AN: I adore winter and I thought I'd do a fic for Ethan. I know some writers/readers on here love Alicia, and some of you hate her. She will feature lots in this alongside E but other characters will too. Let me know what you think, excited to take this forward)
The orange curl of a flame danced around the black wick, puddles of wax collecting in the dip just under it.
It was about ten feet away. Ethan watched out the corner of his eye, lazy but attentive.
He wondered where she was, thinking it must have been late. With a little yawn, he checked his watch, learning it had long surpassed ten.
'Lish...' The gravelly, exhausted tone of his voice managed to bounce round the room. He hoped she heard, and doesn't plan on calling her again. She did.
'I'm coming!' She called back, then a pause. 'Two minutes!'
After a thoughtful pause himself, he realised it was not worth nagging. She had an elaborate way of cleaning her face - skin routine, rather - and he had made the unforgivable mistake a few days earlier of describing it wrong.
Sure enough, she found her way through. Smiling, she tightened her dressing gown with a gentle pull and made her way over to him. As always, he counted himself lucky.
She is beautiful.
She chose him.
Her fluffy hair fell in waves against her shoulders, which are hunched thanks to the shyness she felt around him. He resented that - and mentally made a note to reassure her.
'You look beautiful.' His fatigued eyes sparkled suddenly, as if they'd sought the much needed energy from her mere presence in the room.
She giggled at this, before collapsing on his knee. There was plenty of room on the sofa for two or even three, but she didn't take advantage of it. It was chilly and that in itself served as a silly excuse to cuddle up.
'Shall I pop open the fizz?' She said, leaning dangerously across him for the wine balanced on the cabinet. It sounded like she was telling him rather than asking, and there was no stopping her. He accidentally drunk in the scent of her shampoo and observed how it almost screamed Alicia. Whilst he once hated coconuts, he'd grown to love them. And, he loved her. He thought this more as he watched her try and unscrew the lid, determined as ever. Though the bundles of energy she had threatened to exhaust him, he was energised by it all at the same time.
'Oops. Careful, sweetheart.' He idly tilted the bottle so the cork wasn't pointing in his direction. Safety first didn't exist in her world, and her profession made her recklessness even more ironic.
The pop was annoyingly loud, and managed to be right in Ethan's ear. This only made her laugh some more, before sloshing liquid in the first glass and passing it in his direction. She then poured herself one while he, mindful as ever, gently put the bottle back on the side.
'Cheers... to us.' A smile lingered on her lips, even when she pressed the rim of the glass to them, it was still visible underneath.
'Yes, cheers to us.' He said, lacing an arm around her shoulders.
It was commonplace for Ethan to be buried in his thoughts. He was very much a solitary individual, even when in the company of others. Luckily, he didn't feel the need to justify himself - Alicia had become accustomed to it. A promised bottle of wine certainly didn't go amiss with her. Though not a big drinker himself, he sipped the tinged liquid and felt it warm his throat, all the while making the right noises and facial expressions.
With a little sigh, perhaps wistfully, Alicia placed the glass on the coffee table and leaned back on his chest. She begun to peel back the corner of his checked dressing gown.
'This is getting tatty.' She remarked, tiredly tugging at the fabric. 'See, I've found you something to put on your wish list now.'
Christmas. The first without-
His eyes turned glassy, now fixed back on the candle by the fireplace. Before long, his attention was brought idly back to her fingers, which had managed to scrabble beneath the cotton material that once clung to his chest. She was so excited at the prospect of doing her nails for the few days off work, it had seemingly slipped her mind. Though glittery acrylics were certainly pretty, they felt like claws. He tried not to wince as they grazed his skin.
'You're not even hard to buy for, not really. You have your likes and your dislikes. Tea, cosy socks, some new glasses, maybe an encylo-encyclopi- an encyclopae-'
'Encyclopaedia.' He corrected fondly. 'I do like my books, yes.'
'I should really know how to say that, shouldn't I?' Her face twisted with doubt.
'Uh, well, you have had a glass to drink. Even so, everyone has a word like that. It's not one you particularly need to know.' He tried to reassure.
Deep down, he surmised she was perhaps right. A medical doctor with a 5 year degree and two years' worth of training, paired with the best part of 26 years' life experience should really know the word for a non-fiction book. With skepticism, he wondered what she'd read at uni. If she'd read at all, for that matter.
Still, a tipsy Alicia was evidently mollified by his half-hearted words of reassurance, for she started tracing the planes of his chest lovingly. For a second or two, he let her, before removing her hand and holding it in his.
'I'm glad you're so prepared. I haven't even started yet, though I guess we're only in November. And, in my favour, you're exceptionally easy to buy for.' He said quietly.
'Exceptionally?' She gave a hiccup. 'Why, exceptionally?'
'Anything that's alcohol or chocolate based, you like your toiletries, sparkly and pink and glitzy and silly things...'
There was a pause, then their faces remarkably closer together. 'Ethan Hardy, did you just call me silly?'
He could taste the alcohol on her breath and watched her lashes flutter tellingly. The expressions she pulled were sloppy, her words were incoherent, she stumbled over her words, she hiccuped. He mentally rummaged to formulate the least seductive reply possible.
'No.' He sighed, realising how flat he'd sounded as soon as the syllable escaped his (sober) lips.
She didn't notice though, in fact, if anything, the sparkle in her eye grew. 'I think you did...'
He gave a nervous laugh as she closed in on him. 'I-I didn't, I-'
As soon as her lips landed on his, it was becoming more and more clear that he was going to passively drink what she'd had and there was nothing he could do about it. After an awkward second of tongues tumbling around together, he managed to pull back slightly.
'What's the matter?' Seemingly, his hesitance reigned in the slurs and sloppy behaviour; in a second, she'd sobered up. The alarm was growing on her face.
Think, Ethan, reassure her, for God's sake.
Except he couldn't.
All he could focus on was what wasn't there, instead of what was. Alarming spheres of gold and silver, speckled with glitter, were encased in a medium-sized box. They sat in the corner by the rocking chair. Waiting. Threatening things to come. It was wrong.
'I-uh. I'll be a minute. I've just remembered something I've got to do.' He lied, jiggling his leg so that she moved.
She huffed a little. 'Don't be long, yeah?'
'No, I won't be. Cork in the wine, and then maybe we could get that early night you mentioned at work earlier?' The corners of his mouth twitched, nerves and amusement bundled together - before Alicia, he would never have even implied nor referenced anything slightly suggestive. She brought it out in him though, and surely enough, his advance was met with a coy smile.
'Alright. I'll give you a few minutes and then I'll be through.'
'Perfect.' He smiled genially, pausing for a second and readjusting the cushion that had strayed from beneath her.
Although he walked with purpose to their little bedroom, and it was only a mere ten feet away from where she was sitting, he could feel her stare burning into his back.
And, he knew she was trying to piece things together. Everything was a puzzle to her, and no better one than her own boyfriend.
The bedroom. Alicia's possessions scattered across the duvet. There were only a few inches of the chocolate suede carpet - that she had clamoured so much for in the shop only weeks before - that were visible. Clothes, makeup, toiletries, all of it clutter, but meaningful to her and so it stayed right there.
He wandered over to the wardrobe, carefully prising the heavy wood open. Again, an item of Alicia's choice. She had sworn it was "vintage", while Ethan preferred "about to fall apart". Car journeys to and from furniture shops were saturated with her effervesces, it was so cheap and such a bargain and eliminated all worries about coordinating things, and he just had to see it was amazing.
After hours of trawling, legs aching and perspiration prickling his skin, it was by far the easiest option to just agree. Shopping was not his best pastime, nor was it his forte. Not only that, but it would have been futile for Ethan to have remarked that price was not a problem for either of them and they would be wise to consider something a little... sturdier.
His finger rested in the groove that a bruise made, trying not to wobble it too much. A trip to the ED - his own ED - was not top of his priority list.
His eyes landed on a leathery book, top shelf. Tiptoeing allowed him to reach it and bring it slowly down into his lap. Without looking behind, he lowered himself down. A lump. With a sigh, he pulled it out, knowing exactly what it was going to be.
He was greeted with the rather creepy face of her most-loved childhood possession, Mr Sausage. Its fur was fuzzy and its green eyes boggled in an alarming manner. Ethan had known about it from the first time he went to her flat, officially. Over a takeaway, Max had made a throwaway remark and he and Jez had sniggered and then dismissed it and left to the pub.
When climbing into bed that night, Alicia had no time to hide it. She spilled the convoluted tale of how she was gifted it for passing her junior school exams, and that they never knew if it was a frog or a dinosaur really, and his name came from her celebratory supper that Jackie made that night for the three of them, and that it was very much loved indeed even twenty years later.
As a result, he became accustomed to the fact it was always three of them under the covers. If he thought about it enough, it was unnerving. Always there, always watching. The timely question of whether or not to finally dustbin the item was debated in depth when they had to half their belongings before moving weeks before. However, she was adamant, and her defensiveness for an inanimate object filled him with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Fuzzier than Mr Sausage's fur, even.
He dislodged the toy and launched it to her side of the bed, focusing back on the box.
Lifting the first page with an index finger and thumb, he felt his chest tighten.
A blonde, chubby baby and a smiley toddler sat by a Christmas tree, tangled in fairy lights. It was probably a fire hazard, but it was a memory. Something he wouldn't be recreating in the same way, or with the same person. In scrawly handwriting alien to him, the letters were inscribed on the page.
December 24th 1989.