A/N: Sequel to Hometown Glory. This has been re-uploaded because I was unhappy with how it was written the first time. I did a complete rework and am WAY more happy with this version and I hope those of you who read it are pleased as well. Enjoy.
=..=..=
Sunday
Freddie silently thanks Liliana for never bothering to move the spare key for the front door and places it back under the potted plant. Easing the door open just enough for slip inside, he closes it gently behind him and looks around.
Everything is quiet, but he knows Ryan is here, somewhere. It's only a little past twelve and she's always been a late sleeper. He doesn't call out for her, preferring instead to walk around and take a look at the place. He hasn't been inside since she has moved back, and nostalgia floats around him; running up the stairs with J.J to drag her out of bed to come out to the park with them and getting high in her living room when her parents were out of town. He grins and fingers the scratch on the end table; he'd knocked it over during one of the latter memories. Had broken a vase and everything. His smile widens a bit more when he sees that Lily has replaced it with a sweets bowl.
He suddenly remembers the sleepovers they'd had, when they were, God, maybe eight and Freddie lets out a huff of a laughter at the image of Ryan in the pink pajamas that she will deny she's ever owned.
A few chairs have changed and the furniture arranged a bit differently, but this is still the Cook house. It even smells the same, like fresh laundry and grass from the open windows, and sweet batter.
He walks down the hallway and is about to go up the stairs to head to her bedroom when a sound catches his attention. Changing direction, he walks a few feet and his simile reappears at the sight before him. From his position against the door jamb he can see her determined expression as she stands on her tip toes to reach the shelf that houses the laundry detergent. He can't help but be a little amused when her tongue pokes out and to the side.
They both seem to realize that this is a lost cause because she lets out a frustrated breath, and Freddie is about to offer Ryan a hand, when she lifts one leg to climb on top of the washing machine. He swallows a laugh at how ridiculous she looks, one leg up, the other hanging off, and half her body stretched with fingers wiggling.
Said fingers touch the bottle but end up only pushing it backwards, and at her irritated expression Freddy finally decides to give her a hand.
:::
Almost there. Ryan silently curses her mum for putting the bottles way up here in the first place. Why put a new shelf in? Makes no sense... She adjusts her position, her knee fucking hurts, and reaches forward again... The sudden appearance of tan arm reaching up beside hers makes her let out a little yelp of surprise and she feels her leg slip out from under her. She squeezes her eyes shut preparing for collision with the hard floor even as a strong arm wraps around her waist, preventing injury.
Heart beating quickly in her chest, Ryan whips around to find a smirking Freddie standing in front of her, holding the plastic red bottle in hand. "What the fuck, Freddie?" she huffs out, her surprise causing her words to come out angrier than usual. She pulls her purple shirt down where it's ridden up and yanks the bottle out of his hand. She knows she should probably thank him, but she's only woken up forty-five minutes ago and, well, she's never been a good morning person, even after a cold shower.
"Good morning to you too." He smiles and seems not to have taken too much offense, and she's grateful; she doesn't want to scare him away. She's didn't know she missed him being in her house until he's actually scaring the shit out of her on a random visit.
"It's afternoon," she still sounds grumpy, but the actual feeling is abating some and continues to do so with his next words.
"Yeah, but we've all just woken up, haven't we?" She shrugs one shoulder, and pours the thick blue liquid into the machine. "I can tell," he goes on. "You're always a little less than pleasant when you first wake up." His voice is playful; they've woken up in enough of the same places together for him to know this. Ryan wonders if he remembers the sleepovers of their younger days; how she would kick him in the side when he'd hog all of the covers, and he'd grumble, and call her a bad name before giving the sheets over. A smile flits across her face at the memory as she recaps the bottle and closes the lid to the washing machine.
::
Freddie sees the small smile spread across her face and is glad for it; she really is kind of impossible to deal with when she first wakes up. He watches her finish up in the laundry room and turn around to walk towards the hallway. "Did I leave the front door unlocked again?"
"Nah," He pushes off of the door jamb when she passes him. "Key." As she walks by he catches a waft of her shampoo; that soft baby powder smell that carries a hint of something else he can't identify, but is so used to. Her hands on his shoulders and the feel of her soft skin under his lips- The scent triggered memory rears up out of no where and it makes Freddie's heart jump both pleasantly and unpleasantly. He loved having her body up against his - he is a teenage male and she is more than attractive - but no more than usual. No more than usual, but its still causing problems. That one moment in time, the only time he'd ever really touched her like that, and Cook had seen them, and still has crazy ideas in his head...
"I've got to tell mum to hide that thing somewhere else." Ryan's voice cuts sharply into his musings and it takes a moment for his brain to catch up to her words. He's about to promise her that he won't use the key again when he realizes it was just a joke and there is no heat behind her tone.
She opens the refrigerator, and is momentarily out of sight as she bends to rifle around. "I would love to think that you've stopped by just to enjoy my early afternoon company, Freddiekins, but for some reason I have a feeling that that's not why you're here." She doesn't mention that she's rarely seen him at all in the last two and a half months and he's grateful for it. She comes back into view as she straightens up, and when she closes the door he can see her holding a carton of milk.
He automatically goes to where he remembers the bowls being kept, and has time to wonder if he's even heading for the right cabinet before he pulls it open and sees again that Lilianna really hasn't changed anything around. At least someone, somewhere is always constant. He grabs the bowls and the cereal ("ah, not the bran kind, Freddie, you know I hate that one") and she proceeds to make short work of 'breakfast'
Freddie takes a few bites from his own bowl, before answering her implied question. He doesn't know how to ask subtly (but why should he, Cook is still his friend. Right?), and avoids her gaze from where she's perched on the kitchen counter when he says "Have...you seen Cook lately?"
"Course I have," she answers right away. She rolls her eyes, swings her feet, and takes another bite of cereal. "He's upstairs in the shower, isn't he?"
So she is still grumpy.
"No need to be sarcastic," he retorts, feeling irate. "A 'no' would have been fin-"
"No really," she swallows quickly, and insists "he's in the shower. Mum and Da are off for the week. Bath to see my grandmum. She rang on Thursday; said she's dying."
"Again?" Freddie laughs. Grandmum Spence pulls this every few years - often enough that Freddie was unsure up until this point if she were alive or dead.
"Yup," she takes another bite of cereal. "They've gone off - don't want to call it a false alarm and she actually snuffs it this time - and since I've got Uni... Anyway, Cookie's been keeping me company."
Freddie's heart gives a nervous jump but he ignores it. "I bet he is," he mumbles, but Ryan just smiles in a satisfied manner and gets a far away look in her eyes. A silence falls in the kitchen for a few minutes, in which Ryan's cereal gets soggy and Freddie's heart continues to gives those nervous beats. He clears his throat loudly. "So... I can see him." It's less of a question and more of a thought spoken aloud. Cook has been avoiding him for coming on a two and a half months now (they've only had contact because of college) and Cook, like Ryan, is great at avoiding people - Freddie has wondered who learned from whom. But now they're finally in the same place and unless Cook decides to dart out the window, Freddie will finally see him. It shouldn't be like this.
The faraway look on Ryan's face is replaced by one of affection and exasperation. "Of course you can," she laughs. "I'm his girlfriend, not his mum."
Relief floods through Freddie at her light tone. "So... he's not upset with me, then?"
Ryan's smile fades as she remembers the problem and the relief Freddie felt just moments ago is replaced quite suddenly by a heavy feeling in his stomach.
::
She fixes her expression into a mix of rueful and apologetic as she places her bowl to the side and searches for the right words. "He's... he's... not angry, just... cautious?" The feeling of frustration that has been building up as of late returns. She doesn't know how to explain to Freddie just how odd Cook has been acting lately when it comes to him and just in general, and she says as much. "I don't know what about - he acts funny whenever I mention you. I assumed it was, you know," she hesitates. It's still a sensitive subject for her; even though she and Cook made up that night his words right before hand still make her insides feel cold, and causes her eyes to prick. "He... thought we'd slept together, but," she follows up quickly, "he's insisted that's not it. Said he's over it. I don't know what else it could be, though." She lets out a heavy sigh. She knows it has to be the reason why he's been acting the way he has; overly cautious when it comes to who's going to party, or holding on to her whenever Freddie is in the vicinity. She wishes she could just talk to him about it but...
"Thing is," she continues, "he doesn't act upset enough for me to accuse him of anything without it seeming like I'm nagging, but he's not being, you know, Cookie, either..." She trails off and looks at nothing, choosing instead to stare off into space to get lost in her own thoughts, her fingers picking absently at the grey fabric of her shorts. It's getting frustrating, this thing hanging in the room between them. This isn't how she figured them being together would be. Not that it isn't amazing most of the time- because it really really is, her heart feels so full of love sometimes she has to sit down and take a breath - but she hates this issue between them. Especially because if it is what she thinks it is, it's really a non-issue that is putting stress on their relationship.
She sighs and shrugs to herself as she hops off of the counter. She turns back to Freddie. "If you told me what it was, I could help you know. Well, I'd try at least."
::
Freddie watches her dump her soggy cereal into the bin and turn towards the sink. She doesn't know that she's right, he thinks. Ryan doesn't know that she's right about Cook still being upset about that night at the club when he saw them dancing. Even though it's nearing maybe three months that it all happened (and it was nothing really. It was just a dance and a laugh) Cook is still being unreasonable. Unreasonable and overprotective; if Freddie thought Cook was possessive when it came to Effy, it doesn't compare to how he is with Ryan. At least, he is when Freddie is around. And the worst part is, Ryan doesn't even notice. If she did, it's almost certain that she would have given Cook a talking to by now. But they've always been grabby, touchy, feely when it came to each other, and so far, as far as Freddie can tell, she hasn't noticed anything out of order. And Freddie won't be the one to draw her attention to it. Knowing his luck, Cook will turn it all around, and they'd end up pounding each other into the ground. Hair trigger, that boy.
Ryan takes his empty bowl, and it's when she gives him a faint smile Freddie considers just telling her; telling her that Cook is mad at him because he touched her. Maybe then he could just ask her to talk to him about it, if she hasn't already. But he decides against it. She hates Cook and Freddie fighting over anything, and if she knew she was the cause of it and it was for something so stupid... he doesn't know how that would go down, and quite honestly he doesn't want to find out.
No, he can handle this on his own. He just needs Cook to talk to him-
"What are you doing here, Freddiekins?" Freddie's pulse quickens at the voice and he turns his head to see Cook walk into the kitchen. His words and tone are both genial but his expression is guarded; his eyes slightly harder then they would normally be, and his mouth is set in a straight line. He moves to stand next to Ryan and gives her a kiss on the head, before settling next to her, arms folded, back against the counter.
The mood in the space shifts so quickly that Freddie can swear he can see the air displace. All is quiet except for the sound of the running water, and the slap of the wet rag against painted porcelain. With Ryan facing away from them both she can't see the tension, but Freddie is sure that she feels it, because as soon as it gets to be too much she turns the water off, dries her hands, and rolls her eyes as she leaves the room.
Freddie stands from his chair and Cook's hard gaze makes him want to fidget. God, he hates this. Hates feeling on edge with his best mate since before he can really remember. Before primary school his brain helpfully supplies.
College was supposed to be their time, his, Cook's and J.J's, and everything was supposed to... not get easier exactly, but was supposed to bring them together. But instead everything is spinning out of control, and with a small jolt, Freddie admits to himself, yet again in many days, that at least half of this is his fault. He's always been the neglectful one; Cook has always told him that he loves him, and Freddie's never once has a reason to doubt it.
He can't think of a time when he's once said it back seriously.
He takes a small inhalation of air.
"I'm here to see you. You haven't been around lately."
"Yeah, well, bit busy," comes Cook's flat answer. They stand at opposite ends of the kitchen, Cook's arms still folded across his chest and Freddie's hands in his own pockets. Freddie takes this time to take him in; his hair is rumpled, some pieces in tufts while others, still damp from his shower, cling to his forehead, and the sides and back of his neck. He's in his usual fitted polo shirt (navy) and fitted trousers (grey), and Freddie can't help but think that even though Cook lives on his own in a tiny flat, and acts like a mad man, one can still tell he comes from money. It's so odd to see him like this, so controlled and calm. Cook is fueled by emotion; happy, sad, angry. But here, now, he's tense and silent, and the quietness rubs against Freddie's nerves. Makes him feel like he's the one who's out of control. He tries again.
"Yeah." Freddie is sure that he has been preoccupied; now that Cook and Ryan have finally gotten together, they've been kind of wrapped up in one another, but even so, he still sees Ryan a great deal more than he does Cook. "Yeah, well, how've you been?"
"Good. Great." He doesn't add anything else, doesn't ask how Freddie has been.
He doesn't care.
The truth hits him like a punch in the spot under his ribs and suddenly, Freddie can't take it -the flat tone, the controlled stance, and hard eyes - and he can hear the slightly pleading tone to his voice when he bursts out with, "Listen, Cook, about that night. At the club, it was nothing. You know I wouldn't..." He trails off. He wouldn't what? Try and take away the girl Cook fancies like mad? Disregard his feelings and their friendship? Freddie can't finish that sentence because it's isn't true.
Cook doesn't know that, and he can't know that because for the past five months that's all that they've been doing to each other.
Cook must be thinking the same thing because Freddie sees the muscles tighten in his neck and his arms flex slightly. But he still doesn't move, not right away. He stares that unforgiving stare at Freddie, and quite suddenly a small smile crosses his face. But Freddie doesn't like it at all; it doesn't reach his eyes when he says, his tone once again faux friendly, "It's fine, man. Really."
Freddie feels his frustration mount; he's trying here, but Cook won't let him. He wants to grab the other boy, his best mate, and shake him until he drops the mask that's so unfamiliar it makes Freddie's eyes want to water. But it's too late to do so now. Cook has pushed himself off of the counter, and brushes past him, saying "It was great of you to come round," as he walks away.
Freddie stands numbly in the kitchen, the knowledge that everything is worse than he thought it was coursing through his body. He listens to Cook walk away from him and up the stairs, most likely into Ryan's room where she's probably waiting for him.
His stomach gives another tumble when he realizes that the girl that he's done all this for, ruined all of this for, isn't going to be waiting for him when he gets home.
He lets himself out.
=..=..=
She barely has time to sprint across the room and land on the bed in some semblance of casualness before Cook swings the door open. Ryan settles in and picks up a magazine quickly, opening it to some random page as if she'd been in this position the whole time, and not straining to hear the painfully stunted conversation down in the kitchen. She couldn't help herself from trying to eavesdrop. Not that it mattered - she'd only caught a few words and none of them sounded too promising.
Hearing the door open and close, she looks up and feels her brow furrow in worry. Cookie doesn't look outwardly angry - he never really does lately, instead choosing to try and control his outbursts - and this is why Ryan can recognize that he's upset. Because even though nowadays Cookie has been 'keeping quiet' his body language, as always, screams how he's feeling. Right now his eyes have that shine to them, the shine they get before he wants to break something or hit someone, and the tendons in his neck are tight.
She stares at him, looks at his unseeing eyes fixed on a point in the grey sky beyond her window and down to where his fists are flexing at his sides. The air in here, in her bedroom, feels heavy too. As if he'd carried the tension from downstairs up here on his back.
Ryan doesn't like him like this, never has, and not only because she's so sensitive to the changes in his mood. She doesn't like to see him upset like this because he usually does or says something that he will regret later.
She looks away from him, tries to relax her stiff shoulders and closes the pages of a skin creme advert. She sets the magazine aside and clears her throat. He doesn't look over at her, and for a sudden moment Ryan wonders if he's upset with her too.
"Cookie?" She calls his name softly, and he blinks. When he looks over at her, his eyes still have residual anger in them and her heart skips, but he seems to realize that she's not Freddie and that he's not actually in the kitchen, and his eyes soften. The invisible grip on her heart loosens and she beckons him over to her.
When she shifts over so he can lie beside her on the bed, his spot her mind whispers, his body is still humming with pent up emotion and it seems to seep into her skin. She reclines against a pillow and when Cookie rests his head on her chest her fingers automatically begin to card through the barely damp strands.
She feels his body relax under her ministrations and she smiles ruefully to herself. She doesn't want to ruin the peaceful moment, she loves when they are like this, but she has to say something.
"You are such an idiot."
::
Even though Cook can hear the affection in her tone when she tells him this, he can feel his muscles tighten again and that small hot flare in his brain spark. He tries to keep his tone even when he asks, "What do you mean?"
"He's trying Cookie." Her fingers haven't stopped their movements, but he untangles himself from her body anyway and sits up. The look on her face almost makes him want to lay back down against her. To rest his head on her and raise her shirt up and kiss her stomach, but that spark has begun to light up and he can't get rid of the small burn. He turns away from her and sits so that his feet are planted on the ground and his hands are hanging between his knees.
"You always take sides, his side," he can hear himself say, even though he knows it isn't true. He doesn't know why he's saying it; she has always been on his side.
"What?" he can feel Ryan sit up and hear the bewildered tone in her voice. "What sides? What are you going on about?"
He doesn't answer, instead saying what he wanted to say to Freddie down in the kitchen. "He has some nerve, you know that? To just walk in here and think I'd want to talk to him, to look at him-"
The sheer hostility in his voice makes Ryan move to shift and sit up on her knees. "He's been ringing for two weeks now, babe. How else was he supposed to get to you?" She keeps her voice careful, and Cook can hear it, hear how she keeps her tone low like trying not to startle an already aggressive animal, and he hates it, but he can't help it. He can't help but feel so angry at Freddie; for Freddie telling him he was done with him, abandoning him. For Freddie trying to take Effy away when he already had everyone else and Cook had no one. For trying to take Ryan away from him.
He closes his eyes briefly and immediately his vision is filled with dark blue tinted lights that turn to green and Ryan trailing kisses down Freddie's tan skin. His eyes snap open and his hands clench and shoulders tense.
Everything is quiet for a few long moments before she breaks the silence. "This is about that night in the club, isn't it?"
::
Cook doesn't answer her question and Ryan can feel the little niggle of annoyance begin to make an appearance. "It is, isn't it?" she continues, her voice, she can hear, has taken on a hard quality. All of this for nothing? "I told you it was nothing. Nothing happened. I've told you, Freddie's told you-"
"Yeah, well, Freddie's words don't mean much, do they?" Cook's harsh tone cuts her off and she clenches her jaw.
"What about my word?" she says through gritted teeth. "They don't mean shit, do they?"
"His actions speak for him, don't they?" He goes on as if he doesn't even hear her, his accent thicker in his mounting frustration.. "I don't give a fuck what Freddie says, he does whatever he wants, takes whatever and who ever he wants-"
She sick of talking to his back and reaches forward to pull on his shoulder, but he shrugs her off and stands up. His body is coiled tight and Ryan's own body is tense as she says loudly "I'm not just some piece of furniture that you can just pick up and carry away." She is quickly getting more and more upset. "I'm not just going to let him take me-"
"He's selfish." Cook is pacing now.
"This is about Effy, isn't it?" She really has no idea, but she throws it out there. And it can't be too far off, because his stride falters for a split second. That hesitation makes Ryan's barely restrained control unravel a bit. Is everything still about that girl?
Cook stops his pacing and finally looks at her. "No, it's not just about Effy."
"Don't lie to me." She unfolds her legs from under her and sits back fully on the bed again. "This is still about Effy fucking Stonem." She cannot believe this. She really can't.
He takes a step towards her. "No," he insists and she doesn't believe him for a second. "No, this is about Freddie. About Freddie being selfish and trying to take what isn't his-"
"He's not trying to take anything! Do anything!" Her control has finally snapped and she hates this fact immediately. She's always in control of her feelings, tries to be but Cook; he gets her so angry. She hates when she gets like this; so riled up that her voice raises to a pitch that makes her sound hysterical even when she isn't.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Another one, and when she opens her eyes again she feels more in control, and when she speaks her voice has dropped a few decibels. "It was a laugh, James. We were high, I'm sure he was drunk. We danced. That's it. I don't understand why-"
"See, his side again." His stubbornness pours off of him in waves and plays against her skin. It was always like this, Ryan being so affected by his moods, tempting her, in this case, to be aggressive in return. She tries to hold back, but it doesn't seem to work.
"No, I am not!" she shouts. "There are no sides, there shouldn't be sides, Cook. Nothing happened!"
"That wasn't just a dance." Cook looks determined. Determined to do what, she doesn't know. To win this fight? To convince her that she and Freddie have done something wrong? She doesn't know. But what she does know is that whatever it is, he's not going to succeed.
"Yes," her voice is back to normal pitch again but hard. "It was. I'm not Effy, and that's all it was, a dance, and you're trying to turn this into, into..." she balls her hands into fists and lets them go and suddenly she feels so tired. So drained and defeated and she can feel tears prick at her eyes. "Into something it isn't, and I have no idea why." She tries to control herself, and smoothes her fingers up the bridge of her nose and over her eyebrow but her hands are shaking. She unsuccessfully swallows the lump in her throat. "Why are you doing this, Cookie?" she asks, and she can hear the tears in her voice. "You have me. I'm yours, I always have been, and everyone's known it. Why are you letting something that doesn't matter get us like this? Have us shouting at each other?"
::
Cook says nothing. He can't think of anything to say, he doesn't know what he could possibly say. He's made her cry. She never cries. He's only seen her cry maybe three times in all of the years that he's known her, and twice was because she'd broken her left arm. Her voice now, full of sadness, her tears, they freeze him in his tracks, and all the anger he just felt melts away and all he can think about his fixing this. He can't let this fall apart, he can't let her leave him.
He hurt her.
He moves quickly to sit down next to her on the bed. God, she's so small next to him. She always is, but the fact hits him hard now. He should be protecting her, making her happy, not making her cry over something that isn't her fault. He shouldn't be funneling all his pent up aggression at Freddie into this one instance, and making her feel horrible about it.
He takes her face in his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe away the errant tears that have escaped. Some hang from her eyelashes and glitter, her cheeks are slightly flushed, and the tip of her nose is red. His breath catches in his chest. So pretty.
He wants to apologize - he has no problem apologizing he's been doing it all his life, hasn't he - wants to whisper it against her hair and against her cheeks, but an 'I'm sorry' doesn't seem to fit this. After a few long minutes, she sniffs and casts her eyes downwards. Her fingers play with the hem of his shirt and she says quietly, "I love Freddie." His insides squirm uncomfortably, but he stays quiet, continuing the gentle stroking rhythm of his thumbs on her skin. "Just like I love JJ," she continues. "And I love you, but in a completely different way. And..." she pauses, and toys with his shirt some more. "I only love you that way. Before I even knew it." She looks back up at him now and gives a watery, shy smile - a ghost of smile, more of a small upward tilt of her lips. His chest fills with something warm at her words and his movements on her face gentle, and slow to a stop.
::
His hands still on her face and they look into each others eyes. He's her Cookie, she thinks, with that mouth that never changes. That vulnerable expression, and those broken eyes, and the innate need to have someone just for himself. He's always been that way, always wanted someone just for him, to always be just his. And now that he has that he doesn't know what to do, how to handle it. He just knows he has to hold on to her as tight as he can, but Cook doesn't understand that it's trickier than that; that if he holds too tightly she could still get away.
He needs to find a balance, Ryan knows that. This Freddie thing will pass, she's sure of it. She stops playing with his shirt and hesitantly raises her hand to run her fingertips lightly over his cheek, and down his jaw. His eyes slide shut for a moment and when they open the look in his eyes makes her heart flutter. He returns her smile with a small one of his own, and when she leans in for a kiss, he meets her halfway.
An hour later finds him whispering apologies against her skin.
=..=..=
Effy is waiting on his front steps when he gets home and Freddie freezes on the pavement. She looks as if she's just rolled out of bed, with her T-shirt, fishnets, and smudged eyeliner. She looks tragic and beautiful -when doesn't she - and he hates the way his heart still jumps when he first sees her.
As he walks up the drive she stands, and smiles, and for a split second he wants to smile back, but in the next second he sees Cook's angry face swim before his eyes. She did this, a voice in his head shouts. She's the reason why he looks at you like that. But even as the words echo in his skull, and bounce off of each other, he knows it's not totally true.
But he needs someone to blame.
His resolve hardens, and he debates just walking right past her, leave her out here, but curiosity overwhelms him and Freddie stops a few feet away. He manages to push a blunt "What do you want Effy?" through a tight jaw.
She seems momentarily taken aback by the venom in his voice, but her expression shutters again and she straightens up as if giving an impression of that of a wounded solider moving onward. Her voice doesn't waver when she answers. "I missed you, Freddie."
He lets out a snort of disbelief. She doesn't miss him. Even before Freddie decided to take some time to himself, before he decided that laying in the middle of his bed or on the moth eaten couch in his shack this summer was the best option for him at this moment in his life, Effy didn't come see him unless she couldn't get Cook to play with her.
"You do?" He asks, a sneer affixing to his face. "What, since you realized Cook isn't interested anymore you'd figure you'd settle for me?"
She shakes her head and takes a step forward. "No, it's isn't like that." Her expression seems utterly sincere and again Freddie is struck with the need to want to believe her. But he can't get the pain out of his blood, and Cook's face out of his head.
"What's it like, then?" He doesn't know why he asks, doesn't know what he wants to hear.
She pauses, as if she wasn't expecting the question and looks unsure of herself. "I just..." she falters and Freddie shifts on his feet. "It was fun," she says. "And then it wasn't. Cook was just sex and... and it's always been you, Freddie." Her words are heavy and dramatic, and Freddie suddenly has a sort of outer body experience, where he sees himself as if watching a movie. Sees himself just standing there, his own eyes unsure, and her eyes wide, and she looks so beautiful, and he wants to believe her...
He sighs.
"Yeah, well, it's a little too late for that, isn't it?" Her face falls and Freddie forces himself to walk past her and up the stairs. Her scent triggers no memories, he thinks absently as the air stirs around them.
"Freddie." Her voice is soft, and sad. So tempting and he just wants to forgive her. It would be so easy; Cook has Ryan now, and he would have Effy and everything would be fine...
But he knows its not the real truth, and usually he would play along with the lie for a bit, but the real truth is hovering around the edges of his brain when he's in his room or in his shed alone, close enough to cause unease but vague enough that he doesn't have to deal with it for now.
But soon.
He doesn't look back at her when he puts his hand on the doorknob and pauses.
He can feel her eyes on his back and he wants to turn...
"Just... go home Effy." He turns the knob and goes inside, shutting the door softly behind him.
=..=..=
Monday
College is supposed to be different than secondary, but Emily can't help thinking that it's exactly the same. Just harder course work. She settles in at her desk after kissing Naomi goodbye in the doorway, and watches. Watches Cook's eyes dart to the classroom door occasionally, only half his attention on J.J. Watches the professor write words on the board that more than half the class won't copy down, watches the tension build in the air. She almost wants to know where the last of it is originating from (even though she has a few good guess) but can't bother to ask.
She tries to stay out of it all. Drama is more Katie's thing.
She places her purse on the empty seat next to her, saving the spot for Ryan.
She actually likes Ryan. This surprised her at first; after hearing how many problems this girl supposedly started the minute she got back, Emily assumed she was just another Effy, just smaller (which in itself could be more dangerous). But after spending a great deal of holiday in each other's company, she couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised when she realized (after more then a few summer night conversations) that Ryan didn't want any of this either. She just wanted her best mates to be best mates again, and she just happened to walk into the middle of something she couldn't walk out of.
She sees a flash of navy out of the corner of her vision, and turns to see the small girl lifting her bag out of the chair. She gives Emily a grateful smile that Emily doesn't really notice. Navy. Ryan's wardrobe more then most of the time really reflects her feelings and navy is just in step above black.
She falls into the seat next to Emily. "What's wrong?" she asks. Ryan shrugs and fiddles with her pencil. Emily looks over to where Cook has officially checked out of J.J's part of the conversation and is watching Ryan with slightly worried eyes. He looks as if he wants to come over there and see what's wrong. And he normally would, unless...
"What did he do?"
Ryan stays quiet for a few seconds, still fingering her pencil. "We got into a row. A horrid one. We made up but..." She shrugs again. Emily bites on her bottom lip, debating weather she should ask, but Ryan sees her expression and smiles wearily. "It's alright." she says implying Emily can inquire, and goes on to answer the unasked question. "It was about Freddie. I think. It seemed to be about more, but I don't even know at this point."
Emily doesn't know what to say, so she keeps quiet and looks around again. To where Cook is talking to J.J again but occasionally casts glances at Ryan. She shifts her gaze to where Freddie refuses to look in her and Ryan's direction, most likely because Cook is in the room. Next, she slides her eyes next over to where Effy is, once again, ignoring Pandora, which Emily doesn't get, she quite likes Panda and her mindless chatter, and is instead gazing at Freddie who, Emily now notices, is resolutely avoiding her gaze.
Emily watches Freddie for a while longer and notices that, while he doesn't look at either Ryan or Effy, he can't help his eyes straying to Cook sitting on the desk. This wouldn't be so odd if it weren't for his expression; he's taking him in, as if considering something and seeing something new at the same time. It's an expression Emily has never seen on his face before. She manages to tear her eyes away and looks over at Ryan who is picking at a thread on her dark shirt, and trying not to seem too obvious about sneaking looks across the room to see if Freddie and Cook interact at all.
Just like secondary.
It hits her as she looks around that she doesn't know how they all ended up in this class together. Last time she checked Cook hates Business Studies. Actually, she is sure they all hate Business Studies (she knows she does) but somehow here they all are.
Emily doesn't like it.
They aren't some close knit group or mates who all grew up together (not that that even matters when it comes to those who have); they all hurt each other, and are selfish, and she honestly doesn't know if she'd call most of them friends at all. Merely people who always seem to end up orbiting around each other, sometimes pulling each other in too closely, and risking catastrophe.
Just a little bit closer...
The teacher calls for order, and as the class shifts to fall into seats, Emily can't help but think that she is waiting for the inevitable collisions to happen any day now.
=..=..=
Monday
It's half past ten and she's sure that he's supposed to be in class, but Emily sees Freddie siting alone on the front steps anyway, earbuds in. As she gets closer she can see that he's not really looking at any of the people milling about, but seems to be in deep thought, and she wonders if she should disturb him.
But she's missed him this summer holiday, as he's basically been missing. He's been at one party, and she's run into him at the park a few times, but that's it. She walks lightly down the large grey stairs, sits next to him, and tugs gently on the white cord leading to his ear.
He blinks and turns his head quickly. He looks at her for a moment, most likely trying to figure out which twin she is, and she gives a little smile. He blinks again and smiles back, pulling out his headphones at the same time, wrapping the white cord lightly around his fingers. "Hey, Em."
"Hey, Freddie." There is a pause, not uncomfortable in it's nature, but relaxed as they both watch students move around - some are studying, but most are in groups talking and laughing. She wonders vaguely if any of these groups work the way hers does; if some of these groups are actually non-friends, with only a few genuinely good links between them.
She nudges Freddie's side with her own and presses her green legging clad leg against his jean covered one. "Sooo..."
::
Freddie doesn't need to ask Emily what she means by the drawn out word and he sighs, letting his hands hang between his knees. The faint strains from the song he was listening to before she arrived can be heard through the tiny speaker twined between his fingers.
'So' is a good word, isn't it? 'So', what is he going to do? 'So', is he ever going to ever make progress? 'So', will Cook ever stop hating him?
He can't answer any of these implied so's - or maybe he can and just doesn't like the answer - and he just shrugs.
"Just keep trying Freddie," her voice is gentle - it always is. Emily is always the gentle one.
"I have, I am-" he stops talking and looks up again, into the crowd of people but he's not really seeing them. "I saw him yesterday. He wouldn't even speak to me. Well he did, but..." He trails off.
"He's just stubborn."
"You don't get it." His words come out sharper than he'd intended and he's immediately sorry, but it's true. Emily doesn't get it, can't get it, because he's just realized what exactly he been doing wrong all these years just a couple of months ago. He's just taken the time to sit down and really think about... about how he feels about things. About people. About a certain person. He rolls his shoulders and tries again. "I did this." he explains. "I'm the one who did this."
=..=..=
Emily doesn't say anything, even though she really wants to; wants to say that Cook is equally responsible in her eyes - that from the moment she'd met them both they've been constantly pushing and pulling each other.
But she knows her words will do nothing, so she allows her eyes to just linger on his profile. He rubs at his hair, and down the side of his face with a flat palm. "I've been pushing him away for... a while now," he continues. "I told him I couldn't handle him, that I didn't want to take care of him anymore. I pushed him away, and now he doesn't want..."
This pause is heavier than the last. Emily watches him scratch the back of his neck and look out onto the crowd of people again, before letting his eyes fall to the ground to stare at the concrete. The hurt, forlorn expression on his face makes Emily frown and bite the inside of her cheek.
The minutes pass, and it becomes obvious that he's done. She sighs and moves closer to Freddie, threading her arm through his and grabbing his fingers in her own, tangling them both in the wire. She rests her head on his shoulder and they sit like that for a while, the peace broken only for a moment in which she tells him, voice still gentle but strong, "He loves you. Just... keep trying"
=..=..=
Cook feels her small warm hand on his lower back before he sees her. He's been fighting the need to catch up with her all day. He can feel that even though their argument yesterday ended as well as it could - her leg wraps around his thigh and she sighs into his neck - today Ryan seems more subdued than she usually is. Navy shirt.
He looks down into her delicate face and his heart gives an unpleasant thump, because even though she's smiling softly up at him, her expression carries a hint of sadness. Sadness that she's trying to cover up, but he can still see it in her eyes. He dislikes that expression on her face, and not only because he's most likely the reason as to why it's there.
"Hey, Itty Bit," his voice is teasing and gentle and she wrinkles her nose at the endearment. He watches her shift her weight and look out into the hallway, eyes scanning the crowd for nothing special. He wonders what she's thinking, why she's so quiet.
She just doesn't have anything to say.
Cook's never been one for that heavy silence, especially between himself and the people that he loves. He wants to bring up what happened yesterday, wants to tell her, again, that he's sorry and that she has nothing to worry about anymore, but he looks out into the hallway as well and has a feeling Ryan doesn't want to talk about it around all of these people.
So he tries to lighten the mood. He leans towards her and wraps his arms around her waist. A small grin plays at the corners of her mouth even as he straightens up with her body pressed to his, her back to his open locker.
"I could just put you in there" he teases, nodding towards the open space behind her. "Just push you in, close the door, and no one would know."
Her eyes are a little brighter when she answers. "Yeah, but you won't." She slides her hands up his stomach and chest, and down again to encircle is waist and lace them loosely against his lower back.
He moves in closer, loving the way her hands feel on his body. "And why not?"
She shrugs, and begins to sway them side to side gently. "Because, I'd come out eventually and kick your arse."
He lets out a little laugh, tightens his hands on her waist so she won't actually fall inside and moves his arms out, as if he will actually place her inside of the small space. She lets out a little shriek of surprise and laughter and when he pulls her back to him, she hits him on the chest. He grimaces playfully. "I see what you mean. That one is gonna leave a mark."
She makes a face up at him - cute - but she looks happier and Cook loves it. He continues. "No, really. I'm going to bruise, and it will be all of your doing."
"Oh shut it," she laughs. "And I've beaten you up before."
Cook laughs again. "Come off it."
"No really, I have." All traces of sadness are gone from her face and he's done a good job, hasn't he? Her eyes are sparkling and she's brilliant and he can't help but touch her. "Remember that one time at the p-park..." She stutters a bit and trails off as Cook runs his fingers through her thick hair, making sure to scratch lightly at the base of her neck like she loves. He can feel the small shiver run through her body, but she clears her throat instead of acknowledging it.
"And?" Cook's voice is low when he prompts her.
Her eyelids flutter and she swallows before she continues "I had you on your back, crying for your mummy didn't I?" Her voice has dropped to that pitch that makes Cook's insides shiver in anticipation.
"We were in primary," he says, but he's not really paying attention to the actual conversation anymore, choosing instead to get lost in her dark eyes. He moves so that their bodies are flush against each other, and he cups her face in his hands. "And we were seven."
"Excuses, excuses," she murmurs. And then his lips are on hers and it's just as perfect as all the other times that he's kissed her; her mouth is soft, and warm, and slick, and when her tongue kitten licks at the seams of his mouth he inhales deeply and presses in closer. He wants to be so close to her that he can't tell where he ends and she begins. He's never felt this strongly about anyone, in anyway - except Freddie -
The errant, quiet thought floats by so quickly that he almost misses it, but he doesn't, and it causes his stomach do an odd flip and his hands to tighten slightly and briefly where he's holding Ryan's face to his. Ryan must think the movement has something to do with her, and she grins against his mouth, and she bites playfully on his lower lip, and just like that he's lost in her again.
He loves how he can cover her, how she makes him feel bigger and stronger than he knows he is. The buzz of the hallway has faded away, and all he can focus on is her; her light, airy, familiar scent, and her thick glossy hair in between his fingers, and her soft little sighs that only he can hear.
Far too soon, Ryan pulls away, slightly out of breath, pink tints to her cheek, and her eyes happy. "As much as I would love to continue this, we can't."
"Why not?" Cook's voice stays low and he nuzzles at her neck, kissing her collarbone lightly. He feels her shiver again and he smiles against her skin.
"Well," her voice his amused and a little breathy, "for one, I think we've got an audience." Cook finds it in himself to lift his head from her sweet smelling skin and look around. Sure enough, five or six people scattered about are staring at them from where they stand. He shrugs, unconcerned, and turns back to her.
"I love an audience."
She laughs and places a hand on his chest when he tries to put his face against her neck again. "Yeah, I know. And two I've got a review group this afternoon and it starts in about ten minutes." Now he groans, and she talks over it. "You're welcome to come along."
"Nah," Cook steps back a bit, incredulous, "can you see me in a study group, Cookie, really?"
Ryan shakes her head but smiles anyway. "I think everyone would leg it."
"As they should, I take no prisoners." His head is still swimming with pleasure as he reaches over her head to grab a thin notebook out of his locker.
He's looking for a binder when he feels her hand slip into his and squeeze. He looks down to smile slyly down at her, about to ask if she's changed her mind about skiving off this afternoon, but he stops when she sees her expression. The laughter is gone from her face, and the slight worry is back. He's about to ask her what's wrong, full hallway be damned, when a familiar voice causes him to stop in his tracks.
"Hey, Ryan. Cook."
"Hey, Freddie." Ryan smiles warmly up at him and leans forward to give him a one armed hug. Cook feels his nostrils flare but he doesn't try to pull her closer to him even though the spark in his brain is back. But he can walk away. He subtly tries to remove his hand from hers, but Ryan's grip is firm and unyielding. He tries to communicate that he really doesn't want to be here, but she's looking out into the throngs of people again, pretending as if she isn't here, anchoring him to this spot.
"Cook," His attention is pulled away from his girlfriend and instead is put on Freddie, who's eyeing him as if he's afraid that Cook is going to punch him, or shout something horrible this time round.
Cook's first thought is that he hates that look on Freddie's face. He hates that everyone is treating him like he's dangerous. But maybe he is. And even though he wants to deny that he doesn't want Freddie to be afraid of him, it's true. He doesn't like fighting with his best mate, but he can't stop the ill feelings that he has towards him. He can still see his lips skimming Ryan's neck in the dark, green tinted lights which play off their matching dark hair. He can still see her leg wrapped around his waist-
He chokes down the ridiculous urge to growl. He doesn't even know why Freddie keeps trying anyway. Didn't he say that he couldn't handle him anymore? That he didn't want to deal with his fuck up of a mate anymore? Why is he here now?
He looks into his face; Cook's always liked Freddie's face. It's different. So different. That is why he attached himself as soon as he could - he 's always loved things that are so different from himself. As a kid, he'd never seen someone his own age with skin the exact color of his tan crayons at home, paired with those slanted eyes, and thick messy dark hair. It was the same reason he'd wanted Ryan to be his friend; she reminded him of Freddie; exotic and beautiful - just smaller.
And now, as he looks up into that face he's loved since before he can really remember, creased in worry and unsure because of him, he can feel a small crack in his armor. He gives a half hearted tug at Ryan's grip, but he feels nails dig in, and stops.
"Yeah," he sighs, because although he doesn't want to keep up this fight, but he doesn't quite want to make up yet, either.
Something in Freddie's eyes flicker and widen slightly in what seems to be surprise. He looks as if he doesn't know what to say next, and decides to try cautious, "Alright, then?"
He looks into those dark, slanted eyes again, and Cook's fingers, the same fingers that are held in Ryan's now loose grip, flex again like earlier, this time with the strong, sudden urge to just touch him. Touch his shoulder, or cup the side of his neck his thumb right near his ear like he used to. But he doesn't, of course. He can't touch Freddie, not yet, even though it feels so odd denying himself. He's so used to it. Instead he lets the question hang for a moment longer before nodding slightly. "Yeah, I am." He breaths in and lets it out. " You?"
Freddie's eyes flit over his face again before he answers. "Same."
Cook feels Ryan squeeze his hand lightly before she lets go, and after briefly resting a light palm on Freddie's chest, slips quietly away. He doesn't take his eyes away from Freddie to see her small, pleased smile.