair styles: short and trimmed, a little loose, and all grown out

Near the middle of Act 3, Elora received a sending from a family friend that their mother has passed away. She is devastated due to the loss and takes it out on her brother, because he refused to go back home to spend her final days as a family. Elias tried to explain that his life was at risk with the tadpole and that removing it was his number one priority. Their conflict drove a wedge in their sibling relationship, and they didn’t speak for days. They finally spoke after defeating Orin the Red at the Temple of Bhaal, where it was Elora who actually knocked the changeling into the abyss below the temple. They both apologized for their cruelty towards each other, recognizing that they were the only family members they had left. Their friendship is stronger now due to all that they’ve gone through!

He is currently in a loving and devoted relationship with Shadowheart and they are so cute together that I want to cry about it. Watching them grow so much as individuals and as a couple has been adorable, and I know that post-game they spend the rest of their half-elven lives together. 🩷

#bg3 #bg3 ocs #oc: elias #bg3 tav #tav lore #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 paladin #oathbreaker #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate oc #ship: heartbreaker

21 notes · View notes

weepingfromacedartree · 5 months

Text

Ten Milestones: Living Together

Hi friends! New chapter up for anyone interested

CW: alcohol consumption // COVID // toxic family dynamics // mentions of illicit drug use

Living Together

Contrary to what Colin may claim, Penelope honestly doesn’t want to argue every one of these points. Though she may have found this game tedious at best and nonsense at worst when they first started playing about an hour ago, her opinion on the matter has since shifted.

She likes this game. She’s rooting for their shared victory. She wants to go through each one of these milestones and discover that they’ve already done all the dirty work of dating — that they’re ready to get married.

She wants them to win so desperately that she has willingly pushed past many of the technicalities and shortcomings of the previous milestones. So when Colin reads the next one aloud, she has to remind herself that there is only so much you can stretch the truth before you break it completely.

“Number Seven: Living Together. Cohabitation is arguably the best compatibility test for a relationship. Living in a shared space with your partner will undoubtedly bring out parts of yourselves that remain hidden when spending so much time apart — bad habits, quirks, routines, secrets, and more. Seeing if you can stand living in such close proximity to your partner is essential in determining if you two can share a life together.”

With a disappointed half-laugh caught in the back of her throat, Penelope says, “I suppose we should have seen this one coming.”

At her words, Colin lifts one confused brow.

“Everyone says you can’t really know a person until you’ve lived with them,” she goes on to explain, more confused than disappointed now.

Why isn’t he —

“It’s a good thing I lived with you and still want to marry you.”

She tilts her head at his words. Not in confusion — she instantly knows what he is referring to.

“That was basically a sleepover.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Three Years Earlier: March 11th, 2020

Relationship Status: Cohabitants

꙳

Day 0

“When does your flight leave, dear?”

“In about two hours,” Colin mumbles into his phone, nearly choking on a piece of apple strudel in the process.

He’s eating breakfast on the edge of his already-made bed. As he finishes swallowing, he glances around the hotel room he’s inhabited for the past six weeks. It’s very quaint. Refurbished furnishings that are meant to look original. A small kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. Beige features, everywhere the light touches.

Colin was supposed to remain in this quaint, beige, uninviting room for seven weeks total, but something came up.

“I’m about to check out, then I’ll head over to the airport.”

“Oh. Good.”

Violet’s voice is stilted and soft. So soft, that Colin can practically hear his mother’s hands wringing together through the phone.

“Mum, don’t worr—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home early? I was just watching the news. They say cases are skyrocketing in Italy and —”

“I’m not going to Italy, mum,” he reminds her, trying his hardest to keep his tone light. He understands why she worries… But he has other, more self-serving matters on his mind. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry, dear. When you have children of your own, you’ll realise truer words have never been spoken.”

Colin silently thanks god she hadn’t facetimed him. He’s not sure he would be forgiven for the eye roll he just committed.

“You make parenthood sound so delightf—”

“Have you spoken to Penelope yet today?” Violet interrupts, her voice a pleasant tone that remains fringed with worry.

He can’t help the crooked grin that breaks apart his lips.

“Yup. I just got off the phone with her. She’s about to leave, too.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The first time Colin arrived in Paris was in 2015, a few weeks before his twenty-third birthday. Like so many before him, he had entered the city with high expectations. Too high, he eventually realised.

During his weeks here, he enjoyed many of the individual aspects of the trip. The food, the art, the skyline, the wine… All of those things were good. And yet, when he ultimately left the city, he could not help but feel as though the sum of his experiences never succeeded in meeting his otherworldly expectations.

There’s a term for that feeling. “Paris Syndrome.” It isn’t exclusive to this particular city — it can apply to any place you enter into with expectations so high that they could never be met here on the ground. Colin has experienced that feeling a few times over the last four years, nine months, and two days. But during all of those trips, he did his best to prevent any disappointment from bleeding through in his articles. After all, you cannot blame a city for failing to achieve the perfection that was thrusted upon it.

When Penelope called two weeks ago to inform Colin that she was coming to Paris for work, any lingering disappointments he felt towards the city instantly vanished. When she asked if he could meet her here, his schedule instantly cleared.

Now, at twenty-seven, Colin steps through the city with new expectations. He could eat hot garbage and drink sewer water the rest of the week, and none of it would deter his mood. Not with Penelope by his side.

He’s late to meet her. Four hours late, to be exact. His flight was a mess, as was seemingly every other flight out of Václav Havel. But in spite of the initial chaos, Colin has finally arrived at his intended destination.

She doesn’t see him when he walks in. She’s sitting at the bar, legs crossed beneath her, emerald green peacoat draped over the back of her stool. She has a glass of red wine in one hand and her phone in the other. She’s wearing a black shift dress and red lipstick, the latter of which he can barely make out while she remains turned away from him. She —

She looks perfect, he thinks in those last few seconds before capturing her attention.

“Sorry, but is this seat taken?”

She turns so quickly that her red curls nearly whip him in the face. Her blue eyes are bright and round, but he barely gets the chance to look at them before she jumps off her stool and hugs him.

“Hi,” she says into his shoulder, a few seconds later. The word is barely audible; he can feel it more than he can hear it.

“Hey, Pen,” he says into her hair. It smells like honey.

“How was your flight?”

“Delayed,” he grumbles, then takes the stool beside hers. He signals for the bartender to get him whatever glass of wine Penelope had ordered for herself. “How was the train?”

“Good,” she answers, in a tone that doesn’t match her sentiment. Her eyes cast down to her phone for a split second before continuing, “The stations were pretty hectic, though. A lot of trips were cancelled at the last minute.”

Colin nods and grimaces, remembering the scene he left behind at De Gaulle. In hindsight, he should be grateful his flight took off at all.

When Penelope raises her drink to her lips and takes a rather long sip, Colin cannot help but notice the conflicted look that passes on her face through the glass.

“You don’t think it was a bad idea to —”

“No,” Colin interrupts decisively. He nods to the bartender in thanks as she hands him his drink. “Don’t worry about that. If it was dangerous for you to be here, they wouldn’t have let you on that train.”

“True,” Penelope says, still not sounding so sure of herself. But then she scrunches her nose, and the look that settles on her face afterwards is absent of worry.

“I can’t believe we’re in Paris,” she notes, smiling.

“Believe it,” Colin orders with a smile matching hers.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The night air is warm — for March, at least. Penelope is bundled up in her oversized peacoat, while Colin’s jacket sits on the bench between them. Although it certainly wasn’t intended as such, that pile of brown leather acts as a barrier between their bodies.

It’s not actually that warm, even for springtime. But Colin’s body feels warm — particularly in his chest and on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Must be the wine.

They’re sitting on the edge of the Champ de Mars, waiting with hundreds of strangers for midnight to strike and cause the tower in the distance to illuminate the darkness with twinkling lights. Penelope is talking with so much excitement that her body is practically vibrating. She’s telling him all about her article on the Notre Dame fire and her plans to visit the reconstruction efforts later in the week. Colin, in spite of his buzz from the bar and the literal, incessant buzzing originating from the phone in his back pocket, is doing his best to remain an attentive listener. Listening to Penelope speak is usually one of his favourite activities, but right now…

Right now, he finds it to be an impossibly difficult task. It’s difficult to pay attention to words spoken from such perfect red lips. Lips he would very much like to be kissing right —

“Colin?”

Clearly, he was not acting as an attentive listener, for he has no idea what question Penelope is prompting him to answer.

“Hmm?”

“Oh, I —” She laughs. “Thank you, again, for meeting me here.”

Colin shakes his head, instinctually opposed to the notion of accepting thanks for such a self-serving act. But instead of arguing with her, he simply says, “Thank you for finally taking me up on that offer to run off together.”

Penelope doesn’t argue against his words. She doesn’t say anything. She simply turns her attention forward, towards the structure in the distance, still lit with a flat yellow gleam.

Like it so often does, a comfortable silence falls between them. The thing about comfortable silences, though, is that there are always uncomfortable distractions around, threatening to break them. Like the truly incessant buzzing from Colin’s phone (undoubtedly caused by some inconsequential but extremely common argument in the Bridgerton family group chat). Or the group of teenagers walking past, moaning about something in a language Colin could only understand before his third glass of wine. Or that invisible force that keeps pulling him towards the woman he loves so dearly. Or whatever it is that appears on Penelope’s phone and draws a gasp from those perfect red lips.

“Oh my fucking god,” she whispers, ultimately breaking that comfortable silence of theirs. Her words tumble out in one hurried breath.

“What?”

Colin’s gaze travels from Penelope’s lips to her eyes. He doesn’t dare drop it, even when the faintest glimmer of twinkling lights appears in his peripheral vision.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 1

Their trip ended the very moment the word “pandemic” fell from Penelope’s lips.

In a more literal sense, it ended the next morning when they received calls from their respective bosses ordering them to return home as fast as humanly possible. Penelope received that call from Danbury. Colin received his from both Anthony and Violet.

They spent the morning on Penelope’s balcony, munching on room service pastries as they scoured the internet for tickets to London. For all his experience securing last-minute transportation, Colin felt wholly unprepared for the plight of booking passage home during a pandemic. Flights, trains, and buses everywhere were getting bought out or cancelled before he could add the tickets to his cart. It was madness.

Eventually, Penelope found two open seats on an Easyjet flight. They had less than an hour to get to the airport. Once there, they sat in a terminal for six hours due to a series of delays and rebookings.

Eventually, they boarded their plane. She sat in seat 24A, he in 31E. Due to the full flight and their unfortunate seating arrangements, Colin could not witness Penelope’s reaction to their liftoff. He didn’t know if her hands still shake when the engines rumble to life, or if her teeth clench down when the plane lifts into the air. He was not there to offer her comfort, if comfort was what she needed in that moment.

Eventually, they arrived back in London. At first, Penelope had briefly considered returning to her own flat in Hyde Park (and risk passing along potentially life-threatening germs to her roommate). In the end, though, it only took a few passing words for Colin to convince her to choose the far more responsible, CDC-advised option of quarantining in his flat for the next two weeks.

Now, they’re sitting in traffic in the backseat of a cab.

Now, he’s placing a hand over hers, silently urging her to stop picking at her own fingernails.

Now, her head is falling on his shoulder, exhausted by the events of the last 24 hours.

Now, he’s regrettably pulling her back into the realm of consciousness and out into the cold.

Now, he’s holding a door open for her.

Now, he’s carrying their luggage into a lift.

Now, they’re home.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 3

When Penelope packed her suitcase Tuesday night, she had packed for five days in Paris. For walking along the Seine and marvelling masterpieces and conducting interviews at the Notre Dame restoration. She had not packed for fourteen days in Colin’s flat.

There are exactly two sets of pyjamas that Penelope deems comfortable and appropriate enough to wear in his vicinity — everything else has been banished to her luggage, where it will remain for the rest of her stay here. Thankfully, Colin, the ever-dutiful host, offered her a variety of alternatives from his own closet upon their arrival.

His t-shirts are okay, but tend to sit too snuggly on her chest to meet the “appropriate” requirements of her self-appointed dress code. His flannels are better — loose and soft and always a nice shade of blue or green. His jumpers are her favourite, though — even if the weather creeping in from outside is slightly too warm for such attire.

(She doesn’t have much choice when it comes to bottoms. Even when rolled up three-fold, his sweatpants and pyjama bottoms are too much of a tripping hazard. She’ll be wearing basketball shorts for the remainder of her time here, it seems.)

She’s wearing his burgundy jumper today — the same one she wore yesterday. Like yesterday, she’s spent almost all of her time on the big blue couch in his living room, watching the news, distracting herself with a movie, and/or doom-scrolling on her phone. Colin has been on the other end of the couch through most of that time, but he currently happens to be in the kitchen. From the faint sounds carrying in from down the hall, she can tell that he’s putting a kettle on and has Benedict on speakerphone.

It isn’t until this very moment that Penelope realises that Colin is the best distraction of them all. As soon as he left her line of sight, her mind began to wander to everything she cannot see, but worries deeply about.

Like her three-week-old niece, Poppy. Her sisters. Her mum. Getting an unexpected call from her mum. Getting an unexpected call from her editor. Her article. Whether or not she’ll have a job by the time the world returns to normal. The world, whether or not it will ever return to normal. Hospitals. Doctors. Nurses. Children. Little Auggie and even littler Blair. Daphne. Eloise. Colin. Herself. The ever-tenuous state of their friendship. The likelihood that it will survive the next fourteen —

“Pen.”

She literally jumps from her spot, having been too consumed by her thoughts to hear Colin walk back into the room. He’s standing before her with a cup of tea in his hand and a humorous look in his eye. After passing her the mug, he asks where her head just was.

“Everywhere,” she jokes. Even if it isn’t exactly a joke.

“I —”

“Did you get any information out of your brother?” she interrupts. This is closer to a joke.

A few days before the pandemic was officially declared, Benedict saw the warning signs and fled the city to stay with a “friend” in Southampton. Beyond that, the details of his current whereabouts are unknown. (Despite his siblings’ incessant interrogations on the subject.)

“Nope.”

“What’s the current theory? New girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

Colin chuckles into his mug. “The jury’s hung,” he tells her. “But whatever type of friend they are, knowing Benedict, there are benefits involved.”

Preemptively hiding the blush that is surely about to appear on her cheeks, Penelope raises her cup and takes a sip of her tea. Milk and honey, just the way she likes it.

“Well, wherever he may be, it was nice of him to lend me his room to sleep in while he’s gone.”

Colin doesn’t say anything to that, but nods his head lightly in agreement.

When a palpable quiet settles between them, Penelope realises that Colin had turned the news off while she had been lost in thought. Instinctually, her free hand wraps around the remote control sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Before she can hit the power button, though, Colin’s hand appears out of nowhere and plucks it out of her grip.

“Let’s not,” he says dismissively. He then tosses the remote onto the armchair in the back corner of the room.

“Why —”

“The news is so depressing. Let’s take a break and properly enjoy our tea.” With that, he clinks his mug against the one Penelope’s barely hanging onto.

“What difference does it make?” she asks, standing to retrieve the discarded remote. “Everything is depressing. One cup of tea isn’t going to change that.”

Usually, Penelope is not so quick to voice such blatant negativity aloud (especially in Colin’s presence), but these are unprecedented times.

Just as her pointer finger hovers over the little red button, the remote slips from her grasp once again. Standing now, Colin slides it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Though these may be unprecedented times, there is nothing in this world that could deliver Penelope the confidence (or madness) to try and retrieve it from there. Instead, she sits back down with a huff.

“Sit in silence, then?”

Lowering himself to the cushion next to hers, Colin begins to chuckle — an act Penelope deems wildly inappropriate, given its time, place, and irritated audience.

“What are you —”

“What exactly, Pen, is so depressing about your current situation?”

She looks at him wide-eyed and gaping, needing a moment to answer such an obvious, impossible question.

“In case you forgot, the world is falling ap—”

“No. I didn’t ask what’s wrong with the world. What’s so depressing about your life right now? What’s troubling you, Pen?”

She needs another moment to answer this question, but instead of staring at Colin, she turns away. She takes note of her surroundings.

She’s sitting on a big blue couch with her favourite person. She’s safe, healthy, and teetering on the edge of insanity. Knowing all the misery happening in the world outside this flat…

She shrugs. “Nothing, I suppose.”

Colin barks out a singular, disbelieving chuckle. “Well that’s not true.”

“I have empathy, Colin,” she shoots back. “I’m allowed to be upset about the state of the world, even if I’m not personally impacted.”

“What do you mean you’re not ‘impacted?’ The whole world shut down, everyone is impacted.”

“I know, but…”

It’s only after her voice trails off that Colin continues, “We were supposed to be in Paris today. Now we’re stuck in my flat and fighting over whether or not to watch the incredibly depressing news. You are allowed to be troubled, Pen.”

After a few seconds mulling over his words…

“Being stuck in a flat in London is different than — you know — dying from a mysterious illness that didn’t exist until a few months ago.”

“I know,” Colin insists, humour finally wiped clean off his face. “But you don’t have to be in active peril to be sad about your current circumstances. You selflessly refusing to moan about a missed holiday won’t resolve anyone else’s suffering.”

She doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “Are you sad about your current circumstances?” is what she eventually settles on.

He takes a moment before responding. His eyes roam, seeming to point in every direction but to her own.

“Mixed. I’m sad about our trip getting cut short so abruptly. I would prefer to be in Paris than London today. I’m happy I get to spend more time with you than originally planned.”

Resisting the urge to fester on the last part of his statement for a single second, Penelope simply says, “I thought you didn’t like Paris.”

From his spot one cushion over, Colin squints in that way that makes his blue eyes look grey.

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

“I don’t think you did,” she realises out loud. Absentmindedly, she places her mug down on the table. “But, you know… I edited every single one of your pieces back then. I suppose it just stuck out to me at the time, how it seemed less…”

She tilts her head upward, searching her brain for the right word. When she glances back to Colin, his eyes are round and blue again.

“It just, um, seemed less enthusiastic than your writing on other destinations.”

“I —”

“Not that it was any less lovely to read,” she adds with a quiet, nervous laugh. “Just different in tone.”

“Regardless…” He sighs, and the corners of his mouth tick upward just a little. “I was excited to revisit it. And to see you see it for the first time.”

“I’m sad about missing Paris, too,” she finally admits. “Even if being with you here instead of there isn’t so bad.”

Before she can process that it’s even happening, Colin is hugging her. His arms are wrapped around her back. Her lips are pressed into his shoulder. Her heart is beating so quickly that she fears he can feel it against his own chest.

“Paris will be there when this is all over,” he mumbles into her hair. “We can always go back.”

She wants to tell him how hard that future is for her to imagine. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything, answering instead with a tiny nod against his shoulder. When her nose brushes against the fabric of his t-shirt, she’s reminded of the true reason why she loves his jumpers so.

For as long as she can remember, Colin has always smelt the same. Like fresh grass, “unscented” bar soap, and the faintest hint of sweat. Like home.

That scent tends to stick around on jumpers like the one she’s been wearing for the past two days.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 5

Eyes too alert to find sleep, Colin turns his gaze from the ceiling to the alarm clock on his left. The bright red display informs him that it is just after midnight.

Turning towards the wall and away from those taunting numbers, Colin thinks over the last few days. He thinks of Penelope’s stay here. He thinks of the good — the talking, the closeness, the making up for lost time. He thinks of the not-so-good — the world outside, the worry that keeps creeping up her face, his inability to keep his desires at bay while she remains so close.

That last point weighs the heaviest on his mind. It’s the reason he’s currently awake and restless in bed.

On that night in Paris, he came so close to acting on his physical desires for Penelope. He was seconds away from kissing her in the moonlight, he realises in hindsight. He was so close to risking it all while drunk on wine and the perfect curve of her lips so close to his. Then, like a sign sent directly from God (or perhaps the CDC), the world came crashing down around them.

Now, Colin can’t risk it all. He couldn’t possibly put Penelope in that position — not when she’s forced to remain here with him for the next nine days. But having her so close to him at all times of the day…

It’s difficult. It’s good in so many ways, but it’s also difficult. There’s no escaping your feelings for someone when they are never more than a few footsteps away from you. Penelope is wearing his clothes every day and sleeping on the other side of his wall every night. Colin is growing restless, but as much sleep as he may lose over his desires…

He can’t risk it all now. As much as he wants to.

After a few more minutes turning over and over in bed, Colin lifts his head from his pillow. He hears something new emanating from the darkness.

Footsteps.

He listens as the tentative creaking noises get louder and softer, walking past his bedroom door, then away from it. Curious and alarmingly awake, Colin extricates his body from his sheets, pulls the first t-shirt he can find over his head, then heads in the same direction as those footsteps.

Penelope is in the kitchen. Her body is turned away from him and towards the kettle on the stove. The room is dark; her figure is outlined by the stove light that’s illuminating next to nothing. She must have not heard him coming, because she literally jumps around when he whispers her name from the doorway.

“Oh — Colin! Sorry,” she sputters out. She points her thumb behind her, towards the kettle. “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to — Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” He steps across the precipice, leaning against the sink so his body stands about a metre away from Penelope’s. “I would have needed to find sleep to begin with for that to be possible.”

“Is there a lot on your mind?”

Colin doesn’t know how to answer that question truthfully. Yes, there was a lot on his mind keeping him awake tonight. No, not in the way Penelope had intended the question.

(She had not intended to ask if he had been too horny to fall asleep tonight.)

In the end, he simply shrugs and blames “the usual bout of insomnia” for his presence in this dimly-lit kitchen.

Penelope mumbles something that sounds like, “I thought that was my thing,” before turning back to her original task. As she pulls out two mugs from the cabinet, Colin clears his throat.

“What was keeping you up tonight?”

“Oh. You know…”

She doesn’t expand on her words. She keeps her eyes pointed on the kettle, patiently waiting for it to whistle. Colin lasts about 10 seconds before opening his mouth again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Pen. Even if the circumstances that forced you into my flat aren’t ideal.”

He’s not exactly sure what prompted him to say that. When Penelope finally turns to look him in the eye again, he can tell that she shares his curiosity. Before she can ask, though, he continues on.

“I feel like we’re making up for lost time. You know… After spending 90% of the last five years on separate continents.”

“Oh, Colin,” she says, and Colin cannot recall ever hearing two words uttered so sadly in his lifetime. “There is no ‘lost’ time to make up for. Not when we spent nearly every day of those five years communicating in one way or another.”

“That’s not the same,” he insists. “And after putting up with all of the emails and voicemails and other random shit I send you on a daily basis, I think this was long overdue.”

Penelope breaks their eye contact, shaking her head lightly as she turns her gaze downwards. With her voice barely above a whisper, she says, “I don’t ‘put up’ with anything.” Then, louder, “But while we’re on the subject, I did want to ask you about those emails.”

“Oh, yeah?” he needles, feeling cheekier than he has since stepping foot into this room.

“Yeah. It’s just… Between your articles and those emails, when do you have the time to actually go out into the world and gather material for them? It seems like all you do is write.”

“It’s quite simple, really. I experience the world during the day and write about it at night.”

“When do you manage to sleep, then?”

“Oh. I don’t.” He raises his arms in gesture to the darkness around them. “That’s the trick.”

Penelope’s laughter coincides with the kettle’s whistle. After handing him his mug, she takes a step back — a step further than she was just a moment ago.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about being away from home so often,” she tells him. “For me or for anyone. Travelling — that’s your passion. You’re lucky to have found it at such a young age. You should hold onto it with both hands.”

Suddenly feeling at a loss for words, Colin nods into his cup. The water is hot, and yet his sip is long.

He can’t recall a single time over the last twenty-seven years that he has ever disagreed with Penelope as strongly as he does in this very moment.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 7

“Go fish.”

“Christ, Penelope. We’re friends — could you drop the poker face, just once?”

She laughs into her remaining two cards.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

They play for a few more minutes before Penelope secures her third win of the night. When Colin flips his remaining ten cards over and discards them on the coffee table, she can’t help but notice that they’re all hearts and diamonds — red cards, only.

Standing suddenly, Colin rakes a hand through his hair and walks over to the cabinet on the other side of the room. “Let’s switch to a game that I actually have a chance at winning,” he mutters, his back turned towards her.

As he searches through a pile of board games, Penelope fishes her phone out of the couch cushions behind her. In the time it had taken for them to play three rounds of Go Fish, she had received several notifications.

One text from Eloise, asking if Colin has driven her mad yet. A few news updates with death tolls, outbreak reports, and other awful, unimaginable statistics she’s now receiving on an hourly basis. At least a dozen messages from her family group chat, the last of which came from her mum, about a minute ago.

It’s awful. Being stuck in this giant house all by myself.

“Scrabble?”

Penelope’s head whips up to find Colin presenting the big burgundy box in the air.

“Oh, um… I don’t know. Perhaps another night?”

After throwing her a sarcastic scowl, Colin puts the Scrabble box away, walks over, and plops back down on the spot on the rug opposite Penelope.

“Something wrong?” he asks her.

Without meaning to, her eyes dip down to her phone screen.

“‘No,” she lies. “It’s just… Doesn’t it feel kind of weird to be playing games right now?”

“Now? As in… The end of the world?”

“I wish you would stop calling it that.” She sighs. “But yes.”

“I quite literally cannot think of a better time to sit around playing games.”

Penelope can’t help but roll her eyes slightly, because of course he can’t.

“I don’t know.” Her gaze unconsciously drops to the phone in her lap again. “It just feels sort of… wrong. Like I can’t have a bit of fun without being reminded of how awful it is for everyone else in the world.”

When she eventually summons the strength to look up again, Colin’s face is marked by concern. His eyes bear into hers.

“I —”

“Pen, you cannot hold your own happiness hostage for the sake of others. There’s no good that can come from forcing yourself to be miserable.”

Not for the first time in her life, Penelope is struck by how good Colin is at making life seem so much simpler than it really is. But while her instincts typically lead her to either challenge his revisionist view of reality or simply brush his words away, right now, she’s tempted to believe him. She’s tempted to buy into his bullshit.

“You’re so wise for someone who just lost so badly at Go Fish.”

“Thanks, Pen.” He laughs, then picks up the deck of cards still sitting atop the table between them. “Rematch?”

Tossing her phone out of sight somewhere on the couch behind her, Penelope smiles.

“Your funeral, Bridgerton.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 9

“What are you watching?”

Penelope’s eyes dart from the TV to Colin, then back to the TV. On the screen, Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal are walking through Central Park on an orange Autumn day.

“You don’t know what movie this is?”

Plopping down on the cushion next to hers, Colin shrugs and shakes his head. Penelope can instantly tell that he isn’t being facetious, but after growing up with four sisters, she can hardly believe he can’t name this movie. (Though she may claim otherwise, even Eloise enjoys the occasional romcom.)

“You really don’t know When Harry Met Sally?”

Colin shrugs again, an eager smirk now rising on his lips.

“Should I?”

After pausing the moving, Penelope turns to give Colin her full attention. She’s about to say “Yes,” and inform him of just how ridiculous it is that he’s never seen it before. But at the last second, she hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

“You ‘don’t know?’” he echoes, clearly baffled by her sudden lack of conviction.

“Well, I love this movie, but I can’t claim to be unbiased. I grew up watching it. If I were to watch it for the first time now… I don’t know. I think I might find the premise a bit…”

She quickly glances away from Colin and towards the ceiling, searching her brain for the right word.

“Outdated.”

“Outdated?”

“Yes. And perhaps a bit… sexist.”

“Good god,” Colin laughs. “What exactly is this amazing, outdated, sexist about?”

Penelope's lips remain sealed tightly shut for a moment, simultaneously fighting off a nervous laugh and a deep red blush.

“Well…” she finally manages to get out. “Perhaps ‘sexist’ isn’t the right word. It’s about two people — Harry and Sally — who meet and eventually become friends and eventually fall in love. And it’s a great movie — really. But the film revolves around this idea that men and women can’t be friends. Which is,” she gulps, “obviously not true.”

“Why can’t women and men be friends?”

“Well, obviously they —”

“According to the movie, I meant.”

Her lips stitch shut again. She simply cannot bring herself to voice aloud the movie’s thesis statement — that sexual attraction will always get in the way. Even if that statement is outdated, sexist, and objectively not true for the average opposite sex friendship…

It’s not exactly irrelevant in this friendship.

“Instead of having me explain the plot summary to you for the next 90 minutes, why don’t we just watch it? You know — so you can form your own opinion on the matter.”

“I happen to like it when you explain the movie to me. But fine.” He sighs with great, dramatic force. “Let’s watch it.”

Exactly ninety-five minutes later, Colin agrees that while it may be a fantastic movie, the premise is bullshit.

“I mean — if you and Benedict weren’t such good friends, you might not have had a bed to sleep in this past week.”

“Yeah.” Penelope forces out a quick laugh. “I don’t know where I would be without my best friend, Benedict Bridgerton.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 10

Despite sharing this flat with Benedict for over two years, due to their respective chaotic schedules, Colin hasn’t actually spent much time living here with another human being. That’s why he didn’t realise just how thin his walls are until about ten days ago.

Now, ten days into Penelope’s extended stay here, Colin has developed an automatic response to the sound of her phone ringing. Unfortunately, he can’t always find his headphones quick enough to avoid accidentally eavesdropping on those conversations. Like when his sister rang.

“God, El. Stop being so dramatic. I swear I am here on my own free will.”

…

“Well, I’m sure his hygiene has improved since you last lived with him.”

Or Penelope’s editor.

“She licked a toilet seat? Well, that’s um — That’s certainly interesting. But I struggle to see how we can frame that as an actual piece of news.”

Or her mum.

“It’s fine. No, I —”

…

“It’s only temporary, mum. I’ll come home soon. Once it’s safe.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 12

Twelve days into lockdown, meals have taken on new meaning for Penelope — a way to mark the passage of time.

Time itself has lost nearly all meaning. Seconds last for an eternity. Hours pass by like nothing. Days bleed into one another with no substantive markers. Fridays feel like Tuesdays. Everyday feels like Tuesday, actually.

Meals are now the only markers of time that feel real to Penelope. But as the food in Colin’s fridge and pantry starts to dwindle, the separation between breakfast, lunch, and dinner are becoming blurred.

Tonight, they’re eating eggs, baked beans, and a single microwavable pizza for dinner.

“You know…” Colin mumbles, chewing incessantly on his crust (which in Penelope’s opinion, has a texture similar to that of her leather purse). “In two days, we can venture back into the land of the living and get some proper food.”

Penelope mumbles something in agreement, pushing around the beans on her plate with the prongs of her fork. Her mind is wandering elsewhere.

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

“Pen?”

“Hmm?” Her head whips up suddenly, eyes finally meeting Colin’s after several minutes of focusing downward.

“Is something wrong?”

Yes.

“No.”

Colin isn’t buying her bullshit. She can see it in the look he throws her now.

“I’m just —” She sighs, mulling over her own words. “Just thinking about what’s going to happen in two days, when our quarantine period is up.”

“Oh,” Colin says, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Well, Benedict isn’t coming back to the city anytime soon. And Lord knows my trip to Kyoto isn’t happening anytime soon. You can stay here as long as you like.”

Penelope opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. There was a weight on her chest before. It’s lighter now, but still overwhelming.

Filling the interim silence between them, Colin leans back in his chair and chuckles softly.

“I mean, you can go back to Hyde Park and kill the endless expanse of time sitting around doing nothing with your roommate. But wouldn’t you rather sit around here and do nothing with your best friend?”

Not ready to address the main bit, Penelope smiles, crinkles her nose, and says, “Don’t let Eloise hear you claiming yourself as my best friend. I don’t need another Bridgerton bloodbath on my hands.”

He barks out a laugh.

“We can speak freely here. She doesn’t have my flat bugged.”

“That you know of.”

“Regardless… Can you really deny my claim?”

His words are delivered casually enough, but they don’t feel that way to Penelope. Not after spending so much of her life struggling to attach those two words to Colin in her mind and in her heart. Even if she probably should.

Best friend. There’s nothing that comes after that.

Penelope scoops a fork-full of beans into her mouth.

“I would… If I didn’t know any better. You two are so competitive. And you both seem to be under the incorrect assumption that a person can only have one best friend.”

Still chewing on that pizza crust, Colin’s eyes suddenly narrow.

“You call Eloise your best friend all the time,” he says simply. He doesn’t sound quite as casual as he had a moment ago. His voice is edged with annoyance.

Penelope scoops up another fork-full of beans. She’s stalling for time, trying to think of a better excuse than, “It’s easier to call someone your best friend when you’re not also madly in love with them.” In the end, she lands on…

“You know how annoying you get about this subject? Eloise would be a thousand times more annoying if the roles were reversed.”

He shrugs at that, because while it may be a dirty excuse, it’s also 100% true.

“Regardless… The world isn’t going back to normal in two days. If you have to be stuck somewhere, selfishly, I hope it’s in this flat.”

Penelope’s eyes turn away from him again — towards the clock on the stovetop that means so little to her these days. She can feel the blush rising in her cheeks. She can feel it in her chest and in her heart. It’s hard to really accept his words, though, as her mother’s voice still echoes through her mind.

Do you want to be a burden, Penelope?

No. Of course she doesn’t.

“I don’t want to impose,” she tells him, her eyeline unable to raise any higher than the stubble on his chin.

“You wouldn’t be.”

He sounds less humorous, less charming than he had just a moment ago. His voice is serious, which — despite the very serious events unfolding in the world lately — is a rare occurrence these days.

“You could never. Not with me.”

Just like that, the subject is dropped. Neither one of them picks it up again when the official 14-day quarantine endpoint comes and goes.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 17

After getting off a nearly hour-long phone call with Benedict (an ultimately fruitless endeavour to obtain the details of his brother’s extended stay in Southampton), Colin exits his bedroom with the intention to join Penelope on the big blue couch.

She doesn’t notice him walk into the room. She’s faced away from him, back against the armrest, headphones blasting music loud enough for him to hear it from his doorway. Her laptop is resting precariously on her knees, her fingers rampantly dancing across her keyboard. She barely looks up when he plops himself on the cushion next to hers.

“Hey,” she says half-heartedly, pulling one earbud out.

“What are you working on?”

“Work.” Just as quickly as the word leaves her mouth, she shuts her laptop.

“Did you ever decide on a narrative for your Notre Dame article?”

“Oh. God no.” She laughs lightly, scrunching her nose. “That article was shelved the second that the pandemic was declared.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “But there are more important things for people to read about these days than reconstruction efforts on some old church.”

Colin scoffs. Literally.

“Did you just refer to the Cathedral of Notre Dame as ‘some old church?’”

“You know what I mean. Public concern has shifted over the last few weeks. That story isn’t exactly relevant anymore. Plus, I never even got to see the restoration efforts firsthand.”

“Okay…” Colin shuffles in his seat, raking a hand through his hair as he considers her words. “Even if it isn’t ‘relevant’ right now — what about when this is all over? That ‘old church’ survived over 800 years before this for a reason. People will always care about Notre Dame. There will always be a story to tell there.”

Penelope shrugs again. She’s wearing his green cable knit sweater, arms crossed in front of her with just the tips of her fingers peeking out of the sleeves. She’s tucked into the corner of the big blue couch, looking like she’s about to disappear into it.

“Maybe one day. But right now, it’s hard to imagine everything going back to normal.”

Colin considers her words for a few seconds.

“Well, maybe not everything will go back to how it once was, but the important things will. The things meant to last will last, even through fires and viruses and other disasters.”

From her spot in the corner, Penelope’s eyes narrow. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, only half sarcastically.

“Always have been,” he gloats, a smile overpowering his lips. “Took you long enough to notice.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 19

After several minutes (possibly hours) staring at a blank screen, Penelope shuts her laptop with a huff. She blinks several times, practically feeling the blue light still stinging her eyeballs. She scrunches her eyes shut completely, needing at least a few seconds of calming darkness.

For as long as she can remember, writing has offered Penelope an escape. Writing a story — gripping a pen in her hands and deciding what came next — offered her a sense of control in times when she felt no such thing in her real life. That control is an addiction of sorts — one most would be wise not to stake their careers around. Thankfully, Penelope’s career has yet to take away her passion for it.

She loves being a writer, but it’s hard on days like today when the words just don’t come. When both the escape and the control slip away from you, and the only thing you can blame for that loss is your own brain.

At least she has a different distraction readily available to her these days.

When she opens her eyes, she finds that Colin is still staring at his laptop screen on the other side of the couch. He isn’t doing much typing, though, so she doesn’t feel too bad about interrupting him.

“Hey.”

She nudges his bare shin with her sock-clad foot. He smiles softly as he pulls his headphones out and meets her gaze.

“Are you busy with something?”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

With that, he shuts his laptop and practically throws it onto the coffee table next to hers.

“God,” Penelope mutters under her breath, almost caught off guard by his charming ways after all these years.

“Nothing. Just… bored.”

Colin’s smile turns to a flat out smirk.

“And you want me to do something about that?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, fighting off a blush. “Can you tell me a travel story? One I haven’t heard before?”

Humming, Colin looks up to the ceiling, seemingly racking his brain to find such a thing. Then, he looks to the window. Then, to the coffee table. Then, finally, back to her.

“I don’t know if there are any, Pen. I think you’ve heard all of my stories already.”

“What about Prague? Anything you left out of your emails?”

“No,” he says softly, eyes still darting back and forth, searching for some memory to dig up. “On my way to the airport, my Uber got rear ended.”

“Yeah, I know.” Penelope breaks into a fit of giggles. “I was on the phone with you when it happened. I could hear them arguing in Czech in the background.”

Colin begins to chuckle.

“Oh, right.”

“Okay… So if I already know everything about your old trips, maybe you can tell me about your future endeavours. Any plans for when the end of the world ends?”

Penelope expects Colin to continue chuckling. She expects him to say something like “Greece” or “Kyoto.” But he doesn’t.

He frowns.

“I don’t know, honestly.” He looks away from her for a few seconds, towards the window. “I don’t see myself travelling for a while.”

Penelope nods sympathetically, suddenly annoyed with herself for asking such a silly question.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice tentative. “They said this would be all over in two weeks, but —”

“No, not because of COVID. I’ve actually been ready to pause my travels for a while.”

He says those words so casually. A few seconds pass before they fully register in Penelope’s brain. When they do, it feels as though all of the air has been sucked from her lungs.

“What?” is all she can manage to get out in her current breathless condition. Colin, for his part, remains casual.

“Japan was the last trip I had planned, and that certainly isn’t happening anymore, so…”

They sit in silence for a moment. Penelope waits for him to expand. Colin waits for her to ask him to. In the end, it’s she who loses the game of chicken.

“Why didn’t you plan anything past Japan?”

If she recalls correctly, he was supposed to remain in the country for approximately three months. She’s seen his calendar; he usually plans out his calendar a year in advance.

“Well, that trip was meant to end in June, which also happens to be the five-year mark for my travels abroad.” He shrugs innocently. “Five years seems like a good marker for change. I was thinking about maybe taking a year off travelling.”

“A year?” Penelope mutters dumbly, not really meaning to. The notion seems impossible to her. Between Eton, Cambridge, and his travels…

Colin hasn’t lived an entire year in London in over a decade. Not since he was sixteen and she was fourteen. Not since they were two completely different people.

“Yeah. I love travelling, but it’s also fucking exhausting. Especially at the rate I’ve been doing it the past five years. I…” He takes a breath. “I just need to stay put for a while. I’m sick of spending more time away from home than in it.”

When he goes quiet, Penelope nearly jumps at the chance to fill the air between them with her words. But something in Colin’s eye tells her that he’s not quite finished. That he has something else that he desperately wants to say.

“I don’t want my life to continue running parallel to the lives here at home.”

“Oh, Colin,” she says, her miserable words spilling from her mouth before she can stop them. Her mind is elsewhere, recalling something she said a lifetime ago on a night in December.

Those people who made up your entire world when you were younger are still there, but their lives aren’t intertwined with yours like they used to be. It’s more like they’re running parallel.

“I —” she starts, but Colin interrupts. His face looks lighter than it had a moment ago.

“Don’t be too sad about my indefinite return home for longer than usual, Pen. This —”

“I’m not! I —”

“— was always going to happen. A man can’t travel forever.”

“I — I know,” she sputters out. “But the — the parallel lines thing… You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself about not living in London full time. I mean — look at your family! Eloise and Francesca are both in Scotland now. Daphne practically lives in Hastings year round. Benedict spends even less time in this flat than y—”

“I know, Pen.”

Before she can say another word, Colin moves from the edge of the couch to the cushion right next to hers. She remains wedged in her corner as he raises his hand and gives her shoulder a gentle, familiar squeeze.

“It’s not like I’m never going to travel again. I just can’t keep up with the constant state of being away. I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. I want to be here. I don’t want to miss another holiday or be that uncle that Auggie and Blair only see one a year. I —”

His words stop impossibly short. He gives Penelope a long, wavering look before continuing.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?”

It takes her a moment to find her voice. Eventually, she says something that sort of sounds like, “Of course.”

He sits in the silence an extra moment, as if still debating whether or not he wants to actually share his secret aloud. It’s an unnerving site for Penelope to behold on Colin’s face, of all things. But as a lifelong expert in bullshit…

She understands.

“My dad died almost eighteen years ago. Which is really fucking weird to think about at twenty-seven, knowing that I’ve spent more than two-thirds of my life without him there. But even knowing that…”

He takes a breath.

“At every major life event — every wedding or birthday or whatever — I just keep waiting for my dad to walk through the door and join the rest of us. Like he’s supposed to.”

His lips part to let out something that sort of sounds like a laugh.

“Is that strange?”

Although she feels at a complete loss for words, Penelope pushes herself to say anything aloud. To sit in this silence would be too painful.

“No. Of course not.”

“I just — I don’t want anyone to feel that way about me. Not while I’m alive, at least.”

Penelope literally gasps. She can’t stop herself.

“Colin —”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “That was dramatic.”

“No, I — That’s not —”

Penelope shakes her head slightly, trying desperately to make sense of everything Colin told her in the last few minutes. To find the proper words to respond to them with.

“If you want to make this change for yourself, then you should do that. You should do whatever it is that makes you happy. But if it’s just for your family, or for —”

“It’s for me, Pen,” he interrupts. “Trust me. I — I’m tired of feeling homesick.”

Penelope begins to nod. She tries to muster up a smile. She uses these brief seconds of quiet to mull over his words again. To actually envision a reality where Colin isn’t away from her most of the year. She tries not to get too excited. She tries not to get too overwhelmed.

“What do you think you’ll do with all the time you usually spend travelling?”

“Ideally, I would like to get started on a book.”

Penelope smiles at this. Colin laughs.

“Sounds strange to say that out loud.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Colin.”

“Yeah?” he teases, his smirk suddenly making a reappearance. “You don’t think my plans are a bit mad?”

“A bit.” She laughs softly. “But that’s the best type.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 21

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope sees her mum’s name and picture pop up on her phone. She turns the screen over — out sight, but not out of mind — by the second buzz. Turning her attention back to the TV screen ahead, she sighs.

Before Sunrise was probably not the wisest choice of movies to watch with Colin tonight. But she had never seen it before and the plot sounded intriguing, so she was willing to put herself in the uncomfortable position of watching a romantic movie with her platonic friend. (After all, they made it through When Harry Met Sally last week relatively unscathed.) She had not expected it to be this romantic, though.

When her phone starts buzzing again, Penelope clears her throat.

“Have you ever done anything like this?”

“What?”

She nods her head towards the screen ahead. Towards the two young lovers sitting on the steps of a statue in Vienna.

“You know… Met a stranger on a train and ran off to explore a city together.”

Colin reaches forward to grab the remote control and pause the movie. When he turns to look at her, his expression is made up of disbelief.

“No,” he says, with the same tone someone would use after being asked if they’ve ever sprouted wings and flown to the moon.

“This —” He points a finger towards the screen. “— only happens in movies. If I asked a woman on her way to Paris to get off with me in Vienna, she’d have me thrown off the train.”

“My question was not that ridiculous,” Penelope contends. “You spend more time on trains than anyone else I know. You’re certainly better at making friends out of strangers than anyone else. I think this —” She shoots her index finger towards the screen. “— is the exact type of situation you would find yourself in.”

Colin shakes his head, then settles his gaze on the TV again.

“Those sorts of ‘friends’ don’t compare to the real kind. From my experience, you need to know a person a long time before you can stay up until sunrise talking about nothing together.”

Before Penelope can say anything else, Colin hits play. She doesn’t speak again for another seven minutes. Not until the lovers part and a gentle melody fills the room.

“What was Vienna like? In real life, I mean.”

“Beautiful,” he answers, after some thought. “Also very cold, but I suppose that was my fault for visiting it in December.”

“You think?” she teases.

“Yeah.” He chuckles, wiping his brow with the palm of his hand in boyish fashion. “I think I’d like to go back one day, in a warmer climate.” A beat passes before he tells her, “I think you would like Vienna.”

Penelope feels a sudden rush of longing in the core of her chest. An image of the Eiffel Tower sparkling at midnight flashes before her.

“I think I’d like to go anywhere,” she says, sounding more glum than she had intended. It isn’t until the words leave her mouth that Penelope realises just how badly her words could be taken by Colin.

“Not that I’m not enjoying —”

“Come on,” he interrupts, standing up from the couch with his hand extended towards her. Penelope can only stare at his fingers for a moment.

“What — what are you doing?”

“Come on,” he says again. This time, he doesn’t wait for her to listen or react to his words. He takes her hand into his own and pulls her to a standing position. “Let’s act like we’re in Vienna. Or Paris. Or — wherever, as long as it’s not this little flat in London.”

“I —”

Somewhere in the background, movie credits start to roll and a more upbeat song starts to play.

“Come on,” he says a final time, pulling her around the coffee table so they stand together in the middle of his rug.

They’ve danced together a few times before. It’s far from a common occurrence, and yet, they’ve picked up a sort-of routine over the years. Unlike most dance routines, there are no specific steps or choreography for them to follow — it’s the speed and distance that’s become so familiar over the years.

It starts fast — two pairs of feet finding their footing to a song they’ve never heard before. It starts disconnected — their bodies joined only by their intertwined fingers. But then Colin drops one hand and spins her around with the other, and the routine shifts.

It’s slower now — two bodies swaying together to the beat of the music. It’s less disconnected too — her chest is pressed to his abdomen, one of his arms is snaked around her back. It’s different than it used to be, when they were teenagers and this felt more like a clusterfuck than a routine to Penelope. It’s easier now. More comfortable.

It’s still silly, but that doesn’t bother her like it used to.

After several moments staring into his chest, Penelope looks up. Colin was already looking down, but he quickly shifts his gaze to the side, towards the TV.

After clearing his throat, he asks if she liked the movie.

Penelope nods.

“Yes. You were right — it’s a bit of a fantasy. But I like fantasies.”

When Colin looks back to her, he has the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

“I liked Harry and Sally better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of ambiguous endings. It feels like a cop-out, leaving us wondering what happens next.”

Penelope furrows her brow, considering his words.

“I think there are times when ambiguous endings are fitting. But perhaps you should watch the next movie before you make up your mind on this story.”

“There’s a sequel?!”

Penelope cannot help but giggle.

“It’s a trilogy. Did you really not know —”

“Shh… No spoilers. I want to be surprised.”

Caught off guard by another round of giggles, Penelope unintentionally leans forward, even further into Colin’s chest. Her next words are nearly muffled by the cloth of his jumper.

“The last movie is when the zombies finally make an appearance.”

“Pen!”

They dance for another minute or two. As the music fades to nothing, Penelope swears she can hear phantom sounds of a phone buzzing. She does her best to ignore them, though, breathing in Colin’s scent one last time before letting go.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 24

Three weeks into sharing a flat with Penelope, Colin has become quite familiar with “the usual bout of insomnia.” Which, while troubling for several reasons, does have its perks.

Like all the late night tea breaks they’ve shared over the last three weeks.

When Colin hears the faint sounds of footsteps outside his door at 12:21 AM, he smiles. He pulls himself out of bed. He throws on his nearest shirt. He follows those footsteps down the hall.

Penelope must have heard him coming. There are two mugs sitting on the counter when he walks into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, leaning against the sink.

“Nope.”

She isn’t quite looking at him. She’s staring at the kettle like she’s willing it to whine.

“Something on your mind?”

She shrugs at that. She turns to look at him for a split second. She offers him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, as if that tiny gesture will ward off the question he’s about to ask her.

(It doesn’t.)

“Pen, are you o—”

“I’m fine,” she answers prematurely. “Just the usual bout of insomnia.”

Suddenly, Colin finds himself at a loss for words. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep he’s accumulated over the last three weeks. Perhaps it’s due to him ignoring so many of his other (more physical) instincts during that time. Perhaps it’s for some reason that Colin can’t pull out of the darkness right now… But he suddenly finds himself at a loss for how to act around Penelope.

He knows she’s lying to him. He knows there is something not fine going on with her. But Colin doesn’t know if he should push her on her secret or let it be.

While he stands there silently flailing, the kettle finally begins to whine. When Penelope hands him his mug, she’s standing taller than she was a moment ago. She’s looking him in the eye again.

“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?” she asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

Though Colin still feels rather speechless, he somehow manages to mumble out an “Of course.”

Before she speaks again, a complicated look passes on Penelope’s face. It’s hard for him to read, with her face lit by nothing more than the tiny bulb on his stove, but it looks apprehensive — like she’s suddenly unsure of the secret she is about to confess.

“It’s just — It’s a family secret.” She laughs a little. “One I’ve never actually discussed with my family before, but…”

The mention of her family instantly raises alarm bells in Colin’s mind. In all their years of friendship, he has never known “family” to be a particularly happy subject for Penelope. But the last thing he wants to do is dissuade her from confessing what is so clearly weighing on her mind, so he tries to keep his face neutral.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Pen. Always.”

After one last moment of contemplation…

“My father didn’t actually die of a heart attack.”

What the fuck?

“Pen —”

“I mean — technically speaking, I suppose he did die of cardiac arrest. But I don’t think it’s exactly true to say someone ‘died of a heart attack’ when they also happened to have a few grams of cocaine in their system when they dropped dead.”

There are a million words currently running through Colin’s head — none of which he can string together into an appropriate response to the bombshell Penelope just handed him. But every millisecond that passes without response kills him. As his mouth hangs open, her eyes grow wider, and the silence between them gets louder, Colin feels it critical to say something. Anything. Anything but this silence.

“Did you say you’ve never discussed this with your family before?” might not have been the best thing to say… But it certainly was something.

Penelope shakes her head.

“On the morning that he died, mum told us it was a heart attack. And now that I think about it, no one’s really brought it up again in the last six years. But, um, right after he died, I overheard her whispering about it with Varley. After the funeral, I snuck into his study and found the autopsy report. And um…”

“Pen, that’s —”

“Bad. I know.” She laughs again, an awful sound. One that does not help the nausea currently building in Colin’s gut. “Saying it out loud, it sounds…”

She laughs. Again.

“Crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” Colin says quickly. “It’s just — I don’t think that’s the sort of thing you should keep to yourself for six years. I —”

“I know,” she interjects, sounding more tired than anything else. “I think I stored it away in some hidden part of my brain for most of that time, though. It was surprisingly easy to ignore. For a while, at least.”

Colin still doesn’t quite know what the right thing to say is. But he says, “I’m glad you told me,” anyway.

They move to the big blue couch down the hall after that, sipping tea and talking about everything and nothing well into the hour of 2 AM. When he notices Penelope yawning for the third time in two minutes, he regrettably decides to wrap things up.

“Anything else you want to get off your chest? One member of the Dead Dads Club to another?”

“No.” She laughs for the final time that night. It’s so soft that it’s nearly inaudible, but at least it’s real. “You’ve done more than enough listening for one night. Thank you, Colin.”

He wants to tell her not to thank him for such a thing. He wants to tell her he would forgo sleep forever, if it meant he could stay awake listening to the sound of her voice. He wants to say so much, but before he can utter a single word, Penelope hugs him. It’s all shoulders and hands. It’s over too quick.

Without another word, Penelope disappears into Benedict’s bedroom. She shuts the door behind her.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 25

The last two days had been good.

Colin spent much of those two days waiting for Penelope’s good mood to shift suddenly. For her to frown at her phone or innocently ask if she can tell him a secret, only to reveal one of the most devastating pieces of information he has ever heard in his life just a moment later. But no.

The last two days had been good.

Colin made sourdough bread from scratch. Penelope won Scrabble twice. She also succeeded in uncovering the name of Benedict’s new friend in Southampton (Sophie). They watched Before Sunset. They watched When Harry Met Sally again, after Colin declared that he did, in fact, like that movie better.

The last two days had been good. So good, that Colin has finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. So good, that he doesn’t anticipate the utter gut punch he receives from Penelope now, at approximately 11:52 PM, when she utters eleven words into her mug.

“I’m going home, to my mum’s place, for a few days.”

For longer than he realises, Colin stands silent, tea already growing cold in the mug in his hand. Her words come back to him bit by bit.

Home.

Mum’s place.

A few days.

It’s April 5th — for the next few minutes, at least. In a few days…

“Your birthday,” Colin says dumbly, as if those three syllables provide a sensical response to what Penelope just said. Thankfully, she seems to catch his meaning.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, then forces a half-hearted smile onto her lips. “Mum and I will watch a movie or something. There will almost certainly be red wine involved. It might actually be… fun.”

Though her words reek of positivity, the look on Penelope’s face tells Colin that she posses about as much faith in that last word as he does.

(None.)

“We were gonna do that Zoom thing with my family.”

“I know,” Penelope mutters, a mix of guilt and regret flashing on her face. “We can still do that, just…”

“Just with me as one of the little faces on your screen?”

An inaudible, tragic gasp escapes her lips.

“Col—”

Belatedly hearing how needy he sounds, Colin takes a breath and rethinks his strategy.

“Sorry,” he interrupts. “I just — I know that you haven’t stayed at home in forever and I…” He takes another breath. “I don’t want you to have to go there, if you don’t want to.”

Lit by barely any light at all, Penelope’s eyes change as she keeps her gaze set on Colin. She looks sad. Almost angry. When she finally speaks, her voice is bizarrely calm.

“Philipa’s in Kent with the baby. Prudence ran off with her boyfriend in Bristol. No one else is here and…”

She takes a breath, one that threatens to break Colin’s resolve and bridge the one metre gap between them. It’s over before he can lift his left foot, though.

“I don’t want my mum to have to be alone right now. The past few weeks here have been… perfect. And I really can’t thank you enough for convincing me to stay here in the first place. But I think it’s time for me to go home.”

Penelope goes quiet, patiently looking up at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But he can’t. There’s one word echoing in his mind too loudly for him to conjure up anything even remotely sensical.

Home.

For Colin’s entire life, “home” meant a lot of things. The house on Grosvenor Street. Aubrey Hall. His parents. His siblings. The light at the end of a long journey.

“Home” meant a lot of things to Colin over the years, but the word has always been inextricably linked to happiness. After growing up together, after witnessing her avoid Grosvenor Street like the plague since she left for Cheltenham, after hearing her voice crack on that last word…

It kills him, but Colin knows “happiness” is not something Penelope has ever associated with “home.”

Penelope opens her mouth to say something. Anything. Anything to just break the silence. But Colin beats her to it.

“Please, don’t thank me for stealing you away from the rest of the world the last few weeks. Whatever you do next…”

He takes a breath.

“You deserve to be where you’re happy. If that means going back to your flat in Hyde Park, staying here, staying with your mum, stealing my car and driving to Scotland to see El…”

Another breath.

“Whatever it is, I just want you to —”

“This is what I want, Colin,” she promises. “With everything that’s going on right now, I just keep thinking about my father and…”

When her voice trails off, Penelope seems to notice the mug in her hand for the first time in several minutes. She takes a sip before continuing.

“I know it’s a bloody awful thing to say out loud, but I keep thinking about what would happen if my mum dropped dead tomorrow. I think it would kill me to know that I never even tried to make things better between us.”

Colin desperately wants to ask her if Portia Featherington is really someone worth trying for, knowing all the pain she has inflicted upon her youngest daughter over the last twenty-five years. But in the end, he holds his tongue on the matter. He doesn’t know what he can say to make anything better.

“So, uh… When would you be leaving?”

Penelope shrugs, lifting her mug to her lips again. “The morning after next, I think.”

Colin looks down at the mug currently gripped in his left hand, not wanting to look straight ahead anymore. When he raises it to his lips and takes the first sip, the tea is just barely holding onto its warmth.

“Right,” he says, eyes still cast downward.

She excuses herself to find some sleep shortly after. It isn’t until Colin watches her walk out of the kitchen and into the darkened hallway that it really hits him. That, not 36 hours from now, Penelope will leave his flat. That he has no idea when she’ll be back.

He can feel that revelation sinking in, upending his nerves and wrenching his heart. If the last 25 days have taught him anything, it’s this. Penelope is home to him, and that he’s fucking tired of feeling homesick.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Day 27

When Colin’s eyes first open Tuesday morning, his bedroom is still shrouded in darkness. He supposes it could still be the middle of the night, but when he turns on his side and catches those red, taunting lights, they inform him that the day is about to begin.

6:16 AM.

Groaning, Colin exits his sheets. He throws on the closest set of clothes (grey sweatpants and a burgundy Cambridge sweatshirt). He exits his bedroom with the intention of running straight to the fridge. But as soon as he swings open the door, his sluggish footsteps stop short.

Penelope’s sitting on the couch with her back turned to him. She’s looking out the window in wait for the sunrise — waiting for the grey London skyline to bleed into a slightly lighter shade of grey. After a few seconds of him silently standing in his doorway, she turns her head to look at him.

She smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he echos, stepping over to where she sits on the big blue couch. He plops down on the cushion next to hers. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

They sit in silence for a little while, twiddling their thumbs and flicking their eyes between the window and each other. When the room settles into the brightness of daylight, Colin turns his full attention on Penelope.

He has resisted many instincts over the last twenty-seven days. This morning — Penelope’s last morning here — he doesn’t even consider resisting his instinct to pull her in close. His arms wrap around her back and her chin settles on his shoulder.

Unprompted, he whispers “We’re gonna be okay” into her hair, which smells of honey. He hadn’t intended for those words to come out as a question, but he can’t help but hear them as such once committed to air.

Whether it's an answer or a concurrence, Penelope immediately nods into his shoulder.

“If you want to come back, Pen… The door is always open.”

“I know,” she mumbles into his sweatshirt.

Forty-seven minutes later, Colin watches Penelope walk out of his flat, leaving him alone for the first time in weeks. Leaving him with a sinking feeling that nothing will ever change between them.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

From the other end of the rug, Colin shoots Penelope an all too familiar look. His chin is tilted downward. His eyes are squinting slightly. The edges of a smirk are creeping up his lips.

He’s priming her, about to smooth talk his way into getting exactly what he wants. He’s expecting another battle. Another argument. A debate.

He’s wrong, of course. At this current moment in time, Penelope wants nothing less than to discuss the merits of another technicality.

“It —”

“Yes, fine. It counts,” she interrupts, hoping her words don’t deceive her interests too transparently.

“Really?” Colin asks, face breaking out into a full on grin.

“Yes. I mean, when a couple actually moves in together, at least they have the option to leave during the day to get away from each other. We were stuck in an 800 square foot box together for nearly a month straight — that has to count for something.”

“I like the way you think, Featherington.”

With that, Colin picks up his phone again.

#it is currently 5:05 am #its official #this fic has driven me to the point of insanity 😛#fanfiction #bridgerton #polin #weepingfromacedartree #fanfic #ao3 #ten milestones #penelope x colin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

16 notes · View notes