A/N Thanks for the positive feedback!! I'll try not to disappoint :)
Freddie doesn't see Effy for the rest of the day, and when he asks Pandora where she is he's told that she didn't come to class after lunch. It's not like this is anything new, but he really wants to see her, wants to talk to her, wants to pull her against his chest and whisper I'm sorry into her ear and feel her shiver and relent grudgingly. He wants to see her adorable uncertain half-smile when he tells her he loves her and the shrug that says to him You messed up, but I love you too and then the glare that lets him know Don't do it again.
But he can't, because she's fucking hiding again. When Pandora had told him she'd just left the college without a word to anyone, his stomache, still full of hangover, had heaved and rolled and Freddie had to swallow against the sudden urge to be sick. But his calmer, more rational, laidback side had taken over. She's not gone gone. She'd just be at her house, or down at the lake, that's all.
He'd made her promise that she wouldn't run again, lying tangled in her bed, and he'd trapped her with his weight as she'd tried to squirm away. Promise, he'd ordered, brown eyes serious.
Promise what? She'd asked lightly, turning her face to the side, away from his gaze.
Promise you won't run away without me. You scared the shit out of me last time.
Don't be a pussy, Freddie.
Promise, Effy.
She'd leant up and kissed him on the mouth, trying to avoid the somber moment. Whatever, I promise. He'd grinned, wonder and triumph on his brown face. Now get off me, I need a smoke.
Freddie trudged home, skateboard under his arm. He'd just spoken to Anthea, wrapped in her dressing gown, and been told to fuck off because Effy wasn't home.
So there he was, fucking off, annoyance and tiredness and the foul weather dragging at his mood. What Naomi had told him had brought back increasingly clear memories of the night before, and he remembered the yelling and her beautiful angry glare and calling her a bitch and being called a fucking wanker and more alcohol, not vodka this time but something stronger. He wanted to talk to her. He thinks there's more to the story than Naomi knows and Effy's the only one that can tell him for sure.
When Freddie makes it back to his flat, he doesn't bother going inside – he can hear Karen's music spewing out through the gaps in the windows and he doesn't really want to deal with his dad's baleful moping tonight. Instead he walks through the garden, heading for the shed, pausing only to rummage through his bag for a joint he'd carefully rolled earlier.
He steps through and stops just inside the door, closing it quietly and gently behind him.
Effy is asleep on the sofa, textbooks and paper strewn on the floor in front of her. She's obviously been caught in the rain, hair that was straight this morning is now curly and wild and damp. Her mascara is smudged down her cheeks like black tears and the combined effect makes her look small and cold. Freddie shrugs out of his hoodie, trying not to disturb her as he places it over her like a blanket. Then he settles down on the floor, pick up her copy of Hamlet, leans back against the couch where he can hear her steady breathing.
Freddie lights up his joint, and waits for her to wake up.
Half an hour later, immersed in Shakespeare, Freddie doesn't hear her breath become uneven. "Naomi's right, you know," she whispers, her voice still raspy from sleep.
Freddie, jumps, and stiffens. He knew it. He'd really fucked up, Naomi had been right, he'd messed up and it was all his fault and she was right to be angry. Without saying anything, unsure about how she's going to continue, he turns his head to the left to see her face. She still has her eyes closed and a sleepy smile on her face. Freddie is confused.
"Eff?" he ventures.
"Naomi's right. There's… loads…" (she yawns, covering her mouth with her hand and dislodging his jacket in the process) "…Loads of wanking in Hamlet," Effy finishes, and Freddie lets out a relieved sigh and chuckles.
She opens her eyes, watches her boyfriend shake his head in disbelief at her. "Fucking Hamlet," he says, putting his new joint in his mouth. She watches him inhale for a second, then reaches out, takes it from his lips and puts it between her own. She sits up, letting his grey hoodie slide off her completely and onto the floor.
"What are you doing here, Effy?" he asks curiously. He wonders if she still hates him.
Her lips curl up into an unforgiving smirk, and she shakes her hair back from her face, running her fingertips under her eyes to wipe away some of the shadows. Now she's fully awake she's remembered why she's mad at him, why she came to his shed, why she waited for him to come home. But he hasn't said the words she wants to hear and so she stands up, straightens her clothes, and starts to walk past him, knowing from where he's sitting on the floor he must have a fantastic view of her arse but not caring because she wasn't going to let him touch her and if she leaves him uncomfortable then good because he fucking well deserves it.
Before she reaches the door Freddie's on his feet, and in a few long strides he's right behind her, each of his hands on her hips and halting her progress. He turns her, expecting her to fight him, but she just lets him, as if she couldn't care less. She doesn't meet his eyes, fights to convey disinterested.
"Effy. I know what I think I remember, and I know what other people reckon happened last night. But if I'm right you need to fucking stop being mad at me because I am not the only one who messed up last night." He watches her face, still not meeting his gaze, and feels triumphant when her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
He grins.
Effy scowls.
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