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viking-raider · 4 years

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HILL MANOR - Part V + Epilogue

Summary: You attend your first real ball. Henry and you share a common vision that ends up helping break the curse that could result in his death. You finally find out who murdered your father.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 14,702

Part: I II III IV

Rating: M - Language, Blood, Light Smut, Angst, Fluff, Cotton Candy Goodness, Nightmares, Happy Ending, Outlander and Sherlock Holmes Quotes

Inspiration: I’ve been wanting to do a Fic like this for some time.

Author’s Note: Thanks to the lovely @wondersofdreaming for being an excellent ear and genius to brainstorm with and beta this. You’re amazing! Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernaturalhero, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @henrycavill-yes, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @elixasays, @magdelen69, @a-wxnderless-mind, @cosmoeticss, @inanna999, @coloraturadiva, @alexakeyloveloki @henry-owns-these-tatas, @kinbhot4henners, @escalatorpeep

The carriage pulled up out front of the Manor and you smiled seeing the Cavill family crest on the door, the well-dressed and immaculate driver in his seat at the front and the groom, who stepped off the back of the carriage to open the door for you and Henry. Henry appeared beside you, dressed sharply, and smiled at you, seeing your giddiness to attend your first proper ball. He kissed your cheek and stepped into the carriage with you and the driver got the horses going.

“Are you ready, my dove?” Henry asked, stepping out of the carriage and offering his hand to you.

“I am.” You replied, taking his hand and stepped out of the carriage, looking up at the grand house of architect, John Douglas, who had just finished moving into the house after two years of building it in his signature and popular fashion.

“Wow, it's really gorgeous.” You commented on it.

“That it is.” Henry agreed, looping his arm with yours, your hand resting on his forearm as you walked up, the sound of music and people flowing out of the open double doors.

You couldn't help the wonder in your big and bright eyes, it was like nothing you had seen before. The house was so grand, it was big and spacious, the endless sea of candles made the marble floors glitter with the Douglas family crest in tile on the floor, huge crystal and gold, twenty-eight candle chandeliers were in nearly every room, the rugs and tapestry were the finest Turkish and Persian that could be found and bought, gold sconces lining the walls at appropriate distances, two dual spiral staircases of highly polished ash wood with wrought iron banisters gave the foyer and cavernous feel in all its splendor. Henry grinned at your almost child-like wonder and excitement over the house, like you opened the best present under the Christmas tree.

“Ah!” A voice called, startling you out of your amazement and your eyes found Elizabeth Edmunds-Douglas, John's wife, the pair who had been married shortly before you and Henry married, after a three year courtship. “Mr. and Mrs. Cavill, how lovely of you to make it.” She cooed at you both, kissing cheeks with you, in greetings.

“It was very nice of you to invite us, Mrs. Douglas.” You replied, returning her greeting.

“Oh, by all means, please call me Effie.” She laughed, playfully slapping you on the arm.

“I'm going to see if one of my brothers are here.” Henry said, bringing his mouth close to your ear. “Will you be all right?” He whispered, glancing at your eyes.

“I'll be fine.” You assured him, kissing his cheek.

“Madam.” He smiled at Effie, bowing his head politely, before vanishing into the crowd.

“I absolutely love your dress.” Effie exclaimed, looking you over.

You were wearing a blue-gray, sleeveless, off the shoulder and patterned ball gown, matching ribbons in your hair and tied in a bow around your wrists, the turquoise and cooper dangling earrings Henry had bought you hung from your earlobes, with the newest addition to your jewelry box; an oval Ceylon and white sapphire pendant necklace, tying in the rest of your outfit with silvery-gray flats. You and Heather had scoured catalogs and dressmaker shops for the latest fashions for dresses, then had the dress you were wearing made in time for the ball at the Douglas's.

“Thank you so much.” You blushed, nodding your head to her, graciously.

“So, tell me.” Effie lowered her voice and leaned in closer to you. “Is it true, your father was murdered?” She asked, eyes panning around as if she was going to find the killer in the crowd.

“I-”

“Y/n!” Heather's voice chimed behind you. “You look amazing” She complimented you, giving you a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Oh, hello, Effie.” She smiled at the hostess, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “It's such a lovely party you have going tonight, and the house is so marvelous.”

You let out a soft breath of relief, grateful that Heather saved you from an awkward and painful conversation, that Effie would no doubt go and recount to the rest of the ladies at the party. Heather's stealthy glance at you, tells you that she knew where Effie was going, and you gave her a soft and thankful smile. Heather stayed by your side as Effie showed you both where the ladies were congregating, you took a glass of wine from the platter a waiter was carrying around the various occupied rooms and sat down in a comfortable chair in the circle of ladies, listening to them talk about household issues, fashion ideas, books they had read, their children and whatever else came up. You were really enjoying yourself, the camaraderie in the group of ladies, they were warm and welcoming to you, not like the parties your parents threw at Long Haven where everyone ignored you like the plague or did their best to be rude and impolite.

“Y/n, you and Mr. Cavill are just recently married, were you not?” one of the ladies, Mona, asked, turning her attention to you.

“Yes.” You nodded, taking a fortifying sip of your wine. “We've been married two months this week.” You informed her, nervously licking your lips.

“How are you finding it?” She asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Marriage?” You frowned at her. “I am finding it quite well. I rather enjoy being married, especially to Henry. He's very loving and attentive of me.”

“So, you suggest it?” Mona continued, and you felt like she was trying to trap you into something.

“I do, if you find the right man.” You replied, standing your ground and giving her a look that told her you weren't going to play a childish game with her.

Mona dropped whatever it was she was trying to pull out of you and the conversation turned back to something more lively and appropriate. It wasn't long afterwards, though, the dancing started and the husbands appeared to whisk their wives away to the dance floor. You smiled at Henry as you took your place on the dance floor with him, glad to be in his presence again.

“How are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, taking the lead as you danced.

“Very much.” You assured him, relaxing under his hands and guidance. “Are you?” You asked back.

“Not as much.” He replied with a smirk.

“And why is that?” You asked, lifting a brow.

“Because, I'd rather enjoy the night with you.” He confessed, an impish glint in his eyes.

“Then, why don't you?” You giggled up at him.

“I think I will.” He purred, bending his head to kiss you lightly on the lips. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” He asked, when the song ended.

“I would, thank you.” You nodded, moving off the dance floor with him.

“I'll be right back, then.” He smiled, kissing your cheek and going off to fetch some.

You shivered as a cold chill streaked down your back and turned around, expecting an open window, but instead found, with a startled gasp, the milky whiteness of an apparition. You could see your reflection in the tall, gilded wood mirror behind him, he was mostly solid from the head to the very top of his thin shoulders, then slowly became less so, until his mid-waist, where his hips and legs vanished completely. The only color on him was his black eyes and the floating wisps of blood from the gaping wound from a slit in his throat; his obvious cause of death.

He opened his contorted mouth and made a god awful sound that made your skin heat up and crawl, taking a deep breath you turned on your heels and headed straight out the open veranda doors and into the backyard of the Douglas estate, the white gravel crunching under the thin leather soles of your flats. Henry returned, holding the two glasses of champagne he promised, but found you not where he had left you. Setting the glasses down on a nearby table, he panned the room for you and just caught a split glimpse of you quickly retreating along the walkway looping the back garden.

Frowning, Henry made his way out there, using the advantage of his long legs to catch up with you. “Y/n?” He called out, when he was close enough, not wanting to startle you.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to look back at him and allowing Henry to see the frustrated expression on your face and the glassy darkness of your eyes. “I just needed some air. I didn't mean to abandon you.” You told him, your voice weak with unshed tears.

Henry shook his head at the silly notion. “Nonsense.” He assured you, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “What is it?” He asked, concerned.

“Just one night.” You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Just one bloody night, that's all I ask. One night without them bothering my peace and happiness.”

“Hm.” He nodded, pressing his lips together, understanding immediately. “I must admit, I didn't think there would be one, in such a new house.” He commented, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow and continued walking with you.

“I'm not sure it is the house, more the grounds.” You elaborated, catching the sight of a small child, standing at the edge of the treeline surrounding the house and grounds. “Was there a house here, before Mr. Douglas owned the land?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Yes, I believe so.” Henry replied, his brow creasing as he thought it over. “It was smaller and didn't contain as much land, as it does now. If I remember correctly, a widow lived here by himself after his wife died and his children moved away, but that was some years back.” He explained to you, the crease melting away as he looked down at you.

“Makes sense.” You answered, resting your shoulder against his.

“How about one more dance, then we'll return home.” Henry suggested, looking up at the darkening sky and bright thumbnail moon.

“I don't want to ruin your fun.” You replied, looking up at him, troubled.

“My love, my fun and happiness is wherever you are.” He smiled at you, pulling you to a stop and cradling your head in his hands. “I love you.” He whispered, kissing you softly on the lips. “So very much.”

“I love you, just as much.” You whispered back, returning his kiss.

You hummed happily, as you lay naked on top an equally naked Henry, back at home in the perfect bliss of your bed chambers. Fingertips tracing circles and swirls over his chest and collarbone, ear pressed to the space above his heart, the steady and strong beat so reassuring and soothing.

“You are so beautiful.” Henry whispered, breaking the peaceful silence between you, brushing his fingers through your loose hair and chuckled as you blushed. “What? It's true.”

“Oh, I believe you.” You giggled, resting your chin on his chest, to look up at him.

“Then, why are you blushing?” He laughed, touching his fingertips to your warmed cheek.

“I don't know.” You replied, blushing even harder.

Laughing again, Henry rolled over and wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing at your neck and chest. You sighed softly, melting beneath him, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp curls and over his back, gripping his thrusting hips. Spent between attending the ball and staying up to the wee hours of the morning, you and Henry fell soundly asleep in each other's arms, content and satisfied.

You gasped, eyes shooting open and gulped down the thick wad of anxiety that had formed in your throat, then relaxed back against your pillow, the nightmare you were having still all too real and fresh in your mind. Sighing and glancing at Henry from the corner of your eye, he laid on his stomach beside you, arms folded under his head. You threw back the covers, pulled on a robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, not bothering to wake Abby, as you made yourself a glass of warm milk and started back upstairs with it. A bang somewhere, either outside or in, startled you, causing you to drop the full glass.

“Christ.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your own silliness, you knelt down to start picking up the pieces of broken glass.

“Niece.”

“Good God.” You jerked and accidentally cut your finger with a piece of glass, blood dripping into the spilled milk. “Helena.” You sighed, glaring up at her as she stood in the doorway of the sitting room. “How are you even here?” You asked, annoyed with her persistence in troubling your life and marriage.

“Ruby Red.” Helena hissed back at you, then vanished as Abby's footsteps came into the room.

“Milady, are you well?” She asked, standing behind you.

“Yes.” You nodded, dropping your eyes back to the floor. “I just came down for some warm milk, and accidentally dropped the glass.” You told her, standing up.

“You've cut yourself.” Abby gasped, taking your bloody hand in hers.

“Very clumsy of me, I know.” You frowned back.

“Come, allow me to bandage it for you.” She begged you, pressing a handkerchief from her pocket around it. “I'll clean this mess up afterwards.”

“Very well.” You nodded, giving into her well meaning gesture.

Abby guided you back into the kitchen and had you sit down on a stool, at the long table there and disappeared for a moment, coming back with a small roll of bandages and a small vial of antiseptic. “It will sting for a moment.” She warned you, uncorking the vial and pouring a bit of it on your cut, making you hiss and tense up in response.

“My apologies, milady.”

“It's not your fault, Abby.” You assured her, watching her carefully bandage your finger.

“Are you all right, milady?” Abby asked again, moving about the kitchen and pulling out a teapot, filled it with water and set it on the stove to heat. “You seem very troubled, if I may be so frank.”

“You may.” You nodded, picking at the edge of your bandage.

“Is it with my Lord?” She dared to ask, brewing you both a cup of tea.

“Gods no.” You shook your head at her. “Henry's incredible. He's very doting, loving, attentive and supportive of me, in all things. I have only ever felt love and devotion from him.” You assured her, gratefully taking the steaming cup from her and nodding your head to the stool beside you.

“Then, what troubles you so?”

You chuckled, sipping your tea, if only this woman knew and understood the things you toiled with, you thought, glancing out the open kitchen door to the spilled milk and blood on the foyer floor. No matter where you went or were going, there was always a ghost stalking you, lurking over your shoulder; whether they said anything to you or not, and most of the time they didn't need to, you just felt it, as if it was your own.

“By my father's death, mostly.” You finally admitted, you had been so consumed in trying to find out the cause and resolution of the Curse, that your father's death and his murderer, still at large, had been pushed to the back of your mind, but it still nagged you in every way possible. “I fear that his killer will never be found and put to justice. That his poor soul will forever be restless.”

Abby frowned down at her cup, pressing her lips together. “I can not say I understand your pain, though I understand the loss of a father. My own father died, when I was just a wee lass of eight.”

“How did he die?” You inquired, lifting a brow at her.

“Consumption.” She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. “Took him quickly, but painfully.”

“I am so sorry.” You frowned, resting your hand on hers. “It isn't easy losing a loved one.”

“That it is not, milady.” Abby nodded, warmed by your kind affection. “I will pray, before returning to bed, that your father's spirit will find his just rest.”

You smiled gently at her, squeezing her hand. “I thank you, and will do the same for yours.” You promised.

After finishing your tea and thanking Abby for her kindness, you went back upstairs to bed, but frowned finding Henry laying on his back and blankets kicked off his naked body in agitation, throwing his head side to side with an expression pinched in anguish and distress, a heavy sweat pouring from his forehead. You quickly crawled into bed with him, wiping his face with the sleeve of your robe and rubbed his heaving chest.

“Ssshh, my love.” You cooed at him, affectionately, brushing his damp curls off his forehead as more droplets of sweat collected there. “It's all right, my sweet puppy.” You stroked the side of his face, trying to soothe and calm him. “It's only a dream.” You murmured, kissing his cheeks.

“No!” Henry suddenly screamed, bolting up right.

“It's all right, Henry.” You called to him, hugging him with one arm and rubbing his back with the other, feeling him shiver against you, the cool air of the room wafting over his sweaty body. “Ssshhh, you're all right now, Puppy.” You cooed at him, kissing his hair and temple, gently.

Henry panted and gasped for air.

“Come, lay your head, man.” You whispered to him.

Turning in your arms, Henry wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down on the bed and laid half over you, his face pressed to your chest, taking slow deep breaths, calming himself with the warmth of your body and the scent of your skin. You relaxed, cuddling and cradling his muscular body against your dainty one, rubbing the back of his tousled hair with the palm of your hand and humming a soft tune that Grace would hum to you, when you had a nightmare.

“I'm sorry.” Henry whimpered against the skin of your breast, nuzzling his head between them. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

You chuckled softly, running your fingers from his forehead to the nape of his neck. “I was already awake, love.” You assured him, soothingly. “What were you dreaming of?”

“Blood.” He sighed, pressing his ear to your ribcage, to the beating of your heart. “Blood, that was everywhere,--”

“Leaking from the walls and dripping from the ceilings, filling the room like a pond.” You added in, your eyes losing focus as you remembered the nightmare that had woken you, an hour before.

Henry tilted his head back to look up at you. “You had the same dream?” He asked, surprised.

“I did.” You nodded, licking your lips. “But,” You sighed and shook your head. “It's just a dream, Puppy. None of it is real, don't let it bother you now.” You whispered to him.

“And you?” Henry purred back, squeezing his arms around your waist.

“I'm used to such things, love. You know that.”

“Doesn't make it any better, Nugget.” He replied, a teasing smile on his full lips.

“No, but it'll do.” You chuckled, kissing his forehead and thinking about what Helena said to you downstairs.

Ruby Red.

Whatever was she hinting at?

“You'll be back as soon as I can!” Henry called out to you as he got ready to head out the door.

“That's fine!” You called back to him, getting dressed for the day.

“What do you have planned today?” He asked, popping into the room and searching for something.

“I'm going over to Manchester.” You replied, adjusting your skirts.

“What for?” Henry frowned, pausing for a second to look at you.

“To visit a library.” You elaborated, satisfied with your skirts and turned to look back at him.

“We have a library here in Chester, Manchester is an hour away, both ways.” He pointed out, shaking his head as he continued his search for whatever he wanted.

“I know, but Chetham's Library has something specific I want and being the oldest library in Britain, it's libel to have it. I'm sure they have it, I sent a telegram to them a few days ago inquiring about it and they sent me a reply yesterday afternoon to express they had it in stock and would hold it for me.” You explained to him, watching him move about the room.

“What are you looking for?”

“My cuff-links.” He huffed, frustrated.

“They're where you left them, you silly boy.” You chuckled, going to the drawer of his desk and pulled out the silver links with his initials. “You put them there after the Morris' party last week.”

“What would I do without you?” Henry smirked as you secured his cuff-links.

“Probably be half naked and disheveled.” You giggled.

“I love you.” He smiled, cupping your face in his hands and kissed you, holding you close for a long moment.

You rested your hands on Henry's waist and stood there with him, feeling the warm and safe bubble that always formed around you both, when you were in close proximity. “I love you too.” You whispered back. “And might I add, you look absolutely dashing in a three-piece suit?” You said, looking him over in the navy blue three-piece suit with a charcoal gray dress shirt.

“So handsome.” You hummed, biting your lip.

“As long as you think so.” Henry chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Be careful on your way to Chetham's.” He added, stepping away from you to take his jacket back up off the end of the bed.

“I will.” You assured him, taking up your hat, pinning it in your hair and headed out to the carriage waiting to take you to Manchester. “Morning, Brandon.” You smiled at the driver as he handed you inside.

“Morning, Mrs. Cavill.” Brandon smiled back, closing the carriage door after you and hopped up into the driver's spot.

The hour's drive to the library in Manchester wasn't altogether unpleasant, you had never seen this part of England before and it was nice to see the rolling hills and small towns you went through on your way there, you felt the small world you were locked in for so long start to expand around you. You didn't think it was possible to feel any freer than you had already in marrying Henry, but found it pleasant to be proven wrong.

“I shouldn't be too long, Brandon.” You said, stepping out of the carriage and into the library, the pleasant smell of books greeting your nose, as you made your way to the front desk.

“Hello, Ms.” the Librarian smiled at you. “How can I help you?” She asked.

“I'm Mrs. Cavill, I sent a telegram the other day inquiring after a book that I was told was in and waiting for me to pick up.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded, standing up from her stool behind the counter and bustled into a backroom for a few moments before coming back with a two-hundred page book in her hand. “Here you are, Mrs. Cavill. The Accurate Account of the Pendle Witches.” She said, reading off the spine. “An interesting subject.” She commented, getting you set to take the book with you.

“It is.” You agreed, nodding. “Just doing some research on family.”

“Was your family witches?” She asked, lifting a startled brow at you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No, quite the opposite.” You told her, amused.

“Witch hunters, then?”

“That's the rumor, I'm hoping to discover.” You replied, taking the book from her. “Thank you.” You smiled at her.

“Of course, have a good day, Mrs. Cavill.” She bid you, going back to her work.

Getting back to the house and getting Abby to brew you a pot of tea, you went up to your library and settled in with the book, flipping open to the index page, running your finger down the chapters and the witches they were named after, until you found Helena's, then went to that chapter. You started by skimming through the twenty page chapter, seeing if anything jumped out at you, and froze at the last page of the chapter, noting her burial.

'With justice brought to the head witch and murderess, Helena Shaw, her remains were interred in her family plot, in East Park Cemetery, London.'

You frowned, blinking at the yellowed page, why would Helena be buried in the family plot, when her brother, Walter, was the one that gave her up to the mob, who would then burn her at the stake on the family property; it didn't make sense at all. Confused, you flipped back to the start of the chapter and started reading it completely. By the time you finished the chapter, you didn't learn much of anything you didn't already know and only gave you more questions than you already had. You had just opened the front cover of the book, to start from the beginning, when rushed footsteps came down the hall and Maggie appeared in the doorway of your library, all out of breath, flushed and looking wild eyed.

“What is it, Maggie?” You asked, setting your book on the small table by the arm of your chair.

“It's Mr. Cavill.” She gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“What of him?” You gulped, feeling her anxiety start to infect you.

“There's been an accident at the mine.” She told you, all rushed out in one weak breath.

“Oh god!” You gasped, jumping up from your chair, gathered up your skirts and rushed down the hall with her, heading for the door. “Henry!” You cried, seeing him coming up the front steps with Charlie and Simon, a bleeding cut on his forehead.

“I'm all right, love.” He smiled at you, still his happy-go-lucky self. “I'm fine, y/n. I promise, it's nothing serious.” He assured you, catching you up in his arms and hugging you tight. “It was just a minor rock fall, nothing serious or dangerous.”

“It doesn't take much to kill someone, Henry. Especially with a head wound.” You fretted, gently holding his head in your hands and checking the cut at the edge of his hairline. “You'll need stitches, no doubt.” You sighed, relieved he was all right.

“I can have Abby do it.” He told you, kissing your forehead. “Did you get the book you wanted from Manchester?” He asked, as he sat in the sitting room with a glass of brandy after Abby stitched up his wound.

“I did.” You nodded, sitting close to him.

“What book did you get?” He asked, sipping his drink with groan as his head throbbed.

“The Accurate Account of the Pendle Witches, circa. 1680.” You replied, wincing as you heard him groan.

“There's a book on Helena and the Witches?” Henry frowned at you, surprised, then hissed as it pulled on his stitches.

“There is, they were the most public English Witch Trials the country has ever seen.” You explained to him. “But, this was the only copy of the book not in a private collection.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Um, nothing we didn't already know about them.” You sighed, staring down at your glass of wine. “But, there is one thing.” You whispered, ringing your finger around the rim of the glass.

“What is it?” He asked, scooting to the edge of his seat.

“I don't know who, or if it was misinformation, but according to the book, Helena was buried in my family's plot, in East Park Cemetery.”

“Your family, no offense, allowed her to be burned at the stake for being a witch and murderer, then turned around and buried her in the sacred family cemetery?” He tried to grasp what you were telling him.

“Yes.” You nodded, taking a gulp of your wine.

“Have you ever noticed the other plots there?” He asked. “Seen, if it's true?”

You let out a deep breath and lifted your eyes at Henry, giving him a look that he instantly understood; you had hardly left Long Haven property long enough to visit the summer house in Suffolk, you had only seen the area of the cemetery your family was buried in long enough to bury your father, and then you weren't looking anywhere else.

“I have to go into London, next week, on business at the Port. Why don't you come with me, and we'll visit the cemetery to see her plot for ourselves?” He suggested, finishing off his brandy. “Be our own little detectives.” He smirked, trying to lighten your mood.

“I can go for a distraction.” You smiled softly at him.

“Good.” He smiled back, gently patting your knee.

The cool sea air felt good as it whipped your skirts around your feet, you always got a faint whiff of it back at Long Haven, but you were too far for the full experience of it, and now that you did, you were smitten with the sea. Henry smiled over at you as he spoke to the captain and first mate to one of the many ships the Munro Shipping Company had in its employment. You stood on the pier, gripping the railing as you looked out over the water and waves, watching the seagulls dive at the water and the tangles of kelp floating by.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Henry asked, stepping up beside you at the railing, and took a deep breath of sea air.

“Completely.” You nodded, smiling up at him.

Henry rested his arm around your waist, his hand cupping your hip. “I would love to take you to St. Helier one day.” He said, softly. “Show you where I was born, take you to my favorite beaches there.”

“I would be delighted to see it.” You replied, gently smiling at the thought of it.

Henry smiled down at you, touched. “Shall we go see Helena?” He asked, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes.

“I am.” You chuckled, nodding at him.

It was a short fifteen minute carriage ride to the cemetery, then four or five minutes to reach the part of the forest of tombstones and mausoleums the McFayden section of the East Park Cemetery. It was beautiful, it was shaded by three large willow trees, it was cool beneath them, their canopies shielding the area from the cloudless sun.

One side of the section was reserved for the members of your family that wished to be buried in the ground and the other half held a large mausoleum. Your, however many, great-grandparents were the first to be buried in the mausoleum and held the prime and honored tomb in the center of it, both buried in a large marble coffin with their likenesses carved on top of the lid, their names, dates of birth and deaths stamped on a polished brass plate on the foot of the coffin.

Henry pushed open the wrought iron gate leading into the mausoleum and stepped aside, allowing you to go inside first. You paused, looking up at the McFayden name chiseled into the marble header above the doorway, gulped thickly and steeling yourself, you stepped inside the dank and musty air of the enclosed space, almost three hundred years of decaying flesh and dusty bones, even with the scent the mausoleum was still immaculate, the upkeep your family paid handsomely for. Sighing, you walked around the circular room, looking up and down the curving wall, five coffins high, several where still empty and open, the front panel waiting to seal in its new occupant the day of their funeral.

“I don't see her name in here.” Henry said, his voice echoing from the other side of the mausoleum.

“Or here.” You replied, meeting him in the middle. “I suppose she's outside.” You added, touching your fingertips to the chiseled name of your father on the panel that housed his coffin and body. “It's incredible to think it's been almost seven months since he died.” You whispered, a shiver running down your back; seven months for his death and six months, since you and Henry married.

“It's a wonder, where the time goes.” He agreed, staring at your father's name.

“It stops for the dead and keeps going for the living.” You whispered, turning and stepping back out into the fresh air and shade.

You stood there for several moments, eyes closed and breathing in the cool air, clearing out the musty smell inside the mausoleum out of your nostrils, before moving to the tombstones of the opposite side of the area; walking up and down the eight or nine rows. You were starting to think the book had it wrong, when you noticed a much neglected head stone against the brick wall that defined the borderline of the cemetery. A very cold chill raced down your spine as you neared it, your twisting gut telling you what it was before you ever reached it. The front of the stone was faded and very worn, but you could still just make out the letters of Helena's name.

Helena Marie McFayden-Shaw Born 30th of October 1588 Died 23rd of August 1613

“She ain't there there, you know.” A voice startled you. “Sorry, Miss.” An elderly gentleman apologized, tipping his dusty and tattered bowler hat at you.

You blinked at him, hand pressed to your pounding heart. “What do you mean not there?” You asked, finding your voice. “Her headstone is, why wouldn't she?”

“Her brother felt bad about giving her up to those witch hunters, and out of his grief, he had her headstone put up. But, no one's brave enough to tend to the grave of a witch, in the ground below or no.”

“How do you know this?” Henry asked, stepping out of the mausoleum.

“My family's tended this cemetery for generations.” He replied, leaning on the broom he was carrying. “I know just about every story and rumor about every grave in this place.” He explained, scratching his grizzled beard.

“Then, where is she buried?” You asked him, lifting a brow and tilting your head at him.

“Well,” He scratched at his temple, pushing his hat up off his sloped forehead. “Rumor I heard was she was buried by her old man.”

Your eyes shot to Henry, who's eyes shot to you.

“Her old man?” Henry frowned, looking the groundskeeper over. “You mean her husband, Evan?” He asked, trying to get him to give more information.

“Could be.” He nodded, still scratching his temple. “That's all I heard said on the matter.”

“Thank you.” You said, licking your lips.

He tipped his hat to you and Henry and went on his way.

“I doubt Evan's family would bury Helena with him, especially after she killed him.” You said to Henry, as you left the cemetery. “Even if it was his last dying wish or in his will.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you.” Henry replied, handing you into the carriage and following after you. “So, that only leaves one other person.” He sighed, rubbing the side of his face.

“William.” You both said at the same time.

“Well, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?” Henry said, resting back in his seat as the carriage took you both back to the train station.

“Do you know where he's buried?” You asked him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I do not.” Henry shook his head. “But, I'm sure either my father, or my mother, do.”

You and Henry went to go see his parents as soon as you left the train, which was a surprise to Marianne and Colin, but still incredibly welcome. Showing you to the tea room and chatted for a little while, before finding the nerves and bravery to ask what was on your mind.

“Do you know where Uncle William is buried?” Henry asked, setting his teacup down on its saucer.

“Of course, he's buried next to your grandmother, Gladys.” Colin nodded, refilling his own cup.

“No, I meant great-uncle William.” He elaborated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“You mean, William Richard Cavill?” Colin frowned, shaking his head at his son. “Born 1586 and died 1620. That Uncle William?”

“Yes.” Henry nodded, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, and took a bite of his pound cake.

“Why?” Marianne frowned, recalling the conversation the three of you had several months back. “Why do you keep bringing William up?” She asked, shifting in her seat to cross her ankles and fixed Henry with a purely maternal look that dared him to lie to her, making Henry gulp and clear his throat.

You looked between the three of them and felt the palms of your hand start to sweat with anxiety, but you summoned the composed genes your mother instilled in you and used them for some good, keeping your face calm and neutral and pressed your palms together in your lap. “Henry's been working on his own little family history project and wants to learn more about the men he's named after. He already knows a good deal about his great-grandfather, Henry, but not much about the great-uncle William he received his middle name from.” You chimed in, saving Henry as he started to break under his mother's gaze.

“Exactly.”

Henry added in, taking your hint and lead. “I know where great-grandfather Henry is buried and all about him. But, I don't know much about great-uncle William or where he's buried.” He explained, relaxing as his mother's gaze returned to normal and reached out to squeeze your hand.

“Well,” Colin sighed, rubbing the side of his jaw. “He was the only Cavill, before us, of any distinguished station, being the Chief Justice of Pendle at the time. So, he would be buried in St. Leonard’s Graveyard in Downham, Lancashire. I don't know the exact location of his grave site in the cemetery, but I'm sure there are records of that at the cemetery itself.”

“That's only about an hour away.” Henry said, looking at you.

“Yes.” Colin nodded. “I'm sure one of your cousins still lives there.” He added.

“Cousins?” Henry frowned. “He married?”

“Yes, he married in 1615 and had two children before his death.” He explained to his shocked son. “His poor wife died giving birth to their third child in 1618, as did the child.”

The next day, you and Henry made the hour's trip to the St. Leonard's graveyard in Lancashire. Inquiring with the groundskeeper about where William's grave could be in the vast area, and after going through several log books, the son of the groundskeeper showed you where it was. Both you and Henry were shocked to find, not only William's grave, but the grave of his wife, Agatha, to the right of his grave, but a flat marker with Helena's name to the left.

“Dear God, he did have her buried beside him.” You gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. “He forsaked her love, hunted her down and burned her at the stake, only to have her later buried next to his future plot and one over from his legal wife's.” You shook your head, completely baffled. “He even named his surviving daughter after her.” You pointed to the plot on the other side of Agatha's grave. “And his son, Fredrick, next to her.”

“Maybe, he never did stop loving her. He was just trying to save face, so he wasn't considered an accomplice.”

You kept shaking your head at the markers, your brain struggling to wrap around the reality of the situations. “The castle where the witches were held is only a few minutes away from here, why don't we find out if we can check out the dungeon they were held in?” You suggested, looking over at him.

“All right.” Henry nodded, figuring it couldn't hurt.

“Can you help you, sir and ms.?” The man at the castle asked as you and Henry approached.

“We wanted to see the dungeon the Pendle Witches were held in.” Henry replied to him.

“I'm sorry, I can't allow that just now.” He replied.

Henry glanced at you and smirked, before pulling out a few notes out of his pocket. “Not even for a hundred pounds?” He asked, lifting a nonchalant brow at the other man, holding the roll of notes out to him.

The man's eyes panned around and took the money from Henry's hand. “Right this way.” He said, stepping aside and motioning to his left. You chuckled at Henry, shaking your head as the man showed the pair of you down to the dungeons, he smirked back at you, ducking his head to enter the hallway leading to the dungeons.

“I can give you twenty minutes, sir. Nothing more, before someone will notice.” He explained, taking a post at the door.

“That's more than enough time.” Henry assured him.

“It's the last door.” He pointed out, then ducked back outside to keep watch.

“There's almost nothing a bit of money can't buy.” Henry quipped as you walked down the dim hallway to the last cell.

“It does make many things in life a lot easier.” You agreed, hugging your shawl tighter around you as the cold and dank air chilled your skin.

“Well, this is it.” Henry sighed, grabbing the loop in the warped wood door and used a good amount of his strength to yank it open. “What?” He frowned at your slack jawed look.

“We're in the right place.” You mumbled, blindly stepping into the cell and looked up at Helena.

Helena hovered, as always, above the floor of the dungeon she last shared with her fellow witch-sisters. But, she was no longer the apparition you grew up knowing, she looked almost real and human now, but her eyes were still a pure black. You stepped closer to her, Henry standing in the doorway as he watched you stare up at what he couldn't see, but knew was there.

“She's here?” He asked for confirmation.

“Yes.” You nodded, licking your lips, studying her. “You've been trying to lead me here all along, haven't you?” You asked, blinking up at her.

“Yes.” She replied in an almost normal voice.

“Well, we're here.” You said, lifting a brow at her. “What now?”

Helena raised her arm and pointed to the stone bench built into the wall to your right. “Sit.” She whispered with a soft moan.

Frowning and shaking your head, you did as she said and sat down on the bench and Helena moved closer to you, reaching a hand to touch you and cup your cheek in her palm, making you gasp at the frigid feel of her touch and a white flash in your eyes.

“Y/n?” Henry frowned, stepping closer to you, but found himself physically incapable of going any farther. “Helena.” He hissed, knowing she was trying to prevent him from reaching you.

When the white flash faded from your vision, you could still see the cell you were in, but it was no longer the cell you entered with Henry, you didn't even see Henry any more. You saw the flesh and blood of Helena, like you were a spectator in the ceiling, watching her below as she sat on the bench you, in reality, occupied. She was alone in the cell, all the other witches had already met their fates and deaths at the stake, noose or the bottom of a lake. They were saving Helena for last, killing her sisters and dearest friends one by one, to torment her, teasing her with her eventual fate at their hands.

Her legs were drawn up to her chest inside her filthy skirt, gently rocking back and forth, her raven black hair filthy and matted; she looked so pitiful and pathetic, nothing like her normal self-assured and confident self before. She was twisting something around her dirty finger as she hummed softly to herself, you caught a glimpse of what it was as she twisted back to the top of her finger, it was a ring. A silver ring with silver roses on the band and in the setting on top of it was a red gem, a ruby.

It clicked in your mind, what she had said to you that night after your nightmare about the blood; Ruby Red. A Red Ruby, and it all made sense. William had affectionately called Helena his rose, he had given her the ring, its design like a rose.

Your vision changed again, farther back in time. Helena and William sitting on a blanket under a tree, enjoying the beautiful summer day in the shade, William's head cradled in Helena's lap. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box and opened it, level at Helena's eyes, presenting her with the very same ring.

“What's this for, Will?” She asked, as he sat up and took her hand delicately in his.

“It's my promise.” William replied, carefully slipping the ring on the ring finger of her right hand. “To always love you and to one day marry you, to have you by my side in this life and the next.” He smiled, kissing her affectionately.

But, sadly a month later, Walter had married Helena off to Evan Shaw, killing William and Helena's dreams of marrying each other. It didn't completely stop them from being together though, even with Helena doing her best to make do with being married to Evan, it wasn't a year, when he stopped coming to her bed, seeking the company of ladies of the night. So, She and William began seeing each other every chance they got and could, his love was Helena's only solace and sanity in a loveless marriage.

The vision changed again, to Helena pulling the ring over her finger and kissing the ruby, mumbling something under her breath before hiding it away. She dropped onto the middle of the floor, pressing her palms flat to the damp stone and threw her head back. Her eyes rolled back into her head, only showing the whites and red veins of her eyes showing as she chanted in Latin. Dark shadows formed a ring around her as she did, hurried footsteps coming down the hallway outside her cell echoing back to her, with raised voices. But, when they reached Helena's cell...

She was gone.

You gasped as Helena removed her hand from your cheek, red from the chill of her hand against your skin. Panting and trying to catch your breath, you waved Henry off. “I'm fine.” You gulped, rubbing the chill from your cheek. “I'm fine, Henry.” You sighed, looking up at Helena, who was pointing to a brick in the wall by your head. “What?” You snapped at her, drained.

“Ruby Red.” She hissed back, narrowing her eyes at you.

Standing up, you turned towards the wall and touched the brick, feeling how loose it was, and wedged your fingertips in the broken mortar, using your nails to grasp it and wiggled it free. “It's a false brick.” You said, shocked to turn the brick around and find a hollow opening. “Oh my god.” You huffed, a dirty and tarnished ruby ring slipped out; Henry's quick reflects catching it in his palm.

“It's the ring he gave her.” You blinked. “It's still here, after all this time.” You smiled at Henry.

“William gave this to her?” He asked, looking down at it.

“Yes, it was a promise ring.” You explained to him. “They wanted to marry, but my great-grandfather, Walter, arranged her to marry Evan. So, it never happened.”

“They really wanted to be together.” Henry sighed, rubbing his thumb over the loop of the ring.

“They did.” You nodded, glancing at Helena. “And, in a way, they did get to be together, in more than one way.” You said, looking back at Henry. “Almost two-hundred and fifty years and countless generations, later our families finally found the link to each other they had been looking for.”

Henry grinned at you, following your train of thought. “In us.” He blushed, brushing an escaped curl out of your face.

“Here.” You said, taking the ring from Henry's palm and holding it out to Helena. “He never stopped loving you, Helena. Let me prove it to you, touch it, and we'll take you to him.” You smiled back at Henry.

“How are we going to do that?” Henry asked, looking at you sheepishly.

“Ghosts can possess things.” You told him.

“Don't you dare let her possess you.” Henry snapped, exasperated.

You laughed and pat him on the cheek. “Relax, Puppy, I'm not. The ring works just as well.” You assured him, amused.

Henry looked at the ring and blinked several times, watching the Ruby glow, like the ember of a fire, for a moment, then dim. You closed your hand around it as footsteps came down the hallway, and quickly replaced the false brick in its place.

“I can not allow you to stay any longer.” The man from earlier said, appearing in the doorway.

“That's quite all right.” Henry smiled, composing himself and closing his hand around yours, leading you out of the cell. “Thank you so much, you were a tremendous help.”

“Happy to be of service.” He smiled back, even though he was utterly clueless on what he helped with.

Heading back to Helena's and William's graves at St. Leonard's, you knelt down between the plots and opened your hand holding the ring. “He buried you beside him, so you would always be at each other's sides in this life, and the next.” You said, pushing your thumb into the grass and soil between the graves and dropping the ring into the hole it left behind. “You can finally be together, like you always wanted to be.” You told her, covering it up and glancing at your own rings, the diamond of your wedding ring fit perfectly in the gap between the two heart-shaped diamonds of your engagement ring, interlinking your heart with Henry's.

You stood up beside Henry, taking his hand in yours and squeezed, overwhelmed by the moment. Helena hovering above her grave and watched as the ghost of William slowly solidified before you, over his own grave. The two spirits faced each other and smiled, reaching out to touch the tips of their fingers together. You smiled at them, then started, seeing the shadows of twelve others appear behind them and slowly became recognizable as the twelve witches of Pendle; Alice Nutter, Jane Bulcock, Katherine Hewitt, Anne Whittle, Ann Redfearn, Elizabeth Device, her daughter, Alison Device, Isobel Robey, Margaret Pearson, Alice Grey, Jennet Preston and Elizabeth Southerns.

Henry couldn't see them, but he felt the temperature around you and him change and grow cold against the warm day.

Helena looked away from William and to her sisters. “Rest now, sisters. Your time has come to do so.” She told them.

The twelve women looked at each other, then at you and Henry, at your linked hands, and wavered, their spirit forms losing definition as they started to lose their grip on the physical world, on their vengeance and reason for still being bound to the Earth around them. Henry's mouth dropped open seeing the twelve bright orbs of light appear suddenly.

“What--”

“They're finding their peace.” You explained to him, understanding what he was going to ask.

Helena floated over to Henry, one of her hands still clutching William's, and touched his cheek, making him shiver at the cold touch and see her ghostly face. “I free you.” She whispered to him.

“Thank you.” He gulped, blinked at her and felt a weight he never noticed was there before, lift from his shoulders and soul.

You sat in the sitting room, enjoying tea time, while Henry was out at the office. It had been a week since the pair of you figured out how to break the curse and other than the usual spirit, you hadn't seen a hint of Helena and neither you or Henry had nightmares any more, supposing she had crossed over with the others. You sipped your tea and nibbled at your slice of hazelnut tea cake with moscato pears, that Abby had made that morning, when you heard a god awful wail, making you jerk with surprise and spill some of your tea onto the skirt of your dress.

“Abby?”

You called, setting your teacup and copy of the Little Dorrit done on the table in front of you. “Albert?” You stood up, using your silk napkin to dab at your wet skirt; but didn't receive a reply from either of them. “Maggie?” You yelled out, becoming nervous, but still received no answer, and sighed. “Kal, I hope you didn't get into the pantry again!” You said, going into the foyer and heading for the kitchen; expecting to find the fluffy Akita trying to look innocent with sticky marmalade on his snout and flour dusting his fur, for the third time in two weeks.

“Kal?” You squeaked, frightened, finding the kitchen empty.

The wail issued again, you spun around to the open kitchen doorway, your heart launched into your throat and your stomach giving way. “Papa.” You choked and swallowed, seeing the ghost of your father floating in the foyer.

“What a cruel world death is, when life's riches can not pay your way into heaven or out of hell.” He moaned, looking greatly pained. “Or right one's living regrets.”

“Yes, I know, you've said this before, Papa. Tell me something new, tell me who your killer is.” You begged him, daring to move closer to him. “Please, let me help you find peace.” You pleaded with him, tears welling up in your eyes.

“What a world, not even compassion of those you love can not free your bonds of life and death.”

You mewled, at a loss, pressing your hands to your face and broke down. As you sobbed another sound filled the room with your father's laments and moans, pulling your hands from your dripping face you saw Helena, standing on the other side of you. “Why are you here, Helena? You should have crossed over.” You sniffled, even more confused.

“One last unfinished business.” She replied, still making the strange noise and your face grew wide with shock.

“Oh, good god.” You gasped and flew out of the house. “Brandon!” You screamed, running into the stables.

“Madam?” Brandon answered, coming out of one of the stalls. “What is it?”

“Get the carriage ready!” You told him, out of breath. “This instant, we must go to Henry, with all due haste.” You explained, frantic.

“Of course, Madam.” He nodded and got to it. “Are you well?” He asked, as he hitched the horses to the carriage, concerned for you.

“I don't know yet, Brandon.” You replied, pacing up and down the walk out front of the house. “I really don't. But, what I do know, I hope to all there is in the world, it's not true.”

Brandon readied the carriage as quickly as he could for you and rushed into town, heading straight for the Cavill Enterprises office building. You barely waited for Brandon to pull the horses to a stop or open the door for you, before you were bundling up your heavy skirts and rushing inside the building and up to the floor Henry's office was situated.

“Hello, Ms.” the Secretary greeted you with a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” You huffed, out of breath after rushing up four flights of stairs. “I'm Mr. Cavill's wife--”

“Oh, my dearest apologies, Madam, I didn't know.” The young man's face managed to somehow blush and blanch at the same time. “I am so sorry, I'm new here. I only started yester--”

“It's quite all right, I've only been to his office once before.” You assured the poor boy, feeling bad for scaring him so, you had only been to Henry's office one other time, and that was to attend a company event. “But, I need to see Hen—Mr. Cavill, right this minute, it can not wait.” You rushed out as he started to open his mouth. “Please.” You added softly.

“Uh..” the Secretary glanced between you and the door to Henry's office several times, his mouth hanging open. “Yes, of course. I think he's just doing some paperwork.” He said, standing up and moved around his desk, gently tapping on Henry's door, before opening a crack at Henry's bid for him to enter. “Um, Mr. Cavill, Sir.” He gulped, breaking out in a sweat, like he expected Henry to angrily fire him at that moment.

“It's, um, Mrs. Cavill to see you.”

“Y/n?” Henry's confused voice called back. “Let her in.”

He got up from his desk as the boy pushed the door open the rest of the way, and moved for you to go in. “Y/n, what is it? What's wrong?” He asked, closing the door behind you as he saw your flushed face and heard you still trying to catch your breath. “Come, sit down.” He gently took you by the elbow and guided you to a chair in front of his desk and fetched you a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table.

“Calm down and catch your breath, then tell me what this is all about.” He told you, leaning back against the edge of his desk, watching over you with patient worry.

“We need to go back to London, as soon as possible.” You told him, finishing your glass of water and breathing again.

Henry shook his head, not understanding. “Why, love?” He inquired, licking his lips and tilting his head at you, his expression so soft.

You opened your mouth to tell him, but your throat closed tightly around a sharp and cold knot of restrained tears. You didn't want it to be true, it couldn't be true! How could they do this? Why! Why would they do this! The pent-up horror and agony at the thought broke free and you burst into hiccuping sobs, your shoulders shaking and rocking yourself back and forth. Henry's heart clinched and he dropped to his knees before you, reaching out to pull you to the edge of your seat and cradle your head against his shoulder and rubbed your back, shushing and rocking with you. The door opened and the secretary popped his head inside the room, but Henry gave him an angry look, in full protective mode of you, and pointed a hard finger at him, a hint to get lost, which the boy did in all haste.

“Come, love.” Henry cooed at you, taking out his pocket handkerchief and wiping at your flowing tears and nose, caressing your hair off your flushed face. “Take deep breaths with me, y/n.” He said, taking a slow and deep breath in, nodding his head as you did the same, and let it out again. “That's better.” He smiled, tenderly, at you and got up to pour you another glass of water.

“Now, tell me, what makes you so upset and frantic?” He asked, kneeling at your feet again. “Why is it so imperative we go to London so quickly?”

You took several deep breaths and gulped down more of your water. “I--” You sighed, trying hard to keep yourself together. “I know who killed my father.” You choked out, clamping your teeth down on your bottom lip to stop the new stream of tears, threatening to fall, at bay.

Henry's mouth dropped open. “How?” He asked, eyes the size of serving plates.

“He came to me, at home.”

“He showed up at Lily Hill?” Henry coughed, shocked.

“As did Helena.”

“I thought she crossed over?” He blinked at you.

“As did I, but it seems not.” You mewled, twisting Henry's damp handkerchief in your trembling hands. “But, they, in no uncertain terms, revealed to me who did it.”

“Who was it?” He asked, he had been tormented over the mystery of your father's murder as you had been, Ulysses had become a second father to him.

You reached out and clutched Henry's hands and looked him in the eyes. “I don't want to say, until I am certain they're right. But, I doubt don't they are. It's purely wishful thinking on my part.” You sighed, chewing on your quivering lip. “Let us go to London and face them, and find out for truly certain.”

“All right.” Henry nodded, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “We'll go right away.” He said, standing up and strode over to his office door. “Mr. Solo.” He called out to his secretary.

“Sir.” The boy squeaked, stumbling up to his feet.

“Hold all my appointments for today and likely tomorrow as well.” He told him, calmly. “I have very urgent business in London, that can not be ignored.”

“Yes, sir!” Solo nodded, like a broken bobble-head. “Right away, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.” Henry nodded back and returned to you. “Come, my love.” He said, softly, taking your hands and pulling you up onto your feet, pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead. “We'll go straight to the station and set out for London on the earliest train.” He assured you, supporting you out of his office and back down the several sets of stairs.

“Mr. Brandon, the train station, please.” He told the driver, handing you into the carriage and followed after you, wrapping a comforting and protective arm around your still trembling shoulders.

The ride to the train station was quiet and traveling to London was even quieter, you just couldn't find your voice, overwhelmed and consumed by your grief and depression over the realization of who the murderer of your father was. Henry gave and offered all the support for you he could, the wish for the truth gnawing on him the whole time, but he didn't press you; knowing he would find out the truth soon enough.

Finding a carriage as soon as you were out of the station, you gave the driver the address and climbed inside with Henry, gripping his hand in both of yours, trying to use his touch and presence as your anchor and calm; he rubbed the top of your hand with his thumb and would occasionally kiss your cheek and temple.

It was a short ride to the residence of the killer, you took a few calming breaths as you stood at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door of the house, before you were able to muster the will to move up them, raising your trembling fist and knocking. The door opened and the servant glanced at Henry, then instantly beamed at you.

“Ms. Y/n!” They grinned, pleased to see you. “How good to see you! How are you?” They asked.

“To be determined.” You replied, gulping thickly.

“Please, come in.” They bid you both, stepping aside. “Come right this way, I'll have some tea brought in, while I announce your arrival.”

“Thank you.” Henry smiled at the servant, ushering you to a love seat and sat beside you. “Are you all right?” He asked, pointlessly.

“I will be, if it isn't true.” You replied, staring down at your hands, folded in your lap.

Another servant served you and Henry the tea and some raspberry scones, drizzled with honey. You barely sipped your tea and didn't touch the scones, your stomach far too upset to hold much of anything down. It was several minutes, before you and Henry heard the footsteps in the hallway outside the sitting room and the door opened again, two people stepping inside and smiled at you and Henry.

Henry's mouth dropped open, in shock.

“Y/n, Henry!” Grace smiled at you both and swept over to you, but stopped halfway, seeing the look in your face and the utter shock on Henry's, registering in her mind. “What is it?” She frowned, blinking between you both.

“Something, I pray with my entire soul, is wrong.” You whimpered at her, blinking several times as your eyes burned with fresh tears.

“What are you talking about, y/n?” She asked, blinking back at you.

“Is there a problem, y/n?” Joel asked, completely lost.

“Perhaps the both of you should sit down.” You suggested, licking your lips.

Grace's eyes never left yours as she moved to sit on the love seat opposite of you and Henry, Joel taking up the space beside her. “Would you like to tell me what's going on, y/n?” She asked you, as she shakily poured herself a cup of tea; feeling she was going to need it.

“I saw my father again.” You told her, quietly, eyes steeled and carefully watching her face.

“He still hasn't,” She gulped and licked her lips. “crossed over?” She asked.

“No, he's stuck here until he's murderer is caught.” You replied, carefully.

“Di-Did he tell you, who did it?” Grace asked, biting her lip.

“He's been trying too.” You answered. “But, Helena did, though.” You added, heart pounding in your throat.

“Do you know what they're talking about?” Henry asked Joel.

“About y/n's ability to see the dead?” Joel elaborated, bluntly, but politely.

“Yes.” Henry nodded.

“I do.” He nodded back.

“Both of them showed up in Lily Hill and my father was trying to tell me who did it, but only repeated himself. Helena helped him out by humming a very specific song, a song that you would sing to me, when I was upset. That's when, what my father told me, the night of his funeral, made sense. 'Death is such a far fall from Grace, no money can buy you into heaven, or out of hell.'” You explained to her.

“Tell me, I misunderstood them.” You begged her, eyes shining.

Grace was quiet and sipped her tea, her hands shaking as she held the teacup, when her tea was empty, she refilled it and looked across to you, her eyes shining back at yours. “They are not.” She said, very quietly.

Your eyes fell shut and silent tears slipped down your flushed cheeks, utterly crushed and devastated. Henry frowned at you, sympathetically squeezing your knee and wrapping an arm around you, just as heartbroken that the woman that was more a mother to you than Matilda ever was, and the sister you had always wished for, admitted to having a part in the death of your father.

“Why?” You choked, opening your red eyes at her. “Why, Grace?” You mewled, feeling lightheaded.

“We didn't do it, to hurt you, y/n.” Joel chimed in.

“You knew?” You hiccuped, frowning at him.

“I did, I had a hand in helping.” He nodded, biting the inside of his lip.

“Oh god.” You sighed, shaking your head and shrinking into your seat.

“There's several reasons it happened.” Grace told you, wishing so much to take your hands in hers and have you believe her. “The years of pent-up abuse they not only forced you to endure, but as well as myself. Knowing that your mother intended to try to change your father's mind about allowing that vile brute Elias to marry you, instead of Henry, and the ultimate reason why I stopped being your nanny.”

“And what reason is that?” You asked, trying to keep yourself together.

Grace sighed and reached for Joel's hand, squeezing it for reassurance. “Your father and I...” She gulped, the words sticking in her throat. “had relations.”

Your mouth dropped open. “My father had an affair with you?” You squeaked, gobsmacked.

“Yes.” She nodded, ashamed of herself. “It was in the last year of my employment as your nanny. Your father took a strong liking to me, and the foolish girl I was, took a fancy to him as well. We only shared a bed a handful of times in that year, but, because of one of those times, I became with child.”

Your mouth fell open even farther.

“Those months I was away from you, nursing a sick relative, I was really living in an apartment in London, your father had leased for me during my confinement and the birth of the baby.” She explained to you and Henry. “I had a little girl, your half-sister, Amelia.”

“Where is she?” You blurted out, shaking your head at her.

Grace sighed and sniffled. “Ulysses had her put up for adoption a week after her birth.” She told you, sadly. “It was a few months later that Joel and I met and started a courtship.”

“We decided on a short courtship and to marry as soon as possible, so Grace wouldn't have to deal with the abuse, especially since Matilda found out about the baby, and the pain she felt seeing Ulysses and be reminded of the child she didn't get to keep.” Joel added in, rubbing Grace's back.

“I didn't tell Joel about the baby until a month before your father died.”

“I told her it didn't matter to me that she had a child, out of wedlock or otherwise.” He explained. “That, if we could find the little girl, we could perhaps adopt her and raise her here, with us.”

“But, your father refused to tell me what adoption agency or family he gave her up too, and told me he never would. That if I, or Joel, or anyone for that matter, asked after her again, he would make their lives a living hell, that he had the money and influence to make them disappear. To make Amelia disappear.” She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. “I never doubted his words. But, I returned to him, the week before his death, and begged him one last time to relent and tell me where she was. He laughed and asked me, how much money it would take to keep me silent. Out of anger and passions, I slapped him across the face and told him, 'there wasn't enough money to buy him into heaven, or out of hell'. In turn, he told me that I would pay for my slight against him and so would Joel's practice as a doctor.”

“Grace came back home, incredibly distraught over the situation.” Joel said, frowning at his wife. “She couldn't take it any longer and we came to the conclusion to--”

“Murder him.” Henry cut in.

“Yes.” Grace nodded, biting her quivering lip.

“Which one of you did it?” You asked, looking between them.

Joel swallowed, looking from you to Henry and his wife. “Neither of us.” He sighed.

“In my profession, I meet and tended to people of all walks of life, from the very dirt poor to even royalty. One of my patients, a Leon Marshall, was rather low on the social ladder and had quite the disreputable reputation, as a dishonorable discharge from the royal military and was spent to prison for a variety of offenses. He suffered from an old war wound that festered every so often, and I would tend to it. I know, because he never made any pains to keep to himself, that he would rough people up, if paid the right amount.”

“I sought him out for the deed and he agreed to do it. He also agreed that no amount of money could get a man into heaven or out of hell. But, the right amount could send a man on his death's journey to whichever he is destiny for. I paid him three thousand pounds, and he contacted your father's office to schedule a false meeting, for a fictional business, in his hotel room at Southampton, and that's where it took place.” He told you.

“We, honestly, didn't wish him dead, just to make a point, perhaps scare him into giving up the information on Amelia. But, when your father saw him for who he was and he wasn't afraid. He mocked Mr. Marshall on a number of things, and Marshall grew angered. Mr. Marshall drew a knife and stabbed him several times, mocking your father back, asking him, if he thought, he had enough money to buy his way into heaven or out of hell.”

“Then, ran.”

“Where is this man now?” Henry asked, moving to the edge of his seat.

“Currently, he is incarcerated for the murder of a prostitute, that tried robbing him.” Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“He needs to be tried for Ulysses's death.” Henry said, impassioned.

“But, if he's outed as the murderer of my father, the chances of him outing Grace and Joel, or at least ruining them, is very high.” You said, sounding and feeling like a zombie.

Henry turned his head to look at you, licking his lips and knowing you were right. But, they were as much to blame for it, as Marshall was, and to a degree, Ulysses was as well. He sighed and rested back against the couch and scrubbed both of his palms over his tired face. All four of you were between a rock and a hard place, and had no idea what to do.

The person you trusted your entire life and depended on for so long had helped in the killing of your father, no matter how vile and selfish he was. The war between going straight to the authorities to divulge everything you knew on the matter and just wanting to forget that you even knew and go back to life before you found out it was Grace and Joel, made you sickeningly exhausted and spent.

What were you going to do?

If you did go to the authorities, you would struggle to live with the thought of what they would do to Grace and Joel, as punishment.

If you didn't and tried living with it, you didn't know if you could live with that either. Especially, if it meant your father would never find peace and would continue to haunt you and Henry at Lily Hill Manor.

Your trust and faith in Grace was shaken and cracked, but you still loved her.

“We could just—give ourselves—up.” Grace gulped, glancing at Joel, she had struggled living with the knowledge and truth of the matter herself, especially seeing how it affected you.

“I can't do this.” You gasped, standing up and rushing out of the room.

“Y/n!” Henry called after you, standing up.

“Let her clear her head, Mr. Cavill.” Grace said, staring through the open doorway. “She'll be all right, after a bit of fresh air and a walk, she always is.”

Henry looked at the couple and lifted a brow at them. “If you wanted to find your Amelia, so badly, why didn't you just ask Thaddeus or hire a private investigator?” He asked, his hands flexing at his side.

“Crime is common. Logic is rare, Mr. Cavill.” Joel replied, ashamed of himself and his actions in the matter.

“Then, the devil’s due a soul, I’d say.” Henry replied.

You stormed out of the house, gasping for air, your lungs and chest tight with anxiety and heartbreak, eyes nearly blinded by fresh tears. You had no idea where you were going, or even where you were after Grace and Joel's home and grounds disappeared behind you, but you didn't even care. You needed to get away, far away, and get a hold of yourself again. The neighborhood of expensive homes and immaculate grounds melted away into the hustle and bustle of downtown London. You stopped and turned to stare at your reflection in a shop window, wiping at your eyes and taking deep breaths.

“Well, well, well.” A voice behind you chuckled, in sinister amusement. “Look who it is.”

You looked up at the reflection in the window, as he stood behind you, his arms crossed smugly over his chest. You groaned and rolled your eyes at him. “Hello, Elias.” You said, turning around.

“Trouble in paradise already, Mrs. Cavill?” He asked, smirking at you.

“Not at all.” You replied, rolling your eyes at him.

“Doesn't look that way to me.” He chuckled again.

“It is better to learn wisdom late, than never to learn it at all.” You answered him, with a cold stare. “But, in your case, you are incapable of either.”

“I see your husband hasn't curbed that harlot's tongue of yours, yet.” Elias hissed at you.

“My husband likes my tongue.” You smirked back, scornfully.

“My dearest Lias?” Another familiar voice called with the ding of a shop bell. “Oh, niece.” Bella huffed, sticking her nose up at you.

“Aunt Bella.” You nodded your head and rolled your eyes back at her.

“There you are, my love.” Henry's voice suddenly came, his arm wrapping around your waist. “Enjoying your window shopping?” He asked, eyeballing Bella and Elias.

“I was.” You replied, leaning against his strong body. “Then, I was interrupted.”

“Charming to see you again, Cavill.” Elias sneered, resting his hand on the small of Bella's back.

“And you, Wells.” Henry hissed, observing the pair of them. “Married, I see.”

“Yes.” Bella nodded, proudly, flashing the fat emerald ring at you and Henry. “Two months ago, we would have invited--”

“We wouldn't have cared to go.” You told her, your blood boiling. “Even, if you had actually thought about us, let alone the thought of sending an invitation.” You added, quite coldly. “How is Matilda?” You asked her.

“She's quite well, she's repaired to her Suffolk home, her physician believes the sea air would be beneficial for her health.” She told you, tightly.

“Good.” You nodded your head once, then looked up to Henry. “Let's go, love. My pleasure for window shopping has been greatly diminished.”

“That's a shame.” Henry tutted and turned away with you, leaving Bella and Elias staring after you both, shocked. “I'm so sorry, y/n.” He whispered, when you left the two behind. “I wish I knew what to say, to make it all go away.” He told you, leading you to a small bench. “I do--” He sighed and rubbed the side of his face. “I do hope that you won't be cross with me.”

“For what?” You frowned at him.

“I--” He sighed again, licking his lips and picking at his nails. “I, anonymously, sent a telegram to the authorities, on the matter of your father's death and Mr. Marshall's involvement in it. I re-framed from naming, or even hinting at, Joel and Grace's involvement in the matter.” He confessed to you. “Perhaps, Mr. Marshall will take his due for killing your father, and not bring them up in the ensuing investigation into the matter.”

“Henry.” You sighed, pressing your lips together, and sniffling hard.

“I know, you would have struggled, and do struggle, with what to do and how to act in the matter. You are far closer to Grace and Joel than I am, the same goes for your father.”

“He considered you a son.” You whispered softly.

“I know he did.” Henry replied, just as softly. “But, even still, you are far closer and more sensitive in the matter.” He ran his hand through his wind-blown curls, pushing them off his forehead. “As much as I care for your father's peace, your peace and well-being is by far more important and greater to me. So, if that means, I have to shoulder the heavier weight of whatever happens next, so you do not. Then, I will greatly shoulder it.” He told you, sincerely.

“I can bear pain myself.” Henry said softly, and took your hand in his. “But, I could not bear yours, y/n. That would take more strength than I have.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, wrapping your arm around his. “I know, Henry.” You whispered to him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my sweet.” He whispered back, kissing the top of your head and gently patting your leg.

“Can you believe Elias and Bella married.” You laughed, suddenly finding it hilarious.

“Two people could not be so fatefully meant for each other.” Henry laughed back, shaking his head at the thought. “Both of them are near evil incarnate. Lord have the mercy for any children they have.”

“The sole opposite of us.” You chuckled, turning your head to kiss his shoulder.

“Thank God for that.” Henry snorted.

You and Henry returned to Lily Hill Manor the next day, too exhausted for the return train home. So, you stayed in a hotel, the same one and very room, you shared on your wedding night. So much had changed between then and now, but the one thing that was still the same, if not stronger, was the love you and Henry shared for each other, the bond that connected you and the life you had created together.

A month after your return, Thaddeus came to visit you both; with news of the investigation.

The investigation was started after Henry's carefully sent anonymous note about Leon Marshall's hand in your father's death. Marshall had tried to implicate Joel and Grace in his murder, but the only connection found between them, was Grace's employment as your nanny and Joel's tending to the festering wound Marshall was prone to suffer in his left leg, from a bullet he sustained in war. It seemed that Joel was more careful about employing the ruffian to kill your father than any of you thought, and you all, all four of you, kept the secret.

You did however ask Thaddeus about the child Grace and your father bore together. His flush almost immediately at the mention of your little sister, giving away his knowledge of her, but confessed he had no idea where she would be, Ulysses had dealt with the matter on his own, not trusting anyone else with it; trusting no one to keep the secret. But, with Henry's help, Thaddeus promised to help you and Grace in finding her, anyway they could.

It took almost a year of private investigators, sleepless nights, paper trails, combing all the papers your father had in his office and possession. But, Thaddeus finally found the family your father had given your half-sister too.

It was a well-off family, at least he had done her that justice and not suffered her to some poor station because of the unfortunate circumstance of her birth. She had just celebrated her twelfth birthday, now a year older than you were, when she was born into this world. The family granted you and Grace permission to meet her and it was a good day. Grace never once stopped crying for finally seeing the daughter she never stopped loving or wanting, and you found another precious and good link in the world.

It was agreed on, that Amelia wouldn't be told about Grace being her mother and you, her sister, until at least her sixteenth birthday, when she would hopefully be old enough to understand. But, You and Grace would always be more than welcome in seeing her, whenever you wished it.

– A Year Later –

“All right, Kal.” Henry called, coming into the bedroom, finding Kal in bed with you. “You're in my spot, move.” He said, patting the Akita on the back to make his point.

Kal huffed and moved to the foot of the bed, resting his head on your shin. You laughed as Henry crawled into bed with you, kissing your cheek and lips before laying down on his stomach and gently rested his ear on your stomach.

“Hello, Little one.” He whispered softly to the swell of your belly and chuckled, feeling the teeny life inside it kick against his cheek. “Oh. you're growing so strong in your mummy's tummy.” He grinned, like a smitten schoolboy, rubbing the bottom curve of your stomach with his palm; pressing it where he felt the baby kick actively.

“Just a few more weeks, and they'll be out here with us, Puppy.” You cooed at Henry, rubbing his curls with your palm and fingers, part of your mind imagining those precious and beautiful chocolate curls on the head of your and Henry's babe.

Henry turned his head, kissing your belly just above your popped out belly button. “And you'll look just like your mum.” He whispered, his supple lips tickling your bare skin.

“Or your father.” You chuckled at him, ghosting the tips of your fingers over the nap of his neck.

He looked up at you and grinned, he was happy either way. He was finally getting all of the things he had dreamed of for so long. A beautiful, loving and intelligent wife and a child he created with you, there was nothing more in life he could ever want. Well, maybe a few more feet pitter pattering up and down the halls.

But, that would all come in due time, and he was in no rush, neither were you.

Two weeks later, on a beautiful and sunny day, you gave birth to your and Henry's daughter and amply named her, Lily Helena Cavill. Three years after Lily was born, you gave birth to your and Henry's second child, a son; Henry William Cavill Jr. You would also go on to have two more children with Henry, both of you wanting a large family, and you not wanting your children to know the loneliness of what being an only child was like. You had another boy, Eric Ulysses; it was your father that brought you and Henry together after all, and another girl, Daisy Grace.

Lily Hill Manor was no longer filled with the wails and sadness of ghosts, but the laughter and happiness of four happy, healthy, strong, completely loved and well-rounded children, and Kal's barks as he played with his two-legged siblings. You still saw the occasional spirit and sent them on their way, but you and Henry reveled at the joy of how everything finally came together, in peace and harmony at Cavill Manor.

-- FIN --

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mydrug-is-dragonage · 3 years

Text

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

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maybebrilliant · 3 years

Text

My ridiculous fandoms:

I know, multifandom much?!

I have a LOT, although I will post mostly AoS shit. (I don’t make things for all of these, don’t worry lmao, mostly I just spectate and sometimes reblog stuff.) Up to know I’ve put them all up in my bio, but I’ve decided only to do the top, say, three, otherwise it just gets wayyy too long. However, I’m putting it all here, so that anyone, if they feel so inclined, can see what shit I’m interested in.

I will also be putting a bunch of my favourite quotes from the shows there, because, well, I’m a total nerd xD.

Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

”With great responsibility comes...a ton of weird shit you are not prepared to deal with.”

“The steps you take don’t have to be big, they just need to take you in the right direction.”

“Sometimes, making a difference means being different.”

Star Trek: Discovery (sauce)

“You had me at unsanctioned mission...”

“Deal with me, universe, while I deal with her.”

And...(though this is not a real quote, exactly) Sauce Afirma Sauce Eterna. :)

Derry Girls

“If anyone is feeling anxious, worried or maybe you just want a chat, please, please do not come crying to me.”

“We got the gist. They ran out of spuds, everyone was raging.”

“Slainte, motherfuckers!”

Julie and the Phantoms

“Chill man, Street Dogs haven’t killed us yet.”

“I cried in a room for twenty-five years and didn’t get a single hug from either of you!”

“Oh. She said oh. That’s what you say if you get socks on your birthday, not when you’re invited to join the most epic band ever!”

Brigerton

“Having a nice face and pleasant hair is not an accomplishment. Do you know what is an accomplishment? Attending university! If I were a man, I could do that, you know.”

“You would actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you"

“All is fair in love and war but some battles leave no victor, only a trail of broken hearts that makes us wonder if the price we pay is ever worth the fight.”

Simon Snow series

“You were the sun, and I was crashing into you.”

“Sharing a room with the person you want most is like sharing a room with an open fire. He's constantly drawing you in. And you're constantly stepping too close. And you know it's not good--that there is no good--that there's absolutely nothing that can ever come of it. But you do it anyway. And then... Well. Then you burn.”

“I'd cross every line for him. I'm in love with him. And he likes this better than fighting.”

Avatar the Last Airbender

“Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not.”

“My first girlfriend turned into the moon.” “That’s rough buddy.”

“Why am I so bad at being good?”

Harry Potter

“It’s leviOsa, not levioSA!”

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

“Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.”

The Queen’s Gambit

"I Would Say It Is Much Easier To Play Chess Without The Burden Of An Adam's Apple."

"I'm Not Your Guardian Angel. I'm Not Here To Save You. Hell, I Can Barely Save Me."

“Again?”

Once Upon A Time

"That's How You Know You've Really Got A Home. 'Cause When You Leave It ...There's This Feeling You Can't Shake. You Just Miss It."

"Sometimes The Best Teacup Is Chipped."

"All Magic Comes With A Price."

The Good Place

“I’m just not a ‘new experience’ kind of guy. My comfort zone is basically like, that chair, and honestly? The arms are a little sharp.”

“What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is, if they’re trying to be better today than they were yesterday. You asked me where my hope comes from? That’s my answer.”

“We do nothing. We hope that our early successes make up for the embarrassing mess we’ve become. Like Facebook. Or America.”

Community

"We'll definitely be back next year. If not, it'll be because an asteroid has destroyed all human civilization. And that's canon."

"GAAYYY MARRIAAGEE!!"

“Our Captain was killed on duty tonight. Leaves behind two kids and a pregnant wife. So you’re missing a Batman DVD?”

Zoey’s Extraoridnary Playlist

“Who wants some freshly delivered, slightly cold, mediocre pizza?”

“Songs are all just an expression of our deepest wants and desires… Joy, pain, heartbreak, yearning, forgiveness, revenge. Good music can make you feel things you can’t express in words.”

“I just found out a guy I like is engaged, and I am either going totally nuts, or I suddenly can hear people’s innermost thoughts as big musical numbers.”

The Old Gaurd

“Depends on the century.”

“You're an incurable romantic...”

“SHIIIIIIIIITTTTTT!”

Merlin (BBC)

“Merlin should take some of the credit, turns out he’s not always entirely stupid.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” -Arthur | “No, I’m saying the belt is one hole shy away from perfection.”

Artemis Fowl

“I am the future queen of this world, at the very least. You may refer to me as Mistress Koboi for the next five minutes. After that you may refer to me as Aaaaarrrrgh, hold your throat, die screaming, and so on.”

“We lost the crickets,” she said. “Even you can’t make that sound tough.”

“I never tell anyone exactly how clever I am. They would be too scared.”

How To Train Your Dragon

“ Thank you for nothing, you useless reptile!”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“Toothless, what are you doing? We need her to LIKE us!”

The Dragon Prince

“I’m just a kid. I haven’t fought in any battles. I haven’t read many books of wisdom. I haven’t gone through the things that made my father the king he was. So I’ve decided that I don’t have to be the king my father was. My father made choices to keep fighting battles that started hundreds of years before he was born. To punish enemies for crimes their parents committed! I don’t want to be that kind of king.”

“The dragon prince is alive! And he’s really cute, by the way.”

“What? WHAAAAAAAT!”

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

“Would it save you a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?”

“A towel, [The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy] says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapors; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (such a mind-boggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.”

“For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen.”

“The Answer to the Great Question... Of Life, the Universe and Everything... Is... Forty-two,' said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.”

“Ford... you're turning into a penguin. Stop it.”

sorry for the five I couldn’t choose only 3

But there you have it, my insane, ridiculous, way-too-many fandoms. For anyone who cares. ;)

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jasleh · 3 years

Note

This for all three but ESPECIALLY Amox

bahahaha... ok, let's see

for Amox:

(I appologize for how mean these are going to be)

Djor: "Calm, but not terribly bright. His bear might be smarter."

Ai'lani: "Claims to be a fellow seeker of knowledge, which I can respect. Also a curiosity deserving of further study, but not very pleasant company."

Viral: "May or may not be an actual demon, but enough of a bastard that I'm not sure I care anymore."

Guardian: "Can at least appreciate good coffee."

Vy'kou: Bean "A good and kind man. I would say he is too nice for his own good, but I am clearly in no position to do so. Certainly he does not deserve to have been caught up in all this nonsense, but I am grateful that he was and that he stays. T'is certainly more than some members of this group deserve."

for Fay:

Silvano: "He has been so very kind to me, and took me in when no one else would. I... think of him as a father, although I do not know if I could ever tell him so. Even... even if I suspect he already knows. Certainly he has been more of a parent to me than either of my actual parents, although that was not Andal's fault. I would do anything for Silvano."

Marwind: "H-he's... v-very talented. And pretty. He's always so cheerful and upbeat. He always knows what to say to cheer me up or make me laugh. Although he is... also rather good at making me worry. And at making stronger people mad at him. I do wish he would have more care for his own well-being sometimes. I... know that someday he will go off where I cannot follow. The sea is his true home, and... and I am not very good with water. But... I hope that is many years off yet."

Luca: "Very much like a big brother... even if he is younger than I am. Well. Depending on how you're counting. I am happy to see him beginning to regain parts of himself that he lost, although I wish I knew better how to comfort him about the things he can not get back. I do worry about how much time I hear he's been spending in that Dream, but I think Celli's keeping an eye on him."

Celli: "Celli is like my big sister. She's so strong and brave, and always sensible. Very pretty too. Always so happy to help. She sewed these Pearls onto my tunic for me so I would be able to use them quickly. And she bought me my cauldron! I've... not gotten many gifts in my life, so it means a lot to me. Sometimes I'm not sure about her horse, though..."

Sun Wukong: "I didn't believe he was really a demigod at first. He got knocked down rather a lot when we first met... But I suppose he was still recovering from all that time he was locked away in the druids' coffin-prison thing. He is quite powerful now. It took me a while to warm up to him, especially as he was rather at odds with Silvano at first, but he is part of the family now. However, he does need to work on not hitting his friends along with his enemies when we get into fights.

Tomomi: "Tomomi only recently joined us, but she is very smart and good at taking notes. She's also very fluffy. She can turn into animals like Sun, but I have only seen her turn into a fox. While we were still traveling to Castle Lavender, I asked her to help me find someone there, as she's a detective and all, and she was very happy to help. It turned out to not be necessary, but I'm certain she could have found Andal if he had not been right there when we arrived, even with as little as I had to go on."

Zaho: (does Zaho count as part of the party?): "Very tall. Very scary."

for Skes:

Wessyn: "Small friend! He my size. Very nice, but has too much water >| His mom cook good."

Kuvrik: "Big friend! Good at smashing! But always pick me up when I see something shiny or tasty :("

Gales: "Also big! But not as big as other big friend. Has wings! I have wings too now! Yells a lot. Had a big mountain building full of shiny things. One of the shiny things bit me. Very rude."

#DnD #SO MUCH #wow this took a while my brain is even more fried now lol

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kyotakumrau · 4 years

Text

2020.09.19 ROCK AND READ 091 - interview with utA - translation PART 1/2

'I'll be damned, what was that?!'

Interview: Yukinobu Hasegawa

Photos: Yosuke Komatsu (ODD JOB LTD.)

Translation: kyotaku You can buy the magazine on amazon, tower records etc ฅ( ̳• ·̫ • ̳ฅ)♡

After Kyo, Takumi and YUCHI from sukekiyo, it’s time for the interview with utA.

He’s experienced white collar work in his hometown Niigata, but couldn’t give up his dream of being in a band, so he moved to Tokyo, his band 9GOATS BLACK OUT attracted attention because of their fantastical music yet then disbanded, but because Kyo had listened to their music utA has started a new episode of his music life.

We ask him about the very start of his interest in music and his life until now.

And then... With many interesting stories like the one about the eerie episode when he came to Tokyo, we can show you utA’s odd music history.

utA / sukekiyo: profile & information

birthday March 26th. joined Kyo’s project sukekiyo as a guitarist in 2013. other members are Kyo (vocal), Takumi (guitar, piano), YUCHI (bass) and Mika (drums). their last release is the video compilation ‘LIQUEFACIO’ with the live footage from their show in Nakano Sunplaza in June 2019.

-- First, I’d like to ask you about the time you got into rock and playing the guitar. Were there any significant bands or guitarists for you when you were young?

utA: I think it was around elementary grade 5 or 6, it was X (-Japan). I was born in Joetsu city in Niigata, there was a CD shop stocked with v-kei and rock stuff there. It was a rural town, but at that time, there was a shop that was selling nothing but rock stuff.

-- It seems to be a quite early to start frequenting CD shops as a elementary school student.

utA: Yeah, I think it was early. I had a friend who was playing the piano, I heard him playing songs like “Silent jealousy” from X, I think that was how I got to know X and their heartrending phrases I love. After that I wanted to hear more from them so I listened to their first indies album “Vanishing Vision”. And then their first major release “BLUE BLOOD”.

-- You weren’t playing the guitar yet when you got to know X as an elementary school student?

utA: It was accidental, but my brother was playing the guitar. I think he liked ZIGGY, JACKSONS’N’JOKER, COLOR, BUCK-TICK etc when I was five. So I have seen my brother playing the guitar at home, but he didn’t influence me at all (laughing). I remember he liked to sing by himself while playing, I have this impression that he was a good singer, but didn’t play the guitar that well (laughing). But we were far apart in age, we weren't that attached, I felt if I just grabbed the guitar I could play. So I borrowed it and fumbled trying to play the songs as I listened to them.

-- But playing the guitar was then just something fun to do?

utA: It was definitely something fun, but I remember entering a music studio around junior high. I briefly started a band with friends. I guess there was no proper shape to it, but I wanted to play some songs, gathered friends and we played “Silent Jealousy”. I played the guitar, I tried really hard with the main phrases and so on. But I really couldn’t play well (laughing). My brother taught me things like A chord or E chord, in basic power chords, things like guitar solos came out very shaky. I recorded that. With a very simple cassette recorder with two buttons, play and record. I have no idea what happened with those cassette tapes, but I’d really kill to listen to them now (laughing).

-- To start a band and use a music studio in the junior high, that's quite remarkable. You were driven this much?

utA: Yeah, by X. I was also attracted by their looks and make up. It's not like all my friends were into the exactly same stuff but there were people who liked music. And there was one music instrument shop, I also went there often. The recording on the cassette tape happened at the end of junior high or start of high school. After X came LUNA SEA. It's a bit hard to explain, but in a way LUNA SEA matched my preferences better. Isn't LUNA SEA a metal band? With INORAN's clean guitar and SUGIZO's distorted guitar, this kind of separation was also novel. I got a shock running through me like 'I'll be damned, what was that?' There is such an awesome clean guitar like that? I though cleanly played super impressive phrases were amazing.

-- Your guitarist opinion was born at that time.

utA: That's right. It was a great impact, from creating sound, through phrases all the way to arrangement. I needed to know how do they get such beautiful sound. Until then I kept thinking that guitar sound should be distorted. I also learnt from music magazines etc that with a delay and chorus you will get a nice effect. And I remember listening to late night radio show "Break Out" or it was in some magazine that SUGIZO advised 'you can get our sound if you use an effector like this'. That's why the first effector I bought was the delay and chorus. My brother had the ones to create distortion, so I only had to add the delay and chorus. I also used my brother's Fender Made in Japan Strato(caster), so it was perfect for clean sounds.

-- So when you became a high school student did you get even more friends interested in music?

utA: I did. I would start talking about music right after coming back home. My home was our hanging out place, people were often surprised by the amount of CDs in my house (laughing). Listening to songs, we watched live DVDs and we all talked about the cool phrases we heard. And then I decided to buy a guitar model used by the artist I liked. So then it was exciting to talk about saving up for one (laughing).

-- You were already using a Stratocaster, but had another guitar you wanted?

utA: Now I know well that Fender’s Strato is a really good guitar, but at that time the look of the guitar was very important, it felt like strato was too simple. And that’s why I bought a guitar used by the artist I haven’t mentioned yet, so it might feel like coming out of nowhere, but it was the model used by Shin from Kuroyume. It was a Les Paul Model that came from GrassRoots, with two single coils. One of my friends was a big fan of Kuroyume so I often listened to their music and really got into Shin’s playing style. Les Paul models have nice shape and they can produce both clean and distorted/dirty sounds, so I decided to get Shin’s model. I was torn if I should get INORAN’s model instead, but it gave an impression of clean sound and because I also wanted to produce distorted sound I went with Shin’s. As a stupid kid your whole evaluation criteria is based on the sound created by the musician, right? Ah, but I just remembered that time I chose single coil. Even though for rock you’re much better off with guitars equipped with Humbucker.

-- You’re using the Fender’s Strato with sukekiyo.

utA: I am. I’m also using a Dragonfly, I’m swapping between them with a tap switch. If I had to say which is better, I like the sound of the single coil. I definitely got influenced by the clean sound created by INORAN. Even now I care a lot when creating clean sounds.

-- When JHS students get into bands and guitars, isn’t it easy for them to get easily misguided? They start to neglect their studies, join some band as a bassist, choose their high school based on the chances of starting a band there and so on.

utA: By some band you mean sukekiyo (laughing)? I don’t have an interesting story here, I really did my best studying as much as I could. My parents were so amazingly kind/supportive so I wanted to make them happy. I still feel like this. I didn’t want to give them any shock (laughing). At that time I remember I often felt they would be happy if I got good test scores. And I simply hate losing. I’m not someone for whom studying comes naturally, so I remember studying extra hard before the tests. In the past we also got ranked (depending on the test scores) so it was another motivation not to lose. But well, I ended up losing (laughing).

-- So you properly continued to high school?

(kyotaku: in Japan compulsory education ends with junior high school at the age of 16; high school is mostly for the sake of going to university.)

utA: If possible I wanted to go to the a good high school, but my teacher told me ‘it might be a close call so it’s better to go there’ (laughing). I went to the school they recommended. It wasn’t a normal high school, it was a technical school.

-- You get specific qualifications. So the course of your future was decided then?

utA: I loved music and guitar, but I didn’t see it as my dream future then. That’s why I was planning on going to university. If not I would be starting work, so I wanted to go to university. At the technical school you learn things like civil engineering or construction. So I applied for the referral to the university that had classes like that, but I was rejected. And I came to hate studying for entrance exams so I gave up on university (laughing).

-- Didn’t Takumi go to the university to study designing?

utA: He did. In this we are a bit similar. Our personalities are totally different, but we definitely share some things like our roots and some points. Takumi managed to go to university though, as I failed to get referred I had to look for another way (laughing).

-- And finally we are talking about starting a band?

utA: No, I started to work full time. At a surveying office in Niigata. I worked there for about 2 years. I hated studying for the entrance exams, but I got the national qualification for surveying. I remember I was thinking that if I have to do it then I have to get it and I was studying like crazy (laughing).

-- When you start working full time I think you shift to a totally different mode from being a student.

utA: Yeah, it was like that. But even as I was doing my best at work, after coming back home from work I was just listening to music all the time. And I spent all the money I earned going to music stores and buying up all the CDs. I had meant to enter a different mode but in the end it wasn’t possible. Most of the bands and musicians who were releasing music at the time were the same age as me, or just a bit older.

-- Did you start to feel a bit envious, feeling more that you could do that as well?

utA: Yeah. I started to write my original songs a bit from the end of HS. I was thinking that if I could make music that was my own style I could make it in music. That feeling has not changed until now.

-- If you were to describe your first original song, what was it like?

utA: Simply saying, it was very influenced by LUNA SEA (laughing). It wasn't a metal song, but it had clean and distorted sounds layered. I created 2~3 songs before I turned 20.

-- Did you do anything wanting to release those songs?

utA: So. I'd made a firm decision to quit my job at surveying office. When quitting I said honestly 'I want to pursue music, so please let me go' (laughing). And then my boss and coworkers cheerfully told me 'then do it!' I even had a farewell party with 'let us know when you release something' (laughing).

-- But for parents, there's no way they reacted like that. Like, 'my son who tried so hard, started working and even got a licence, now wants to quit to do music', there's no way a parent would be happy about that (laughing).

utA: You're right. My parents had a lot to say. It was probably the biggest nagging of my life, seriously. It was worse than puberty (laughing).

-- But you didn't change your mind?

utA: No, the need to pursue music was stronger than that. I quit my company when I was around 20, started to look for band members when I was around 21, when I actually managed to start a band I was around 22~23.

-- Did you try contacting your band mates from elementary and jhs times to network?

utA: I stayed in touch with my classmates, but they totally quit music. There was no way for a deep talk there. That's why I had to do it by myself, in a way starting from zero. First I started to look for band members through the music instrument shops. I've made posters about looking, wrote my contact information, the type of posters where you tear off the bottom bit. The shop staff let me post them in their shops.

-- A simple method. If I remember right, people used to post some self-introduction and a description what kind of band they'd like to do.

utA: I will again add another band name, but I listed X, LUNA SEA and La'cryma Christi. I was also hit hard by La'cryma Christi's worldview. Even as I heard about them quite late, I think after I graduated high school. X, LUNA SEA and La'cryma Christi had the biggest impact on me. My 3 pillars. I absolutely adore La'cryma Christi's "Henseifu". The moment you hear the song doesn't it feel like various scenes just come up?

-- Those scenes are stateless.

utA: Exactly, they are stateless, and full of sadness. When I first heard the 7/8 time signature, I was surprised like 'I'll be damned, what was that?' I was totally owned by that worldview. At that time, La'cryma Christi was my number one. For a while now I've been friends with HIRO, was able to play together with them once and even had a photo shoot together.

-- But currently TAKA is working in a jewellery industry, no? By the way, when you posted your 'looking for band members' ad, how many replies did you get?

utA: There were few, but one came from someone with whom we formed a band at the time. In 2013 my own band had disbanded, but I was most surprised when contacted by the guy who then spent all this time with this band. He asked 'please let me join', but I also asked him formally to join. I'm talking about the bassist, hati.

-- This band we're talking about is the visual kei of Niigata that has changed several times?

utA: Yeah. First it was Laypua, after that Layarch, then Rayarch. It was changing keeping the 'Lay/Ray' connection. The live performance activities were focused on Niigata city.

-- From looking for the band members to the formation of the band it took about one year, during that time were you writing original music ?

utA: I don't think we had more than 10 songs, but we had enough for one album. The band that done those songs took about one year to finally start activities. At the time, there was a music club (live house) near Niigata station called Z-1. I think now it's called CLUB RIVERST., my first live performing experience was at that club.

-- So it was the first show as a band that is the first step in following your dream. What was the response like?

utA: I think it was really terrible (laughing). At the time it was when we just decided our form/style, so we just went with 'let's hope this is cool enough' (laughing). I was looking for guitar phrases that would be very me, but I couldn't play them at all. We were trying really hard only with things to show, we also had heavy make up. For the so called artist photos, our vocalist was very skilled with creating great photos, so there was a lot of 'let's do make up more like this' etc, so at the meetings of band members the topic of the vusuals came overwhelmingly more often than music (laughing).

-- Your songs were similar style to La'cryma Christi?

utA: Nope, I loved La'cryma Christi, but our music was more like 'The Visual Kei' style. For our worldview, it felt like there's still more to come. It was quite heavy rock, could be said it was Tsutatsuta-kei (laughing). I was playing in this band in Niigata until I went to Tokyo, for about 4, 5 years.

(*Tsutatsuta-kei was a v-kei subgenre that developed in the early 2000s, as you can imagine from utA's comment it's heavy and fast; and like Nu Metal that influenced the subgenre there's a lot of shouting, and unconventional structures and variety of different styles)

-- If you continued for that long it means you had to have some fans?

utA: In Niigata we did, yeah. I felt 'I can do it' as it wasn't a band with no fans, so from the band's later time I started thinking about going to Tokyo. In Niigata what we could do was limited. So I told the band 'let's go to Tokyo, but most of members wanted to stay in Niigata. Each of them had their own life there.

-- Did other band members have proper jobs?

utA: Nah, everyone was working part-time. All of us prioritized the band. That's why I suggested we should go to Tokyo, but only me and hati, the bassist, were interested. And we left our home Niigata with guitar and bass for Tokyo having only about 40~50k yen between the two of us.

(*400~500 US dollars, 300~400 euro)

PART 2 HERE

#sukekiyo #utA #interview #rock and read #rock and read 091 #translation #9GOATS BLACK OUT

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luckyricochet · 3 years

Note

I want you to answer A-Z on the fandom asks so I can peer into your psyche 👀

Wow I love you. This actually took around three hours since I wanted to think about the answers. See them under the cut!

A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

From Hanyou no Yashahime — Sesshomaru and Rin

From The Mandalorian — The Mandomera’s been creeping up a little bit.

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

Honestly can’t think of one. I’m very set in my ships.

C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

From Naruto — SasuSaku. Sasuke was cute as a kid so I get Sakura having a crush on him then, but I think she would have gotten over it when he became a homicidal clown who abandoned the village and tried to kill her and her teammates multiple times.

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.

From Harry Potter — Ron x Hermione. I’ve always thought their personalities didn’t match and not in the good “opposites attract” kind of way.

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?

I only know how to write angst, drama, and introspective musings so no.

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?

Over fifteen years in the Harry Potter fandom, but I’ve had to separate that from JKR herself in the recent years.

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?

“Have I ever had an OTP”? *laughs from shipping hell*

From The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare — Nat and Kit were my first OTP. Read this book in fifth grade and was immediately loved them. Boy literally risks banishment from the colony to help prove she’s not a witch.

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., TV shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)?

I love visual media, so TV, anime, and film

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

I’m not going to let tumblr dot com put me off of a particular show/book/etc. itself, but it has definitely made me think less of certain types of fans who are in a fandom.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

The...period drama fandom? More widely, the history fandom. They both create some of the most beautiful edits celebrating history and I love it.

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

From Avatar: The Last Airbender — It’s gotta be Prince Zuko

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.)

From Harry Potter — I think Ginny is a Mary Sue but I loved when she stood up for herself in Half-Blood Prince when Ron was trying to slut-shame her.

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

From Parks and Recreation — Leslie Knope. Unending positive affirmations, thoughtfulness, and support!

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

I don’t really have a main fandom but I haven’t mentioned Free! yet so let’s go with it for this one.

1. Less Nitori because I can’t stand him.

2. More female characters! I get half the appeal is the boys, but I’d love to see a girls swim team in some capacity.

3. More Haru and his family dynamics! Doesn’t have to be a ton, but I want to know what his relationship with his parents like, especially as an adult.

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

Salt and the Sea - The Lumineers. “From the destruction, out of the flame. You need a villain, give me a name.” Such an Odesta song. (Finnick x Annie from the Hunger Games)

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

For The Mandalorian — A historical AU set in early 1900s New York City where Mando’s just some government agent sent to “report” on slum conditions to satisfy some housing law. He goes meaning to write up a generic report but then finds the orphaned Baby Yoda abandoned in one of the tenements. Shocked by the conditions of the slums, Mando goes from being an apathetic, middling-level bureaucrat to being an anonymous investigative journalist reporting on the corruption in the government that allows for the city’s most vulnerable citizens to live in squalor, leading the government on a search to find who within their ranks is exposing them.

Q - A fandom you’ve abandoned and why.

Sherlock, because it just took so long for the third series to come out. I had moved on to other fandoms by the time it did. Still have fond memories of when I was active in it, though.

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

From Lord of the Rings — Aragorn and Legolas. This is played up a lot more in the films but I love it.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

For Lord of the Rings — Boromir definitely taught Faramir swordplay when they were little kids since their father didn’t want to.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

From Hanyou no Yashahime — Rin made the first move. Sesshomaru would be way too clueless to even know how to go about it.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

From Pirates of the Caribbean — James Norrington: Commodore in the Royal Navy during the 18th century, must I explain any further? Cool, calm, and collected on the job while looking v good while he does it but a nervous wreck in front of the woman he fancies. Tell me that’s not straight out of Austen.

From Star Wars (OT) — Luke Skywalker: An unapologetically good person in a crapsack world, doing his best to bring light into the world. A classic hero archetype who grows out of his naïveté to become a cunning—but still benevolent—Jedi.

From Prince of Tennis — Yukimura Seiichi: His duality is *chef’s kiss*. Super scary and in charge on the court, gentle sweet boy who loves art and culture off the court. He struggled for so long but was able to overcome it all through his hard work and willpower.

Bonus favorite, because I couldn’t resist...

From Band of Brothers — Doc Roe: He’s doing the MOST for his guys but he really just needs a hug. Plus he’s got the accent.

V - Which character do you relate to most?

From Little Women — Jo March, especially as portrayed by Saoirse Ronan in the 2019 adaptation. Writer, holds grudges, opinionated, stubborn, eschewed “girliness” in her youth but is more open to it and romanticism as an adult.

W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

I’ve gotten to the point where even the hint of a love triangle tests my patience.

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

It’s about the yearning: Longing Look

Also will definitely always ship the Brooding Boy and the Gentle Girl

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms (i.e., fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)?

Anything in the MCU or general superhero content.

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go! (Prompts optional but encouraged.)

I love fandom so much. I’m sort of facetious about being obsessed with people who aren’t real on my other social media accounts, but in all seriousness, being able to escape the real world to get excited over characters and relationships that face their own struggles, triumphs, and emotions is such a gift. So often they speak so powerfully on the human experience—How can you read, or watch, any of Tolkien’s work and not be moved by what he has to say about humanity and the power of good? Even if the stories are fictional, the messages they impart about life aren’t, which is what I love so much about them.

#itsacanofpeachessir #ask

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ottelis · 3 years

Photo

"I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix.

09—la vérité

august 11th, 1968

07:55

caen, france

Eliott sleeps much better the night after his appointment than he thought he would. Perhaps the exhaustion took over and freed him from his thoughts. He's grateful for that, but now that he's awake, he has to face Lucas again. He's not afraid of looking Lucas in the eye, or seeing all the expressions that could flicker across his face in half a moment. He's afraid of what Lucas might say, of the way his tongue may curl and slash in his mouth, or the way it could lie still and tie itself in a knot. But he can't let his fear show anymore, not when he knows Lucas is in pain, when he knows he can try to help his best friend.

He decides to talk to Lucas before mass, since he knows he'll be there most of the morning. He dresses for mass, too, putting on his white shirt and tying his black tie beneath the collar. He hasn't been to mass, let alone inside the church, since his father's funeral, and he supposes that now could be a good time to go.

His dress shoes are too small for him now, something he never would've anticipated. He borrows one of his father's pairs, and though they're a bit too big, they fit better than his own. They're old, but his father was buried in his nicer ones. It feels a bit strange, wearing his father's shoes, but he doesn't expect to be wearing them for very long. Just until after mass.

His mother is in the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast as he gets ready to leave. He apologizes to her quickly and tells her where he'll be, and that he'll meet her at mass. He gives her a kiss on the cheek and tells her he loves her.

He takes a deep breath as he opens the door, but it catches in his throat when he sees Lucas on the other side, his hand raised and ready to knock.

"Lucas, hey," he stammers. "Is everything okay?"

Lucas nods, bewildered, too. "Yeah. Yeah. Um, this might be an odd question," he begins awkwardly. "But I've kind of become the organist at our parish, and I have a key to the church. I like to get there early and practice some songs. It's just… It's lonely in there sometimes. The echo gets too much when you're alone. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?"

Eliott blinks, fumbling for an answer. "Of course," he manages, smiling. "I've missed hearing you play anyway." He's not being untruthful, but his mind starts running even faster once the words leave his mouth. Maybe he can steal a moment to talk to Lucas. Maybe on the way there, or right before mass.

Lucas smiles, and his eyes brighten. "Thank you so much," he sighs. "It's honestly so eerie in there and it was about to drive me crazy."

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, smiling warmly. "Were you planning on leaving now?"

Lucas nods. "If that's okay."

"Okay," Eliott nods back. He calls over his shoulder, "See you in a bit, Maman."

"See you, honey," she calls back. "See you, Lucas."

"See you, Madame Demaury," Lucas responds as Eliott goes through the door.

Eliott shuts the door behind him, taking another deep breath. Now he has to wait for the right moment to talk to Lucas. And he has to hope it won't go poorly like he's worried it might. He has to trust Lucas.

They don't say a word as they walk to Lucas's car, but the silence is strangely comfortable, easy. Perhaps this should be the moment that Eliott grabs by the horns, but it's too precious for him to ruin. He's too enamoured by the sound of their soft footfalls on the grass, the slightest whisper of a breeze in the air. It's going to be a beautiful day.

"It is," Lucas says suddenly, startling Eliott. He must've said his thought aloud without realizing. "Most Sundays are. The whole world is at peace on Sundays."

"Remember when we would build sandcastles almost every Sunday?" Eliott asks quietly, still afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment.

"Because the sea was calmer," Lucas chuckles lightly. "I just can't believe we basically built the same sandcastle every week. How did we not get bored of it more quickly? We did that until we were almost ten."

"Maybe after mass we can build a sandcastle," Eliott suggests. "I think it'd be nice to come back to that."

"I like that idea," Lucas smiles warmly, letting his head tilt slightly down.

They reach Lucas's car, piling in quickly. Lucas keeps the radio off again, but Eliott's parents never played music on the way to mass, either. Eliott doesn't mind the silence here, either. He thinks they've carried the silence from outside with them.

The sun has risen considerably by now, but it still casts a soft, faint light on the city, coaxing it awake. It's kind today, loving. Fatherly, almost. It flows gently through the windows of Lucas's car, bathing them in a thin but warm layer of light. Eliott lifts his hand ever so slightly, letting it swim through the light. It's like water. He wiggles and curls his fingers, holds his palm face up to illuminate the lines there.

"What are you doing?" Lucas asks with a chuckle.

"With my hand?" Eliott laughs, too. "Swimming."

Lucas smiles, glancing at Eliott's hand. His eyes follow the smooth, graceful movement of it until the car starts to swerve slightly. He quickly looks back up to the road, but the smile lingers on his face, small and content.

Eliott hopes that that smile means Lucas is doing better, that he won't have to ask him what's wrong. But Lucas was always good at hiding things, he's had so much practice with it anyway. Eliott keeps finding himself hoping and hoping.

The parking lot is empty, and it's a strange sight for Eliott. He's so used to hearing his father complain about how there weren't any parking spots left when they arrived for mass, he never thought it could be so barren. He could see what Lucas means when he says it can be eerie seeing the church deserted. He could only imagine what it's like in the chapel.

They don't talk in the brief time it takes to get out of Lucas's car and to enter the church. Lucas still seems at ease, though, a stark contrast to his behavior at the cemetery last week. Eliott takes it as a good sign.

The lock unclicks with a creaky thud, and the door squeaks faintly as it opens. Lucas lets Eliott walk in first, making sure to lock the door behind them.

Eliott pauses just past the threshold, gazing at the chapel. It's still exactly as he remembers it—the stone floors gray as ash, the pale columns, the smooth arches, the statues with faces as familiar to him as someone he's known in real life. All the old paintings are still on the walls, all the elaborate stained glass is still intact and shining, all the same chairs are sitting in front of the altar like sentinels. He can still smell all the burning wax, the incense, wet stone. But there's something different, something in the air he doesn't recognize. Maybe he really has been away for too long and forgotten it was ever there. But it's heavy, leaves something crawling just beneath Eliott's skin. Maybe it's the ghost of memory—the ghost of a boy who prayed to God to make his papa feel better and not get sick anymore, the ghost of his father, the ghost of the flowers and incense that clouded and covered his coffin, the ghost of hymns played and sung through bitter tears.

"Spooky, isn't it?" Lucas teases, nudging Eliott's arm.

Eliott nods, gulping. "I can see why you don't wanna be alone in here," he agrees, his voice thin.

Lucas chuckles lightly. "It's not as bad once I'm sitting at the organ. Then all of it's behind me."

"But you said the echo gets to you, too, right?" Eliott asks.

Lucas nods, sighing. "I think you hearing it, too, will help. It won't be as lonely. It'll feel real for once. Not just some cruel trick of my imagination."

Eliott nods back, imagining the shrill yet regal notes of an organ filling such a cavernous, empty room. No voices to accompany it, no other instruments to help it swell and wane into sacred, gorgeous music. The thought sends a chill down his spine.

"Tu viens?" Lucas asks softly, tilting his head towards the direction of the organ. His hand brushes against Eliott's, his touch another ghost in these hallowed halls.

Eliott nods weakly, and Lucas smiles kindly. He leads Eliott to a corner of the building that he doesn't quite remember being there before, where a stone staircase lies in front of them. He can see the organ at the top, sitting below one of the large stained glass windows. He follows Lucas up the stairs, their footfalls only a quiet shuffling in the silence of the chapel.

"Do you want to sit next to me?" Lucas asks as if he takes his place at the seat in front of the organ. It's wide enough to fit both of them. And Lucas is looking at him with a warmth that he could never deny.

"Yeah," Eliott smiles, sitting next to him. He can't help but look up at the stained glass window above them. It's so simple—just a mosaic of diamonds dyed with gold and silver and oceans and clouds and jewels—but the way the light filters through it is enchanting, even in the half-light they're in right now. The sun hasn't risen high enough yet to shatter through it completely. Eliott can only imagine how beautiful it must be, then. He wishes he had paid more attention to this window before.

"This is my favorite thing in the whole church," Lucas says, his eyes gazing up at the window, too.

"It's beautiful," Eliott replies, reverent.

"Selfishly," Lucas begins, shrugging, his brow furrowed. "I feel like it's mine, in a way."

"I don't think that's selfish," Eliott shakes his head.

Lucas smiles, looking down at the organ keys. His smile fades, but quiet thought takes its place. His hands hover over the keys for a moment, his fingers taking shape after shape of a thousand chords before settling on one. Lucas begins playing gently, slowly growing louder as the prelude progresses. Eliott instantly recognizes Ubi Caritas, and he lets himself smile.

The organ was never Eliott's favorite instrument, despite hearing it his whole life. It was so easy to play too loudly, too dully. But in Lucas's hands, the organ is as elegant and stately and warm as it possibly could be. Lucas takes the love Ubi Caritas speaks of and lets it pour from his fingers and into the keys. Lucas could take any instrument and turn it to gold with the slightest touch, after leaving the faintest scar of a fingerprint on it. The echo of the music rings sweetly from the cold, aged stone, and Eliott can't imagine it sounding eerie or lonely.

Eliott looks at Lucas, and for the first time today, he seems tense, anxious. His shoulders are tight, his back is hunched, his hands are shaking, his lower lip is caught beneath his teeth. But he doesn't let it betray his playing. The music still flows out of him so easily, so beautifully.

But at the same time, Eliott has never seen Lucas like this while he's playing. He's been nervous before, of course, but it usually melts away once his fingers find their place on the keys. He's never started relieved and confident then grew nervous and stiff.

Eliott feels the easy, comfortable dynamic between them start to break. His mind starts to reel, and his heart begins to stutter, all for Lucas.

The hymn is over quickly, though, and Lucas releases a deep yet trembling breath. He stretches his hands, curling his fingers over and over. He's studying them as if they were someone else's hands, as if they don't belong to him.

"Does the echo bother you that much, Lucas?" Eliott asks softly, grasping at straws.

Lucas shrugs fraily, hiding his hands between his thighs. His eyes flit across every visible thing around him except for Eliott.

Eliott feels helpless, watching Lucas retreat into himself again. He shakes his head, maybe to help his brain rattle out a way to help Lucas.

"What if I played?" he tries, shrugging. "I know I don't how to play, but that's the trick. Maybe if I play a hymn off-key it won't make it quite as eerie in here."

Lucas smiles weakly, considering.

"Would that be sacrilegious?" Eliott asks under his breath, as if someone would hear them. "Playing random notes on a church organ?"

This makes Lucas chuckle, and Eliott already feels a thousand pounds lighter. "I don't think so, Eliott," Lucas shakes his head. "Just try not to play too loudly, okay?"

Eliott nods, hoping he'll know how to do that. He sees his hands trembling slightly as he places them just above the keys, playing whichever one each finger lands on.

He starts out with a discordant burst of music, one that nearly makes Lucas guffaw if he hadn't covered his mouth in time. After that, Eliott decides to not use all his fingers at once, instead plucking out a few random notes at awful, unsettling intervals. It's really not as awful as it could be, since he's not trying to play a real melody, but it's still not anything you would ever want to hear in a mass.

Soon, Eliott thinks he's getting the hang of it and starts trying to make the notes string together, rather than play them stiltedly one by one. It doesn't work very well, though, and he only rushes into each note, making them bleed together until it's just noise. But it makes Lucas laugh, and maybe cringe a bit.

"Okay, okay," Lucas interrupts after another one of Eliott's clumsy attempts at playing. He takes a moment to keep himself from laughing again before continuing. "I'm going to help you play because I don't think I can take anymore of this."

"You're going to teach me a lesson?" Eliott smiles, raising his eyebrows.

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly. "I guess you could say that, yes," he agrees begrudgingly, but teasingly. "Here, let me take your hands," he continues, placing his hands just above Eliott's. "First, your form is terrible."

"Thanks," Eliott remarks sarcastically.

Lucas bites back a chuckle, ignoring Eliott's comment. "Pretend you're holding a ball in both your hands," he instructs. "They should be curled just slightly, they should never be completely flat. And straighten your back a bit, you're such a sloucher."

Eliott pouts, but follows his instructions. "Yes, maestro," he drones jokingly. Lucas can't hide his laugh that time.

"You know 'Hot Cross Buns'?" Lucas asks through his laughter.

"I don't think so," Eliott answers, genuinely this time.

"It's really simple," Lucas continues. "It teaches you chords. Like this."

Lucas guides Eliott's hands to the correct place, gently pressing down on each finger that needs to press a key. They go through the song rather slowly and haltingly, Lucas letting Eliott get the hang of using his hands correctly. Lucas sings the words quietly as they go through it each time, and Eliott thinks that putting the words to it helps. He has something to pair the chords with, something he can picture in his mind while his hands bring it to life.

"Okay," Lucas sighs, satisfied. "Try it by yourself. Go as slowly or as quickly as you want."

Eliott nods, picturing the balls in his hands and the words to the song in his head. He gets through it slowly, but doesn't make any major mistakes until the very end when his left hand slips somehow.

"It's okay," Lucas says quickly, taking Eliott's hand and putting it back in the right place. "Try again if you want to."

He does, but messes up at the same spot. He admits a small mite of frustration flashed in his chest, but Lucas's comforting voice made it vanish as quickly as it appeared.

"Let's try just that part with me helping you again," Lucas suggests, only putting his hands on Eliott's once Eliott gives him an affirmative nod. "Here we go, slowly."

They take a moment to pause between each chord, slowly moving to the next one and making sure everything is in the right place. Slowly, but surely, Lucas takes his hands away and lets Eliott play by himself.

Eliott plays the whole song, top to bottom, without any mistakes. It's the slowest version of "Hot Cross Buns" ever, but it's a successful attempt.

Lucas beams, telling him to play again, then again, then again.

"We should play together," Eliott suggests after his fourth or fifth time through the song. "I'm on one side and you're on the other."

"That'll be hard on an organ," Lucas replies, his eyes flitting across the keys. "It's not as similar to a piano than you would think it would be."

"Do you think we could try?" Eliott asks, shrugging.

Lucas studies the keys for a few more moments, then nods slowly. "I think so," he mutters, finding his place on the keys. "Go as slow as you want, I'll follow your lead."

"You're not going to show me up?" Eliott asks, raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Maestro?"

Lucas smirks. "I won't make any promises."

Eliott chuckles, taking a moment before starting the song. And he realizes all too quickly that Lucas didn't promise for a reason.

Lucas is moving all around the keys, finding the perfect octave jumps and steps and half-steps. It sounds beautiful, of course, but a little too elaborate for a song like "Hot Cross Buns."

Towards the end of the song, Eliott's left hand and Lucas's right hand land on the same area of the keys, Lucas's on top of Eliott's. They both stop suddenly, taking their other hand away, but Eliott's hand stays pinned beneath Lucas's. Lucas's skin is so warm and soft, and his hand looks so small against Eliott's. It makes Eliott smile, small but still brimming with joy. Lucas clings to Eliott's hand, awkwardly but sweetly intertwining their fingers.

As Eliott turns his head to look over at his best friend, Lucas's lips are suddenly crashing into his.

Eliott's eyes widen, but flutter closed as Lucas deepens the kiss. He feels Lucas's hands in his hair, pushing him closer and closer to him. Lucas still tastes the same, like sleep and salty sea air. His lips are chapped, desperate, but Eliott would kiss them forever if he could. Eliott starts kissing him back once he's out of his stupor, cradling Lucas's face in his hands, fighting back a smile as their noses smush against each other. He feels Lucas's eyelashes brush against his cheeks as his eyes fly open. Lucas takes Eliott's hands and yanks them off his face. Eliott stumbles forward slightly at the force, his eyes opening now, too.

He looks up and sees Lucas stepping backwards from the bench, his hands clasped over his mouth, his eyes too wide and his face too pale. He starts shaking his head, holds out his hands pleadingly. "Eliott, please," he whimpers, his voice shattering. "I-I didn't mean to, I—"

"No, Lucas, it's okay," Eliott interrupts, approaching Lucas carefully. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it stays stuck there, thick and aching. "I'm not mad at you. It… It just happened, right? We got carried away."

Lucas shakes his head, tear after tear rolling down his cheeks. "No…" he chokes out. "I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to. And I did, and—" his tears stop his voice, his breath. His chest rises and falls so sharply Eliott feels his own breath strangle in his throat.

He takes another step towards Lucas, still careful as he can be. "Lucas…" he begins, unsure of what he'll say next. He reaches out a hand, nearing Lucas's shoulder.

Lucas takes a few more steps back, a sob tearing out of his throat. "No, no, don't touch me, please," he begs, holding out his hands again. "Please, Eliott, just stay away from me."

Eliott opens his mouth, but nearly gets the wind knocked out of him as Lucas suddenly shoves him aside. Lucas rushes past him, heading towards the stairs. He pauses just before it, though, nearly falling to his knees before supporting himself against the wall. He leans against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, his whole body trembling.

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, softly, sitting in front of him. "I'm not leaving you again. I'm not going to do that to you. I can't. I care about you too much, and you're hurting too much right now for me to leave you like this."

"Please, Eliott," Lucas sobs. "Just leave. Please. You haven't done anything wrong, and I don't want to ruin that for you. I can't ruin you. I'd never forgive myself."

"You're not ruining me, Lucas," Eliott reassures, still careful not to touch him.

"I love you, Eliott," Lucas cuts in. His voice had been hard to discern through his tears, but for some reason those three words rang out clear as a bell. "I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you. Don't you remember me telling you that? When we talked about everything that happened? I told you the exact same thing."

Eliott does remember. He remembers Lucas practically screaming it out of a bleeding throat. He nods at Lucas, feeling tears run down his face.

"The more time I spend with you," Lucas begins, hopeless. "The more I realize that we're not meant to be together. Not even as friends. Because we could never be just friends anymore. Every time I look at you, I remember the times you would kiss me and love me like I had always wanted someone to. But what I want doesn't matter. It's wrong. It's a sin. And I don't want you to become a disgusting sinner because of me."

"We talked about this before," Eliott replies desperately, his heart beginning to hammer against his chest. "Remember? We agreed that it wasn't. God made us this way, Lucas, and God doesn't make mistakes. So how could we be mistakes? How could the way we love be a mistake?"

"God didn't make us like this," Lucas shakes his head bitterly. "And you have a chance to be saved, Eliott. You could meet a girl and love her with everything inside of you. I can't. It's too late for me."

"Lucas, what are you talking about?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "You have Chloé. You're marrying her next year."

Lucas buries his face in his hands again, shaking his head weakly. "I don't love her, Eliott," he weeps, his voice muffled by his hands. "I can't love her. It doesn't matter if I marry her or maybe start a family with her. It's pointless if I don't love her. I'll always want someone else instead of her. I would still be sinning."

Eliott is speechless, unable to find an argument. He feels completely helpless, useless.

"Sometimes I wish you had just let me die that day," Lucas whispers, his heart climbing up his throat to nearly shatter Eliott's.

Eliott feels himself sway, feels his breath getting crushed out of his lungs. His body grows numb, his head spins, his blood chills.

"Why didn't you?" Lucas asks, lifting his head. His eyes are glassy, nearly empty as they meet Eliott's. "Why didn't you just let me drown?"

"You're my best friend," Eliott chokes out. "And I love you. And it would've been my fault if you didn't make it. And I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."

"If I had just died you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself," Lucas says, his voice losing its emotion, as if he's thought of this a thousand times and it's as natural as breathing.

"That's not true," Eliott whimpers.

"And you never would've gone to the institution—"

"That's not true—"

"And they wouldn't have done all those awful things to you—"

"Lucas, stop—"

"And you would've learned to be happy again. To miss me and smile like your papa said—"

"Please—"

Lucas rises to his feet then, pacing the balcony. He tugs on his hair, claws at the back of his neck. "I should've died. I was supposed to die. I never saw a light. Just darkness. I was never going to make it to heaven. I was supposed to die and go to hell and—"

"I said stop, Lucas!" Eliott begs, practically shouts.

"Why can't I just die—"

Lucas's fist collides with the stone wall with a sickening crack. He screams, falling to his knees, holding his now broken, bleeding hand in his other one.

Eliott rushes to Lucas, gathering his trembling body in his arms. He cradles him close to his chest, lets him sob into his shirt. He rocks back and forth, as if it would lull Lucas to sleep or take all his pain and torture away. He knows it won't, but he has to try something.

"I can't be a queer, Eliott," Lucas weeps, Eliott's shirt muffling his voice. "But I don't know how to stop it."

"You don't have to stop, Lucas," Eliott tries again softly. "You don't have to try to be someone you're not."

"What if I hate who I am?" Lucas asks weakly, bitterly. He lifts his head slightly, turning it to where his ear is resting against Eliott's chest. "What if who I am keeps myself from getting everything I want? I'll be sent to hell. Everyone I love will be in heaven, and when I die I'll never see them again. I'll never see you again. I'll never see Maman again."

Eliott starts gently shushing Lucas, holding him a little tighter, but Lucas keeps talking.

"My poor Maman," Lucas chokes out, sniffling. "How many times have I broken her heart over the years? I can't break her heart again. I'm the only thing she has left. And who knows when she won't have me anymore? Who knows when she'll die or when I'll die and then eternity comes between us? How has she lived with having me for a son? I'm not her baby boy anymore. I don't think I ever was."

"She loves you more than anything, Lucas," Eliott replies. "I've seen it. She's your maman, and she loves every second she gets to be your maman."

"She fell in love with someone else," Lucas shakes his head. "Everyone has. You have, too. I can't be that person anymore. But I can't be myself either, because I can't bear to look at myself. I'm… I'm trapped, Eliott. I'm either trapped in someone I've created to make everyone happy, or I'm trapped in myself, who's a disgusting, filthy sinner—"

"Lucas," Eliott interrupts, taking Lucas's face in his hands and making him look at him. "You're not disgusting. You're not filthy. You're not a sinner. You're Lucas. And because you're Lucas, you love so much and feel so much that you explode sometimes. You're exploding right now. You've had all this weight to carry on your shoulders and on your mind, and you're starting to let it go by telling me how heavy it is. And I know how heavy it can be. Believe me, I do. And it's breaking you open and that's okay."

For once, Lucas doesn't have a rebuttal. His voice is silent and his tears are quiet. He rests his head on Eliott's chest again, and Eliott lets him.

"I haven't believed in God much since Papa died," Eliott continues, trying to keep the tears out of his voice. "But when I did, I always felt He just wanted all of us to be happy. And when we're with someone we love, we're the happiest we could ever be. And that can't ever be wrong. Love can never be wrong. Especially from someone who calls Himself the God of love. Right?"

Lucas doesn't answer, but Eliott can feel him trembling.

"Listen, Lucas," Eliott sighs, gingerly weaving his hands through his hair. "When has that whisper the clergy always say is God speaking to you ever told you that you're wrong for being queer? When has that little voice ever told you anything like that? Or has it always been the clergy? Or has it always been other kids' parents whispering about queers before mass? Or has it always been Sunday school teachers? When have you ever felt a truly divine voice tell you anything that those people have told you?"

Lucas is quiet again for a moment, but then shakes his head weakly. "Never," he replies fraily.

"You can love God and be devoted to Him and not go to mass every Sunday," Eliott says. "You can pray to Him and let Him speak to you in whatever little ways He does and you can get all your answers and comfort that way. You don't have to listen to other people who say they know what's best for you in the eyes of God, because what do they know? What do they know about the way God loves or speaks to one of His queer children? What do they know about the way He loves or speaks to any of His other children? God speaks to all of us in different ways, and maybe this isn't the way He needs to speak to you. Maybe you hate the way the music echoes in here because God speaks to you through music, and this building gets in the way of it. Maybe you need to take some time to find the way He speaks to you and hold onto that. Whether it's music, or reading His word, or a combination of multiple things, or whatever. And never let anyone take it away from you. Do you hear me, Lucas?"

Lucas nods. "I do."

Eliott smiles to himself. "Good," he sighs in relief. "And… We don't have to talk about us or do anything drastic until you've made peace with everything. You come first right now. I'll hold your heart for you once it's healed, once it tells me it's okay for me to cradle it. And then I'll give you mine, too. I'll wait as long as I need to."

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, sighing. "Thank you so much, Eliott."

"Anything for you, Lucas," Eliott smiles, kissing the top of Lucas's head. "And we're going to leave here now, and get that hand checked out. They'll find someone else to play the organ in your place."

He feels Lucas nod.

"And one more thing," Eliott continues. "Remember when you and Chloé ran into me outside of the psychiatry office?"

Lucas nods again.

"If you want to, you could start being a patient there, too," Eliott suggests. "Dr. Garnier is extremely kind and patient. And he's like us, Lucas. He understands. He was in the same place you were once, and he knows how to get out of it. He can tell you so many things that you probably need to hear right now. I think he'll help you."

"Okay," Lucas agrees, his voice a little stronger now.

Eliott closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "I love you, Lucas," he says quietly. "I don't want you to hurt like this anymore. I want to be here, no matter how awful or angry or lost you feel. Okay?"

"I love you, too, Eliott," Lucas returns, and Eliott can feel him smile. "And I'll let you be there. I promise I will."

Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head again, unable to fight back his smile now.

"Eliott?" Lucas says softly.

Eliott hums in response, lifting his head.

"What would you have done?" Lucas asks, his voice getting quieter. "If I had died that day?"

The thought has invaded Eliott's mind a million times, has appeared to him in countless nightmares, and it attacks him again once the words leave Lucas's mouth.

Eliott resting his forehead against Lucas's, waiting, begging please open your eyes so I can see them again please wake up please come back to me please please please don't leave me, but Lucas never breathes again. His body is hollow as Eliott takes it in his arms, as he clings to it and his grief comes back to him in a tidal wave. He cries until he can't anymore, until the sun has nearly set. Someone approaches him, their footfalls soft, almost frightened on the sand. Then a scream, so agonized Eliott feels his own grief has shrunk to a spec of dust. Lucas's mother. Someone else comes, too, carefully removing Eliott's hands so they can take Lucas's body away. Eliott is too weak to fight back, to hold Lucas tighter, to refuse to let him go. His arms are emptying, and the last thing he feels is Lucas's lifeless hand brushing against his thigh. Madame Lallemant follows the person carrying her son's body, weeping and wailing, leaving a new ocean behind her. Eliott stays on the shore, broken and empty, the tide receding further and further away.

It always ends there, Eliott alone with the weight of Lucas's body haunting his arms like a ghost. He always wakes up then, or something snaps him out of his thoughts. He never knows what happens next. He's never wanted to know.

"I don't know," he answers. He holds Lucas a little tighter, lets himself remember the way they fit together. He closes his eyes and lets himself smile. "But you're here now, Lucas. And you're alive. That has to mean something. If you really were meant to die that day, God would've found a way to stop me from saving you."

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding slightly.

"Do you remember what I said to you when you came back?" Eliott asks quietly.

Lucas shakes his head.

"I'm so happy you're here," he recites, his tears finally leaking into his voice. "I'm so happy you're okay."

Lucas lets out a sob, bunching Eliott's shirt in his hands. Another sob ripples through his body; another, another.

"You're safe now," Eliott whispers. "You're here. You're okay. God loves you. I love you. Your maman loves you. We all love you so much, Lucas. You're alive and you're so loved."

Lucas cries harder, but Eliott can feel him smiling against his chest, hear his relieved sighs between sniffles and sobs. He smooths soothing circles into Lucas's back, holds him as closely as he can, waiting for Lucas's tears to dry, but almost hoping they won't. It's nice here, tucked away in a corner of the church; the stained glass window spilling heavenly light on them, all the bad memories that live in this place being slowly burned and faded away like incense, Lucas in Eliott's arms and Eliott in Lucas's. It's calm, tranquil, peaceful. All the cold stone and lifeless statues have been chipped away, only leaving the warmth you're supposed to feel from holiness, from sacredness. The warmth of love, understanding, safety, life. Eliott could stay here forever, knowing it means that Lucas will be safe in his arms, and that they can just exist. They don't have to be anything or mean a certain thing to each other. They're together, and they love each other, and they're meant to be close to each other. Eliott has always known that, but now Lucas does, too.

But soon, Lucas isn't trembling with sobs anymore. He's breathing deeply, easily. Eliott actually thinks Lucas has fallen asleep for a moment, but Lucas speaks when Eliott is about to check.

"Eliott?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Can we go to the hospital now?" he asks. "My hand is killing me. I think it's broken."

Eliott looks down as Lucas pulls away slightly, revealing his hand. Scarlet blood is slicked all over it, gushing from his knuckles. And if Lucas's hand is broken, the blood is covering up any bruising. Eliott's stomach turns at the sight, nodding hurriedly. "Okay. Can you get up?"

Lucas nods, slowly rising to his feet. There's blood all over his pure white shirt, and when Eliott looks down at his shirt, his is, too. Somehow, these sights make him feel nauseous, too, but he manages to force the bile down. He rises, too, guiding Lucas down the stairs and out of the church.

Luckily, Eliott is able to drive from the church to the hospital. Eliott goes a little faster than he should, but it's still fairly early, so the roads aren't too busy.

When they're nearly there, Eliott looks over at Lucas and sees him cradling his injured hand close to his chest, his eyes closed. He watches for a moment as the stains on Lucas's shirt get darker, and he involuntarily pushes the gas pedal a little further forward.

"I'm not dying, Eliott," Lucas mutters, almost chuckling. "You don't have to speed to get me to the hospital."

Hearing Lucas joke puts Eliott slightly at ease, and he lets his foot slightly off the gas. He exhales slowly.

Everything is going to be okay.

They arrive at the hospital about five minutes later, and their first priority (besides Lucas's hand, of course) is to call their mothers. They'd be going to mass soon, and when they realize that their sons aren't there and that Lucas's car is gone is a recipe for panic and chaos. Eliott will have to use the hospital payphone of course, he doesn't have a potentially broken hand.

"But what am I gonna tell them?" Eliott frets as they wait for someone to take Lucas back. "They're going to ask what happened, and I can't tell them you punched the church wall."

"I don't know," Lucas shrugs. "But, I'm pretty sure a bit of my blood is on the wall so maybe we should just tell the truth. Well, not the whole truth."

"How much do I tell them, then?" Eliott asks.

"Say the empty church got to my head and I started panicking and I punched the wall," Lucas suggests. "That's all true."

"Okay," Eliott nods, writing out a script in his head. "What if your maman gets upset?"

"She's going to, Eliott," Lucas sighs. "That's how she is. The best thing to do is tell her a few times that I'm okay, and that we're at the hospital and someone is taking care of me. If she says she'll be coming down here, don't tell her not to. If she's here with me, it'll make her feel better."

Eliott nods again. "My maman will probably want to come down here, too."

Lucas nods. "A Lallemant-Demaury party at the hospital," he chuckles lightly.

Eliott chuckles, too, his head thudding lightly against the wall. He sighs deeply, and Lucas does, too, next to him. He looks over and Lucas's eyes are closed again, bursts of pain flashing across his face. "Are you sure you're okay, Lucas?" Eliott asks again for the twentieth time in the last hour.

Lucas nods, opening his eyes. "It'd be nice if someone would see me already so they can fix me up and then I can sleep. I forgot how exhausting attacks like that are. I could sleep for a week, I think."

Eliott opens his mouth to reply, but someone calling Lucas's name interrupts him. Lucas sighs in relief, rising to his feet.

"I'll go ahead and call our mamans," Eliott tells him as he leaves. "Get better, okay?"

Lucas smiles at him over his shoulder as he follows the nurse down the hall.

Eliott watches Lucas disappear into a room, letting out another deep sigh. He hopes Lucas's hand won't be as badly hurt as it seems like it could be. He hopes Lucas will remember everything Eliott told him today, that it won't be lost in the fog of panic. He hopes that today is a turning point for Lucas, that he can actually start healing, that he can nurture his heart the way it needs to be.

Eliott smiles to himself as he stands up, feeling cold coins on his fingertips as he fishes through his pockets. Now's the hard part: calling their mamans.

august 14th, 1968

10:58

caen, france

"I still don't know how you managed to punch a stone wall and walk away with barely a fracture," Eliott teases, noticing how nervous Lucas seems. They're sitting in the waiting room of the psychiatric office with Madame Lallemant. It's a dreary day today, heavy with the humidity of a coming storm, making the usually warm office not as welcoming as it has been before. And, of course, that doesn't ease any of Lucas's worries.

Lucas smiles weakly at Eliott's comment, but it doesn't linger. He's gone back to his old habit, even with an injured hand. His right hand is clasped over his left, rather than the other way around, and he doesn't squeeze as hard as he usually does. Eliott's noticed that if he squeezes the slightest bit too hard he winces, exhaling sharply.

"Are you sure you don't want me in there with you, mon cherie?" Madame Lallemant asks kindly, placing her hand on Lucas's shoulder.

Lucas pauses a moment, then nods. "Yes, Maman," he sighs. "I'll be okay."

"Would you want Eliott to go with you?" she asks, looking at Eliott.

Lucas looks at Eliott, too, and there's something in his eyes that Eliott can't quite read. He sighs, then shakes his head. "I'll be okay."

Eliott finds himself smiling, pride flitting softly in his chest like a heartbeat. "Dr. Garnier is really easy to talk to, Lucas," he says. "He's really good at what he does. He'll help you a lot."

Lucas smiles, too, exhaling slowly.

"Lucas?" Dr. Garnier's voice calls as he steps into the waiting room. He smiles when he sees them all, approaching them. "You're his mother, I presume?" he asks Madame Lallemant, holding out his hand.

"Yes, sir," she smiles, shaking his hand. "Madeleine."

"Nice to meet you, Madeleine," he smiles back. "And Lucas, nice to meet you as well," he says, shaking Lucas's hand now. "What happened to your other hand?" he asks, staring at Lucas's injured hand.

"It's a bit of a long story," Lucas replies shyly.

"We can talk about it once we're alone," Dr. Garnier dismisses. He looks over at Eliott, smiling wider. "It's good to see you again, Eliott. How are you?"

"I'm well," Eliott nods, smiling back.

"You don't need to see me today, either?" Dr. Garnier asks.

Eliott shakes his head. "Just Lucas."

"Very well," Dr. Garnier nods. "Are you ready, Lucas?"

Lucas nods, standing. He says a quick goodbye to Madame Lallemant and Eliott before following Dr. Garnier to his office.

Once they hear the door shut behind them, Madame Lallemant sighs deeply, almost shakily.

"I always worried he would end up like me," she says quietly, biting her nails.

"What do you mean?" Eliott asks, his heart aching for her at her words.

"Sick," she replies, thin and tired. "I don't know if you noticed, you were so young, but… he was different after his father left us. He was able to move on from that, of course, but it changed him more than he admits. He's been becoming more and more like me. He's getting sick."

Maybe it's the exhaustion the past few days have left him with, but tears start filling Eliott's eyes. He shakes his head weakly, fights back the tears. "Lucas is strong. He's just not as strong as he usually is right now. He's not sick."

"You haven't seen him the last two years, Eliott," Madame Lallemant replies fraily. "Nightmares, these… spells where he's panicked beyond belief and I can't calm him down… The whole time I was waiting for him to break like I have before. He never did, but… He came so close so many times. He…" A tear rolls down her cheek, then, but she quickly wipes it away. "He started drinking at one point. He would be gone all night but then I would see him at the table at breakfast every morning like nothing ever happened. Like he'd been sound asleep in his bed all night instead of drinking himself dizzy."

Eliott's eyes are wide, his mouth dry. "He was drinking?" he asks quietly, his voice almost not coming out.

"He stopped when he met Chloé," she replies quickly, seeing Eliott's worry. "And even if he hadn't, I was planning on sitting him down and talking to him about it. Back then, I was worried the drinking would have the same effect on him that it did on his father. He was already so much like me, I didn't want him turning into his father, too. But after Chloé, he was almost himself again. He still had nightmares sometimes, but they were only once in a blue moon, really. He wasn't gone all night anymore. And at breakfast, his eyes were sparkling and alive, not glazed over because he's still the slightest bit drunk. He would talk to me, tell me about his day, tell me about all these plans he had with Chloé," she smiles widely, chuckles lightly. But she bites her lip, looking down the hallway where Dr. Garnier's office is. "Now he's not talking to me again. He's going out at night again, but he's never out too late, so I don't think he's drinking again. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's my son and I don't know what's wrong with him. I'm his mother. I'm all he has and he won't turn to me anymore."

Eliott stands, quickly moving to the seat Lucas was sitting in as Madame Lallemant cries harder. He places a careful arm around her shoulder, takes a moment to gather himself before offering any words of comfort.

"He's learning right now, Madame Lallemant," he begins. "He's learning how to rely on people. He's getting the help he needs to do that right now as we speak. He's talking with Dr. Garnier, and the more he talks, the easier it'll get. He needs time. It's painful, but that's all you can give him right now. Give him time and space and make sure he knows that you're there for him when he's ready. And, thankfully, that's all he needs."

Madame Lallemant nods, breathing deeply and wiping away her tears. "Okay," she sighs, nodding. "Okay."

"He's going to be okay," Eliott promises, and this time, his voice doesn't waver. "He's going to go off to school and become the doctor he's always wanted to be, and he's going to be married, and he's going to be the happiest man in the world. He's meant to be successful and happy and the most wonderful person we've ever met."

"He is," she grins, nodding. "He is."

Eliott grins back, giving her shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze. He waits patiently for her breath to even out, for her tears to dry.

"I never thanked you," Madame Lallemant says before Eliott can think of a way to pick the conversation back up. "For saving him that day. And I never apologized either, for the way I acted when you came to visit him."

Eliott shakes his head. "You don't have to apologize," he dismisses. "It was so long ago."

"You're like a son to me, Eliott," she cuts in. "How could I not apologize to my son?"

Eliott smiles, getting emotional again, nodding once. "I didn't know how to tell you I almost lost him," he shrugs. "I don't think I'd fully processed it anyway. I wouldn't have been able to talk about it."

"I understand," she nods. "I just remember them starting to take his shirt off, and there were all these bruises on his chest…"

A wave of nausea washes over Eliott for a moment, but he's able to keep himself steady.

"The doctor and the nurses all looked at each other, like they were having a conversation without saying a word. One of the nurses started feeling all over his chest, then he stopped at one spot, saying that one of his ribs was cracked. And the doctor nodded and asked me if my son was unresponsive before we brought him here," her voice catches, and she takes a moment, breathing deeply. "And I asked him if he meant dead, and he nodded. And I said I didn't know, because I wasn't there when it happened, but you were. So he sent someone to find you and ask you about it."

Eliott nods, the memories briefly passing through his mind.

"I think I was in shock," she shrugs. "First, you run in telling me Lucas needed to go to the hospital because he almost drowned. Then, not even thirty minutes later, someone asks me how long my baby boy was dead for," her voice breaks again, but she keeps talking. "I think I felt guilty, too. I had no way of knowing it was happening, of course, but I wouldn't have been there in his final moments. I wouldn't have been able to tell him how much I love him one more time. I couldn't remember the last thing I had said to him. It had been almost a full day between that last night and the moment you came running in. I was… I was such a mess."

"It's okay," Eliott says softly.

"I need you to know that I was never mad at you, or upset with you, or anything like that," she adds. "If it weren't for you, I would've had to bury my son. It was simply too much for me to handle. Just the thought of it. Everything was happening so quickly and—"

"It's okay, Madame Lallemant," Eliott repeats, a little louder. "And I forgive you. I know how much you love Lucas. I've felt how overpowering and all-encompassing a mother's love is. That's all it was. After nearly losing him, you loved him even more than you have before."

Madame Lallemant is quiet for a moment, smiling with teary eyes. "You really do have Noémie's heart, Eliott," she says quietly. "So… full and pure."

Eliott bites his lip to keep from smiling to wide.

"And you look just like Eduard did when we were all younger," Madame Lallemant adds, a notable sadness in her voice now. "I wonder how your mother stands it sometimes, you know. Seeing so much of him in you."

Eliott's smile fades, and his lower lip remains caught beneath his teeth. He nods weakly, looking down at his lap. "If I had a penny for every time someone's said that to me…" he mumbles, shaking his head now. He doesn't think Madame Lallemant heard him.

"He was about your age when he volunteered for the military," she continues. "Imagine, a boy as young as you are right now going off to war…" she trails off, shaking her head. "I pray for a lot of things every day and night, and one of them is that you and Lucas will never have to go through what your fathers went through."

"The war killed Papa," Eliott thinks aloud. He doesn't know where the thought came from, only that it ended up on the tip of his tongue. "It doesn't matter that it took over 20 years for it to kill him. It did."

Madame Lallemant places her hand over his, squeezing it gently. "I know, Eliott," she says softly. "I know."

She drops her hand, and Eliott pulls his arm away. He occupies his hands with the hem of his shorts, absentmindedly tracing the seams. The small curves of each stitch are comforting, steady and constant like a heartbeat. He doesn't mind the silence between him and Madame Lallemant, either. It's not quite comfortable, but it's not intrusive, either. He keeps tracing seams, keeps himself occupied.

Outside, rain begins to pour gently, tapping almost rhythmically on the pavement, on the asphalt. Eliott wishes he could hear the sound of the rain as it falls on the ocean right now. It always sounds different accompanied by the waves, like black and white keys on a piano being played at the same time. Maybe him and Lucas can listen to it when they get home, if Lucas is feeling up to it. Maybe Lucas can memorize the combination of black and white keys and hold it gently in his hands until it's written in the lines of his palms, his fingertips. Then maybe he can play it whenever they miss the sound, or whenever they don't want to go out into the rain themselves. Eliott smiles at the thought, at another secret him and Lucas can keep until later.

A door opens down the hall, and Lucas steps out first, the picture of relief. He smiles as Dr. Garnier steps out and pats him on the shoulder, easy and comfortable. Lucas's smile widens when he looks over and sees Eliott and Madame Lallemant, waving at them as he walks a little faster. Eliott notices faint tearstains on Lucas's cheeks as he approaches them, and a tint of pink at the corner of his eyes, but he's smiling still and breathing easily.

"How was it, mon cherie?" Madame Lallemant asks, pulling her son into a tight hug.

"Good, Maman," he replies, kissing her cheek. "I needed it."

"You're feeling better?" she smiles, wiping the stray tears from his face.

Lucas nods. "Much better."

"If it's all right with you, Madame," Dr. Garnier begins. "I'd like to see him again next week. But, of course, we can have him back whenever you're available."

Madame Lallemant nods. "Of course. We should be okay for the same time next week."

"Great," Dr. Garnier smiles. "It was nice meeting you, Madame," He turns to Eliott then, holding out his hand. "It was nice to see you again, too, Eliott. Remember to call if you need anything at all, okay?"

Eliott shakes Dr. Garnier's hand, smiling back warmly. "I will."

"Drive safe, okay?" Dr. Garnier says, waving goodbye as he turns on his heel and walks back down the hallway.

Eliott shifts his gaze over to Lucas, and their eyes meet. He relaxes when he sees Lucas smile, take a step closer to him.

"Thank you, Eliott," Lucas says. "For telling me to do this."

"You're welcome," Eliott returns, nodding.

"Do you and your maman want to join us for lunch?" Lucas asks. "Maman always buys too much food and we just end up throwing it away. It'll be like the old days, too."

Eliott grins, nodding. "I'd love to. And I'm sure Maman would love to join, too."

Lucas grins, too, bowing his head. His grin has shrunk to half of a smile when he looks back up. "Let's go."

august 16th, 1968

18:34

caen, france

Since he came home from the institution, Eliott helps his mother with the dishes almost every night. She reassures him she can do them herself on the days where his mood was lower than usual, but for the past few weeks they've been able to do them together.

It's comforting to Eliott, doing something so casual and mundane with his mother. They talk about what their days were like, or whatever random thoughts come to their mind. Lately, his mother has been talking about all the TV shows she's been watching. Eliott hasn't seen any of them, but he lets his mother explain every character and every plotline because it always makes her smile, makes her eyes light up.

"Have you talked to Lucas recently?" she asks tonight, a hopeful yet relaxed look on her face.

Eliott shakes his head. "Not since we had lunch with them the other day. He told me right before we left that he was going up to Paris for a couple of days to tour his school."

"He'll be starting his first semester soon, won't he?" she replies, cleaning a spot on a plate that Eliott missed.

"Beginning of September, I think," Eliott nods. "Hopefully he'll find someone that can help him like Dr. Garnier while he's there."

"I'm sure there's plenty of people in Paris that can help him," his mother smiles, but it begins to fade from her face as a beat of silence hangs between them. "I just feel bad that you two just reconciled and now he has to go to school."

"It's okay, Maman," Eliott reassures her. "We'll write letters. He'll be here for the holidays. This isn't goodbye for us."

"But you'll miss him," she says, rather quietly.

"Of course I'll miss him," Eliott agrees, shrugging. "But I know that he'll miss me, too."

His mother smiles again, sighing contentedly. "You know, Ellie, Papa always said that God gives us people we're meant to fall in love with. But I think He also gives us best friends, someone we love in a different way, but we love them with a love just as powerful as the romantic kind. I think God meant for you two to be best friends."

"Was Papa your best friend, too?" Eliott asks, unable to help but think the two loves could be intertwined. "Or was he just the person you were meant to love?"

She considers, tears filling her eyes. "He was both," she nods. She fidgets with her wedding band, smoothing her finger over it. "He was both."

"I think I've found someone who's both, too," Eliott begins, not stumbling over a single word. He remembers saying the truth resting on the tip of his tongue to his father's grave, remembers the way saying it aloud reminded him that he'll never know if his father's love was unconditional. He remembers Lucas's voice echoing hauntingly in the empty chapel as he says they could never be just friends again, as he says that he loves him, always has loved him, will never stop loving him. He remembers how much he kept from his mother whenever she asked him what had happened with Lucas. He wonders how much his world will change all over again once those fateful words leave his lips.

"You have?" his mother asks after a moment, her face unreadable.

Eliott nods, tries to breathe but his chest is too tight. Somehow, the words strangle out of his throat: "I love Lucas, Maman."

"Oh," breathes, her eyes flitting as they must be scanning through memory after memory. She looks back at Eliott after a moment, softening when she sees his tense, nervous expression. "Is… that why you were so upset when you came home? You love him, but he's in love with Chloé."

Eliott nods weakly. "And because we were together. Before I had to go to the institution. I thought we were still together, but somewhere along the way it ended without me knowing. I came home, and it was over."

His mother blinks, shaking her head slightly. "How long were you together? When did you…"

"About a month and a half before Papa died," Eliott replies, his voice growing thin and weak. "Not very long at all, since after that night we just wrote letters. But that month and a half held some of the best days of my life, Maman. Because he was mine and I was his. Because he loved me and I loved him, too."

"Does a part of him still love you?" she asks quietly, watching for any reaction from Eliott that says she's crossed a line, asked the wrong question.

"I don't know how much of his whole it takes up," Eliott sighs, shrugging. "But there is a part of him that does. He's… He's told me so. That he still loves me."

"Does Madeleine know about this?" his mother continues, subconsciously looking in the direction of the Lallemants' house.

Eliott looks too, his heart sinking as the answer comes to his mind. "I don't think so."

Tears spring in his mother's eyes again. "Did… Papa know about this?"

Eliott instinctually bites down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He shakes his head as he waits for the lump in his throat to dissolve. It never does. "No," he chokes out. He realizes the lump in his throat is the memory of telling the truth to a stone. It claws at his throat, scratches behind his eyelids. "He never knew. I never got to tell him…" He trails off, a sob stopping his voice.

A tear rolls down his mother's cheek, becomes lost in the crease of her wobbling frown. "Then tell me, honey," she sobs. "Tell me. Tell me what you never got to tell him."

The lump, the memory in his throat seems to burst, filling his chest and mouth with a burning, bitter taste. He almost chokes on it, but he's able to take a deep, steadying breath. "I'm queer, Maman," he repeats from that day at the cemetery, the first time living ears will hear him say the words. "My heart's stammered for girls before, but it can skip a beat for boys, too. My heart can fall in love with anyone I think, but it's loved Lucas above all else. It loves him because he's beautiful and stubborn and wonderful and paper-thin and warm. I've… I've loved him my whole life, I think. I think I'll love him forever."

"Even after everything that's happened?" his mother asks, still quiet, hesitant. "Even still?"

"Even still," Eliott nods, his voice clearing enough to make the words sound as resolute and sure as they feel on his tongue. He holds his breath once they leave his mouth, though, his heart bracing, steadying itself against his ribcage. He can't bear that awful weight he felt at the cemetery again. He can't.

But his mother smiles, ear to ear, a new sun appearing and shining in her eyes. She lifts her hands to cradle her son's face, wipe away his tears. This only makes Eliott cry harder—the warmth of her hands, her love. He places her hands on top of hers, holds them as tightly as he can.

"My sweet Ellie," she sighs, her voice thick with tears now, too. "There's nothing else in this world I love more than you."

A sob bursts like joy from Eliott's throat, choking him with the refrain of a majestic orchestra. He drops his hands and envelops his mother in his arms, wishing he'll never have to let her go. She slowly guides him to the floor as his knees become weak with relief, keeping him safe close to her chest.

"I'll never forget," she begins, running her hands through his hair. "The day Papa and I went to the doctor and he told me I was pregnant. We'd been trying for over three years to have a baby, and suddenly we had one. I squeezed Papa's hand and looked down at my belly and my heart burst like it never had before. You were the smallest you'd ever be and my love for you was bigger than my body will ever be. And it was immediate. The love I had for the baby I was carrying. The love I had for you. And it keeps growing. The day you were born, and I held you and looked at your sweet, little face for the first time and you were real and you were mine. The day you learned to walk and talk and sing and play. Every birthday and Christmas. Every drawing you've ever given me, every smile. My love for you grows every single day. It could never shrink, let alone disappear completely. Especially in a single moment. There's nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you."

Eliott's tears keep running down his face, staining his mother's shirt. "What about Papa?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"I wish you could've known just how much he loved you, honey," she replies, close to sobbing now, too. "Every time he got sick, he would get scared that it was his time and that he would leave you. He was always afraid he wouldn't get to say goodbye to you. That night… He was begging everyone who would listen that he needed to see his boy one last time, before God took him home. Every doctor, every nurse, random people passing by his room. He couldn't bear the idea of never seeing you again. If you had had the chance to tell him, I think he would love you even more for being so brave and so yourself."

Another sob escapes Eliott's throat, his mother's words replacing the memory of the silence of the cemetery. He urges the words to echo in his mind, to keep filling the silence, to keep reminding himself of the fact that he was blessed with two best parents he could've asked for. He reminds himself to never forget that he is loved, despite everything.

"I'm so happy you trusted me enough to tell me, Eliott," his mother says, kissing the top of his head. "I'm just so proud of you. You'll always be my baby boy."

"Thank you, Maman," Eliott replies, his voice flooded with tears of joy. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," his mother returns, pulling away and helping him to his feet. "Let me make you some tea, honey."

"We just did dishes," Eliott replies, slightly fatigued now.

"I'll just need the kettle and a cup," she dismisses, turning around to give him a kind, reassuring smile. "It won't be the end of the world if I use those."

Eliott returns the smile, sitting at his usual place at the table. He watches her make the tea, the way she treats everything so carefully and so lovingly. He's overwhelmingly glad his doubts about her were so wrong he wonders where they came from in the first place. The whistling of the kettle doesn't make him jump like it usually does.

She sets the tea in front of him, the teabag already steeping and curling in the nearly boiling water. He wraps his hands around the cup, the warmth becoming softer when his mother moves her hands on top of his. She squeezes lightly before pulling away, sitting across from him.

"What's happening between you and Lucas?" she asks quietly. "Is he going to stay with Chloé?"

Eliott bobs the teabag, shrugging. He doesn't want to recount what Lucas had said about her in the church earlier that week, so he comes up with an innocent lie. "Probably. I don't blame him. I never could."

"But he loves you," his mother replies. "He loves you the way you love him?"

Eliott nods. "I don't think I need to tell you how dangerous it is for people like us, Maman. He doesn't want to fight the rest of his life."

"Do you?" she asks, even quieter now.

Eliott bites his lip, looks at the darkening liquid in his cup instead of his mother's eyes. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "For Lucas, I would. But I can't force him into a battle he doesn't want to fight just because I want him to. That's not what loving someone is. It's fighting with them, not for them."

"The people we love can only fight for so long," his mother replies. "We need to let them rest. That's when we fight for them. When they can't fight for themselves." She sighs, taking Eliott's hand again. He looks up, his heart softening when he sees the earnest, passionate curl to her lip as she continues. "Honey, maybe… Maybe Lucas needs to rest right now. Maybe soon he'll be ready to fight again. And if he is, he'll find you and stay by your side as long as he can."

Eliott smiles, squeezing her hand. "Maybe."

His mother smiles back, tears reappearing in her eyes. "Don't give up on him. Even if he doesn't love you the way you want him to, you still need each other. You still complete each other. You're still best friends."

Eliott nods. "I won't, Maman. I promise."

"He needs to hear you promise that to him, too, Eliott," she tells him. "Especially after the week he's had…"

Eliott nods again. "I know." He sighs, looking over his shoulder to stare at the small part of Lucas's house he can see through the window. "I know."

"There's a reason you were able to save him that day," his mother continues. "And there's a reason he was able to save you that night."

"I know," Eliott repeats one more time, remembering him saying the same thing to Lucas in the chapel. "But I'm not sure if Lucas knows has fully realized that yet."

"All the more reason to talk to him," his mother smiles. "There's still so much more he needs to know and you need to tell him those things. As soon as you can."

Eliott looks back again at Lucas's house. "Should I go over there now? See if he's home?"

"I think it's worth it to try, honey," she nods.

"Okay," Eliott nods back, rising from his seat. He sighs when he sees the pride in his mother's eyes, pride of his own filling his chest. "I don't know what I would do without you, Maman."

His mother's watery smile widens as she rises, too, giving her son another tight, loving hug. "I love you, Ellie."

"I love you, too, Maman."

Then, a knock at the door. They both jump, pull away from each other's embrace.

"I'll answer it," Eliott tells her, crossing to the front of the house.

A laugh nearly escapes his throat when he opens the door and sees Lucas standing there, hopeful.

"I was… I was just about to come and see you," Eliott says, letting himself chuckle.

Lucas chuckles, too, his eyes crinkling. He pauses, his smile fading slightly. He looks towards the sea, taking a deep breath. He looks back at Eliott. "I know it's not Sunday, but… Do you want to build some sandcastles?"

august 16th, 1968

19:10

caen, france

Eliott lets Lucas lead him down the beach, making sure he doesn't force him closer to the shore than he's comfortable with. He watches Lucas, too, trying to pay as much attention to his body language as he can. Lucas doesn't seem anxious at first, only wound up slightly, but his nerves seem to build with every step. His eyes keep flitting between the sand beneath his feet and the horizon ahead of him, most likely trying to keep himself from going too far, too. He's squeezing his hand again, right over left. He'll stop occasionally—look beneath, ahead, behind, at Eliott—but then keep walking. He walks a little slower each time, his shoulders drawing further and further inward, his body close to collapsing in on itself.

"We don't have to do this, Lucas," Eliott says, almost begging. "I can tell you're anxious. You don't have to do this for me."

:Lucas stops again, turning around. He bites his lip, keeping his eyes on Eliott's as they plead trust me, please. Lucas must've seen the recognition cross Eliott's face because the plea is gone with a blink. "Here's a good spot," he replies, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Eliott takes a deep breath, nodding. He sits next to Lucas, who's already started gathering handfuls of sand. Eliott watches the streams of gritty glass flowing from between his fingers, watches them catch the light of the setting sun and send out a burst of crying, white light. He feels the urge to find every grain of it and hold it in the palms of his hands, let them bury themselves in the lines there so they'll know they're safe. He knows, too, how it feels to slip from Lucas's grasp, if only for a moment. Maybe empathy is what's giving him that urge, too.

Lucas isn't looking at him. He's studying the piles of sand he's built into a small mound, the piles currently melting in his hands. His mouth is open as if he's about to say something, but a minute or two passes by and not even the smallest sound comes out. He looks out at the sea, and Eliott can't see his face.

"I can still taste it sometimes," Lucas says. "The ocean. Filling my lungs and…"

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He sighs, debating whether he should reach out and place his hand on Lucas's shoulder. But Lucas turns and looks at him again, his face tired, reassuring him that he doesn't need Eliott to say anything at all.

Lucas's lips are chapped, Eliott notices. Pink as can be, but cracking. Eliott remembers all the times he kissed those lips, all the times those lips formed the words that his heart and mind needed more than anything. He imagines those lips kissing Chloé, kissing a bottle or a glass—

"Your maman told me about the drinking," Eliott blurts, the image too strong in his mind to simply ignore it.

Lucas's hands open completely, the sand falling with a dull thud. His head snaps towards Eliott's direction, his eyes wide but never meeting Eliott's. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his eyelids falling slightly as he nods. "I hated it, but it made me forget everything for a few hours. And it was easier to kiss girls when I could barely tell they were girls."

"But you stopped because of Chloé," Eliott replies. "Right?"

"Technically yes, but not really in the way you'd think," Lucas shrugs as he trails off. "She made sure I never went to pubs or parties. She made sure we went places where it was hard for me to get a drink. I'm glad she did, don't get me wrong. God knows, I could be dead right now if she didn't. But she wasn't as good of a distraction as the drinks were. I just latched onto the fact that she probably saved my life, and how can I not love someone who's done that for me? What kind of heartless… thing would I be if I didn't?"

Eliott bites his tongue as the only logical question he could come up with appears at the back of his mind. You really loved me, right? He knows the answer, but the doubt and discouragement in Lucas's voice makes him second-guess, if only for a moment.

"You're not heartless," Eliott says instead, choosing comfort over query. "Your heart just doesn't belong to her."

Lucas shakes his head. "It can't."

Eliott nods, almost hesitantly. "It can't."

"You don't have to be afraid to talk about her, Eliott," Lucas sighs, pity written in his voice. "Or the way I am. Sometimes I feel like you're more afraid of everything than I am."

Eliott is speechless. "L-Lucas, what—"

"I think we need to stop dancing around what happened to us. What we are," Lucas continues when Eliott trails off. "We're queers. I drowned, and I was dead. You tried to kill yourself. You have manic depressive disorder. There's words we can use, Eliott, and I think it's time we start using them."

Eliott nods weakly, slightly overwhelmed by Lucas's sudden conviction.

Lucas sighs deeply, composing himself. "I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but… I've been thinking a lot since Sunday, since my appointment with Dr. Garnier… There's a reason you were able to save me that day, Eliott."

Eliott can't fight the smile that appears on his face. "And there's a reason you were able to save me that night."

Lucas smiles, his eyes brightening as he nods. "Yeah. There's a reason we're both alive right now. I don't know what the reason is, but maybe we could spend some time looking for it."

"How will we?" Eliott asks, trying to sound brave. But Lucas is right. He is afraid.

Lucas chuckles, shaking his head. "Where do I begin," Eliott hears him mutter. He looks up, speaking louder now. "I have some things to tell you first."

Eliott shifts uncomfortably, nodding. "Okay."

"I talked to Chloé," Lucas begins. "I told her that I'm queer."

Eliott's eyes widen. "Oh," he replies dumbly.

"And I told her that I'm still in love with you."

Eliott feels pink creep along his cheekbones, reaching the tips of his ears. "Oh."

Warm blossoms bloom on Lucas's cheeks, too, but he somehow manages to make them wilt and disappear. "Eliott, she was relieved."

Eliott's jaw drops now. "What do you mean?"

"She's a queer, too," Lucas replies, disbelief and amusement mingling strangely in his voice. "Chloé is queer, like us. She's in love with her best friend, Maria."

Eliott laughs, too, clumsily. "So?"

"We've called off the engagement," Lucas sighs in relief, gathering more sand in his hands.

"Have you told your maman?" Eliott asks cautiously.

Lucas's shoulders tense; barely, but enough for Eliott to notice. "Not yet," he answers quietly as his shoulders relax. "I thought about just telling her that Chloé is queer, but that'd be terrible of me. I don't know if I'm ready to tell her the truth."

"It's okay if you aren't," Eliott reassures him, digging his hands in the sand next to Lucas's.

"I know," Lucas shrugs, smiling sadly. "I don't want to live the rest of my life without telling her. I know I would regret it." He glances at Eliott, then, silently asking for confirmation.

Eliott nods, unable to admit out loud that not coming out to his father is quite possibly the biggest regret he'll ever have. His throat is starting to swell with tears again.

"She won't be here forever," Lucas says quietly, trying to knit his fingers to where no sand would slip through them. "No matter how much I beg God that she will."

Eliott reaches, cupping his hands beneath Lucas's to catch any falling sand. Only a small trickle escapes, but it lands warm and soft onto Eliott's waiting palms. He's careful to keep them directly beneath the stream, refusing to let a single grain touch the ground.

He looks over at Lucas when he feels his eyes on him, his breath catching. There are tears in Lucas's eyes, but they aren't a puddle pooling at his lashline. They're like stars scattered in the night sky; freckles of light set randomly yet perfectly in place.

"Thank you," Lucas whispers, as if the words were sealing his final breath.

Gravity rubs circles into Eliott's back, gently pushing him forward. Eliott lets himself fall, feeling heat rise and bloom like a heartbeat as he draws closer and closer to Lucas. He only resists the pull when their lips aren't even a breath apart.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice a note away from silence.

"Yes," Lucas responds, his own voice breaking. "Please."

Eliott tilts his head until his lips fit perfectly against Lucas's. In that moment, the entire world and every parallel universe fell back into place. It feels like it all had been standing still until now. It's all moving again now, dancing in its natural rhythm as the kiss deepens, broadens.

Both their hands fall open and spill the sand they were holding as they suddenly remember the path they're supposed to be on—weaving through Eliott's hair, standing steady at the curve of Lucas's neck. How could they ever have gotten lost? How could they have ever forgotten the places that were made for them?

Eliott's hands say, forgive me, as they find Lucas's heartbeat. Lucas's hands reply as they kiss Eliott's scalp, there's nothing to forgive, now that we've found each other again.

Eliott remembers him and Lucas's very first kiss feeling like coming home. But after two years, after everything that's happened, Eliott is realizing that first kiss was finding home. The exhilaration and peace of finally having a place you know belongs to you. Finding home comes with tears of joy, breathlessness. This kiss, the one he wishes will never end, was coming home. A sigh of relief, a calming of the heart. You walk through the door and the smell you've become blind to comes rushing back, and that name of home is the only way you can describe it. Everything is the same, exactly how you left it. Safety, familiarity—something bigger, stronger than belonging. Home is everything you can't name but know better than the back of your hand. Kissing Lucas is home.

Lucas must have come to the same conclusion, because the kiss becomes a mess of lip-splitting smiles and knocking teeth. Eliott has never had a kiss like this, and he prays that every time he kisses Lucas from now on he'll have that exact same thought.

Eliott's lips feel weightless, slightly numb when Lucas pulls away to laugh, but feeling explodes in his chest, bubbles in his stomach. He laughs along with Lucas, their music more beautiful and rich than the crashing of the waves could ever be.

They kiss again, but in bursts. Their lips touch, then break apart, touch, break apart. The brief moments where their lips are pressed together are more relieving than the only slightly longer moments of fresh, salty sea air. Soon, the kisses last longer as their laughter dies in their chests, replaced with fuzzy, addicting warmth. They kiss until they need to stop for breath, still never pulling too far away from each other, never quite opening their eyes.

When Eliott finally does open his eyes, the sun has become a golden, crescent moon upon the lip of the sea. The first shadows of night are beginning to touch Lucas and Eliott, bringing the slightest bites of cold with them. Lucas shivers, his eyelids fluttering, his lip trembling.

Eliott pulls him into his embrace, letting his eyes close again. All he wants is to stay here. The world could end just beyond his eyelids and he wouldn't bother to notice. But then again, the world has shrunk into the Lucas-shaped mass quaking in his arms, and he wasn't going to let anyone touch it.

Eliott's heart finally bursts when he hears Lucas whisper, "I missed loving you."

#ttmc #skam france #elu #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #hush bailey #my writing

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cherry-nachimbong · 4 years

Text

green bracelet~lee felix

a/n: this is my first time writing and actually posting so i’m v nervous ;-; i might post more if you guys like it though :)) this is loosely based off of my own experiences at the fun-o-rama on short sands, those were some good times bro

‘Game Over’, the screen read. you pouted and dug into your pocket for another quarter. Pac-Man had to be your favorite game at the arcade, even if you sucked at it. even after three years of coming to this beach and playing at the arcade on the boardwalk, you somehow couldn’t find a game you were any better at than when you were eight.

no change in that pocket. try the other one? nope. sigh again. you turned away from the game, but you felt a tap on your shoulder and spun back around.

the boy who tapped you looked about your age, which was around eleven at the time. he wore swim trunks and a rash guard like most of the kids at the beach and a faint pink sunburn shadowed his freckled cheeks.

“here,” he said, holding out a few quarters in his outstretched hand. “i have extra,”

you hesitated, because STRANGER DANGER OBVIOUSLY.

he seemed pretty non-threatening though. very cute and small.

“are you sure?” you said, tentatively reaching out.

“yup! you don’t have to stop playing just yet,” the boy grinned at you. his smile was warm, and reached right up to his eyes.

you let him drop the change into your hand with a clink and watched him go back to the Street Fighter game right next to your Pac-Man. you were able to make it through a few more minutes before the Game Over screen flashed at you in purple, and you were out of quarters again. looking over, you noticed the boy was still playing his game. you watched, and he seemed pretty good but got knocked out soon after you.

“you did good!” you said, as he collected the tickets from the machine. “thank you,” he smiled, “by the way, what’s your name?”

“y/n, what’s yours?”

“i’m felix, let’s be friends,” felix told you. you grinned. “okay,”

noticing that you each had a similar amount of tickets, you decided to pool them so you could at least get some prizes.

which ended up being a popsicle for each of you, a handful of Tootsie Rolls and a two cheap green friendship bracelets. outside on the edge of the boardwalk, you sat side by side, talking and watching people walk by getting their food stolen by seagulls. you sucked absentmindedly on the popsicle, twisting the green bracelet around your wrist and swinging your legs over the edge. beside you, felix had already finished his popsicle and was reading you the joke on the wooden stick. he too, wore the matching bracelet but on the opposite hand from yours. the sea breeze blew through his dark brown hair and made him scrunch up his nose. you smiled and looked away, this new friend was much too adorable for you to handle.

“what do you call a sleeping cow?”

“i don’t know,” you said.

“a bull-dozer,” felix said, trying not to laugh at the dumb joke.

you rolled your eyes, grinning. “that’s bull-crap, i bet mine’s better,” you told him.

“what is it then?”

“let me finish it first!!”

“okay, okay! don’t yell at me,” felix pouted. you made a face at him, and both of you burst out laughing.

just then, you saw two girls walking towards you, who felix waved at.

“lix, where have you been? mum says she wants you back at our spot to check in,” the taller of the two said. they were probably his sisters, or something like that.

“okay,” felix said. he turned back to you. “do you want to come back here when i’m done and i can bring my boogie board?”

“yeah, i’ll bring mine too!” you said, and waved as you each started walking in different directions.

after checking in with your own parents, you grabbed your board and skipped back to the boardwalk, in front of the arcade where the pair of you had sat before . felix wasn’t there yet, so you thought he was probably still just walking back from his family’s spot. you waited, swinging your legs over the edge and finishing the popsicle.

‘how did the telephone propose to his girlfriend? he gave her a ring,’ it read, and you rolled your eyes again. too cheesy. you waited about ten more minutes, but felix never showed up. he probably had to go home, you thought sadly. you twisted the bracelet around your wrist again. maybe you’ll see him another day you visit the beach, and you could tell him the joke.

you didn’t. at least not that summer. and not for several more. about six years had passed since you met the boy, and you had pretty much forgotten about him except for the cheap green bracelet you still wore on your wrist every time you went to that beach.

you were working shifts at the ice cream shop on the boardwalk of that same beach you had been going to since you were small. it was minimum wage, but you were broke, needed a summer job and the ice cream was tasty.

“how can i help you today?” you stepped up to the cash register, where a dark haired boy was waiting-the only customer in line during one of the quieter times.

“a strawberry cone with rainbow sprinkles, please,” he said, and handed you a five-dollar bill. you handed the boy back his change and went to scoop the ice cream. since your back was turned, you didn’t see the small smile on the boy’s face after you gave him the change. he couldn’t help but notice the old and faded bracelet tied around your wrist-almost identical to the one on his own, and the passing of quarters gave him a strange sense of deja vu.

you turned back around and handed the boy his ice cream with a smile. “have a nice day,” you said, but he didn’t leave quite yet.

“excuse me, but your name wouldn’t happen to be y/n, right?” he asked, to your confusion.

“who’s asking?” you raised an eyebrow.

“felix,” he said. your eyes widened when he held up his wrist that had an old , worn out green bracelet on it.

“you’re kidding,” you looked closely at his face, recognizing the boy you had made friends with so long ago. “you’re joking! i didn’t even realize it was you at first!”

“well, it has been a couple years,” felix laughed. man, his voice had gotten deep. but, you noticed his smile was the same you vaguely remembered from the old memory, and so the same were the freckles splayed across his nose that you hadn’t noticed earlier.

you couldn’t keep your own smile from spreading across your face. it might sound stupid, because kids do that sort of thing-meet, play for a few hours, and never see each other again-all the time, but you had always worn the cheap green bracelet in hopes you might see your friend again.

“this is starting to feel like a soulmate au,” you joked, and felix laughed again. you wished you could hear that laugh all the time. six years really makes you realize how much you can miss the simple sound of someone laughing.

“well then,” felix said, “if i remember correctly, you never ended up telling me your popsicle joke, so the first order of business would be for me to get your number so you can tell me on, like, a date or something,” he finished, with a shy smile.

are you BLUSHING

DID HE JUST ASK YOU OUT

OMG Y/N THIS IS TOO CUTE I CANT

SORRY I HAD TO DO A FOURTH WALL BREAK

you smiled at him again, praying that the summer heat might hide your peach-tinged cheeks.

silly y/n, the ice-cream shop has ac

“and if i remember correctly, you never ended up going boogie boarding with me, so i guess we gotta go out on a date or something.” you told felix, shrugging, and his grin grew wider.

HOW IS HE ALLOWED TO BE THAT CUTE WHEN HE SMILES AAAAA

BREAKING NEWS: Y/N L/N FOUND DEAD OF ADORABLENESS BY CHILDHOOD CRUSH

“alright then, maybe at the arcade? bring enough quarters this time,” felix told you, and you laughed.

“where’s the romance in that? maybe i’ll forget my money so you’ll have to pay for me again, and we can relive the special moment” you said.

“okay, okay, sucker. you win,” felix chuckled, pulling out his phone.

you each saved your contact info into the other’s phone, both not realizing yet that the other put a green heart next to their name that matched the old bracelets. 💚

#stray kids #lee felix #stray kids scenarios #lee felix scenarios #kpop fluff #stray kids imagine #thank u for reading #ily muah

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winryofresembool · 3 years

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 18

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Leo's life is hard (but maybe there's some hope left).

A/N: Yay, time for a new chapter! I decided to make Friday my new posting day so that’s when the future updates will (hopefully) happen.

It's not time to resolve the previous drama quite yet but dw, that's coming! Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy this Leo centered chapter. It’s also time to bring Frank in!

Don't forget to let me know what you think! :)

Characters in this ch: Leo, Frank, Georgina, Jo, Emmie

Words: 1700+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / next chapter / AO3

...

“Maldita sea!” Leo yelled at himself as his wrench flew at the wall, thankfully not causing damage to it. Nothing he tried to fix or build that day seemed to go right. He hadn’t been able to figure out a pretty basic seeming issue in someone’s phone, one of his own inventions had broken and even solving a physics problem that would usually have managed to distract him only felt frustrating.

There was a lot going on in Leo’s head. Well, he’d argue that he always had a lot going on there due to his ADHD, but this time his usual methods to calm himself down didn’t seem to work. He would probably have to quit studying the only field he was truly interested in. He couldn’t do his work. His flatmate for whom he may or may not have started slowly developing some very not flatmate appropriate feelings had apparently had a thing for his friend, which not only complicated Leo’s situation with Calypso but also with Percy. And his mother’s death anniversary was coming, which was always a hard time for him. Leo imagined she’d probably be so disappointed if she saw him now. ‘My son, a failure in every aspect of life’. No, Leo’s real mother had been way too nice to actually say something like that out loud, but he just knew she’d at least think that. And Jo, Emmie and Georgina were counting on him too.

After throwing the wrench, Leo decided to take a break because his hands had started shaking too much to continue working. Taking a deep breath, he leaned against his worktable, closed his eyes and started tapping a rhythm that he had memorized years ago. His mother had taught him Morse code when he was a kid, and this particular phrase was one she had used a lot when he had needed calming down. Written down, the code looked like this:

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

I l o v e y o u

He whispered it very quietly a couple of times before looking out from the window and saying aloud:

“Mom. I’m trying to be strong. I really am. But sometimes it just gets too fucking hard. Everything seemed to be fine. Really. My other family is great. I was studying something I actually cared about. My new flatmate… uh, she’s an interesting force of nature. But if she likes someone like Percy… I’d never have a chance. And all my career plans are about to run down to the sewers because I can’t use fire, in any way. Not because of what happened to you. Because of what I... I just feel lost.”

He took a deep breath and rubbed the corner of his eye dry quickly. Saying his thoughts aloud seemed to make him feel a little bit better, and he decided that maybe getting out of the flat and getting some exercise would help with the shakiness. To his relief Calypso wasn’t home either so he didn’t have to answer any awkward questions about why he looked like such a mess. Leo found himself jogging all the way to Waystation, which was several miles from his flat. As he reached the yard, he noticed Georgina with Festus, but even with her back to him he could sense something was wrong. Of course. There was always some way the day could get even worse.

“Hi, hermanita!” he started, trying to sound cheerful even though he didn’t think he was a very good actor. Georgie could probably see right through him. His suspicions were confirmed when Festus didn’t even run to greet him as he usually did. “What’s going on?”

“I tried to call you,” she said, hiding her worry badly. “Moms went to run some errands and something… something happened to him…”

“What do you mean? What exactly happened?” Leo insisted on knowing.

Georgina seemed to grow more and more upset each moment. “I… I gave him a bully stick… but I forgot to put it in a holder even though moms always say you should do that when you give him one because he always tries to swallow them so fast… And then he started feeling sick...”

To prove her point, Festus, who was laying on the ground, made a loud gagging sound. After that he tried to whine but even that didn’t sound like it usually did.

Leo’s ADHD kicked immediately in, in the form of him wanting to act fast.

“We’ll discuss this later, I need to borrow Jo’s car now that I can take him to the vet,” he exclaimed and ran inside the house to get the keys to the car from the spot Jo usually kept them. He picked them and Festus’ leash and ran back, telling Georgina to stay home to tell Jo and Emmie what happened when they’d return.

At least one thing went right that day: the emergency vet clinic was fairly quiet when Leo arrived there. Not long after that, the vet took Festus in. He had an intern with him; a young man who Leo suspected had his roots somewhere in East Asia. He had black, short hair, a bulky body and kind of child like face even though the intern was probably older than Leo. As the vet asked Leo some questions about what exactly had happened to Festus, the student wrote down some notes and occasionally added a short comment as well. When Leo was about to explain why exactly Festus had gotten issues with the bully stick, he heard the intern mutter something to himself.

“What was that?” Leo asked a bit more aggressively than he had planned, having already been stressed even before the issue with Festus had come up. He had to admit, though, that it had distracted him from the other issues.

“Nothing,” the intern quickly said, pretending to focus on his papers again.

Leo didn’t give up that easily. “I heard you, though. You were implying that I had somehow caused this.”

“Well, you did give him the bully stick, didn’t you?” the young man asked.

“I wasn’t even there when he got one!” Leo growled, starting to feel the frustrations from earlier that day flooding out of his system. “My… uh, little sister gave him one when our parents left to run some errands and he kept whining and wanted something to chew! It wasn’t her fault either, she’s a child and she didn’t know that could happen!”

“Mister Valdez, please calm down a bit,” the vet interrupted him, and Leo immediately shut up. “There’s no need to yell. Festus is going to be just fine; I’m going to give him some medicine and fluids to help with digesting the stick and we can watch how he’s doing overnight. And Frank, please don’t make assumptions like that about clients.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said, to Leo’s surprise actually looking regretful. Then he turned to Leo. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Nah, I kinda lost my cool there too…” Leo said, the frustration leaving when he saw Frank’s face.

“Kinda,” the intern said, attempting to joke about the situation.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that;” Leo rubbed the back of his neck.

After that the vet asked Leo a couple of more questions and did some more examinations on Festus while Frank helped him.

“Other than this stick issue, he seems like a healthy dog,” the vet complimented after the check up. “His fur and teeth look good. I think you’ve been taking good care of him.”

“Well, to be honest he lives more with my parents than me because they have a lot more space…” Leo said, “But yeah, we all try our best. Even Georgina, my sister.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s a good thing you got him here that fast so he’ll get the best possible treatment,” The vet said.

After that he wrote some notes on the computer and then dismissed Leo who scratched Festus from behind his ear and promised to come back soon to get him. As he was putting his jean jacket on in the lobby, the intern, Frank, approached him.

“About what happened earlier, I really am sorry. It isn’t like me to attack clients; you can even ask my boss about that. I just…”

“Chill, man,” Leo said. “I’ve heard this story before. People assume things about me because I look like a problem teenager. Truth to be told? You’re not entirely wrong. But things have changed. And trust me, Festus is my best friend and I’d do anything for him. I’m sure Georgie has learned her lesson too now.”

“Good to hear that,” Frank said and extended his arm to Leo. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re coming to get Festus.”

Leo nodded. “Yep, I have a feeling my whole family will want to join me. Anyway, I’m off now. Thanks for the help!”

“I’m glad we could help!” Frank told him before he started walking towards his car.

...

Jo and Emmie had already returned to Waystation when Leo got there.

“Is everything OK?” Emmie asked immediately. “We didn’t really get much out of Georgina… Just that something had happened to Festus and you took him to the vet.”

“Nah, it’s gonna be fine!” Leo reassured her. “He got some digestion issues because he gobbled a bully stick too fast but that’s being taken care of now. Georgie sure remembers to be more careful from now on, won’t ya, hermanita?” he addressed the young girl then.

“I will…” she promised, not even protesting about the nickname this time.

Once Leo had explained with more details what had happened at the vet and it became clear that Festus would be fine soon, the family moved to other matters. Unlike usually, Leo was happy with mostly listening to the others. The incident had reminded him that there were bigger matters than girl issues or his studies and he realized that those things didn’t feel quite as hard to overcome now as a few hours ago. Yes, he still needed to deal with them, and yes, his past would probably never stop entirely haunting him, but when he had people like this around him? It wouldn’t be impossible.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #percy jackson and the olympians #my fics #caleo uni au

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unfolded73 · 4 years

Text

My Heartbeat Shows the Fear (1/4) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: A canon divergent story: Patrick gets into a car accident and it brings the Brewers to town sooner.

Notes: This fic will be posted in 4 chapters, every other day. There is some description of injuries, but nothing too graphic or life-threatening.

The title is from "Overkill" by Colin Hay, which thanks to the show Scrubs puts me in mind of hospitals.

Thank you to Amanita_Fierce for putting so much time and thought into betaing this fic - you made it so, so much better. And thanks also to @high-seas-swan for some helpful suggestions, particularly on that one scene that I tore apart and rewrote.

Rated Teen, this chapter 5278 words. (ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Patrick drifted into wakefulness like rising from a deep dive to the surface of the water. He became aware first, before even opening his eyes, of David’s arm over his chest and his hand curled protectively around the side of his ribcage. The sheets were soft against his skin and the duvet was a comforting weight over his body and he never wanted to move from this spot. Patrick lifted his own hand and dropped it clumsily over David’s, calloused fingertips tracing gently over David’s knuckles.

“Good morning,” David said in a surprisingly coherent voice for first thing in the morning.

Opening his eyes to see David watching him was an unusual experience. As he blinked sleep out of his eyes, Patrick tried to remember if David had ever woken up before him, and the only occasion he could summon to mind was New Year’s Day, after a night when Patrick had gotten much drunker than David had.

“Why are you awake so early?” Patrick yawned.

David shrugged. “It’s almost eight o’clock; you’re just sleeping later than usual.”

Groaning, Patrick started to sit up. The very energetic sex they’d indulged in last night must’ve really worn him out. “We’ve gotta get up and get started on those vendor pickups.” It was Monday and the store was closed, but they had so many pickups to do this week that they’d grudgingly agreed to do them on their day off, splitting the list in half.

“Mmm, five more minutes,” David said, holding Patrick down with the arm across his chest and shifting closer, their naked bodies coming into closer contact. Patrick closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate that David hadn’t gotten up to put on pajamas last night, his usual routine even now that Patrick had his own apartment. Patrick was starting to suspect that he could read David’s lack of clothes the next morning as a particularly positive review on his performance in bed the night before.

“What are you smiling about?” David asked.

“Last night,” Patrick responded without opening his eyes. They really needed to get up, he thought, but lazing around in bed with David was very tempting.

David made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Yeah, that was, um…” He nuzzled against Patrick’s shoulder. “If that’s what happens after you go on a date with someone else, I’m almost inclined to tell you to do it again.”

Patrick bristled at that. “That’s not funny.”

“Sorry,” David whispered, pressing a supplicating kiss against Patrick’s arm.

“Besides, I bailed partway through the date,” Patrick said.

“Mm. Poor Ken,” David said. “He has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

Patrick frowned, turning onto his side and dislodging David from his chest. “You didn’t expect me to sleep with Ken, did you?”

David opened and closed his mouth. “Not sleep with, no.”

The same queasiness that Patrick had felt last night as he drove to meet Ken rose up in his stomach. “Then, what? A quick handjob in my car?”

David shot him a guilty look. “No,” he said, but then bit his lip. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe something like that. Something that you’ve only experienced with me that you might be… curious about experiencing with another man.”

Patrick sighed. “Okay, first of all, I’m not particularly curious about experiencing stuff like that with other men.”

“Yeah, you said—”

“And if I do become curious, or… or want to … explore with another guy in the future, you and I are going to have to be a lot clearer with each other about what is and isn’t going to happen.”

“Ground rules,” David grumbled.

“Yeah, I guess.” Patrick leaned over and kissed him. “But, David.” He kissed him again. “It’s so good with you. I sort of can’t imagine anyone else not being a huge step down in quality.”

He watched David’s face go on a journey before settling on pleased. “That’s very flattering. But sometimes the point is that it’s a stranger. Or at least, someone you aren’t going to see again.”

Patrick pulled back. “Is that something you want?”

David rolled his eyes, dismissing that idea with a flap of his hand as he looked up at the ceiling. “God no. I had a lifetime’s worth of casual sex.”

Reaching out, Patrick put his hand on David’s cheek, turning his head so that they were looking at each other again. David’s face softened, his eyes gazing into Patrick’s in the way that always made his stomach swoop. Made Patrick want to sink into David’s arms and never let go. “And if that ever changes, will you tell me?”

There was a pause, and then David nodded. “Of course. Will you tell me? If you change your mind?”

Patrick nodded. “I promise.” And then he pulled David closer, kissing him deeper and with more tongue than was probably warranted given their morning breath. For once, David didn’t complain.

After a minute, Patrick had to wrench his mouth away and force himself to sit up. “Okay, if we don’t get up now, I’m going to end up fucking you again.”

David smirked. “What’s so wrong with that?” And then he wiggled his hips and his expression became more thoughtful. “Although I’m still feeling what you did to me last night.”

Patrick winced. They had gone at it pretty hard, he remembered with a mixture of desire and guilt. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” David said. “It was perfect and don’t you dare apologize. Just not sure if I can get fucked again right at this precise moment.”

Patrick whipped the covers off and stood up, ignoring his own visible arousal. “You aren’t going to be. You’re gonna get ready to do the pickups west of town.”

David whined and stuck his bottom lip out. Patrick turned away from him and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor before he was tempted to bite David’s lip, because that way did not lead toward getting their vendor pickups done. “Can you make us some breakfast while I shower?” Patrick called over his shoulder. David’s “ugh fine” reached his ears just as he was closing the bathroom door.

Once he had showered and shaved, Patrick emerged back into the apartment, a towel around his waist. David had pulled on a sweatshirt and drawstring shorts and was in the kitchen making Patrick’s tea. The domesticity of it made something tender and fragile swell in his chest. He loved having David here in his apartment, and he felt a wild desire to just ask David to move in, his resolution to take his time with that step in their relationship be damned. In moments like this, his original idea that he wanted to spend some time living on his own seemed silly. As he pulled on underwear and jeans (glancing over his shoulder to catch David checking out his ass), a t-shirt and a v-neck sweater, he imagined it — David’s clothes in his closet (well, some of them), David’s shoes by the door, his journal on the nightstand, his products finding a permanent home in Patrick’s bathroom rather than lugged back and forth between the motel and the apartment in David’s bag.

“Your mom is texting.”

Startled, Patrick looked over to David, who was pointing at Patrick’s phone on the kitchen counter. “I’m gonna shower,” David continued, unaware of the track of Patrick’s thoughts. “Here’s your tea and some toast.”

Patrick walked over and picked up his phone in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

Mom: Can you call when you get a chance?

Oh yeah, the other reason he wasn’t ready to ask David to move in yet, he thought with a surge of shame. His parents.

Figuring David would be in the bathroom for a while yet, Patrick unlocked his phone and placed the requested call.

“Hi, sweetheart!” his mother said in a chipper voice.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, we were just having breakfast and realizing that we hadn’t heard from you in a while. How are things with you?”

Patrick looked at the closed bathroom door, and then moved over to the other side of the apartment. “Things are good. I’ve got vendor pickups to do today.”

“You work so hard, dear. I hope you are taking some time for yourself too.”

“I am.” He thought about dates with David, or curling up on the bed and watching movies with David, none of which he was ready to talk to his mother about. He knew it was time. It was way past time, but he could never get the words to come out when he was on the phone with his parents. “I went two for four in my last game,” he said. Baseball was always a safe topic.

“That’s great!” his mother said, the enthusiasm she’d always shown for his athletic activities obvious in her voice. “I bet they’re glad to have you on the team.”

“Uh huh. It’s a fun team.” He thought about how easy it was to be out of the closet around them — mentioning his boyfriend as the team drank beers together at the Wobbly Elm after practice, or kissing David after games when he came to watch. It was nice. He wanted that same ease with his family, to be able to mention David in passing as more than just his business partner. He ran a finger along the top of the framed picture on his desk, of him and David on Christmas Eve last year, arms around each other at the Roses’ party. Patrick had a hard time taking his eyes off of David in that photo sometimes, radiant in a silver sweater under the warm Christmas lights.

“Well,” she said, like she was hoping for him to say something else. After a pause in which he didn’t, his mother continued, “I should let you get on with your day.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, guilt churning in his stomach yet again at the fact that he couldn’t just be fucking honest with this mother. That the life he shared with his parents was more gaps than substance. “I’ll call again when I have more time to talk.”

“Okay,” she said, the happiness gone from her voice. He’d done that with his evasiveness, Patrick thought. He’d made his mother sad. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

~*~

David pulled up in front of the store in the Lincoln and pushed on the heavy driver’s door with a grunt. He stood up, his sweatshirt sticking to the small of his back with sweat. The vinyl seats were one of things he hated most about that car, and he hated a lot of things about it. He wasn’t that fond of Patrick’s car either, but at least it had slightly more comfortable seats. In any case, their divided errands had made borrowing Patrick’s car impossible, so he was stuck with the Lincoln.

He unlocked the door to the store and ducked his head in. “Patrick?” he called. Patrick’s car wasn’t out front, but it was possible he’d pulled around to the back to unload. When no one answered, David pulled out his phone and sent off a text: How close are you to getting back? There was no answer, so David assumed Patrick was driving. He opened his text chain with Stevie and texted, Can you come help me at the store for a minute?

Stevie: I’m busy working.

David: You’re not that busy if you’re texting me back.

She didn’t answer. “Fuck,” David whined to no one, resigning himself to having to unload the entire car by himself. This was why splitting up the vendor pickups had been a terrible idea, he thought as he muscled a crate of honey out of the trunk. Now here he was, all alone with very heavy things to carry.

By the time he had all of the new merchandise stacked in the back room, he was drenched with sweat and there was still no sign of Patrick. Well, just for that, he wasn’t going to wait around, David thought churlishly as he locked up and got back in the car. He was going to go take a shower at the motel and Patrick could unload by himself too.

He briefly considered going to Patrick’s apartment to shower; his water pressure was better and David had a couple of changes of clothes there. Plus, he had a key, and Patrick had said that he was welcome to come and go as he pleased. But he also knew that living alone was something that Patrick wanted — it was something he’d never had before, he’d admitted to David on the day he’d signed the lease. He’d gone from his parents’ house to a dorm to apartments with a series of roommates to living with Rachel to rooming with Ray. He’d never had his own place. David understood that and he wanted Patrick to have what he needed, not have David unexpectedly underfoot when he perhaps wasn’t welcome. Still, it didn’t stop his heart from aching a little bit. He wanted to live with Patrick, he’d realized. He had been ready to take that step and Patrick hadn’t been. It stung.

Alexis was doing something on the laptop computer at her little desk when David walked into their shared room, and she looked up at him and wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh, David, what happened to you?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, he dropped his bag on the bed. “I was working. What are you talking about?”

“You’re all gross and sweaty,” she replied.

“It’s hot out today, and I had to do a bunch of vendor pickups in that boat of a car and then unload everything into the store by myself because Patrick’s not back yet,” he complained. He collected a change of clothes and marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him to punctuate how tough his day had been. Okay, he’d been able to sample some of the new butter cookies that Mrs. Franklin sold through their store, and maybe she’d also given him a glass of lemonade, but still.

After a shower, David felt worlds better, although there was still no reply from Patrick to his text.

“What is taking him so long to get back?” David muttered as he dug through his cedar chest. The sweater he was looking for didn’t appear to be in there, another annoyance in a day of annoyances.

“What’s the matter?” Alexis asked.

David waved at her, his hand flapping at the end of his wrist. “Patrick’s just taking forever to finish his vendor pickups,” he said, trying to ignore the worry beginning to gnaw in his stomach. “It’s fine.”

“I hope you had a talk last night, David,” Alexis said, her eyes not coming up from her laptop. “No more fooling around with anyone outside the relationship until you’ve established some ground rules.”

David whipped around and glared at her. “Can you let that go, please? We’re fine.”

“No thanks to you,” she said.

He suppressed a squawk. “We had a healthy talk about it this morning. We’re fine.”

“Good,” Alexis said.

“Also the sex last night was very hot—”

“David, ew.” She stuck her tongue out. “Don’t tell me that.” But then she sort of half-smiled at him. “I’m glad you guys are okay.”

David smiled back. He was glad too. “He makes me…” David started to say, then thought better of being so vulnerable in front of his sister. But what the hell; she’d been there for him last night when he needed someone. He moved over to his bed and sat down to put on his shoes. “He makes me feel safe. No one’s ever… I’ve never dated anyone who made me feel safe before.”

Alexis, to her credit, didn’t make fun of him, although the squinty smile she gave him made him recoil, grimacing.

“Kids!” his dad called as he barged into the room. “We’re headed over to the café for dinner. Do you want to join us?”

Alexis shook her head. “I’m going over to Ted’s for dinner.”

David picked up his phone and sent another text to Patrick. Are you still not back yet? And then he stared at the screen, waiting to see dots to indicate Patrick was texting back, or at least to see a read receipt. The ball of worry in his stomach grew a little bit bigger.

“David, do you want to come with your mother and me?” Johnny asked.

“I was supposed to eat at Patrick’s,” he said. “But maybe. I don’t know.” He switched apps and called Patrick’s phone, holding it to his ear and listening to it ring and ring and ring. With every ring, he felt his breathing rate tick up.

“Well, we’re going now, so I need you to decide,” Johnny said irritably.

David slapped his phone down on the bedspread and threw his hands up. “Then go without me; it’s fine!”

“David, I’m not going to wait around for a second evening that I’m supposed to spend with Ted while you have another meltdown about—”

“No one’s having a meltdown!” David shouted. “I just don’t know where my boyfriend is!” He looked at the time, feeling queasy. His previous annoyance was gone and now he was just worried. Patrick really should have been back hours ago. He tried calling again.

“David, you need to be a little bit less clingy—” Alexis said.

“Okay, well, we’re going to go,” Johnny said. “You can join us later, if…”

David’s phone vibrated in his hand, and he saw he had a call from an unknown number coming in as he tried to call Patrick. Maybe Patrick’s phone had died and he was calling from someone else’s phone, he thought as he clicked to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this David Rose?” asked a woman in a sharp, business-like tone of voice.

“Yes, who is this?” he snapped.

“This is Cheryl calling from Elmdale Hospital. We’ve got a Patrick Brewer here and he gave us your number as his emergency contact.”

“Oh, God.” There was a rushing noise in his ears and his mouth tasted like bile as he tried to shape it into making useful words. “What happened to him? Is he okay?” David clutched the edge of his bed, feeling dizzy, heart racing.

“There was a car accident and he was brought in by ambulance a little while ago. He’s having some tests done, but I can’t disclose any information about his health to you over the phone. If you come to the hospital—”

David hung up. He imagined Patrick’s car, the car he’d ridden in countless times on their way to movie dates or dinner, speeding through the countryside as Mariah Carey or one of Patrick’s alt-folk bands blasted out of the shitty speakers. Patrick’s car, mangled on a deserted road somewhere, no one around for miles. How long did it take before an ambulance came? How long was he lying there alone, broken and injured by the side of the road?

“David, you’ve gone very pale,” Alexis said.

“Is Patrick all right?” Johnny asked as Moira wandered in.

“John, I’m a bit peckish,” she said. “Are we leaving soon?”

“Patrick was in a car accident,” David said. Everyone’s voices sounded muffled to his ears, even his own. “I need to go to the hospital.” He stood up and looked around for the keys. He didn’t think he’d returned them to his father’s stupid little hook in the other room. Where were they?

There was a flurry of activity and then Alexis was at his side. “I’ll drive.”

David ignored her. He didn’t have time to think about Alexis right now. Where were the fucking keys?

Alexis held up her hand. “I have the keys and I’m driving,” she said, and David spared a moment to be confused about what he’d just thought to himself and what he’d said out loud. “You’re shaking,” she said pointedly. “Put your shoes on and let’s go.”

“Is he all right, David?” his mother asked as David sat back down on the bed and reached for his shoes. His fingers felt numb and clumsy.

“I don’t know.”

He looked up to see his parents exchange a nervous glance.

“I mean, they said they were doing tests. They wouldn’t say that if he was, like…” Dead, his brain supplied, but the word wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“Shall we accompany you to the hospital, my darling?” Moira asked, grimacing, clearly regretting making the offer even as she did so.

“Nope,” Alexis said, shooing them back into their room. “No need for that. We’ll call you as soon as we know something,” she said firmly. When Alexis used that voice, people often had a hard time arguing, and their parents were no exception this time.

David tied his shoes awkwardly, the bows kind of a mess. Patrick had made fun of him one time about the precise way he tied his shoes. Patrick, who was lying in a hospital bed, injured, alone…

“Come on, David,” Alexis said, taking his arm firmly but kindly. “Have you got your wallet and phone?” He patted his pockets and nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

It was normally a forty minute drive to Elmdale, lots of time for David to imagine every possible horrible scenario. Maybe Patrick was in a coma, and would wake up having forgotten who David was, or even that he liked men. Maybe he would be paralyzed. Maybe his face would be horribly scarred. David would love him anyway, he thought, even if he’d been disfigured. All that mattered was that he came through this alive.

“I’m sure he’s okay, David,” Alexis said as if she could hear what was going on inside his head. She needed to stop doing that. It was creepy.

“You don’t know that.”

“His car is boring and probably has airbags and, like, crumple zones or whatever,” she said. “I bet he’s just got a little bonk on the head. The tests are probably just a precaution.”

He sighed, playing out that much more comforting fantasy in his head instead of his dark ones. Patrick would just stroll out of an examining room and David would hug him tight and take him home and everything would be fine.

They arrived at the hospital in only thirty-two minutes, thanks to Alexis’s speedy driving.

He identified himself at the front desk, and the receptionist or whatever she was told him to wait. David inhaled a breath, ready to argue, but Alexis was thanking the woman and dragging him over to the rows of chairs before he could get another word out. His sister perched on one of the plastic chairs and pulled out her phone while David paced back and forth in front of her. Now that they were here, he really just wanted to tear the place apart until he could see Patrick for himself. And hold his hand; he was sure that whatever had happened, Patrick would feel better if David could hold his hand.

“David Rose?” A woman in a white coat stood next to the door that led to the rest of the hospital. He rushed over.

“I’m David Rose,” he said, breathless.

“You’re Patrick Brewer’s…” She consulted the chart she was holding.

“Partner. Can you please tell me what happened? Is he okay?” He could sense Alexis behind him, hovering.

“Well, he got banged up pretty good. Compound fracture of the radius and fracture of the ulna, two cracked ribs, and a concussion. The police said a truck ran a stoplight and hit his car broadside.”

David thought it was wildly inappropriate that she would expect him to remember what bones were named at a time like this. “The radius is…?”

She gestured to her forearm. “Arm bones. As is often the case with this sort of impact injury, both bones in the forearm were broken.”

Wincing, David asked, “Can I see him, please?”

“Not yet; he was taken into surgery a little while ago to stabilize the arm. It has to be operated on right away because there’s a risk of infection when the bone is exposed.”

The next thing David was aware of was Alexis guiding him down into a chair. “Okay, just lean over and put your head between your knees,” she said while David tried to figure out why his vision was narrowing. He felt sweaty. Alexis disappeared for a minute, but he could hear her voice, off to the left somewhere. Also that doctor, the one who said Patrick’s arm was…

David fought the urge to throw up. It would be embarrassing to hurl all over the floor in the waiting room of Elmdale Hospital.

Finally Alexis was back. “Are you gonna pass out?”

“No. I don’t think so.” He lifted his head. “What did she say after the thing about his…”

“Bone sticking out?” Alexis asked unhelpfully. David put his head in his hands. “That they did a CT scan prior to surgery and that he was alert but concussed. You’ll be able to see him once he wakes up from the anesthesia. And they’ll have a better idea tomorrow how long he’ll need to be in the hospital.” She rubbed his back. “Do you want me to get you a cup of tea?”

David nodded. “I can’t believe this happened. Just like that.”

“Yeah, I’d like to get my hands on the driver of that truck,” Alexis said fiercely, and David couldn’t help but agree. He wasn’t a violent person, as a rule, but he’d make an exception just this once. Or he’d let Alexis have at him.

“He’s gonna be okay, though, right?” David asked, not liking the pleading edge in his voice.

Alexis was still rubbing his back, and she pressed her cheek against his arm for a second. “He’s gonna be okay, David.”

He startled, a thought occurring to him suddenly, and he fumbled for his phone. “I need to call his parents.”

“You have his parents’ phone number?” Alexis asked with a grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I’ve never called them, but I was starting to think about…” He sighed. He hadn’t wanted to tell Alexis about this until much closer to the event. “Patrick’s birthday is coming up in a few months and I was thinking about inviting his parents to a surprise party,” he said as he pulled out his phone.

“David, that’s so cute,” she said with a pout.

“So I managed to use Patrick’s thumbprint to unlock his phone when he was dead asleep one night and I put their numbers into my phone in preparation for inviting them,” he said as he scrolled through his contacts. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad; they can’t keep a secret,” he said as he pressed the button to call Marcy Brewer.

He’d only spoken to Patrick’s mother a couple of times, when she’d called the store after being unable to reach Patrick on his mobile phone. He’d handed the phone over to Patrick quickly after some brief pleasantries, but he’d gotten the impression of a friendly woman. Just the sort of person he’d expect to have raised Patrick Brewer.

“Hello,” came the maternal voice down the phone line as Alexis stood up, flopping her wrists towards her mouth. When he shook his head in confusion at her, she stuck out her pinky, miming sipping, before walking away. Right, she was going to get tea.

“Hi, Mrs. Brewer, this is David Rose calling.”

“Oh, David! How are you?”

“Um, well, not great. I’m sorry to have to call you like this, and let me start by saying Patrick is going to be fine…”

“Oh, dear. This is like the phone calls I used to get from his coaches,” she said, sounding surprisingly calm. “What happened?”

“He was in a car accident this afternoon and he’s in the hospital.” David felt tears pressing behind his eyes, and he ruthlessly swallowed them down. “I haven’t been able to see him yet, but they said his arm is broken. Also some ribs.” He decided to stop there, if for no other reason than he didn’t think he could go into more detail without needing to put his head between his knees again.

“Oh, my sweet Patrick,” Marcy gasped, sounding much less calm. “Why haven’t you been able to see him?”

“They’re… um… operating on his arm.” He braced his elbows on his knees. “It was a bad fracture.”

“Okay,” she said, back to sounding calm. “Clint and I will come there. We’ll be there in the morning.”

David wasn’t sure exactly where the Brewers lived, but he thought it was pretty far, and it sounded like she was implying that they would drive all night. “Maybe you should get some rest and leave in the morning?”

“As if I’d be able to sleep tonight, worrying about my boy,” she said. “He’s all alone there,” she said.

Frowning, David said, “I’ll be here. And my sister Alexis is here.” He wondered why she’d put it that way. Surely she didn’t think David would leave the hospital tonight, did she?

“That’s very sweet of you, David,” Marcy said. “I’ll let you know when we get into town, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” David said, off-kilter from the conversation. His eyes fixed on a stack of pamphlets on the table next to him, where a smiling woman was entirely too happy about routine colonoscopies. “It’s Elmdale Hospital,” he told Marcy.

“Thanks, David. If you see Patrick tonight, please let him know we’re on our way.”

When a nurse finally came to tell them that Patrick was out of recovery, Alexis had fallen asleep across his lap and David had read the entire pamphlet about colonoscopies (and all of the other pamphlets within reach) front to back. He shook Alexis awake and bolted up from the uncomfortable chair, not looking back to see if Alexis was following.

The first thing he noticed were the cuts on Patrick’s face. They weren’t large; probably not worth mentioning in the context of his other injuries. Just tiny knicks in his forehead and left cheek from bits of glass, David assumed. But tears still welled up in David’s eyes when he saw those angry little cuts. Patrick looked like he was sleeping, his arm bandaged and immobilized within a plastic splint contraption.

“Why don’t they put a cast on his arm?” Alexis asked as David went to sit next to the bed.

The nurse who was fiddling with one of the machines in the room looked up. “They will once they’ve made certain there’s no infection.”

Patrick opened his eyes and his face cracked into a sloppy smile. “It’s David!” he slurred, then he turned to the nurse. “David is my very handsome boyfriend who’s very handsome. See, I told you.”

Alexis snorted, covering her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“What’s wrong with him?” David asked.

The nurse smiled. “He just came out from under general anesthesia. He’s been talking about you a lot.”

“Flying pretty high, Patrick?” Alexis asked with a smirk. She pulled out her phone and held it up.

“Put that away,” David snapped.

Patrick squinted at her like he couldn’t quite focus on someone that far away. “Hi, Alexis,” he said. “Thanks for coming to visit me in the hospital.” Then his head swung around to David again. “I love you. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” David said around a lump in his throat. “I was worried about you.”

Patrick’s smile fell. “David?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

Chapter 2

#schitt's creek #david x patrick #schitt's creek ff #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #my fic

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