Artemis is, like, twenties here. Felt like I should mention that.
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In the last three months, Artemis had learnt two painful facts. The first was that, whilst secret love is intoxicating, secret pain is toxic. The second was that it is not the bitter words that hurt, after the end; it is the sweet ones.
Now, he faced Holly Short with a gently raised eyebrow and accepted her outstretched hand to shake. That last formality over, the two of them turned to the other members of their ragtag little team of usual suspects and laid out the latest disaster. The traditional steps were danced; Mulch made bad jokes, Juliet encouraged him by laughing, Foaly moaned that he was unappreciated, and Butler regarded the whole debacle with a healthy dose of silent bemusement. As far as any of them knew, the only strange thing about the situation was the weather.
That was out of the ordinary. They were so used to snow, and cold night air; the soft, golden warmth that enveloped them now made a pleasant change. It seemed to affect them all, in fact, making smiles and laughter fall even more freely from lips that were already well acquainted with mirth. The sunshine made them all feel...sunnier.
All of them but Artemis and Holly, who might have been suspended in ice for all that they felt the summer's glow.
When Artemis looked over at the elf, he didn't think of the hurtful things that they had shouted at one another in those last few days. If he had, the memories would at least have heated his blood with self-righteous rage, saving him from the cold emptiness that consumed him now.
Instead, he was recalling a very specific moment. A single minute in hundreds of shared hours.
"I love your smile," she admitted, through a gap in the sheets, embarrassed by her own words.
"Really?" he replied, surprised. "You are the very first person to ever say anything complimentary about it."
"Well, I can understand that too," she told him. "It's a bit scary."
"But you like it?"
"It's scary, but it's beautiful. Like a glacier," she explained. "I adore it...mainly because I know that you're always going to be scary on my behalf, I suppose."
And then she laughed, tracing the edges of his scary smile with her fingertips.
They had clumsily thrown compliments at one another like that, the whole time that...it...had been going on. They'd known when they'd started that no one could ever know, that it would always have to end. They'd openly discussed the fact, even. But that hadn't stopped them pretending, in the dark, under the covers, that they were like any other couple. It hadn't stopped them trading secrets.
His own composure amazed him. The recollection felt like someone had taken a steel pipe and swung it repeatedly into his stomach, but his face showed none of it. He had always been an exemplary liar, but this was something else entirely. He was lying with his very being.
He looked over at Holly, seeing an equally relaxed, almost cheerful expression on her own face. He wondered how much of the same hurt she was feeling. It was impossible to tell. Then he looked at his friends. He watched them laugh, watched them bicker. He even watched them tease himself and Holly, elbowing them together, making fun of their bond.
He smiled along with them.
This hurt.
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Holly punched Mulch in the arm when he shoved her into Artemis, grinning self-deprecatingly. It wasn't her though. It was a ghost.
The real Holly was trapped in a moment long since lost to the past.
"It's Thanksgiving today," he announced lazily, eyes never leaving her as she dressed.
She snorted.
"You're Irish," she reminded him.
"We live in a global village, Holly," he retorted, with a shrug.
"Okay then," she challenged dutifully. "What are you most thankful for?"
He lifted up the faux-leather thong that sat about his throat, showing her the gold coin she'd given him all that time ago.
"The day you found a spark of decency in me," he replied, unashamed. "I am nothing without you."
In the last three months, Holly had learnt two painful facts. The first was that, whilst secret love is intoxicating, secret pain is toxic. The second was that it is not the bitter words that hurt, after the end; it is the sweet ones.