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paper-star-ships · 10 days

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The Storm and The Funeral Director🔆

A/N: I've been writing this fic too long 😭😭 I had to get it out of my drafts 💀 SUMMARY: Filly is rattled by a thunderstorm and needs comfort. Eric reflects on that. TW: Astraphobia, panic attacks

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Eric knew Filly was brave—it took a brave kind of person to abandon everything and move themselves to a tiny island with a single village in the middle of the English Channel, and an even braver person to tell off Lady Templar for flirting with her boyfriend (a scene he still thought about when he drifted off into daydreaming, sometimes). Eric didn’t think he’d seen anything really shake Filly before.

Before now, that is.

Because now, she was shaken, and shaking actively, breathing in strangled half-breaths while stray tears ran down her cheeks. Thunder barked outside like a rabid dog, shaking the earth and threatening to tear open the sky while hail beat against the distant walls of the lounge area, and Eric sat on the ground near the lit fireplace with Filly curled up in his lap. With every new noise she shook harder in his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline and burying her face in his chest to hide.

“Shh shh, it’s alright-“ He wasn’t actually sure if she could hear him over the strikes of thunder outside, but she must’ve felt the vibration of his words through his chest, because she stilled to listen when he spoke. “You’re okay, it’s all fine.”

He hated seeing her this way. He’d arrived only a couple minutes later than he’d promised—Mr. Pherris’s funeral had run long, and he had offered to walk the vicar home—but she’d practically yanked him into the house once he’d announced his arrival, babbling fearfully about how worried she’d been. Somehow they’d ended up on the floor of the living room in front of the fireplace; him cross-legged, her curled up in his lap.

Tomorrow he would feel guilty, and even now the passing thought of making her breakfast and spending the day with her made the weight in his chest feel more bearable, but for now he would focus on the panic attack still gripping her like a vice.

He knew she liked the rain—he never guessed she’d be afraid of storms.

“I’m- I’m not afraid of storms.” They were the first words she’d said in the last several minutes, and they were wet with tears and shaky with lack of breath. Eric hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but he raised a brow nonetheless.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” He said. “Astraphobia is one of the most common phobias there is.”

“I’m not afraid.” She said again. “I just-“ A loud clap of thunder interrupted her speech, and she yelped as the lights flickered, pulling tightly at the handfuls of his shirt already balled up in her shaking fists. “I don’t like them, I don’t like loud noises!”

“Hey, hey, easy now…” His voice was soft and soothing, and he rubbed slow circles in her back while he spoke. “Alright, you’re not afraid. It’s okay to be anxious, then.”

She shook her head, though feebly, scrunching up her messy curls against his—by now, very wrinkled—button-up and mumbling something.

“Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.”

She shifted so his shirt wasn’t obscuring her words, but didn’t leave the safety of his chest or uncurl her fists. “My body is panicking. I’m just the one who has to deal with the consequences.”

If there was one thing she was good at, it was arguing semantics, Eric thought. It was probably an annoying trait to have, but it made him smile despite himself, leaning his cheek on her head and doing his best to encase her in his arms. “You’re right.”

At that, she lifted her head, aiming her wet eyes curiously at him as best she could. “You never say I’m right.”

“You often are.”

“I always am,” She said, and quickly added, “especially when it comes to you.”

“Huh. Humble too, I suppose?”

“You just never say it.”

“Don’t I?”

“No.”

“I’m sure I say it pretty often.”

She smiled, and he thought, finally. “You never say I’m right.”

“Well, here you go: You’re right Filly. You are often right about things.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“I’m sure.” And she leaned her head wearily on his shoulder as the sound of thunder began to ebb away outside.

The violence of the storm seemed to leave the island as quickly as it had appeared; soon enough the only sound heard through the walls was heavy rain beating unforgiving against the rooftop. Filly made no move to leave Eric’s lap, nor to shift her head from his shoulder or uncurl her fists from his shirt. Eric, in turn, gave no indication that she should move now that the scary part of the storm had passed. He just kept on rocking methodically back and forth and rubbing calming circles in her back as she slowly righted her breathing pattern to something more manageable.

“What is that?”

The words were slightly muffled through his shirt again, though more understandable this time. “What?”

“That song. The music you were humming.”

Oh. He hadn’t realized he’d been humming. Where was his head tonight?

“I don’t know,” He said honestly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It sounded familiar. A song by The Oh Hellos, I think.”

He hummed. “You’d know better than I would.”

She hummed right back, uncurling her right hand to tap a thoughtful–and somewhat ticklish–pattern on his collarbone. After a moment, she spoke up again;

“‘I Have Made Mistakes’.”

“Sorry?”

“The song-” She leaned away–just enough to look at him with newly-dry eyes–and the recognition showed on her face. “The song you were humming. That was ‘I Have Made Mistakes’, by The Oh Hellos.”

He blinked at her for a moment, unsure how to respond to this new information. “Ah.”

“I knew it sounded familiar.” She leaned back onto his shoulder again, this time leaning on her cheek and speaking towards his neck. “I like that song.”

The softness of her voice, or perhaps the breath on his neck, made him shiver. Probably both, he decided, turning to press a chaste kiss to her hair. “You do. You have wonderful taste in music.”

She let out a one-note laugh that, in her rather exhausted state, sounded more like a scoff than anything else. “You’re such a kiss-up.” She shifted then, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and draping herself securely over him in a kind of lazy hug. “You’re right though.”

He chuckled softly, rolling his eyes. “Oh really? You never say I’m right.”

A tired giggle sounded just behind his ear, and he smiled as she began to fidget with her feet; a sure sign she was nearly back to being herself again. “You are. Sometimes.”

“You never say it though.”

“I’m sure I say it pretty often.” She said, doing a silly impression of him only minutes before that made him chuckle despite himself.

“You never say I’m right.”

He expected her to concede then, following the script of their earlier conversation; instead, she pulled back from her position draped over his shoulder, shifting until her knees were poised between his own, her back straightened until he had to look up to meet her eyes. His hands fell away as she moved, hovering pointedly around her hips before dropping to his sides. This was an angle he hadn’t seen since the storm began, when he walked through the front door and into the whirlwind of her panic. He’d gotten a small glimpse of the trepidation on her face before she’d buried herself into his chest; the fear corrupting normally warm stoney-blue eyes, the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks, her lips pulled taught in a frustrated frown. Now he was seeing the outcome of all that having played out already; eyes greyer than normal, as though the tears had washed away some of the color, cheeks red and puffy from crying, lips set in a tired, but thoughtful line, dark curls framing the sides of her face as she looked down at him.

She reached up her right hand slowly, and he was so focused on her face that he flinched minutely when it made contact with his cheek, relaxing when the pad of her thumb began tracing soothing lines onto his skin.

“You’re often wrong.” She said, the words slipping from her lips like velvet ribbons–so quiet that the last word dissipated into a gravelly whisper. She let a deep breath pass through her, her chest barely grazing his own and causing a shiver to run up his spine at the contact. It felt as if all the warmth and cheerfulness had been exhausted for the time being, leaving only the tender love and care that she normally reserved for quieter moments between the two of them.

Eric loved this side of Filly. It was almost a muted kind of love in comparison to her more boisterous showings of affection, but it was a kind of love only Eric got to see. If he let his mind wander long enough, he might think it belonged to him, even. He didn’t let his mind wander that far though, for fear that she would know what he was thinking somehow.

She did have quite the knack for that, to be fair.

The padding of her thumb on his cheek stopped. She reached up her other hand to tuck a stray blonde strand behind his ear, causing a shiver to pass through him again (It took a shameful amount of mental and physical effort to stifle this one).

“I’ll let you know if you’re right.”

The words were so soft, he thought he probably wouldn’t have heard them if they’d been anymore than a couple inches apart.

He swallowed. “Looking forward to it.”

Her look of exhaustion suddenly melted away, broken by an uneven grin as her thumb started moving on his cheek again, and something in his chest relaxed. She leaned in with the grace of a swan, pressing that crooked grin firm against his lips with a hand on either side of his face. He leaned into the motion with a dazed kind of eagerness, his hands catching her hips in a desperate hold, so that when she pulled away they were closer than before.

She grinned at him, still holding his face like a delicate thing, and pressed a second, shorter kiss to his lips before pulling away again.

“You’re pretty.”

He blinked, a little red-faced and dazed. “Hm?”

She chuckled. “You. You’re pretty.” As if to emphasize this point, she tapped the tip of his nose with her finger and fell back into his lap, leaning heavily back into his chest.

It seemed some of her boisterous energy was returning then, he thought with both relief and a little longing. There was still something shaky in her eyes, and exhaustion still clung to her unrelenting, but she was smiling now. Poking fun. Flirting.

She’d be alright after a good night's rest, he thought.

“Right,” He said, clearing his throat to try and rid himself of that lovely little daze she put him under. “How about we get you to bed, hm?”

She let out a dissatisfied hum, resting her cheek back onto his shoulder. “...No. Not yet.”

He raised a brow, wrapping his arms fully around her. “Are you sure?”

She hesitated, taking a deep breath that tickled his neck and sent yet another shiver coursing through him. “I… I don’t want to sleep.”

She was a puzzle he might never solve, he suddenly thought; and though the thought came unbidden and unexpected, he felt in his heart that it was almost certainly true.

“That’s okay,” He said, rubbing slow circles on her back again. “We can just sit here a while longer.”

She seemed to relax a little at that, resting her head on his shoulder and curling in on herself as if to hide from the world a little longer.

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paper-star-ships · 11 days