DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN WINX CLUB.
AN: Before I start, thank you so much for the feedback for the previous chapter! I finished like 90% of this chapter a few weeks ago, but I wasn't able to publish because I had my academics to worry about then. Finally finished, so here it is!
EDIT: I'm so, so sorry if you saw more than one update for Lost in Time. I accidentally uploaded an incomplete chapter for a different story. I had to take it down, and I think FF counts deletion of a chapter as an "update" as well. I didn't know that before, but I think it was a guest who told me that. Unfortunately, I don't think there's a way to reverse it either. Last time I made a mistake like this, it was over two years ago, when I was new to FF. I did the same thing unintentionally, and the new chapter somehow ended up being posted hours later. So, I'm guessing that it might be the same now? You might see this chapter a few hours from now. So...in the meantime, I'm gonna keep my fingers crossed and hope that I didn't irritate anybody. :) XX
~ 4:40 PM ~
Brandon absentmindedly "watched" the movie. He was too busy feeling the gentle weight of the blonde's head on his shoulder. Should he just push her off? Wake her and tell her to go sleep elsewhere? There are a couple of bedrooms around here. Surely, she can toss her head on one of the pillows in there instead of using his shoulder. He could barely hold his gaze steady on the TV, let alone follow along with the movie. Unfolding his arms, he just sat there quietly to himself, wondering how a three-pound head could be such a blunt distraction. He turned to her with a peeved frown. "This is all your fault, you know," he accused, wiggling his index disapprovingly at her dozing face. Gah, what was he thinking? C'mon, he can't be that weak. Surely, he can't be feeling squirrely because there's one girl dangling on his arm. After all, he has seen at least a million of 'em in his life before. She was no exception.
Yet, strangely, she's the only one he's curious about. And in all honesty, it wasn't his fault he's curious about this…gorgeous intruder in his new, fast-forwarded life and he realized why. His eyes flickered down to the palladium, silver-toned wedding band on his finger. He stared at the odd thing sitting on his tan skin. It was a huge thing for him to be married out of all people, much less be one of the earliest ones to do so. Despite his outgoing, extroverted nature, he was very…guarded. He never trusted people or his surroundings so easily, which was the exact reason that his news of marriage scared him more than the amnesia did.
And apparently, he wasn't the only one married. Almost all of his friends were. Hell, half of them even have kids. Kids! He certainly hoped he didn't. Marriage was one thing but children? They're another thing entirely. He turned to the blonde, who was vainly oblivious to his internal dilemmas. He hoped that she wasn't pregnant or something. The last thing his immature self needed was a bomb in the face about a few buns in the oven.
He kept his eyes on her, remaining impassive with his gaze. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, acting as a thick curtain and covering her face almost entirely. Unable to resist, he raised his hand slowly, hesitating for a moment. She's sleeping anyway, he reassured himself. Besides, with all that hair, she can't breathe, he stupidly reasoned, justifying just about anything to get himself an excuse to touch her.
He gently clasped a thick lock of hair, letting his calloused fingers feel the velvety softness of the silky strands before gently tucking them behind her ear. He chose to quietly stare at her, wondering what it is about her that drew him. There had to be something about her that made him want to marry her, right?
She's not really the "perfect" or "dreamy" girl, to be honest. She wasn't poised, graceful, or elegant. If anything, she seems awfully clumsy. She seemed to have a knack for embarrassing herself. He chuckled at the occasional displays of that he witnessed since this morning alone. Who knew he had such a peculiar taste in women? In high school (from what he remembered anyway), he had preferred dating girls who can take care of themselves. He didn't like babying or comforting anyone. He wasn't cut out for that. And he sort of preferred steering away from the inexperienced-with-love girls. They cling too much.
And Stella? To an extent…she seems kinda clingy. Not enough to annoy him but definitely enough for him to notice her presence all the time. There were so many things in her that he would have ruled out as potential dating material. But…considering he ended up marrying her, he's gotta say he didn't rule out shit. He was curious, though, as to why this airhead seemed attractive to him.
Eyeing his wedding ring with a confused sigh, his gaze traveled down to her lap where her hands were folded. His eyes widened at seeing the two rings. The more elaborate one (clearly the engagement ring), made of white gold that is yet to lose its luster, was an oval-cut halo ring with a twisted infinity band traveling delicately around the finger. His jaw dropped at the sheer elegance of the craftsmanship. This thing must've cost—
"—a fortune!" Brandon abruptly shouted with a gasp, grabbing the blonde's hand on instinct.
Thanks to his overdramatic reaction, the blonde awoke with a start, frightened out of her wits. Her eyes jilted open at the sudden ringing in her ears. She gasped loudly to see Brandon so up close and that too with a ridiculously surprised expression on his face. Stella blinked the sleep out of her eyes, wondering what it was that caught his interest now.
"Did I rob a store to get you this?!" he incredulously asked, peering intrusively at the ring.
She blinked sleepily and rubbed her eyes in confusion before following his gaze. She finally understood what his new commotion was about. Her confusion soon shifted into discomfort as she observed him practically gawking at her poor ring. What's that supposed to mean anyway? She stared at him plainly, not knowing if she should be offended by his disbelief. "Um…no?" she said a little uneasily before snatching her hand away from his grasp.
She eyed her rings with the same tenderness that she always had whenever they fell in her sight.
And what was it that he said? Rob a store?!
She resisted a scoff. Just how dare he? Still. The irony though. She had thought the same thing when they got engaged.
"How much did this thing even cost?!" she gaped at the shiny rock sitting on her finger.
"Why?" he teased, chuckling.
She stared at it, quietly trying to gauge its worth. Being an avid admirer and collector of jewelry, she knew this was no joke. It must've cost him a fortune. "I'm contributing," she suddenly announced, staring at him with pure petulance at wasting so much money on such a materialistic testimony.
He folded his arms, amused with her antics, before raising a perfectly arched brow. "I don't think there's been a single girl who bought her own engagement ring," he observed, weirded out by the out-of-the-norm convention.
"Well, when that girl has a way-too-adventurous boyfri— fiancé," she quickly corrected herself, pausing for a moment to smile like a lovesick loon. She slapped the grin off her face before continuing. "There's gotta be some boundaries," she said, poking him in the chest and fighting off her smile. "So! How much was it?!"
He rolled his eyes. "Stell. Stop being so damn silly, dammit. Honestly, I thought you'd be the last person to make such a fuss," he teased, knowing and having first-hand experience at seeing her supernatural fetish for expensive, pretty things.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she scoffed, clearly offended what she thought he was implying.
He chuckled. "Just let it go already. We're supposed to be celebrating. Not arguing over a goddamn ring that's never leaving your finger."
She blushed before smiling hard at his words. Still, she felt a little uneasy. They weren't rich or millionaires. They didn't have to pretend to be. For heaven's sake, she's still in college!
Realizing her dilemma, he held her chin gently. "Marriage is a one-time thing," he smiled at her. "Yeah, it was expensive, but it didn't exactly burn a hole in my pocket," he assured her.
She bit her lip and stared at the ring again. "God, you spoil me rotten," she mumbled before deciding to drop the matter. He was right. Right now, they needed to celebrate. She held her hand out in joy, letting the ring twinkle underneath the sun. "Wait till I tell the girls! They're gonna FREAK!" she squealed moments later, admiring the intricate and beautiful craftsmanship. "I'm never taking it off," she promised him before throwing her arms around his neck.
"Well, I would hope so," he mumbled, wounding his arms around her in return.
She laughed. "You know, I'm gonna show it off to every girl out there, so they know you're officially off-limits," she tapped his nose, beaming proudly.
"Yeah, well, don't show it off too much. The last thing I need to hear is that my fiancée got mugged," he grumbled.
She stared at him before bursting into a fit of giggles. Trust a cop to always think like a cop. Hugging him, she grinned like a complete moron. God, she loved this guy.
"I can't believe I got you that!" Brandon blinked, still gawking rudely at her finger.
"Why, do you want it back now?" she asked dryly before slowly standing up. Her eyes narrowed slightly with distrust and even…anger. It doesn't matter if he lost his mind. Saying something like that is beyond rude, even for him.
Seeing the unappreciative frown on her face, he quickly raised his hands up in surrender. "Hey, don't blame me. It's really hard to imagine that kind of pocket money at eighteen."
…
Oh.
Stella relaxed mildly after hearing his explanation. She gave him one last peeved look before looking away, frowning to herself. She still hadn't liked what he said.
She glanced around, hoping for a distraction, before her eyes fell on the clock mounted on the wall. Her eyes widened to see that it was five in the evening. Already? Wow. Time sure does fly by fast.
But then again, why wouldn't it when she had an annoying, complaining dork sitting on the couch? She bit her lip before shaking her head at the big, twenty-six-year-old baby she had to take care of. Was he always such an immature idiot before she met him?
He grabbed her attention again when he stood up and made his way over to the TV. He bent down to peer into the shelves in the stand before running his eyes along the flicks lined up against them.
"What're you doing?" she casually asked.
"What does it look like?" he said before snooping invasively through the movie cases. "When eight years of your life is just gone, the world is a minefield of spoilers," he smirked, flashing her a quick grin before going back to meddling with the DVDs. "I can watch my favorite movies all over again, for the first time! What could be better than that?"
She raised an amused eyebrow. Well. For a guy who hasn't quite tuned in to his new reality, he sure knows how to make himself at home—
"No!" he suddenly gasped before pulling out a DVD and staring at it like it was as priceless as a long-lost treasure. "I've been waiting for this to come out all year long!" he showed it to her with wide, excited eyes.
Stella blinked as she read the title. Iron Man 2. She suppressed a giggle. She knew he loved the Marvel movies, but she didn't think he'd get this excited. What do ya know? She was starting to like this eighteen-year-old kid; he was cute. "Waiting? More like drooling," she teased his visible excitement with a smirk.
His excitement was instantly replaced by the sharp scowl he flashed in her face.
"Hey, it's not my fault you've been drooling over Robert Downey Jr. for a year," she giggled, holding up her hands in surrender.
Brandon scowled at her again before ignoring her comment and putting the DVD in. He grabbed the remote as the TV played the disc, instantly flashing the copyright information and disclaimers. He flopped back on the couch and relaxed into the cushion once more, throwing his legs over the table in front of him and folding his arms with utmost leisure.
The brunet observed the blonde simply standing there, glancing back and forth between him and the TV. "You don't want to watch it?" he pointed towards the screen. He patted the empty seat beside him.
She appeared taken aback by his gesture. "You want to watch it…with me?" she asked in genuine surprise.
...
Yeah…? Was it a crime? Why is that such a shocker? He didn't like the dramatically exaggerated frown on her face. Slowly nodding, he continued patting the seat beside him. "It'll be nice to see you drool over RDJ too," he smirked, hiding his intentions.
Yeah, right, she rolled her eyes at his challenge before moving over to sit beside him anyway. "Dream on," she chuckled, slyly stealing a glance at him. She already found the man she wanted to drool over.
While the titles started to play, Brandon hoped that he wouldn't receive any of those absurd flashes he's been getting since morning. He didn't want any anymore. It's not that he hated them…it's just that he felt as if he was invading into an unknown, private territory even though he knew it was his own. It was overwhelming and frankly, he wasn't ready to accept that he was in a committed relationship, let alone in a marriage. Yet. He knew that the only reason he was even staying here was because of that marriage. Hell, had she been a girlfriend instead, he wouldn't have given her his time of day.
"I'll get some popcorn," Stella suddenly said, jerking him out of his trance.
He turned to look at her as she got up. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared around the hallway and into the kitchen. He sighed to himself, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Why did this have to be so complicated?
"You missed the first five minutes," Brandon accused as the blonde sat beside him with a delicious tub of salted butter popcorn.
The blonde smirked before rolling her eyes. "For the record, I've watched this dumb movie a hundred times already because of you," she retorted right back.
He rolled his eyes at her. Clearly, her insult had come from ignorance. "Okay, one, it's not dumb," he defended. "And two, if you watched it a hundred times already, once more shouldn't hurt," he remarked smoothly, flashing her a victorious smirk.
She rolled her eyes at his smartass retort before plopping a few popped kernels into her mouth. "Why do you like this movie so much anyway?" she grumbled.
"Technically, I've never once seen it. So, I'll tell you once I'm done," he smirked.
The smug grin on his face made her heart skip a beat, and she found herself fighting off yet another blush again. Compared to the Brandon she knew, this one was somehow much more playful, not that the old Brandon was brooding or mysterious. Both of these versions were just so different though she couldn't quite pinpoint how. She met him when he just hit twenty-two, four years after the point that he remembers. She wondered if anything happened in between that might've changed him or if it was just the dramatic adolescent personality that naturally came with adulthood.
She smiled to herself, remembering their first few meetings. She knew right away that he was something special. ...Well, no, that was a lie. She thought he was cute, and that was it. But she gradually developed a form of respect for him. That he was indeed special and different from anyone she had ever encountered before. She never imagined him to feel the same way about her, much less envision a lifetime commitment with her like she did with him.
Rounding up everyone, the two officers glumly sighed understandingly at each other, both already wishing for this long night to be over. Honestly, they don't get paid enough for this.
Brandon ran his eyes over the place carefully only to abruptly stop when he saw a flash of familiar blonde hair. His heart spiked when he saw her. Again. Stella, right? Why is it that he's always seeing her in places like this? He walked over to her with interest, who was being casually interrogated by another officer.
Her eyes caught his curious ones as he neared her. She looked at him with a moment of confusion before her eyes flashed with recognition too. It's that same officer again. Keeping his eyes on her, Brandon folded his arms with a small, disapproving frown on his face.
The blonde scratched her head a little sheepishly. "Are we in trouble?" she asked the other officer a little nervously.
"Did you cause any trouble?" the brunet stepped in, his voice laced with mild anger.
She turned to him before vigorously shaking her head. "No way! I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," she finished a little sheepishly.
He didn't appreciate the humor. "For the fourth time in a row?" he raised an eyebrow, giving her a frown of disapproval.
To her, it was the second time, but to him, it was apparently the fourth that he had seen her. She blushed slightly. How could he blame her though? Growing up under watchful parents has taken its toll by the time of her first year in college. Attending wild parties and staying past curfew times hadn't been her ways of rebelling though; it was just her having harmless fun. She had only gone with her friends and never alone. She did what she wanted to do, but she never crossed the line.
They had met again on another day. And unlike the first four times, it wasn't just for a hasty glance or two.
The brunet quietly observed the blonde shaking a little. Good. She should be. Just how in the world did she think carousing out late was a fabulous idea? And what exactly were her parents doing? Why weren't they disciplining her? This is the one time he wouldn't mind throwing people in cages. This was the fifth time he had seen her at problematic gatherings. The only difference is that this one had gone out of hand with a half-dozen neighbors calling the police for loud music.
She stood amongst a few other girls, looking around her tensely. He went over to the group while the rest of his team assembled the remaining buffoons, instantly filing charges against those who tried to run away.
"Ladies. IDs, please," the brunet snapped his fingers. The girls quickly pulled out whatever they had, some taking out their university IDs while others handing him their driver's licenses.
Brandon continued to check and verify their credentials, taking pictures of the IDs and jotting their names down for further enquiry.
Stella bit her lip before handing over her license.
Flashing her yet another frown, he stiffly took the card before reading her info quickly.
Stella Solaria. Eye color: Hazel. Height: 5'7''. Age: 19
His eyes widened at that tidbit of information. 19?! She was underage? He hadn't known that.
"Excuse me," she quietly raised her voice.
He looked up, his frown deepening.
"Are we in trouble?" she asked him nervously.
It was that same question. AGAIN.
Well, she should've thought of that before coming here. He resisted the urge to scold her out loud. He folded his arms. "You will be if you or anyone here was suspected of drinking," he said stiffly, remembering the bottles of alcohol and beer he had seen inside. "Have you been?" he asked her, throwing her a skeptical glance. She'd be in so much trouble if she did. Hell, he'll even go to her parents' house and tattle on her. Or better yet, he should probably bust her ass and give her a day or two of jail time to show her how cruel this world can be.
The blonde slowly shook her head. "No."
He watched her stare at her toes, the ground, the bushes over there, and practically…anywhere else but him. Despite the circumstances he found her in, he felt as if he could believe her. He wanted to believe her. For her sake.
She faintly smiled, reminiscing that conversation. After that encounter, he was more than just a hot guy she stumbled into one night. It was over a period of three to four months where they were nothing more than strangers, but he had already casually started to come and go in her thoughts every now and then.
Sighing softly, Stella stole a glance at the brunet beside her, who is somehow so deeply engrossed in the movie. Here she was, sitting right beside him yet still missing him like crazy while he's more interested in watching a playboy billionaire fly around in chunks of red metal.
Why isn't he at least a little curious about her? Or was she hoping for too much? Should she just be happy that he isn't complaining about sitting next to her? He did invite her to watch the movie with him. Which was a huge improvement. So, should she just take what she got…?
Stella gasped when someone nudged her hard on the shoulder. She straightened up immediately at the jolt and realized that she had dozed off. Again.
She turned to Brandon, who looked a little peeved. "I can't stand it when someone sleeps through one of my favorite movies," he declared bossily.
Losing any intentions of sleeping instantly at his rude quip, she raised an eyebrow at yet another one of his evergreen displays of attitude. "Well, I can't stand watching the same movie a hundred times," she retorted dryly. "Be glad that I'm snoozing instead of pulling your hair out."
"As if your choice is gonna be any better," he mumbled. "You'd probably make me watch a chick flick."
An amused smile instantly curled her lips upwards. "And what's wrong with that?" she raised an eyebrow, teasing him. She knew that he loathed chick flicks. The only times that he ever watched them were for her sake, and he didn't do that without entertaining her with complaining commentary either.
"More like what's right with them," he grumbled. "They never happen in real life, you know," he argued.
Stella snorted before glancing at the paused movie. "Rigghhttt. And a flying metal dude totally does," she sarcastically turned to the TV.
"Whatever," he mumbled before looking away childishly.
She suppressed another amused grin, finding his pettiness almost…cute. A word that she would've never used on him before. Handsome, charming, charismatic, bold, and among all the other typical words that came to mind regarding a man in his prime…cute was never one of them. Her amusement grew wider when she saw him pettily moping. "Brandon Shields...are you…sulking?" she started to giggle. Oh, wow. He really is a child.
"No, I'm challenging you to a better movie," he retorted.
Stella giggled again. Well, amnesia or not, his dinosaur-sized ego hadn't shown any signs of diminishing. "Fine. But you'll be eating your words," she smirked before grabbing the remote and opening up Netflix.
"I doubt it," he grumbled before remaining silent for a long moment, a little miffed that she shooed away from a movie he had been wanting to watch. Sighing in boredom, he watched her scroll through lists of movies. Who knew a day like this would come? Where he had to trash his interests and take up another girl's? Lame. So lame. The second he gets his memories, the first thing he'd do is enlighten the fast-forwarded version of him with some much-needed life advice.
"Ha! There!" she suddenly grinned with glee at finding a classic. She hovered her finger over the play button though refrained from immediately pressing it, giving him a chance to view her selection.
Brandon snorted, glaring at the cheesy title. The First Wives Club. Can the name be any geekier? It sounded straight up dumb.
Stella couldn't help but laugh when she saw him looking absolutely revulsed with her choice. Oh, the joy.
"Why am I going to watch this again?" he grumbled, complaining. She really didn't care about him, did she?
"Because you love me," she giggled before the smile vanished just as quickly. She froze instantly, causing him to glance at her. She looked away with a soft gasp, cursing herself at the slipup. She coughed before fumbling with her words. "Um. B-Because I want to prove that chick flicks aren't as bad as you dramatically make them out to be," she quickly stuttered, finishing awkwardly. She bit her lip hard, berating herself over and over again. How could I say something like that? Shutting her eyes, she used her hair as a curtain to mask her face from any further humiliation. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Brandon shifted a little uncomfortably, even though she tried to cover her words with the dignity she was left with. Swallowing, he shook his head, pretending he never heard what she said. He simply shrugged, saving her (and himself) from additional embarrassment. "…As if one film will change my opinion," he mumbled, steering the topic back to chick flicks. They were horrible, and that was a decided fact for him.
Stella sighed immensely with gratitude, thankful to him for diverting the topic back to something that's not awkward.
Stella didn't know why she liked this movie, but she did. It was one about three ex-wives who sought revenge after their husbands for leaving them for much younger women. In the end, the wives realize that by taking revenge, they're no better than their men, so they end up funding an organization that seeks to aid abused women.
What made the movie entertaining was not the film itself but rather the completely irritated man next to her. His charming but forever bored face made her laugh.
"For the record, this seems like a warning," he accused, pointing harshly to the TV as the credits started to roll.
She looked confused. "Hmm?"
"You know, purposely showing me this film just so I wouldn't leave you," he sulked.
Her eyebrows shot up to the roof at his highly creative comment. She didn't know if she should be offended, but it certainly made her laugh. "Well…is it effective?" she asked slyly because secretly, she wanted to know. She wanted to know if he had such plans of leaving even though he said he didn't. She hoped it was effective. If not...well, she'd be happy to make him sit in front of it a hundred more times, at least.
"I guess…" he shrugged.
Really…? Is it pessimistic if she found that hard to believe? Narrowing her eyes at his uncharacteristic generosity, she opened her mouth to ask about it when his next words shut her up.
"You know, since leaving you for a much younger woman would most likely get me arrested," he smirked, leaving her to erupt in a fit of giggles.
He couldn't help but admire how beautiful her laugh was. Her eyes were blissfully closed for a few gentle moments, allowing him to stare as much as he wanted to. Her laugh was so raw, pure, and innocent. It wasn't something that came from the mouth. Instead, it radiated from within, letting the light of it travel all the way to her eyes.
She couldn't remember smiling or laughing this much after the accident. This was her first serve of genuine happiness in over two weeks. She realized how much she had missed having him around. They were watching a movie, talking, and…having fun. She shouldn't be too greedy. Glancing at him, she realized that she should wait…because he's worth it. To her, he's worth every bit of her tears, longing, and angst. With time, he had warmed up to her. Sure, it was in his classic, asshole-istic way, but the point is that he did. And who knows? With even more time…he might just learn to love her.
~ 9:00 PM ~
They spent the evening watching movies, alternatively bickering and choosing one of their choice.
Afterwards, Stella soon excused herself into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Hearing Brandon enter the space, she couldn't help but smile to herself. Ahh, what a wonderful day today has been. Why was she even complaining? No, they haven't really hit it off, but at least, she's now tolerable in his eyes. She received a promotion from the untouchable peasant to a butler. Not bad. That alone lifted her spirits. Heck, she waited twenty years for this guy. She can wait a few more months — or even years — for him to love her again.
"So. What are you making?" he asked casually. He leaned against the kitchen island and watched her pace around.
"I'm thinking," the blonde tapped her chin in thought. "Any suggestions?" Maybe some avocado toast, omelets…she started to brainstorm a list of healthy meals.
He watched her bite her lip softly, a frequent habit of hers whenever she went deep in thought. He was surprised that he had picked up on such subtle things about her in a short amount of time.
"What about…" the blonde trailed off, tapping her fingers on the counter.
Still in thought, the brunet kept his eyes on her. She had cooked for him every single day, never once letting him eat anything from the hospital. Even though he had grudgingly eaten, he must admit...he was glad he didn't have to taste anything other than homemade food. He barely had the strength to look after himself, much less complain on the one person who actually made efforts to do so. But that was then. He wasn't a patient anymore. There was no need for him to still be a slob. "Actually…can I try?" He volunteered a little awkwardly. And he felt even more guilty as he asked her that. She has been feeding him for the past two weeks, listening to his tantrums without complaining, and all he's been doing is mooching.
Stella paused, turning to him in surprise. "You...you actually want to…?" she asked with her eyes wide.
"You said that I cook every day anyway," he shrugged.
Stella blinked at his comment. "...No, you don't," she denied. "You don't cook everyday. Just sometimes," she corrected, pointing a finger at him. What did he think? That he did ALL the work around the house? Pfft.
He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at her amendment to his words. "…You know, I wasn't trying to be sexist," he smirked before watching her face burn.
She instantly turned away from him with her face flushed with embarrassment. How was she supposed to know that? Especially with all the misogynist comments he'd been passing all morning. With a distracting cough, Stella retreated back and hopped on top of the kitchen island, sitting on it cross-legged and inviting him to do...whatever it is that he wanted to do.
Meanwhile, he stared around the place cluelessly. There was nothing familiar about this interior. The cabinets, drawers, stove, utensils, vegetables...god, he really had no idea where to start. She told him that he cooked a lot. But…the only thing he knew how to make right now was cereal. Scratching the back of his neck in absolute stupidity, Brandon grumbled to himself, clearly regretting taking up this offer.
Stella soon had to bite back a smile because even she could tell that he had no idea what he was doing. "Do you need any—"
Brandon held up his hand. "I got this," he interrupted rudely before demanding her to sit back down. There was no way in hell he was about to make a fool of himself in front of some girl.
Seeing his little ego awaken, Stella folded her arms in amusement. Oh, this is gonna be so much fun.
Okay. Well. He can first start...somewhere. "Where's the frying pan?" he randomly asked before starting to raid the cabinets.
She giggled. "What are you even trying to make?"
He didn't answer. He was too busy cursing himself. Now where are those memories when I need them? He's been stupidly getting them all morning, so where the hell were they now? He sourly grumbled his way out as he pulled out basic ingredients randomly from the cabinets near the stove. Salt, sugar, pepper, chili, basil, cayenne, etc. Every dish needs them, right?
"Brandon. Hello!" Stella snapped her fingers to get his attention. "What are you trying to cook?" she asked with another giggle, seeing him take out things just randomly. Didn't he know that that will only result in a lot of cleaning later? Her least favorite part of kitchen duty.
Sighing, he paused before turning to her. "…Actually, I'm hoping it would just come to me," he sheepishly replied, making her laugh at his logic.
"Cooking isn't muscle memory," she smiled at him, not wanting to embarrass him. Him offering to work — even if it's a failed attempt so far — is a sweet gesture in itself that she didn't have the heart to make fun of him.
"Don't you have, like, a cookbook laying around?" he sourly asked before scrunching up his face to one of discomfort at having to ask such a…feminine thing. Cookbooks were for girls. She has got to have some.
There he goes again with his sexist comments. Well. Wrong. She didn't. If she didn't know how to cook something, she'd just make it on the fly or surf through the net or, better yet, ask Brandon himself since he was way better than her in things that required manual laboring. Flora would probably have one though. "No, I—"
"And where's that frying pan?" he asked sourly, pacing around the kitchen in total confusion and irritation.
Taken aback by his growing impatience once again, Stella immediately replied, "Down there." She pointed to a bottom cabinet with a smile.
"Thanks," he mumbled before heeding to her instructions and pulling out a black, non-stick frying pan. He opened the cabinets one by one before his eyes happily flashed with recognition at seeing every bachelor's comfort food. "What about these for dinner?" he grinned, pulling out a few packets of Top Ramen.
Stella's heart skipped a few more beats when she saw what she could only label as the happiest, most innocent smile she had ever seen on him. Not that smug smirk of confidence he always had, but an actual smile. A genuine, raw, honest one. Was this who he was before he took on the mantle his god-awful job demanded? She couldn't believe that eight years could bring out this much change within a person.
Her wordless nod made him grin harder. Finally. Something he was actually useful for!
She smiled to herself, her smile slowly growing wistful. Perhaps, his amnesia was a boon, in a sick, twisted way. It gave her the key to his past, showing her what and who her husband once used to be. Why celebrate his cuteness through old photographs when she can watch it live?
"Let's see…so, is there anything you're allergic to?" he suddenly asked, clamping his hands together.
Smiling faintly at his concern, Stella shook her head. She watched him heat water on the stove. He waited until the water could start to boil. Folding his arms, Brandon glanced around the kitchen before his eyes gradually fell on the silent blonde sitting in the middle, on a countertop.
"So...tell me something about yourself," he initiated to kill the silence.
She raised her eyes to meet his in surprise. Did he just say he wanted to talk to her…? "Well...you can ask me anything. I'll answer," she blushed faintly.
He thought for a moment. He wasn't really interested in asking about her, per se. Yet. He was more interested in the concept of them. But...asking relationship-related questions was kinda...cringey. It was just too embarrassing to talk about. Besides, with the abrupt déjà vu moments he's been receiving all day, he didn't think he needed to ask if they were happy...because even he can't lie that he wasn't. "Are we doing okay? Like financially?" he resorted to prompt instead. And it was a good question too, he noted. Seeing how beautiful and big their home was, he knew it can't just be a rash or rental investment.
"Yes," she smiled, nodding. They weren't millionaires, but by middle-class standards, they are doing well.
"...And did we really buy this house…?" he asked with both interest and surprise. Or maybe, is this house hers? From before marriage?
"Hmmm...well...I mean—okay, yes, we did. We bought this house when we were engaged, when our wedding was still about three months away. You were already working by then, and I just graduated college. So, we took a loan from our parents, and we chose to pay them back," Stella answered, smiling to herself at a conversation they had early into their marriage. They both decided that they'd spend most of their earnings paying off the amount they owed their parents, even though the latter assured that it doesn't have to be rushed. Despite that, the young couple had honored their responsibility and deposited their earnings into their parents' accounts, little by little. Stella, for one, loved this home, and even though it had burned a sizable hole in each of their pockets, it was worth it. They had created a gorgeous space to dwell and spend their lives together. Each corner, nook, and cranny attested to the happiness they created here.
Brandon's lips formed a little 'oh' before he nodded in understanding. "We've been living here for...two years, then?" he softly asked.
She blushed to herself before nodding. She stared into her lap, knowing that these two years meant way more to her than they did to him right now. From the moment he entered into her life, whether it was to interrogate or date her, she had never been happier. The past four years were definitely the best ones of her young life.
An awkward silence ensued before Brandon turned away from her, effectively ending yet another conversation. He wasn't blind to her blushes or her little smiles. Clearly, he seemingly can't say anything without lulling her into La-La land.
Returning to the temporarily forgotten pan, Brandon opened the ramen packets before dumping the raw, uncooked contents into the boiling water.
Stella couldn't help but smile, again, at the sight, remembering the numerous nights Brandon had cooked for her. They would just talk about whatever, but mostly, they'd banter. They would argue back and forth and just be straight up silly. There would be moments where they would've fought harder than Musa and Riven (and that's saying something), but she knew she wouldn't trade those for anything. Since he was always going away, whenever he returned, they'd stay up for hours, just...talking quietly under the stars or in their bed. She missed making those kinds of memories with him. But him offering to make dinner tonight, regardless of the outcome, gave her a small beacon of hope and encouraged her to keep fighting. She didn't have to cry anymore. She didn't have to stay up for hours together, wondering if he'd make it. She can be herself again. Being optimistic and cheerful...that's who she was.
Brandon, in the meantime, focused on the unfinished dinner at hand. He poured the powdered flavors into the water, gently stirring the contents together. Minutes later, he emptied the cooked noodles into a wok, leaving the water behind. "Okay. What's next?" he asked, looking around the seasonings.
"Half the sauces you'll need are in the fridge," she pointed out helpfully.
He mumbled a quick thanks before grabbing whatever he could identify and find on the shelves of the fridge's door. How he's even a cook, much less being good at it, he had no idea. From what he knew, his mom usually took care of the house. He was just the type to go to school, play sports, and slouch on the couch at night. And that's pretty much what every day entailed. The mundane routine is what he expected and enjoyed. He liked his day being planned out for him. It was easier and hassle-free that way.
...Until she came along, he guessed, throwing a cursory glance at his so-called wife. She seemed like the type to cause headaches, rather than fix them.
Shaking his head, he picked up the salt before scooping a handy amount. He paused out of the blue, however, when he heard Stella yelp.
"Um…are you trying to sprinkle salt over the noodles or the other way around?" she asked, blinking in horror at the spoonful of salt he held up over the noodles.
Chuckling at her words, he turned to her with mock irritation and held up his hand. "If I cook every day, I must be a good cook," he declared arrogantly. "Trust me, Stella, I know what I'm doing."
"Really?" Stella quipped with a snort. "'Cuz it looks like I'm about to eat salty mush for dinner."
Stifling another laugh, he plastered a fake grimace at her dismissive comments. "Guess there are no points for efforts," he grimly said. "The thought really doesn't count sometimes, does it?" he frowned.
She giggled, hopping off the counter. "Of course, it does!" she cheered him on, patting him back.
He beamed at her compliment.
"It doesn't have to be edible though…" she teased again, leaving him to scowl at her again.
"Maybe I should just stick to being a mooch," he sourly said, making her giggle again. Here he was, trying to make a decent meal for her. Just for her, so she didn't have to tire herself like she's been doing for weeks. Clearly, she can't see his efforts, much less compliment them. Ungrateful idiot.
"I told you," Stella giggled. "The TV really does suit you way more than you think," she smirked, flicking a thumb over to the LED that was still powered on. "So...scooch and let moi, the real chef, take over," she declared with a playful authority and nudged him aside, invading into his cooking space.
His suppressed smirk started to fade when she moved so close to him, rendering him momentarily senseless. Oblivious, Stella poured the sauces in and resumed where he had paused. She was close enough to let him inhale the scent of apples from her freshly washed hair. Swallowing, he held his breath and slowly took two steps away from her. He sighed to himself. How could someone so beautiful make him want to run the other way? He sighed again moments later when he realized that he inadvertently admitted that Stella was attractive. Again. He wished he didn't find her so. Being in a relationship was nothing less than terrifying to him, and he was in no mindset to let that happen. He didn't want to hurt Stella, but...seeing how she constantly showed her love for him and grew upset whenever he questioned it, she's bound to get hurt. One way or another.
A loud hissing and a soft gasp tugged him back to reality, and his instincts naturally blared red. "What's wrong?" he demanded, only to come face-to-face at the fallen ketchup sizzling on the hottened burner of the electric stove.
Stella groaned to herself at the now fried and burnt ketchup, which was stuck to the stove like a disgusting second skin. Great. More cleaning. There was a reason she was always more than happy with letting Brandon take over the kitchen duties. He was just somehow so adept and skilled at this kind of stuff. Shooting a bummed look at the dork she was stuck with, she sighed to herself, finding yet another reason to wish for her husband to come back to her.
Brandon folded his arms, eyeing the messy spill. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he shot her a smug grin. This was too good to resist. She's been acting like a huge, know-it-all bigshot, only to make a mess of herself ten seconds later. Who knew?
Needless to say, her face flushed with embarrassment at his jibe. "I got this. Just go to the living room or something," she mumbled.
"You know, for a so-called chef, you're awfully clumsy," he teased her with mirth dancing in his eyes.
"Yeah, well, accidents happen," she defended herself, resuming cooking and deciding to clean up at the end.
"They do," he nodded in agreement. "Catastrophes don't," he added with a chuckle before stiffening at the familiarity of his own words.
"What the hell, Stella?!" he angrily yelled, turning to her with fury blazing in his eyes.
"What?" she sheepishly said.
Glaring heatedly at her careless antics in the kitchen of all places, he turned away, refusing to speak with her. He told her repeatedly to be careful near these appliances, but no. She had to choose the worst, worrisome timings to play around.
She giggled at his impatience. "Brand…?" she crawled her fingers up his arm. "Have I ever told you how hot you look when you're angry?" she teased him playfully.
He scowled at her attempts to cool him off. "That's not gonna work," he said stubbornly. His eyes soon fell on the radiant smile on her lips, and he wished they didn't.
She giggled again, her soft laughs slowly melting his irritation away like wax on a bright, sunny day. "But accidents happen all the time!" she childishly reasoned with him. "And, c'mon, it's not like I spilled that thing on purpose!"
"Accidents happen," he nodded, his scowl wearing off. His eyes continued to soften at her beautiful smile. "But you, my love, are a catastrophe," he smiled, tapping her nose.
She beamed when she saw that he was back to normal again.
Turning fully to face her, he locked his arms around her.
"Not mad at me anymore?" she smiled.
He smiled to himself. She was always the quickest to make him angry, but she was also just as quick to soothe him. Without a word, he kissed her softly, silently answering her.
"The stove's still on," she whispered when things started to get a little...heated.
He leaned over and turned off the dials. "Not anymore," he murmured with a tender smile before softly capturing her lips again.
Seconds later, the bedroom door was kicked shut and their uncooked lunch was left forgotten.
With shock, Brandon dropped the spatula in his hands. Frozen solid, his eyes remained wide at the back-and-forth blurred flashes. His brain once again channel-surfed with the memories that he no longer remembered or cherished. He remained stoic and frozen, his body being flooded with waves of inertia.
"Now who's the clumsy one?" Stella teased him, hearing the thud of the utensil.
He barely noticed her sarcastic little quip as it felt so out of place, especially with what he just saw in his head. He just stared at her, open-mouthed. His body didn't let him think anything other than the fact that he's in shock. He closed his mouth and instantly turned away from her, finding the floor and her toes far more interesting. "I'm—I'm gonna go," he sputtered out. And it was all he could say.
Stella paused, turning to him with confusion as he tumbled, slipped, and beelined out of the kitchen in haste. Ok-ay? Her little smirk fell into a soft frown. ...Had she said something wrong…? Biting her lip, her shoulders turned limply towards the stove. She missed his company already.
Meanwhile, Brandon ran upstairs, away from her, straight to the master bathroom. He slammed every door shut behind him before wheezing out the breath he's been holding. He could hear and feel his heart beat...every single thump in his chest. He redirected his attention to the mirror, the bathtub, the showerhead — anything to get this pounding to stop.
Shutting his eyes, he plastered his back to the door and slid down to his knees. Clutching his throbbing head in pain (though that was the last thing he worried about right now), he tried not to think. Oh...god. He could just picture Stella being far worse than the show she gave him this afternoon. This is so unfair. He already felt nervous and anxious at her mere proximity. And forget talking, how was he even supposed to look her in the eye after this? How was he supposed to think about her, now that he had partial/blurred images of their proof of intimacy? "No, no, no," he mumbled, clutching his head and sinking to the floor. He c-can't. This is so wrong. "Stop, stop, stop!" he chided himself, somehow telling his mind to force those sights out of his system before he goes nuts. Oh, dear god. How can ONE mess in the kitchen lead to a doorway to the bedroom?
"Brandon?!"
Brandon jerked at hearing his name fall from her lips. He swallowed. Great. Now he's imagining her saying his name under non-platonic circumstances. Since when was he such a dirty-minded pervert?
"Dinner's ready!" Stella called from downstairs.
He didn't respond. Checking the watch strapped to his wrist, he noticed that he's been holed in here for at least ten minutes. Thank god she didn't notice anything. He was glad that humans can't read minds or he would've been long dead from embarrassment.
He shakily stood up, knowing if he took any longer, she would start poking her nose around. He splashed his face with cold water and glanced at himself in the mirror. "...So much for being decent," he mumbled, recalling the little promise she gave him earlier in the afternoon. Patting his face dry, he tried to compose himself. So...this is what he'll do. Ignore what he had seen. Pretend it never happened. And just...try to not imagine Stella with her clothes thrown everywhere but on her. He can do that.
Slapping himself to get a hold of himself, he swallowed before heading out the bedroom. He heard Stella doing something downstairs. Climbing slowly down the stairs, he made his way to the living room before flopping on the couch, still shock-stricken from what he had seen. He shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He s-shouldn't. This was so wrong. He shouldn't be thinking about her that way. S-She deserved so much more than being a stripper in his imagination. It's okay, he comforted himself in a way. It wasn't a sin. She was his wife, and whatever had happened (thank the heavens he hadn't remembered everything), it was consensual. He hadn't committed a crime.
He sighed, knowing this was in vain. Even if she was his wife...it didn't feel right to imagine her au naturel, especially when he doesn't have her in his heart. Yet.
"Here," Stella's voice came out of nowhere as she held out his place, startling him.
He jumped in his seat, looking at her, bewildered.
She giggled at his dramatic reaction, "You okay?" she stifled a laugh.
At the lucent smile on her lips, he instantly turned his eyes away. That's another thing. Why couldn't she have been an ugly nighttroll instead?
"T-Thanks," he mumbled, shakily taking the plate from her.
"So much for cooking! I did all the hard work," she pouted, taking a seat beside him.
He didn't reply. Choosing to simply eat, he focused on the stir-fry noodles.
Stella noticed how he was so abruptly quiet. The silence from him almost felt...hostile. Just minutes ago, they were bantering when he literally ran away from her. Had she said something wrong…? "Brandon…?" she bit her lip, her insides gnawing at her all over again.
"Hmm?" he barely mumbled, without even turning to face her.
And that hurt. A lot. Turning to her food, she slowly set the plate down, losing her appetite instantly. She can't...she can't handle it if he's mad at her again, for whatever reason. She could care less if he didn't love her; she just can't go through the harsh extremities she endured from him. Not again. "...I'm sorry if I said something wrong earlier," she said in a quiet, dejected voice.
Brandon paused, his eyebrows arching up to the roof and his fork suspended mid-air. He turned to her with a concerned frown. "What are you talking about?"
She bit her lip, clearly a nervous habit of hers. "...You just look so serious," she simply said, not knowing how else to justify his sudden distance from her.
His eyes softened slightly. Her face shifted to one of pure sadness, something he learned to hate on her. He couldn't answer her yet. If you see what I'm seeing, you would be too, he thought grimly before shaking his head. He hated that he had upset her, again. He promised himself he wouldn't. He knew he had been a jerk to her, and she had been an angel to put up with every bit of his meanness. While she may think otherwise, he had meant every word of the apology he gave her this afternoon. And he still had a long way to go to redeem himself, even if she had already forgiven him. Even now, he wasn't mad at her. He was just...surprised. At this new life, at the man he had become. Regardless of where his confusion stemmed from, she was still in no way to blame. "Hey…" he nudged her slightly, causing her to glance back at him. "I'm fine," he reassured her with a faint smile before picking up her plate from the table and extending it to her. "Just...sleepy, I think," he shrugged, lying. Anything to cheer her up again.
Her eyes soon flashed with understanding before a small smile stretched her lips. She took the plate from him. Watching her take a bite, he smiled to himself, seeing that she naively bought his excuse.
~ 10:30 PM ~
"I swear to god, Brandon, you take forever to eat!" Stella grumbled in exasperation, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Or you just don't eat enough," he retorted smoothly, entering the kitchen. "And chill, would you? What's the rush?"
"Hello! The dishes won't clean themselves!" she pointed to the piled sink.
He chuckled, his eyes lingering on the small, complaining pout on her lips for a little longer. "Well," he ate the last of the remaining morsels on his plate before placing it in the sink. "There you go."
She blinked.
"Thank you for the dinner," he complimented her smoothly before turning to leave.
"Wait," she grabbed his sleeve, making him turn back around to face her. "You're not gonna do the dishes this time?" she asked with hope. "I already cleaned the rest of the kitchen!" she whined, pointing to the spick-and-span appliances and countertops.
His eyes shifted to ones of amusement. Oh, he could smell another banter coming. "...Well…" he scratched his head. It was already late. And the last thing he wanted was chores dumped on his head.
"You said we'll do 50-50," she argued, narrowing her eyes in accusation.
"You said I'm a patient," he raised an eyebrow, retorting right on cue.
"But you said you'll still do your share!" she protested.
"And you said the TV suits me way better," he squabbled.
The two glared at each other.
Argghh! Angrily, Stella slammed her fists on the counter and turned towards the sink but not before expressing her utmost disdain for this man right now. "Jerk," she grumbled, throwing on the gloves. "Asshole," she hissed, turning the hot water. "Idiot. Stupid," she continued to utter unhappily. She didn't know what she hated at the moment: doing dishes or his refusal to do his share. And she was beginning to think that he was gonna be a whole lot nicer.
He couldn't help but laugh at her pettiness. Her cheeks were flushed and red, not from blushing but from ill temper. It was almost...dare he say...cute. "Don't worry, Stella. I'll dry the dishes off," he continued to irk her.
"Oh, joy," she sarcastically grumbled, making him laugh again.
She shot a scowl at him, refusing to find any humor. He always had his way, one way or another. Always.
"Clean that up. That too," he ordered with a scowl, folding his arms.
"Jerk," Stella grumbled, scrubbing off. "Asshole," she continued obediently, scrubbing another spill.
He smirked, watching her with buoyancy. The best way to teach her to clean up the kitchen after use is by punishing her when she doesn't.
He continued to pester her mercilessly, provoking her on purpose to get a hilarious reaction. She either ignored him or came up with hilarious comebacks, which were apparently supposed to be serious and threatening. Brandon chuckled, enjoying himself. If this is what he married her for, bring it on. It's fun being a pesky thorn on a beautiful rose.
~ 11:00 PM ~
The night fell silent once again. Even though Brandon wasn't too tired, he could tell that Stella probably was. He didn't know how much she slept all these weeks, juggling from between work and taking care of him. And he was okay. He still had lots of room for physical healing, but that was something he could do on his own. She, in the meantime, needed to rest. "You want to head up to bed?" he asked.
She shook her head, giving him a faint smile that she's fine.
Brandon frowned, noting the soft yawns she kept repressing. For some reason, he had a feeling she'd never head to bed if he didn't. He didn't know whether to be in awe of having someone, a stranger, care for his well-being to this extent or scowl at her reckless decisions with her health. He stood up before faking a yawn. "Well. I do," he said.
She nodded, remembering him saying that he was a little tired. Poor guy. He must be exhausted.
"So...where do I sleep?" he asked her, folding his arms.
She leapt up with a bright smile again. "I can show you," she chirped.
He raised his eyebrow, wondering what was so exciting about sleeping arrangements. Crazy girl. He followed her upstairs until she paused in front of the master bedroom.
The smile on his lips fell apart when his gaze flew to the king-sized bed, which sat in the middle of the room and couldn't be any more obvious for what it's for. The back of his neck burned a bright scarlet and his jaw tensed visibly at recalling a particular memory that ran deep. He felt mortified at seeing those silky sheets, waiting to be entangled and cuddled into. His body, from head to toe, radiated enough heat that he was pretty sure he could've cooked those noodles on his face itself. Despite his attempts to steer to something else, there seemed to be no rescue from this never-ending uneasiness. This particular memory had seamlessly permeated through his brain, forever etched into his cells and ready to torment him all over again if he ever dared to forget.
"Okay," Stella gestured to their room, smiling and completely impervious to the look of terror on his handsome face.
...She wasn't going to make him sleep here, was she?
"Well, um...you can sleep here—" Stella pointed.
"NO!" he abruptly shouted, startling her.
She jumped out of surprise before turning to him, startled out of her skin.
He turned to her, plastering a shaky smile for her sake. "I-I-I m-mean, you c-can sleep here," he stuttered. "I'll go s-s-somewhere else," he breathed.
"..." she stared at him, confused. He could've just told her that. There was no need to shout. "...Are you okay?" she asked in concern.
Stella gasped when he suddenly grabbed her shoulders. "YOU. Sleep here," he ordered. "Okay?!" he said loudly, shaking her by the shoulders to get through her skull. "Okay," he nodded to himself. Letting her go with an involuntary shove, he quickly ran off in the opposite direction, to the farthest bedroom he could find.
She simply stared after him, too dumbfounded and speechless to say anything.
Slamming the door firmly shut, Brandon taped his back against it. He wiped off the beads of sweat that somehow accumulated along his forehead. Closing his eyes, he tried his best to ignore the lustful ache between his legs. His face burned brighter with second-hand embarrassment. Oh, god, this is so wrong. But was it really his fault though? "It's like having porn in my head," he mumbled, resting his head against the door.
He made his way to the bed, resorting to turn in early. A seven-hour sleep will hopefully calm him down. Tucking himself into the sheets, he laid on his front and buried his head underneath the off-white pillow, his fists tightly enclosing the fluffy thing around his skull.
...
Try as he might, he just wasn't able to fall asleep. He tossed and turned, unable to get those inviting images out of his mind.
"Fuck this!" he hissed loudly in raw frustration before throwing the sheets off him in a fit of anger. He stormed to the nearest bathroom, banging the door shut on his way inside. Stripping down to nothing, he tossed his clothes aside before hopping into the tub and turning the shower on, leaving the dial at the minimum temperature. The pipes roared to life as they dribbled cold water onto his bronze-toned skin. The icy chill attempted to pacify his racing nerves, though did nothing to his jumbled, chaotic mind.
Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. Of ALL the things he could've gotten access to, it had to be the ONE thing that left his body ablaze with a cruel form of concupiscence toward his own wife, the same girl he had chosen not to give any of his affections to. He shut his eyes, his thoughts refusing to swim anywhere else but towards the blonde. Why? Why did it have to be this? Out of everything, THIS was the only thing that felt like déjà vu?
Brandon frowned to himself. He had been discharged just today, his first day out in the real world. It had taken him time, sure, but he had grown to almost...like Stella. Not in a romantic sense, but he liked her. It frightened him to know that he had such a beautiful, committed relationship with her, but it was the exact reason he was still sticking around here. Just when he was about to give a verdict that maybe getting to know her won't be half as bad as he originally thought, he gets slapped with an indecent image of her. He didn't want to be swayed by his obvious attraction to her, and he wished his impression of her was anything but one filled with lust. She truly was a beautiful girl, and after everything she had selflessly put up for him...the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
Splaying herself across the mattress, Stella laid on her stomach, smiling to herself at the chic photographs that greeted her eyes. And no, contrary to expectations, she wasn't reminiscing over old photographs of herself and Brandon. Rather, she was appreciating the creativity of other talented fashion designers in her line of work. Her career was something she took great pride in, and it would always give her so much joy whenever her designs get approved and go on to become profound hits in the fashion industry. Only she knew how hard she worked to create a name for herself in mere two years. She had shared and celebrated each project's success with Brandon. He encouraged her to pursue her dreams and stood by a rock alongside her.
Her smile softly vanished at the thought of him. She won't be able to share that success with him anymore, would she? He either wouldn't understand...or maybe...he'd call her shallow, something she wouldn't be able to bear. To her, fashion was a form of aesthetic expression, a style that spreads itself across many seasons and connects to social and cultural markers. She venerated, admired, and drew inspiration from the styles every woman creates for herself. It was a beautiful form of art. That was as simple or deep as she could get.
It killed her to know that she'd maybe no longer be able to share that passion with the man she loved. The Brandon that loved her back...would she ever have him back? He had always cared for her well-being since the time he didn't even know her well. Or maybe that was his cop instincts talking, but...she liked to think otherwise.
"P-Please. Am I in trouble?" she whimpered at seeing a police station.
He smirked at her anxiety. Good. One should have a healthy respect for fear...and it's time he taught her how to do that.
"Maybe," he teased, gesturing for her to get out of the vehicle.
Obeying him, she scrambled out of the car immediately.
"But. I'm feeling extra nice today, so I'll let you go on two conditions," he smirked.
She blinked in confusion. What conditions?
"One. I need you to promise me that I'll never catch you at places like that again," he said, his voice turning serious and softer.
Her eyes widened before he watched her immediately bob her head up and down. "Yes. Yes, I promise!" she immediately agreed. That was easy. Hell, forget parties. She'll never even go to the grocery store again.
He smirked. "Good," he nodded. "And two…" he trailed off, eyeing her trembling form with hidden concern. He could tell. He could tell that she was scared shitless. And she should be. After all, a visit to the station isn't a walk in the park. Despite her obvious fear...it didn't escape his notice that she was just as beautiful as the day he had seen first her. She was still adorable and had a charm in her that magnetically attracted him to her. Despite knowing nothing but her name and age, he wanted to keep her out of her harm's way and protect her somehow. "...Have a cup of coffee with me," he teased.
Her eyebrows shot up to the roof while he crossed his fingers behind his back. "W-What?" she squeaked at the bizarre request. Was he...hitting on her?
"You heard what I said," he shrugged, a faint smirk brushing over his lips. Say no, say no, say no, he quietly chanted to himself, hoping she'll hear that telepathic request and turn him down. He really hoped that she wasn't stupid enough to say yes to a total stranger.
She seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments before her lips opened again. "...O-One coffee…?" she murmured. "Just one? Right?"
Letting out a sigh of disappointment, he tried not to let that incredible naivety crush him. "Yes. Just one," he said tightly. How could she so innocently believe that everyone in this world is good? How isn't she able to suspect anyone at all? How can she trust HIM?
...Idiot.
She wanted the old Brandon back.
Even though she'd learn to love this new one just the same, she missed the old him. She missed the way he loved her. It'd kill her if he never remembered, but then again...she was just as grateful to have him by her side every moment. Will we ever be like that again…? She continued to muse sadly, absentmindedly letting her eyes swipe through the insider photos of one of last month's fashion shows.
Instead of leading her to the inside of the police station like she expected him to, he paused outside, standing before a wall. She fell a few paces behind him and followed his line of sight to view a wall filled with photos of missing people and announcements of hefty rewards below each one of them.
She stared at him with bemusement, wondering why he's letting her stare at this.
"You're wondering why I brought you here," he said quietly, without having to face her.
Bingo.
He turned towards her with a grim expression on his face. "Every one of these people…" he pointed to the photos. "There's a slim chance of them returning. We don't even know if they're alive. We want to be hopeful, but we're also realistic," he told her. "One minute, they were all right here. and the next...their photos are plastered all over town, for the entire world to see," he shrugged.
She still looked confused as to why he's telling her all of this. What is he even talking about?
He took a step closer to her, startling her and making her take a hasty step backwards. "...I don't want something like this to happen to you," he said, his serious voice dropping to an immensely soft one.
Her amber eyes widened as she finally understood where he came from and what his intentions were all along.
"You're young, Stella. You have so much future ahead of you. Don't risk that," he softly said, leaving her speechless.
He pulled his shirt down, finished with getting dressed.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, something he had avoided doing for so long, simply because it reminded him of the sour fact he had eight years cruelly taken away from him. He lost his youth and any access to possibly some of the glorious, golden years of his life. He had missed out on college memories, his life as a cop, friends, family,...Stella…
He shut his eyes for a long moment, reopening them only after turning away from his reflection. He headed to his room once again, pausing at the doorway and glancing at the master bedroom that wasn't so far from him. He wondered if she might be having the same trouble as him. He didn't remember much, but she had her memory lane intact. Was she able to sleep well…?
Deciding to check, more out of curiosity than anything else, he paced his strides evenly down the hallway, his eyes slowly narrowing at the light pouring out of the master bedroom. The door was left open, something that nerved and excited him.
He paused at the doorway and peeked inside, letting his eyes fall on the blonde laying very much awake on the bed. Covered in sheets halfway down her body, she was surfing through her phone. And he could even make out a faint smile on her lips. He wondered what she was looking at. And why wasn't she asleep? He had wanted to turn in early for her sake, to begin with.
Before he could get caught red-handed and labelled as a creep, he made his presence known by knocking gently on the door.
Stella gasped and sat straight up, involuntarily locking her phone and giving him her undivided attention.
He didn't know why he didn't just silently retract back to his room. He didn't know why he wanted to see and hear her so badly. "You aren't asleep yet?" he indifferently asked from the doorframe, tucking his hands into his pockets.
"I'm going to," she answered him, flashing him a cute smile.
He sighed and looked away for a moment, wishing she didn't look so appealing to him.
"Why aren't you?" she asked in slight concern before observing his showered attire.
He turned away from her, unable to answer. How can he tell her (without actually telling her) that he almost missed her company? Almost. She was so interesting to talk to. Heck, she even managed to prove his cemented opinion, one where every blonde cheerleader was decidedly a bimbo, wrong. That alone earned her some serious brownie points.
"Do you need something?" Stella softly asked, slowly moving the sheets off her. His growing silence only concerned her. "...Brandon?" she called his name a little louder.
"Huh?" he mumbled, turning to face her again with a little jerk. "N-No. Nothing. I'm fine. Sorry," he replied vaguely, leaving her even more confused.
He's been acting so weird tonight. Even weirder than the tantrums he threw in the hospital. And that's saying something. She watched him glance at her for a lingering moment before he abruptly disappeared from her sight. She could hear him walking down the hallway.
Brandon paused in his tracks for a moment before retracing his steps back to where the blonde was. "Stella?"
"Yes?"
He paused just for a moment before wishing her with a faint smile, "...Good night."
Her eyes widened at his gesture before her face quickly broke into a growing smile, one that was impossible to miss. His small but meaningful wish made her night, and she could barely contain her excitement. "Good night, Brandon," she beamed at him, the radiance of her smile melting his stiff insides.
He threw her a little smirk before disappearing down the corridor, for real this time. He walked to his room and closed the door behind him before faintly smiling to himself. Turning the lights off, he eased his way into the sheets once again, feeling much more at content than he did just a short while ago.
Sighing softly, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow. If it's going to be anything today, then it'll be a good day. She'll make it one, he smirked.
He closed his eyes, his body relaxing into the mattress. His breaths grew evenly paced and rhythmic as he welcomed sleep with—
"Ahhhh!"
He opened his eyes in a flash when he heard a muffled, high-pitched squeal from Stella's room. Blinking, he wondered if something was wrong only to hear muffled, happy giggles coming from her. He blinked. Surely...she isn't going cray-cray because he wished her a happy night now, did she? Facepalming at her ridiculousness, Brandon snickered to himself, shaking his head with an amused smirk at her antics before closing his eyes once more. "Idiot," he chuckled, the curl of his lips remaining upwards.
Halting before her residence, he set the gear to parking mode and unlocked the doors.
She opened the door when he suddenly said her name. "...By the way, you don't need to go for coffee or anywhere with me," he assured her. Like he'd ever threaten or blackmail her, or any girl for that matter, over something like that. "There's nothing on your record."
Her lips formed into a soft 'oh' before she nodded and got out of the car before gently closing the door. She headed towards her dorm before suddenly pausing in her tracks and turning back around. "Brandon?"
"Yes?"
"...That's not why I said yes," she shook her head before turning on her heel.
He stared after her in bemusement before his eyes widened a few seconds later, his brain registering what she meant. He raised his head with a soft grin and watched her head inside the building but not before seeing her one last time as she turned and bid him a silent good night with a mesmerizing smile of her own. Blushing at his gaze, Stella smiled to herself before disappearing.
AN: Thank you so much for reading!
My summer vacation has officially started (woohoooo!), so I'm celebrating the little moments I have now before I get really busy once again. How about you guys?! ^-^ Anything exciting going on? ^-^ It's officially been TWO months since I stepped foot outside. I'm not complaining since I love indoors more than outdoors anyway, but I'm sure many people miss being able to have that freedom. :( So, I'd love to hear how you guys are spending your quarantine times. :)
As a side note, I haven't been very active on FF, especially in the last few weeks. So, if you've PMed or reviewed (as a signed user) and I haven't yet replied to you, I'm really sorry. It's not that I'm ignoring you. I just most likely haven't seen your message(s) yet, but I will get to them. I usually write offline, so I don't open FF that much in general, except maybe to post/update like I'm doing now.
Thank you again for reading! I hope you're all doing well and that you're staying safe, happy, and healthy!