Title: One Temporary Escape
Summary: Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.
Warning/Spoiler: Post-"House of Victory"
Rating: T/PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Various. Ensemble fic.
Author's Note: Three years after I started this, I finally post the final chapter… And on Valentine's Day!
Please remember that this fic was written and takes place during season one. Specifically, it takes place post-"House of Victory" and mentions events that happen after. But there is no Eddie or KT, Joy is still missing, etc.
I want to dedicate this final chapter, and I guess in a way this entire fic, to a couple of people: Laura, Remi, Viv, Sara, Scarlett, Katie, Emily, Wheaty, and Grace. Each of you aided my return to this stupid, dumb fandom in some way and I am really thankful because it's the first time in a very long time that I've actually enjoyed the experience. So thank you. A lot. (But, I need to give a special shout-out specifically to Grace because without you I probably would have never met any of the others. So thanks for that review a year ago.)
But thank you to all my readers and followers, especially those who left reviews – you're the reason I (semi) finished this. You are all totally awesome.
In the end, this is not a completed chapter. There are about 2 or 3 parts that are just outlines of what would happen (these outlines are in italics). Hopefully having all of it makes up for it taking so long!
One Temporary Escape
3: promises
On normal days, the sun rose in the east, glared for about twelve hours, and then set in west. Individuals awakened at all hours of the day, went about their lives for another fifteen hours or so, and then fell asleep when exhausted.
Normal days passed, twenty-four hours of routine spontaneity.
Sunday was a normal day.
And so, Sunday passed.
The puzzle began as separate pieces of jagged lines and unflattering images. Nothing fit; where circles fit holes, edges missed spaces. The final product lay untold and unsaid, undiscovered and unimaginable; there was only an image in disarray and in discord.
Monday passed as most Mondays do - grumbling students and enduring fatigue, overshadowed only by the consistent reminder of four more days. But this Monday included untouched food, awkward silences, and averted glances; the uneasiness between the residents of the House of Anubis pervaded their every actions.
Excitement boiled within the hallways of the school, however; students sought last-minute dates and dresses and flowers. Pink and red filled the air. Only eight students dragged their feet from class to class, grunted and mumbled garbled responses, and plastered artificial smiles onto their faces.
When they arrived home, Trudy barely greeted them before one group became two which became four, splitting down the gender line and to their rooms. Their bubbles of isolation persisted, stifling any possible small talk.
No one spoke.
Her book was bound by a thin lace, circled around pages and spine; the fragile paper hung together in her hands, fingerprints and oils smeared across pages, but words still shining brightly. She gently flipped a page over her fingers, letting the frayed edge tickle her skin, before dragging her fingertips down the sheet and over the printed letters. She sighed sadly; the reigning silence nagged at her. She wanted to shout and scream, to evoke chaos and noise just so she didn't have to deal with the suffocating hush that had taken over the mansion, an undetectable plague slowly conquering each resident.
Amber flopped down on her bed, the ancient copy of The Pickwick Papers falling to her side. The exhausted hardback haunted her, eliciting her need for adventure and companionship. Her eyes left the book and fell on the opposite bed, empty and still. Nina had stationed herself in the living room couch where no one would disturb her; no one walked through rooms they didn't need to anymore.
Fire ran through Amber's veins; anger caused her to grip her blankets tightly. All the confusion and madness and chaos chipped away at her heart – she preferred the drama to the numbness that had prevailed. Life over death; passion over apathy.
She headed to her computer, a habitual refuge away from break-ups and Sibuna and people. It was her isolation and sanctuary; but at that moment, she needed the Internet to lead her to reconciliation, to a finished puzzle.
Clipped phrases yielded no relevant links. Genius ideas eluded her, brilliant inspirations lost with the scattered strings of her heart. Amber had no idea what to do; no options seemed plausible or right. Strands of hair fell onto her face as she spun around in her chair in frustration. Blowing them away, her eyes fell onto the vase by her bed, where roses drooped and tossed leaflets sat, discarded and ignored.
Stupid things – all because of some roses, I'm restless and people aren't talking and this is stupid. Amber's hand ran through her hair; her toes bent in her socks, and without thought, she walked over to the Rosegrams. Her hand studied the darkened petals before resting on the notes.
A slur of names filled her. Jerome. Silas. Evan. The strange scrawls of the unknown letters provoked no curiosity; but the familiar handwriting teased the edges of her mind. She knew that writing – both of them – and she knew them well, but the fitting names eluded her.
A sliver of memory arose. A homework assignment borrowed, notes copied, smiles eagerly dawned; his voice spoke to her, a lilac accent coloring his words.
And suddenly, she knew.
Amber discarded the notes and the worries of moments previous. Skipping out of the room, her feet collided against the wooden flooring, creating the first sounds other than creaking floorboards in hours. Her socks allowed her to slide across the landing and glide down the stairs; luckily for her, she ran into her destination exiting the kitchen into the sitting area.
"Alfie!" Her voice, pitched at a normal volume, echoed sharply against the quiet house. Alfie jumped, startled at the sudden voice that pierced the thick tension hovering in each room.
"Amber?" he whispered, his voice cracking with disuse. Confusion was etched into his face, lining the creases in his forehead from his raised eyebrows.
"So I have an amazing idea!" she said, the normal cheerfulness in her voice glittering brightly. "But first I have to tell you something."
"Um. Okay?"
She knew he was surprised that someone was actually talking; she knew he was surprised it was the two of them speaking. But Amber ignored her superego for the moment, focusing at the task at hand. "I know you sent me a Rosegram."
Heartbeat.
Alfie didn't answer, his lips stuck together and his words caught in his throat. Amber sighed but nodded. "Okay, I get it. You like me – who wouldn't? And you're really sweet and funny." Alfie's eyes brightened slightly, so Amber felt her stomach twist with her impeding words. "But – you're like my little brother, Alfie!" His eyes fell again, and Amber gave into the urge to step forward and comfort him. A small hand on his arm, she smiled gently. "You want Patricia, not me; and I – " she stops before straightening. "And we wouldn't work as a couple. But I need you to be friends with me."
Alfie's gaze remained on her hand until it fell on her face. He bit his lip, pondering, before sighing. "I need you as a friend too."
Amber grinned widely, embracing Alfie firmly without hesitation. "Good! Now about this whole dramatic mess…"
"It's not just drama this time, Amber," said Alfie, his voice somber and frustrated. "We're all just – too different." He shook his head sharply. "No, we can't all just be one big happy family."
"Yes," insisted Amber, "we can. And I'm going to prove it to you. All I need you to do is this one thing."
"What?"
"I need you to talk to Jerome – I know," she added quickly, when Alfie started to interject, "that you're mad at him. But I'm sure if you talk to him, listen to him, he'll listen to you too. And you'll figure it out." Amber smiled sadly. "You two are one of the core friendships – fix that, and everything else follows."
He stared at the floor, internal battle raging between easy and right. But Alfie's conscience won – he sighed deeply. "Okay, I'll talk to Jerome – but you have to do one thing for me."
Amber shrugged nonchalantly. "What?"
"Promise me that you'll never give up on us. All of us," said Alfie, an emotion highlighting his voice, coloring it with longing, regret, and hope.
"I don't need to promise that to you," said Amber frankly, "you already know it."
Alfie's laugh eased away some of the tension clouding the stillness. "Yeah, I guess I do."
"So, we have a deal?"
Alfie nodded solemnly in agreement, a ghost of a smile rising in the tips of his lips. "Yeah, we do."
Amber's squeal was subdued and softer than normal, but glee filled every note of her high-pitched excitement. She hugged Alfie once more before spinning around and skipping to her room, her giddy giggles chipping away at the silence.
The corner pieces were in place, flat lines outlining a lost illustration; the blurred recognition of tranquility signaled the beginning of the end.
Alfie turned around; he was facing an empty foyer and a hushed mansion, every corner and edge filled with nothingness. The deep breath that left his lips filled nothing, bouncing against the thick air and rebounding back towards him. Eyes tilted to the ceiling for a moment; Alfie sighed again and headed towards his room.
When the Alfie pushed the door open, it creaked loudly. Jerome's head lifted upwards, but upon spotting Alfie, it crashed back down upon his pillow, eyes shut tightly and headphones blocking sound completely. Alfie gently shut the door behind him before sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes fixed upon his roommate.
"You shouldn't treat me like a dog," he said softly after moments of silence passed. His voice slid across the room effortlessly and Jerome's headphones fell out of his ears.
"I know."
"I'm sorry I teamed up with Mick."
"I know."
"He's not that bad."
"I know."
"You should talk to him."
The best friends stared at each other; blue and black battled together, a tug of war straining their reserves. But then they both pulled; equilibrium established, Jerome blinked and Alfie rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah, I will. Eventually," said Jerome solemnly, but his eyes seemed to glitter. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."
"It's worth a lot," said Alfie. "Just so you know."
Jerome shrugged, guilt filling his shoulder's movements. "I feel bad for promising to get you a date to the dance and then not getting you one."
The implication – I'm sorry you can't trust me; I don't care if you don't like me but I need you to trust me – brightened the room, and Alfie smiled. "Don't worry about it. I tried to juggle two girls at one time. But Amber doesn't like me like that and Patricia won't talk to me."
"So you've botched it up. I told you it was a bad idea to send Rosegrams to multiple girls," said Jerome, the corner of his lip tilting upwards and a hesitant stutter preventing the usual cutting sarcasm from emerging.
Alfie frowned but without malice. "I didn't say I sent Rosegrams to both of them – "
"You didn't need to."
Heartbeat.
"You sent one to Mara, didn't you?" Alfie never let his eyes wander from Jerome's face, studying him cautiously, knowing that the answer lay not in words, but in the subtle facial expressions.
Jerome nodded.
Alfie sighed.
Wisps of reaching stillness crept into their room; but before they could eliminate the emerging warmth, Jerome stood up abruptly, dumping Alfie's dirty white clothes into his own hamper. Alfie opened his mouth to speak, but Jerome interrupted him before he could begin.
"I need to wash my whites, and I don't have enough to do an entire load," he said, answering the unasked question. "So no problem." Jerome's eyes restlessly shifted between the door and Alfie as his brain worked rapidly.
"Uh, yeah. Okay."
As Jerome left the room, Alfie stared at the empty bed, framed in maps and photographs. He flopped down on his own bed with his arms stretched out; he let himself relax as reconstruction tugged at his heartstrings.
Jerome silently shuffled out of his room, carrying the purple laundry basket. Since the clothes – a mixture of his and Alfie's – barely reached the rim, Jerome walked swiftly and effortlessly.
He ran into Patricia at the door to the laundry room.
Heartbeat.
A pervasive unease hovered around them; Jerome kept his eyes on the floor and Patricia bit her lip thoughtfully, but his eyes flicked upwards when he heard a deep sigh.
Their eyes met – hers flashed, his twinkled; she shook her head, he raised an eyebrow; she smiled subtly, he laughed slightly. The string, tied and knotted, bounced back; the slack was gone, tight and firm once again. Jerome gestured dramatically towards the doorway and Patricia rolled her eyes, but allowed her lips to tilt upward as she walked inside, Jerome quickly following her. Quietly, they loaded and unloaded the washer and dryer, arms full of clothes.
A pervasive comfort hovered around them; Jerome whistled and Patricia shot him annoyed looks. He laughed loudly when she pelted a sock at him.
Each step vibrated against the hardwood floors, her feet only covered in socks. The mansion still housed the ivory, winter chill, and Patricia shivered as she carried her laundry basket against her hip and climbed the stairs. Each creak and groan from the aging steps prickled her nerves, sending her senses to an olive and scarlet overdrive. Every sound was amplified; every sense was heightened.
Her room was empty and gray when she arrived, so Patricia quickly set about finishing the menial tasks – she folded her clothes, put them away, finished her math homework, and packed up for the next day. When she sat down on her bed, there were hours to go before the dance – am I even going to that thing? With Robbie, who I don't even like? – and she had nothing with which to occupy her time. She sighed and flipped herself over onto her stomach, reaching into her backpack, rustling through papers and binders. Her finger caught on a metal spiral, and frowning, Patricia pulled out a worn lilac notebook, the light reflecting against the glossy cover. Memories of stolen scribbles and hasty notes teased the edges of her mind; a smile floated onto her face.
As if summoned, the door opened and closed, Mara's attendance suddenly dramatizing the irony evident in her appearance. The two exchanged an awkward greeting, an acknowledgement of clashing presence, before Patricia's eyes focused again on the forgotten notebook on her lap. When Mara squeaked, however, Patricia looked up.
"Is that - ?" asked Mara, her eyes a little wider and her voice a little brighter, with sunshine nostalgia.
"Yeah," said Patricia, a small smile resting on her lips. "From maths last year."
Mara giggled slightly. "I remember that conversation about Evan Summers – how many pages did that take up anyway?"
"Ten," said Patricia with a small, golden grin. "Mrs. Andrew complimented me on my 'diligence and attention towards the subject of factoring.'"
"More like the subject of athlete versus meathead."
"What's the difference?"
The two laughed, vibrations striking against the cut ties. Patricia sighed into her hand as Mara sunk onto her bed.
"I miss you." Patricia's words were black and red, blunt and rigid. "I need my best friend back."
"Joy's your best friend, Patricia," said Mara, her voice small and hesitant, cracking against walls of worry.
Patricia rolled her eyes, pushing the bound papers aside. "This isn't primary school, Mara – you can have more than one best friend." Mara bit her lip, and Patricia sighed at the other's obvious conflicting emotions. The violet and navy and crimson pulled in different directions, the rope's tension building and building. When Mara flipped a lock of hair around a finger, Patricia cut the extraneous strings, leaving a singular path. "Mara, I'm sorry it feels like I've abandoned you. I've been so wrapped up with finding Joy, I left you in a middle of this stupid love triangle with Mick and Jerome. Mick and Jerome – " she emphasized, a hint of fondness in her supposed disgust, " – of all people. But at least one of them challenges you."
Mara looked up at the remark, interested. "Which one?"
Patricia laughed and shook her head. "Why would I tell you? Besides, I'm not good with the guy thing - ask Amber."
Mara's crestfallen look colored her words. "Like Amber would talk to me. She never forgave me for 'stealing' Mick."
"Can you blame her?"
Heartbeat. A silence hovered between the two, but the ointment healed the wounds and inspired the spark. Mara frowned thoughtfully.
"No, I can't," she said slowly, realization dawning as patches covered cracks. "And that's completely my fault."
"Not completely, no," said Patricia, shaking her head with a small shrug. "An argument or a conflict is never completely one person's fault." Patricia knew the double meaning in her diction; she knew the hypocrisy in her statements. But she shoved aside the nagging conscience, plum flashes of the truth knocked aside.
Mara didn't seem to notice. "You're right, of course." She smiled, a few teeth peaking out between her lips. "Thank you, Patricia. I – I miss you too," she said softly. A rosy haze settled over them then; Patricia felt her heart calming, lifting.
"I can't promise to never accidently ditch you again," said Patricia. "But I can promise to try my very best not to, okay?"
"Okay," said Mara with a small nod. "And I can't promise to always understand, but I promise to always try to anyway."
Patricia paused for a moment, unable to gather the right words; instead, she just walked over to the other girl. Mara stood and accepted the embrace without comment. Patricia admitted she was surprised at herself – look at me, hugging someone – but only for the briefest of moments before the gray faded. "Now," she said when her arms fell back to her side, surprised at the orange fire spreading through her chest, "about that conversation with Amber you need to have – "
Mara sighed loudly. "Yeah, I know. Maybe tomorrow, after all this business with the dance has settled down…"
"I can't tell you what to do," said Patricia as she stepped back to her own bed, "but I think you should talk to her now. It'll make you feel better."
"I feel fine – " Mara cut off at Patricia's look. "Okay, okay, you're right!"
Patricia let herself laugh: golden bells ringing amidst indigo shadows. "Always am, Mara."
The sound of her knuckles rapping against wood echoed against the hallway. Mara glanced behind her, not truly expecting anyone to be there but rather hoping that someone was. Maybe then I could get out of this.
But when the door swung open and Mara found herself staring at Amber's questioning expression, the doubt fled and nervousness took over.
"Hi Amber," she said, her fingers interlocking in front of her, squirming. "Um – I wanted to, uh, talk."
Amber just stared at her, and Mara swore it took at least a minute before the blonde sighed, nodded, and stepped back. Mara glanced at the pink decorations before Amber shut the door and Mara was forced to calm the storm in her chest.
"Amber – " she started, before the doubt crept back. Why am I doing this? Amber's probably still mad at me and – and she called me a whore – why am I doing this?
Patricia's voice, mixed in with her own cutting words, came back to her. I am doing this because this is as much my fault as it is Amber's. If Amber noticed the whirlwind of thoughts flying through Mara's mind, she made no indication. The blonde stood still, just looking, and Mara felt shivers throughout her body.
"Amber," she said again, "I'm sorry."
"For stealing my boyfriend or for being a horrible best friend?" said Amber, her arms crossing over her chest and the edge in her voice sharpening.
"Both," said Mara before sighing and pushing back the river of emotions threatening to overtake her. "For everything. I'm just – I'm sorry, Amber. I just miss being friends with you." A spark of hope ignited in her heart when Amber's face softened. "I'm sorry I called you names and I'm sorry for not trying to talk to you earlier." The words so long held back seemed easier to spill now. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, Amber – but," she said, hesitating for moment before continuing, "I'm not sorry I'm dating Mick."
Amber's face fell a little, but only for a moment. She nodded. "I understand, Mara. I'm sorry I called you mean names too – but I'm not sorry for being upset." Mara found that this didn't offend her. "But I am sorry it took so long for me to get over it. You were – you were my best friend," she said, her eyes falling to the floor and Mara bit her lip. "I'm sorry."
Words escaped Mara, but she knew what she had to do. She walked over and hugged Amber without a word, the previous doubt and hesitance that had plagued her for months suddenly a footnote in an abandoned work-in-progress. The hope and fire that began to warm her heart was spreading; Mara found she liked that.
Amber released her when Mara cleared her throat nervously. "So are you going to ask for boy advice now or not?" asked Amber.
Mara raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What?"
"Oh don't be silly," said Amber, rolling her eyes, "I'm obviously the best one to ask and now that we're friends again you have no reason not to!"
"Oh," said Mara, the corners of her lips pulling upward. "I guess you're right."
Amber nodded sagely. "Of course I am."
Mara opened her mouth to respond but couldn't seem to formulate the right words. She bit her lip in frustration; there didn't seem to be a way to phrase her question without seeming worthless, stupid, or purposefully hurtful.
Amber noticed. "It's really not that hard, Mara." When Mara frowned, taken aback, Amber shook her head and took her place at her desk. "Listen to your heart."
Any response Mara could have made to counter Amber's seemingly obvious advice was negated once the door opened once more. Mara glanced over to Nina; the American's eyes flashed once before returning to blank state. The lack of emotion in Nina's face gave Mara shivers. "Well, thank you, Amber," she said softly, her eyes landing anywhere that wasn't Nina. Amber nodded seriously in response. "I better – um, get going."
"Just remember what I said!"
Mara smiled and nodded before slipping out. When the door clicked behind her, she leaned back against it. Listen to your heart. Mara shook her head, not bothering to stop the smile that brightened her lips, before walking away. Only Amber.
Nina sat silently on her bed, eyes empty and staring at the opposite wall. Something constricted in Amber's chest as she frowned. "Nina? You okay?"
Nina shrugged; Amber opened her mouth to gather a further explanation, but another knock on the door interrupted, a shrill slice through Nina's sullen posture. Sighing, Amber opened the door, and for the second time, was only slightly surprised by who stood on the other side. "Jerome."
"Amber," he said, his toes sliding across the floor. "Can I come in?"
Amber glanced over to Nina, who shrugged again. "Sure."
Jerome took three steps into the room; then Nina stood and left, shutting the door behind her. Amber sighed, the fist in her heart clenching tighter, but Jerome frowned. "Is she okay?"
"Probably not," said Amber, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes remained on the floor, studying the patterns of threads in the carpet and she heard him sigh.
"Amber, I'm – " he started, biting his lip; his hands fidgeted, fingers shaking against his pockets. When the word caught in his throat, Amber smiled.
"You're forgiven," she said, letting one arm fall to her side and the other's fingers curled loosing in the crook of her elbow. Jerome's shoulders relaxed and his jaw loosened, but Amber shook her head. "But that's the second time now – you're not going to get a third chance."
"Amber – "
"I mean it!" said Amber, stepping back. Her voice softened, but Amber hoped the gravity of her words weren't lost. "I don't think Mara would like to date a jerk, Jerome."
"I know," he said, releasing a loud breath. His weight shifted to one foot. "Thank you for everything though – for going out with me, for helping me with Mara – for forgiving me about the election posters – for, well, even mending my uniform that one time."
Amber can't help but laugh. "That was – what, like two years ago?"
"Yeah," said Jerome, shrugging, his arms crossing over his chest again. "But still. You do a lot Amber."
"Thank you," she said. "I'm glad someone notices." Her smile betrayed her nonchalance; her hands felt warmer than usual.
Jerome shrugged again. "You still going to the dance then?"
"Of course," said Amber, "there's no way I'm missing it."
"Who are you going with?" asked Jerome, frowning slightly. "Because while I like you, Amber, I think I want to go alone – "
"Oh my god." Amber's eyes widened as her eyes caught on the purple strands of the carpet. "I'm going to the dance alone!"
"Amber – "
"I mean," said Amber, panic rising and her feet already pacing across the floor, "I can't go with you or Alfie, that would just be mean. Mick's still with Mara, technically, and there's no way I'm going with Fabian – "
"Amber, it is possible to attend a dance by yourself."
Her head whipped in his direction; her neck cracked as her eyes narrowed. "Maybe for you. I – I can't – "
Jerome rolled his eyes and said something about leaving and things to do, but Amber's thoughts ran, a frenzy of possible solutions and lists of eligible dates. The thought of going alone –
Amber caught herself biting her nails; but Jerome was already gone, the door shut again, and Amber didn't hesitate before grabbing the nearest phone book.
As the door closed behind him, Jerome crashed into Nina.
"Sorry Nina," he said, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, arms crossed as she hunched over. Jerome frowned. "Hey." Nina looked up because she had to, her eyes a dull gray, the flickering reflection of his hair the only light. "I'm sorry."
Nina stared at him; she wasn't frowning but she wasn't smiling and Jerome wasn't sure if she forgave him or not. But she nodded and raised an eyebrow, in expectation that he'd move out of the way. But a rock still weighed down in his stomach so he swallowed. "And I'm not the only one who needs to apologize." Nina stepped back, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders hunched further inwards. Jerome sighed as he realized the impact of his words. "I mean – you don't need to apologize to me, I'm the one who messed up. But – there are people who you need to apologize to. You're in the wrong too and you should make it right."
Nina said nothing. Her eyes flash briefly – Jerome thought he saw gold and purple flickering, a firefly dancing in the night – before she bit her lip, the corners of her lips turning downwards. Her frown was thoughtful; her deep breath lifted her shoulders, and although she still embraced herself, she stood straighter. "I'll keep that in mind."
The weight lightened in his stomach so he nodded and walked away.
Nina paused in the hallway, watching Jerome disappear around the corner. She waited for the churning guilt in her stomach to abate – or even disappear – but instead it grew; boiling, the hot acid stirred and simmered, clenching around her chest, making it harder to breathe.
Nina let herself smile – she missed this. She missed feeling.
Her feet climbed down the stairs, but once again, her skips were voluntary; as she reached the ground floor, Nina's fingers grazed against the old wood, the cracks and dents harsh against her soft skin. The texture told a story, a puzzle waiting to be cracked, and with the prospect of Sibuna back together again – slowly, eventually, soon – the adventurous spirit took hold again.
Nina ran into Alfie halfway to his room; her shoulder rammed into his arm and he hissed in pain as she rubbed the soreness away. Alfie blinked at the sight of her. "Nina?"
"Hey Alfie," she said softly, eyes averted for the moment as the flames continued to spread; the painful movements had devolved into constant tingles, a buzz in each limb. "Um, I wanted to – well – " Alfie raised an eyebrow and Nina sighed loudly, her breath hot. "I'm sorry, Alfie. I keep doubting you and ignoring you and not taking you seriously – "
"It's okay, Nina," said Alfie, a small smile gracing his face. Nina studied him; his eyes were soft and brighter, bags lining his skin, but still seemingly glowing. "It's my fault for never taking anything seriously."
"But you do," said Nina, running a hand through her long hair. "When you were in the cellar – and when Patricia disappeared – "
Alfie shook his head, effectively cutting her off. "Still," he said, sighing. "It's okay to tell me to shut up every now and then."
The bubbling eased; while her blood felt warmer still, something calmed, and as Nina nodded and smiled, her breathing steadied as well. "I'll keep that in mind. But," she said, pausing and biting her lip before the hand released and the orange flame ignited again, "you can't just sit quietly and do nothing all the time, Alfie."
Alfie remained silent, his eyes tightened but restless. Nina wondered if the thoughts that whirled past ran in the direction she intended; Alfie rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, and Nina felt triumph.
"I'm – uh, going to go grab something to eat." And so, Alfie left, and Nina grinned and leaned back on the wall. Despite the dust gathering on her lavender and white striped shirt, Nina could see the remnants of her rainbow nail polish.
Alfie ran into Patricia just when she was leaving the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand. She stopped, stared at him, and Alfie thought he saw her gulp.
He opened his mouth to say something – anything: I'm sorry I didn't just tell you, I'm sorry I got involved with Mick, I'm sorry about everything but I like you and do you like me too? – but before he could even inhale, Patricia disappeared from the room, dark hair a veil between him and her.
He was left staring at the empty doorway, wondering – with his stomach sinking and his heart clenching – when Patricia had died a streak of hair black.
The water almost spilled onto the hallway floor when Patricia – literally – ran into Jerome.
Her shaking hands managed to steady the glass, but her breath clogged her throat, hair swaying across her face and her heart threatening to burst. Everything was pink and red and white and black – goddamn Valentine's Day – but she calmed enough to open her eyes.
Jerome raised an eyebrow, hands sliding into pockets, his pale yellow shirt clashing violently with his hair. His khakis seemed darker than usual, especially when his thumbs hung out the sides, curling into his thigh. Narrowing his eyebrows, he suddenly brought his arms around his chest. "Something on your mind, Patricia?" he said. His lips turned upwards when mauve lined his eyes. "Or someone?"
"Shut up, Jerome," said Patricia, her fingers tightly curling around her cup. Her hands no longer shook.
"Ah," said Jerome, the smirk wider now. "Seems I hit a nerve. Run into Alfie then?" Patricia seethed, red and black battling in her stomach, acid running through her blood, the water warming in her hands. Despite the clouding in her vision, she saw Jerome frowning when his hands slipped out of his pockets. "Hey, I'm sorry."
Doused, it was all white and dull black, pink and gray swirls cooling the boiling water in her hand and heart. "You already apologized," said Patricia, her eyes falling to the floor.
"Not out loud," said Jerome, rolling his eyes. "But I thought the bet would be a good way to get back at Mick – I didn't think – "
"Expectations aren't always the reality." Her voice cracked, and she could hear the turmoil of colors tumbling to the floor.
The smirk returned. "So that's it," said Jerome, purple and orange dancing behind his blue eyes. "You're afraid to feel something for Alfie because you think it won't work out."
"It won't," said Patricia, her grip returning around the cup. "I just – know, okay?"
Jerome watched her; his eyes searched and flickered, his silver rising in that moment. Then he smiled and nodded. "Okay. Just – talk to him? You owe him that much."
"I know."
Jerome nodded again, a soft blue lining the lips of his smile, before turning to walk away. He almost reached the corner before Patricia found her voice.
"Talk to Mara, Jerome." He paused, frozen between movements. Patricia sighed. "You owe her that much." Moving past him, Patricia shoved him gently in the direction of her own room, before turning around the bend. "Go."
Her whisper echoed in the still hallway, and Patricia didn't wait to see if Jerome listened.
The border filled in nicely, a foundation for a completed puzzle. Straight edges marked the boundaries, but cardboard was still too difficult to bend at will. Each piece had its place; but all pieces had to be placed.
The house seemed warmer, sunlight seeping in from the windows. As Jerome dragged his feet against the floor, the scraping sounds didn't echo harshly against the silence. There was something boiling, waiting for someone to trip and fall, to scream or yell, squeezing against the walls and simmering in the air. Dust no longer lingered, swirling, and when Jerome stood before the door he dreaded reaching, he could hear soft whispers and hesitant giggles all around him. The birds chirped outside.
Choosing not to knock, Jerome swung open the door and leaned against the doorframe. He thought he heard Victor grunting somewhere behind him. "Mara," said Jerome, arms crossed over his chest.
"Jerome," she said, sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book sprawled across her lap, wavy hair framing her face. "What do you want?"
He paused, a moment to watch her irritated gaze and tapping fingers and scrunched nose. Then Jerome sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and quiet. But Mara heard him, he expected, because her eyebrow lifted; the silence that followed constricted around him, her hard eyes never leaving his, her mouth never straying from the rigid line her lips pursed in. Jerome gulped when Mara studied him without speaking, her unblinking eyes boring into him: his guts and heart and soul and blood lay before her, no bones or muscle or skin to protect himself.
The silence continued, however, and Jerome squirmed, the wooden frame cutting into his spine; his arms tensed and air clogged his lungs. "Mara?" he finally said, croaking, a sense of loss in the uncertain breath. The room still constricted as heat grew, but Mara finally spoke.
"Have you talked to Mick?"
Jerome blinked, his frown surprised and uncertain. "No, I haven't, but what – "
"Then get out."
He blinked again, no longer breathing or able to hold himself together with just his arms squeezed around him. Fire erupted, the smoke in his throat and flames on his face and ash in his gut. Without comment, Jerome stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him, and the house was silent no more.
When Mara found Fabian, curled up against the wall and facing the door to his room with no emotion in his eyes, all the tension pooled between her shoulders eased. Something in her chest softened; quietly, she slid down the wall beside him.
"Hey," said Fabian, seemingly sensing her presence since his eyes were still glued upon the wooden door. "I didn't hear you."
Mara wrapped her arms around her knees as she hugged them towards her. "Yeah, well – I was looking for – but I didn't want to see – " her words tangled amongst themselves, tripping over unmade conclusions and confused thoughts. She sighed, letting her head hit the wooden wall behind her. "This is stupid."
"This reminds me of a movie," said Fabian. Mara glanced at his face, where he wore a tiny smile, but sadness clouded the possible brightness.
"Which one?"
"All of them."
Heartbeat. Mara stretched out her legs, her hands falling into her lap. Her nails looked cracked and chipped in the uneven lighting, but somehow they felt smooth when she ran them against her thighs. "Ever since – ever since Joy went missing and Nina came – actually, no," she said, frowning and Fabian looked at her. "Ever since you worked with Patricia and Joy on that one history project, we stopped hanging out. But now – " Mara met his eyes and she saw the realization rising; her chest tightened. "Now we barely talk, Fabian."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You shouldn't apologize – it's not your fault. It just – happens."
Fabian shook his head, his head lazily resting against the wall. "Not if you make the effort."
Mara couldn't respond; something violet twinkled behind Fabian and she knew he spoke the truth.
The sun glared in the wide window of the hallway, slowly settling behind the horizon. As Mara stood, she sighed and gathered her feet and wayward thoughts. Fabian's eyes followed her movements. "You okay?" he asked.
"I will be," she said. At first she thought she was lying, but confidence settled between her words and chest. "We all will be, eventually."
Fabian stared at the door again. "I hope so."
Mara hesitated, her eyes also resting upon the closed door, the wall between her and him. "Is he – "
"Mick's hiding out in the laundry room," said Fabian before she finished. "I – I just don't want to be in there right now."
Biting her lip, Mara bent low again, putting her in level with Fabian. "If you ever need to talk – "
Fabian nodded, Mara smiled, and they let the silence finish the conversation. Before standing, Mara ruffled his hair and backed away, Fabian's indignant groan settling calmly within the cracks of the hardwood floors.
Fabian was about to swing open the door to his own room, but Patricia blocked him with a firm hand and hard eyes. "Hello?"
"Can we – "
"I don't like you, Patricia," said Fabian, gently nudging her arm out of the way. He noticed her forehead scrunch up; he sighed. "I mean, I like you, you and Joy were – "
"Fabian, shut up," said Patricia, rolling her eyes and leaning back against the doorframe. As she crossed her arms, her eyes lingered on the floor. "I get it. I just – I'm sorry."
Fabian raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"I – I don't know," she said with a shrug. "It feels like the right thing to do." Patricia's lips teased a small smile; Fabian shook his head.
"Well, I accept your unneeded apology and offer one of my own." After Patricia nodded, Fabian reached once more for the doorknob. "Wanna come inside and talk?"
Patricia glanced back at the kitchen before shaking her head. "No – I just – I wanted to say hi, I guess." She smiled, another light illuminated, but her eyes still seemed dull. "Thanks, I guess."
Her foot outlined a half circle on the ground and Fabian frowned. "Patricia, why did you kiss me?"
Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The other day – you kissed me. You said not to read into it, but…"
Patricia rolled her eyes again. "Idiot, I meant it. It meant nothing. I was just – upset." Fabian stared at her, unspoken questions screaming in his eyes instead. "At Alfie. At Nina," she said, "I wanted to make her – well, jealous."
Something akin to a flame lit in his mind, but Fabian suppressed all hope. "Why would kissing me make Nina jealous?"
And Patricia looked at him, so the pieces aligned and Fabian bit his lip to keep them from turning into a smile. Patricia – predictably – rolled her eyes. "Nina likes you, Fabian. And obviously you like her too. So just get on with it."
"I wish it was that easy, Patricia," said Fabian, leaning against the door as well. "But – she thinks I like you."
"But you don't."
"No."
"So tell her that."
It seemed so simple in those four words, but Fabian ran a hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he straightened. "It – I can't right now."
"But Fabian – "
"Just leave it." Patricia quieted, stepping back and surrendering. His hand ran down the door before resting on the knob once again. Before he could turn it, however, a missing piece sparked his attention. "Wait, how did Nina make you upset in the first place? Is this about – "
"This is not about Alfie, okay?" said Patricia, shoulders hunched over and arms crossed over her chest.
Fabian tried not to smile. "I never said it was." Patricia glared at him and Fabian chuckled. "You would do this. Run away, worry that everything will get messed up – "
"You don't know it won't," she said, her voice cutting into his.
"And you don't know it will," said Fabian with a small smile. Patricia's eyes remained locked on the empty wall before them so Fabian shook his head and left her in the hallway. As the door swung shut behind him, he tried not to let his thoughts waver towards forbidden corridors and locked doors. As he sunk onto his bed, Fabian refused let the hopeful fire overtake him.
The living room, for once, was empty so Patricia immediately claimed the long sofa; her phone spun in her fingers as she sat down. While scrolling for the number, the nervousness swirled in reds and golds and silvers, an elegant palette to hold her shaking hands. It wasn't the phone call that haunted her thoughts and fingers; it was the underlining reasoning, the highlights of pink and white and cerulean that crawl through her insides.
He picked up after only one ring. "Patricia, I was just thinking about – "
"Robbie, I don't like you. I don't want to lead you on so – "
"Oh," he said, his voice lowering and Patricia imagined that his lip quivered like a puppy's. "Okay."
"Great," she said, "see you around." Hopefully not. As the phone fell beside her onto the cushion, she felt only free, and slightly disgusted; there was a hint of regret in it all, a speck of gray in the clean slate, but Patricia ignored it. Although her closet grew, stuffed and tittering on the edge, she just straightened her shoulders and moved on.
Mick walked in, his baggy sweatshirt hiding his hands and his eyes dull. Patricia tried not to grind her teeth. "Mick," she said, in the hopes that she could slip out of the room. But Mick's hand slipped out and when his fingers grazed her wrist, Patricia froze.
"I'm sorry," said Mick, his eyes still on the floor and his hand retreating. His voice was a whisper lightly sitting in the room, lost and floating aimlessly. Patricia's frown softened. "I shouldn't have used you as a bargaining tool. Robbie – Robbie isn't your type, and you – you deserve better than a guy who agrees to rig an election."
Red faded to pink again and Mick's hunched shoulders reminded her of a project done at midnight; frustration boiling into tears and a meathead transformed into a human being.
"It's the moments when everything seems hopeless when we realize who actually matters."
"What?" Mick looked up, a glint of lavender sneaking into his eyes.
Patricia grinned. She knew he recognized his own words, quickly scrawled across a unevenly cut card. "I broke up with Robbie. Not that we were even really dating, but – still." She shrugged. "So in a way, thanks."
"What?" repeated Mick and Patricia thought the confused furrowed in his forehead made everything a little more worthwhile. "I don't – "
"Oh."
Mara slid in, her arms filled with nothing and hugging her chest; Patricia glanced between the pair before smiling. "You two should talk." Mick opened his mouth, but only air left; Patricia rolled her eyes and leaned over and whispered in Mara's ear. "He's a nice guy, Mara. Don't string him along."
Mara blinked before sighing – a mixture of resignation and understanding, a cold purple to embrace the black and blue – and smiling. And Patricia left, hoping she glowed gold.
So here Mick/Mara would break up, and then Mick would go talk to Fabian and they'd make up and they'd be apologies and smiles and such things. Mick would tell Fabian he sent Amber a Rosegram (which Fabian already knew) but also to Nina and Patricia to stir things up in an effort to win the bet. (Fabian would be displeased but nod silently. Or something.)
Fabian slide onto the couch, sighing when he realized the room was empty. Mick's words echoed in his head, but Fabian quickly immersed himself with Jane Eyre while trying not to cringe at the dialogue.
When Amber skipped in a few minutes later, Fabian wanted to throw the book across the room. So her presence was a welcomed distraction and he immediately straightened. "Hey Amber."
"Fabian! You're still coming to the dance tonight, right?"
Fabian squirmed in his seat. "I don't know – "
"Of course you do," she said, waving away his excuses. "You are coming, everyone is, and it's going to be lots of fun."
"Okay Amber," said Fabian, smiling despite himself. Amber seemed pleased, taking a seat across from him. His earlier conversation still ran through his mind; despite everything, he wanted his best friend to be happy – and if it was Amber who made Mick happy…
"So I was talking to Mick earlier," he said, scratching the back of his neck.
"Oh?" Amber twirled a lock of hair, but seemed disinterested.
"Yeah, he really likes roses." Fabian's hand lowered to his neck, massaging the knots that had grown there. "And sending them to people. And stuff."
"Oh really? That's cute."
Fabian bit his lip in frustration before taking a deep breath. "Uh yeah. And he knows how much you like roses – "
"But I like tulips better," said Amber, her head tilted to the side. "Obviously."
His eyes closed and Fabian shook his head before smiling. I tried, mate. "So who's your date to the dance?" he asks instead.
Her face fell for a moment, but a twinkle previously hidden sparkled to the surface behind her eyes. "I think – I think I'm going alone."
"Amber Millington, going to a dance alone?"
Amber rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile gracing her lips. "I know, I know – I thought about calling people because I know there are plenty of boys who'd love to go to the dance with me. But," she said, her eyes falling to the ground, "I – I think I'd rather just go with everyone else and have fun with my friends."
Fabian stared at her: she looked at the sky with faraway eyes and a gentle smile, and although there was sadness around her, her shoulders were lifted high and her hands sat in her lap almost regally. Fabian grinned. "You've changed, Amber."
And Amber laughed and shook her head as she stood, leaving the room; Fabian watched her go, Jane Eyre still in his lap, glad to see the Amber Millington he'd grown to know standing so tall.
Amber goes to Mick and tells him she never really liked Jerome like that. She somehow cons him into writing something down for her and recognizes the handwriting instantly. Then Amber asks Nina is should date Mick again/if it'd be a good idea.
"Did he break your heart?"
"Yes."
"On purpose?"
"No."
"Did he cheat?"
"No."
"Is he perfect?"
"No."
"Do you want to date him again?"
Amber paused, her fingers crushed together. She nodded. "Yes."
Nina shrugged and leaned back against her bedframe. "Then absolutely."
Amber and Nina then talk about fairy tales [Mara = Belle ; Amber = Charlotte ; Patricia = Jasmine ; Nina = Ariel] for some unknown reason. Plus there's a mention about how Amber now loves V-Day and Nina hates as a parallel to the first chapter.
Amber eavesdrops on Nina and Patricia, who comes to them to apologize to Nina and Nina also apologizes and Patricia helps Nina pick out a dress and they, plus Amber who was obviously eavesdropping, discuss Patricia's fear of intimacy.
Nina stuck her head into the doorway, merely nodding towards a completely dressed Alfie, before turning to the other occupant. "Have you talked to Mick yet?"
Jerome, hands halfway through buttoning up his white shirt, froze and frowned. "Do you knock, Martin? I could have been naked – "
"Did you?" she asked again, hand still on the doorknob and her hair still in curlers. Standing with a hand on her hip and an expectantly raised eyebrow, Nina ignored Alfie trying not to laugh.
"No, I haven't, and everyone needs to – "
But Nina had already slammed the door shut, effectively cutting him off, and she hoped the message was clear.
Alfie laughed while straightening his bow tie. "She has a good point."
"I don't want to talk about this, Alfie," said Jerome, grunting as he tucked in his shirt into his dress pants. "Just – leave it."
Alfie laughed again, but only shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Jerome saw him slip out into the hallway, his shoelaces still untied.
Jerome had just put on his suit jacket when there was another knock on the door. "Come in!"
Fabian – fully dressed and hunched over uncomfortably as he adjusted his jacket sleeves – shut the door behind him as he entered. "Hey Jerome."
"Rutter." If it had been any other day, there might have been might have been some bite behind his greeting; but now Jerome was just exhausted.
Fabian's fingers kneaded his jacket's cuffs. "I, uh, just want to talk – "
"If you're here to tell me to talk to Mick," said Jerome suddenly, his attention focused on matching the correct buttons on his jacket, "please don't."
Despite the interruption, Fabian straightened and Jerome's hands tightened. "Don't hurt her."
Jerome looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Who?"
"You know who, Jerome."
"I'm pretty sure Voldemort's dead, Rutter."
"Touché," said Fabian with a roll of his eyes. "But I'm serious – if I found out you hurt her – or any of them – "
"If I hurt one of them," said Jerome, his hands at his sides now and his eyes focused solely on the other in the room, "you'd be fourth in line."
"Fourth?"
"Alfie. Mick." Jerome flattened his jacket before turning around, unable to help the way his voice almost cracked. "Myself."
He could hear Fabian shuffling behind him, but neither broke the silence enveloping them. Jerome continued to slowly – painfully slowly – get ready, until Fabian finally sighed.
"Good luck, Jerome," said Fabian as the door swung open. "But I have a feeling you won't need it."
The door closed before Jerome could breathe out a thanks but he found he preferred that. The silence comforted and embraced him; falling onto his bed, he picked up his first shoe and only hesitated for a moment before stuffing in his foot.
Alfie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, nervously toying with his jacket and bowtie. Fabian grinned and walked over. "Hey." Alfie nodded in greeting, but said nothing; Fabian wondered if the screams still echoed through his head, a record on replay. "I'm surprised this is actually happening."
And Alfie looked at him, a small frown in his face, but it seemed thoughtful. "I'm not," he said finally, standing straight and his lips turning upwards. "This is Amber we're talking about."
"That it is," said Fabian, glancing back towards the staircase. The rest of the hall was empty, and even the though the sun had long since begun to set, the chandelier glowed with the light of tiny flames, each a droplet of heart and soul settling back within the crevices of Anubis House. Fabian could hear Alfie sighing and leaning against the wall. "So you're going alone too?"
"Not alone, not really," said Alfie, arms crossed. He shrugged. "I've got all of you, don't I?"
"You do," said Fabian, but his smile didn't fall. "But it's still not Patricia, is it?" Alfie glared at him and Fabian could only laugh. "She'll come around. It's Patricia."
"Exactly. It's Patricia," said Alfie, shaking his head. "There's no way – "
When the doors to their rooms open, Mick and Jerome both exited. Fabian tried not to laugh: Jerome was buttoning his sleeve and Mick was adjusting his tie so neither noticed the other until they ran into each other. Alfie didn't even bother to restrain himself.
Mick pushed Jerome out of the way and went to stand beside Fabian at the bottom of the stairs. Jerome, rolling his eyes, glared at Alfie. "Your tie is crooked," he said and Alfie just laughed harder.
Alfie's laughter was the soundtrack to their entrance: first Patricia, in black lace and purple, hair pulled back and one arm hugging another; Mara followed her, swirls of pink and gray dancing on the white fabric of her dress as her fingers fiddled with silver embroidery; Amber glowed behind them in red, bold and steady, head held high and her painted lips grinning widely; and finally, Nina.
Fabian didn't know if she wore neon leggings and platform heels; he didn't know if her dress was pale blue or bright yellow. He didn't know if she flew across the room or if she walked because the only thing Fabian could see was her bright eyes locked upon his, gold reflections highlighting the tiny smile and nervous twitch of her eyebrows. Nina was beautiful and Fabian couldn't stop the grin that floated onto his face.
"Wow."
The word was the only noise in the otherwise still room, the girls nervously twitching and the boys staring with wide eyes. Fabian wasn't sure who said it and at whom; it could have been himself for all he knew. But he did know that it honestly didn't matter because Nina cleared her throat, looked around, and nodded.
"Let's go."
And they did.
While Amber and Nina led the group, both holding onto the other to keep steady in their heels, Alfie fell back. Mick – avoiding everyone else by staying behind with arms crossed – glanced over at him but said nothing.
"Mick," said Alfie, grabbing an arm and keeping him still. Mick raised an eyebrow. "I – " his voice halted, suddenly faced with a blank mind in the face of an important conversation. "I – "
"You'll always be Jerome's best friend, Alfie," said Mick instead, his arms loosening around his chest. "But that doesn't mean you can't be my friend."
Alfie paused; there was a purple tint to everything around him, prominently from the setting sun, and Mick's hair seemed to glow in it. "You're right." Mick opened his mouth for a moment before closing it, and despite himself, Alfie had to laugh. "Wow, don't look so surprised!"
"I – I didn't expect you to suddenly forgive me after – "
"It was my own decision to help you. And besides," said Alfie, shrugging his shoulders and beginning to walk again, "I already forgave Jerome, so there's no reason not to forgive you too."
And Alfie jogged away, hoping to catch up with the rest of the group, willing himself not to turn around to catch a glimpse of Mick's face. He could live without that moment of entertainment.
There were missing spaces and spotted holes; the final pieces seemed properly aligned, but somehow remained elusive. If pieces were rotated, or flipped, or abandoned, it might have finally finished the entire picture. But forcing pieces into empty spaces only left ripped apart paper and imprinted fingers.
Amelia Pinches was the first person Mick saw once inside, looking surprisingly put together; Mick suspected it was the way her eyes glowed when the song switched. "So are you really going out with Nina Martin?"
Mick sighed loudly. The others had dispersed already; despite the quiet understanding rising between them, the screams still echoed through his head, and Mick wasn't sure if all had been forgiven yet. But Amelia looked determined and eager and Mick shook his head. "No, I'm not dating Nina. It's just a rumor."
"Are you sure? Because that redhead over there says – "
"Mick and I are not going out," said Nina, slipping beside Mick and he wondered where she even came from. But she was there and nodding and backing him up and Mick appreciated that. Nina nodded in the direction where Amelia was pointing. "That girl? The one all over Jerome?"
Mick raised an eyebrow; indeed, there was a redheaded girl, her skirts flowing around her legs and her hair braided and curling around her arm, her smile bright and eager and clearly annoying Jerome.
Amelia nodded. "Yeah – but I guess if she knows Jerome – "
"Then the rumor probably isn't to be trusted," said Nina, and maybe a day ago there would have been malice twisted in her words; but there was only fondness now and Mick's stomach churned.
Amelia glanced back over at them, her eyes flicking between Mick and Nina; finally she shrugged and walked off, her eyes searching through the crowd and Mick had a faint idea of who she was looking for. When Alfie slipped out of the room, his suspicions were confirmed.
Mick felt Nina's eyes on him but the tightness in his chest constrained him from looking over. The words stuck in his throat; with so many apologies begging to be said, it was difficult to breathe.
But Nina never said anything; she nudged him gently, nodded once, and tilted her head back at Jerome. Mick bit his lip. Nina rolled her eyes and pushed him. Mick groaned and left, but not before shooting a look at Nina, grateful that their leader had returned.
He was a couple of feet away when his heart started up again. "Amber and I broke up," said Jerome. Several others were in listening distance and Mick was sure that was purposeful. "It just didn't work out."
The whispers grew, as if following him, and when Mick stepped beside Jerome, he could hear one girl saying, "I heard Mick and Nina aren't going out, but that Mick and Mara broke up too." Her eyes burned on his skin, but Mick gulped and ignored it.
"Clarke," he said instead, turning to his fellow blonde. Jerome's eyes flashed twice; once in recognition and then in panic and before Mick could stop him, Jerome faded into the crowd, the invisible puppeteer off to measure his strings.
Mick sighed; when he turned around, Nina was gone, but he imagined she would have just shrugged.
Jerome slipped between two couples dancing to the corner of the room, hoping the darkness would hide him for the moment. His insides shook, saliva building in his throat; he could still see blonde hair standing out in the crowd, but the prospect of talking to him – the acid burnt.
But the shadows could't shroud him forever; when Amber walked up, her heels clicking against the floor, her arms were crossed and her frown deepened the hole in his gut.
"Jerome," she said, the sharpness of her voice chipping into the stone wall, scattered dust already piling at his feet. "Nina tells me you've been avoiding Mick."
"I'm not avoiding him – "
"Yes you are," said Amber, flipping locks of hair behind her shoulder. "It's really obvious."
Jerome decided not to argue; Amber's eyes narrowed and flashed and Jerome knew that meant she knew what she was talking about. Instead, he sighed. "I'm just – Mick and I are too different."
"So? So are you and I, but I'm still your friend."
Her tone was a razor blade across the stone; another chip, more dust swirling around them, and now Jerome felt his heart beating. His jaw relaxed as heat pooled behind his eyes and Amber blinked when Jerome's shoulders hunched. "Mick doesn't want to be my friend, Amber."
And then Amber laughed, almost drowning out the loud beats of pop music blaring through the speakers. "Mick isn't a bad guy, Jerome. You should stop being stubborn."
"I'm not a bad guy either," said Jerome, his hands buried in his pockets.
When Amber grinned, her smile mirrored warmth into his chest. Everything was red and gold, as if a lion roaring for attention had crawled beside them. "And you're the only one who thinks otherwise," she said, her hair cascading around her. Her hair glowed gold; her dress burned red.
Jerome hated that his throat stopped working at that moment, because Amber's nod and smile was more infuriating than the sight of Mrs. Robinson spinning in Mr. Winkler's arms.
After watching Jerome storm off behind the blankets covering the entrance, Amber let herself admire her own handiwork.
Despite the mood lighting, the array of colors flashing across the room highlighted the various dresses and styles. Somehow the stage seemed to melt into the floor, seamlessly creating the illusion that room was larger than it really was; Amber thought the banners curled around the doorway really did highlight the royalty of the event. Overall, she'd say she was pleased.
"Nice job," said Alfie, sliding up beside her. He carried a drink in one hand, swirling the soda around several times before finally looking at her. "With the dance – with getting everyone here."
Amber smiled. "Couldn't have done it with out you, Alfie." She paused, smiling as she watched two students dance in the middle of the room; there were a few others who had joined them as the music picked up. "I'm glad everyone is enjoying themselves."
Alfie glanced over at her then, and Amber wondered what it was in his eyes that made her swallow. He shook his head with a fond smile. "Amber Millington, I think you've grown up."
And Amber threw back some of her hair, grinning. "Well congratulations Alfie Lewis on not doing so." Amber laughed again when he rubbed the back of his neck, ears tinged pink, muttering something about he's grown up what are you talking about.
Alfie tries to convince Mara that Jerome has bad qualities, but so does everyone "no one's perfect, Mara." Alfie tells her Jerome was the one who sent that Rosegram
Mara talks to Mick and they talk about being exes and whether that means they can be friends (spoiler alert: it does).
A spotlight pierced the dimmed lights. Mick felt Mara step sideways, their conversation for all purposes finished. On stage, heels clicked against the wooden flooring until the microphone was pulled down and the halo surrounded her golden hair, the angel serenely taking the spot where she belonged.
Amber grinned, and Mick immediately recognized the mischievous tint. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath.
"So I know that usually this is done at the end of a dance, but as your dance chair – " she threw a wink at Mara " – I've decided that we're going to switch it up a bit. However, because there was no time to vote, I'll just be picking the dance's king and queen." Groans followed, but Amber – ever focused – ignored them all. "First – the King: the handsome and brilliant – Jerome Clarke." Polite applause followed, hushed whispers filling the pauses.
But they broke up. The thought repeated through his head over and over again, a reassuring mantra against the confusion. Control ran away from him.
"And for the Queen," said Amber softly, hesitance and regret mixing together to seize his heart. He wanted to run up to her and hug her; he wanted to hand her that tiara and dawn that crown and suddenly and magically be able to dance.
Heartbeat.
"The lovely and beautiful – Mara Jaffray."
Silence reigned throughout the gym – no comment, no movement, no breathing. The insides of Mick's stomach flipped and twisted, but there was no beast growling or fighting. He wasn't jealous; he was just shocked.
Quiet lasted for too long as Mara awkwardly glanced between him and Jerome. Mick's eyes met Amber's for only a brief moment, but it was enough. He smiled, he nodded, and he clapped. The slow applause of others joined him and quickened pace, welcoming Mara to the throne as she placed the tiara gently on her head. Once her eyes fell on Jerome, their shared gaze never broke.
Music filled the hall as Amber left the stage, leaving the royalty alone. But while the spotlight highlighted Jerome and Mara, Mick's eyes followed Amber as her dress danced around her calves and her hair fell upon her face.
Heartbeat.
He pushed past the now dancing crowd, bypassing a smirking Fabian. Mick shot him a roll of the eyes, but merely laughed when Fabian shot him a thumbs-up in return. When Nina walked up, Mick raised an eyebrow significantly, but bumped into Alfie.
"Sorry, Alfie," said Mick, frowning. Alfie just smiled; his eyes seem to follow someone behind Mick, who turned around, blue eyes quickly finding blonde hair. "I better – " said Mick, glancing over at Alfie. Alfie nodded once, silently, his eyes bright and his smile small. "Right."
And Mick left, his eyes scanning the crowd for Amber.
Not really jealous of Mick and Amber, Alfie sees Nina avoiding Fabian and goes to talk to her. "He likes you. He knows it, I know it, the janitor knows it. You're the only one who doesn't." A battle rages in her mind; he wonders if she's debating listening to him or ignoring him and fire stirs momentarily in his gut. But Nina nods, a ghost of a smile teasing at the corner of her mouth. "I hope you're right."
Nina runs into Mara and they talk about forgiveness / spot Amber and Mick separated by people and Amber slipping out of the gym / Mara decides to go looking for Jerome and Nina finds herself beside Patricia. They stand quietly, no words needed. (Alfie and Fabian find them like that, standing quietly, just watching the people around them.)
Mara confronts Jerome and Mick interrupts accidentally ("have you guys seen Amber?") but Jerome falls into habits and is extra snippy with him and Mara has enough.
"Sorry," said Mick, glancing between Mara's retreating figure and Jerome. "I didn't mean – "
"Stop," said Jerome, running his hand through his hair. He was so done with this. "I don't want to hear it."
Mick took a step forward, eyes narrowed. Jerome did his best not to punch him. "You can't keep blaming me for everything you do wrong, Clarke."
"I'm not blaming you for anything, Campbell," said Jerome, letting the name drip off his tongue like bitter acid. But somehow, it still felt sweeter. "Mara – she's just – "
"She's sick of it," said Mick. His arms were crossed and he was no longer looking at him. "Just like me. Just like you."
Jerome waited. He waited for the punch line, the final blow; but nothing came, and instead Jerome sighed. "I guess we tied."
Mick looked up, eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"
"The bet," said Jerome, sighing and leaning back against the cool lockers. "We tied."
"Nah," said Mick, an inkling of a smile hovering in the corner of his lips. "The night isn't over yet. It's still undecided."
Jerome rolled his eyes. "I think we all know how this going to end, Mick."
And Mick grinned. "Do we, Jerome?"
In that silence that followed, Jerome watched. He watched Mick stare back at him with no malice in his eyes, no jealousy between them. It was just two friends, standing in the quiet, waiting. "Thanks," said Jerome, muttering quietly.
Mick shrugged. "It's nice to know you can care about people, you know?"
"I care about – I care about you, Mick," said Jerome, voice still low and barely audible. But Mick must have heard him because he frowned back in surprise, eyes slightly wide. "But that stays between us."
Mick cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "You should – you should go find Mara, mate. She's probably heading out otherwise."
Jerome tilted his head, and he understood that Mick's unsteady gaze – concentrated everywhere else but him – was indication of an unspoken blessing. "Truce?"
Heartbeat. "Truce," said Mick.
And Jerome slapped him on the back as he walked away.
In the center remained a hole; images of happiness and laughter radiated from the entire puzzle, and yet something was missing – a final piece of forever.
"I'm sorry it doesn't seem like I trust you. I trust you with my life on a daily basis – but – I do. I – I'm sorry."
"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I couldn't just say it."
"Say what?"
A pause; Fabian took in a deep breath before smiling. "I like you, Nina. A lot. Maybe even – " But he stopped, because her fingers lingered over his face, outlining his jaw and curling into his hair and all he can see is her eyes shining and her lips smiling.
"Me too," she said, before meeting him in the middle.
"Patricia."
Closing her eyes to steady herself, Patricia slowly turned. "Alfie," she said, keeping her hands buried deep within her coat pockets.
"You leaving already?" he asked, biting his lip, his foot drawing uneasy yellow lines on the floor.
Patricia smiled a little. "Isn't really my thing. Dances," she said, shrugging and nodding towards the door of the lounge. "I came for – " she stopped then, biting her lip. "I came for you guys."
Alfie stared at her for a moment. "You wanna head back to the house? Watch a movie?" When Patricia hesitated, he smiled. "As two people, hanging out, enjoying each other's company. No more."
"But no less?" she asked. Because every time she looked at him, she could only see the red and orange fire drawn around him, and even though she knew better, all she wanted to do was reach out and –
"No less," he repeats. "Let me grab my coat."
Patricia let herself be happy.
He found her trying to hide in the coat room. "Mara, please, can we just – talk – "
"I don't want to talk to you."
Jerome sighed, glancing at the other students staring at them. Vaguely, he noticed Alfie and Patricia slipping out of the school, but most of him was concerned with Mara, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Can you not want to talk to me in the hallway, please? We've got an audience."
Mara followed his gaze, frowning, before practically stomping out into an abandoned classroom. "Fine. Talk."
"I – I talked to Mick," said Jerome quickly, for once letting his words just leave his lips without worrying about letting his mind catch up. "We – we're good." Mara stared back at him but said nothing. "I'm sorry, okay?"
"Are you?"
And Jerome gave up. "Yes! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry – how many times do I need to repeat it?" He took a step forward and was only mildly surprised that Mara didn't step back. "I'm sorry I messed up – I'm sorry I went behind everyone's back and messed with their lives – I'm sorry I'm a jerk – I'm sorry I'm not Mick – I'm sorry I'm a rotten mess and you're stuck with me – "
"It's not about you," said Mara finally, eyes hard. Arms at her sides, she stared up at him with thin lips. "It's never been about you, Jerome. You can tell me you're sorry for things out of your control – but that doesn't change the fact that you don't care."
Jerome recoiled; her words slapped him across the face, a throbbing scab. "I – I care," he said softly. "I – "
"Do you?" said Mara, taking another step towards him. He thought he could feel her breath on his chest. "Do you really care?"
"I care about Mick," said Jerome. He wondered if his voice sounded as weak as he felt. "I care about Nina and Fabian and Alfie and Patricia and Amber. I – " he stopped, staring at her. Her eyes reflected back his own image and that was when he swallowed. His own eyes seemed – more blue. "I care about you, Mara."
Jerome knew she didn't believe him – there was still something missing, a hesitance and a doubt. And he knew that was she saw when she stared back at him. So Jerome narrowed his eyes and kissed her.
Mara kissed him back.
When Amber stepped out into the hallway, she wasn't expecting to find Mick standing there, looking completely lost. "Hey."
He whirled around, eyes suddenly brighter than usual; Amber wanted to cry. "I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, halfway between stepping closer to her and not. Amber rolled her eyes and met him in the middle.
"I've been – around," said Amber. "Why?"
Mick bit his lip. "Um – you want to dance?"
She realized that the song blaring in the background was her favorite – it was the song playing in the coffee shop during her and Mick's first date. It was their song. "Of course." His arm wrapped around her easily, as if always meant to be there. Amber suspected that was indeed the case, especially when her hands automatically rested on his shoulders. Despite the shoddy lighting of the hallway, Amber could see the darkness under his eyes and every wrinkle in his forehead. "You need to get back to your skin regiment. You've been slacking."
"I have been," said Mick, but he was just staring at her. In that moment, Amber did not care about the music or the crowns or the even the frizz in her hair. In that moment, Amber saw only Mick, her one temporary escape from everything that did not matter. "I've missed you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, especially as the music ceased in the other room. "Only you – why did you give Mara and Jerome the crowns?"
Amber smiled. "I already know who my king is. Mara needed a little push." And she laid her head on his chest, swaying to silence.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her towards him and closing the few inches left between them. Her hand caressed his face, the other stroking his shoulder, but brown never left blue.
Heartbeat.
Lips met; they danced softly, a tender embrace of whispers and confessions and passion. Shadows hid them from the rest of the world – it was just Jerome and Mara and a kiss. Friends and family and secrets sat boxed away, forgotten and ignored; his breath on her nose and her fingers through his hair were all that mattered.
The taste of infinity grazed their tongues; he loved her, she loved him, and damn everything else.
Her lips tasted like salt and the popcorn burned her throat, but she didn't care. There was soda inches away, if she felt like stretching. But stretching involved moving, and with her head on his shoulder and his fingers tickling hers, she really didn't want to move.
Attack of the Zombie blared on the television, but she knew the lines by heart; rather, her attention remained on his breathing, how every now and then he'd chuckle into her hair. He twisted her yellow streak of hair around his fingers before blowing it away; shivers glided through her ears and down her spine. Nerves attended to every movement, every sound; each pulse of her heart sent her mind spinning.
Heartbeat.
Patricia sat in Alfie's arms, watching as a zombie bit off a woman's head, enjoying the steady rise and fall of his chest.
For her, he tried.
His feet moved awkwardly, but he held her close. He bit his lip, concentrating on his toes and hers, wincing every time his foot didn't land quite right. But she smiled gracefully, her dress flowing around them, fingers laced behind his neck.
And so they danced.
When Amber flinched because Mick had stepped on her toes, she shook her head playfully and flicked his nose. He grimaced at her, but his grin fed her heart adrenaline; contact between skin summoned palpitations from long-ago as shared looks evoked faded memories.
She laid her head on his chest. The rhythm of his heart matched her steady breaths; in-sync again, bits fell together comfortably. Jagged pieces filled jagged lines, a puzzle finally completed. Together with flaws and imperfections, a perfect match for an imperfect couple, they were still mates before dates.
Heartbeat.
The seed of doubt that grew in her mind for several weeks died that day; they would fall back in love eventually – they always did.
"The stars are bright tonight."
Heartbeat.
"Yeah."
Fingers tangled together, arms intertwined.
"Tonight was amazing."
Heartbeat.
"Yeah."
Damp grass tickled her through her dress; bladed edges prickled him from beneath his suit. The moon flashed vibrantly, twinkling stars highlighting patterns of myths and legends, mysteries and secrets.
"I think I love you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Heartbeat. "I think I love you too."
Fabian's smile rivaled the outline of the constellations and Nina's contented sigh faded into the breeze.
Far away, a clock tower inched toward the final vertical position. Violet lights danced across the darkened sky. A heartbeat later – midnight struck.
And so, Monday passed.
The last piece – the center piece – clicked into the puzzle perfectly, completing the tangled web of strings, overlapping and twisted.
Everything fit.
4: epilogue
Heartbeat.
"Are you serious?"
The two blondes faced each other, an uneasy distance between them. One had his arms crossed across his chest, the other's hands buried in his sweatshirt pockets. One smirked.
"I'm totally serious. A three part bet, right?" he said, his voice smug and daring.
The other frowned thoughtfully, biting his lip in hesitation. He was shocked and confused, but pleased and comfortable in the new truce.
"Fine," he finally agreed. "But I still don't understand how we possibly tied."
"Well, Nina and Fabian are together."
A nod. "Right. Your point."
"Patricia and Alfie – totally a thing now, right?"
An uneasy shrug. "Well – I don't think they'd define it as a thing."
A roll of eyes before a shrug. "If you don't want to accept my concession – " said the schemer, his lips quirking upwards.
"Okay! Okay, totally a thing," said the other, hands up in surrender. "But Amber is single."
A pause. "Wait – why? What the hell, mate?"
"Hey," said the other, "she didn't want to seem like she was just jumping into another relationship. So – we're taking it slow. We're just – going on dates. Not dating."
"In that case," said Jerome, a serene blue settling over his stomach. "Then Alfie and Patricia being so undefined works out in my favor."
Mick grinned. "Because now we're tied?"
"Because now we're tied."
"And in the case of a tie – "
"You're both declared losers."
Jerome and Mick both turned to the door, surprised when Alfie grinned back. Fabian stepped up beside him. "What – it's the truth."
Jerome rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we get it. We're scum."
"No," said Alfie practically skipping between the two blonde, "but since you both lose, you both have to – what was it, Fabian?"
Fabian grinned. "Run down the hallway naked."
"Naked," repeated Alfie, still grinning widely. "No clothes – only socks – in front of everyone – including the girls – "
Mick glanced over at Jerome. "You know. We could use some company." When Jerome caught on, smirking, Mick turned to Alfie. "Would definitely gain some bonus points with Patricia…"
Fabian laughed. "There is no way we would ever – "
"I'm in," said Alfie, shrugging. "Maths are boring anyway."
"What!" said Fabian, open-mouthed. "Are you serious?"
"Oh, he's serious," said Jerome, arms crossed and smirk borderline devilish. "You in, Rutter?"
"Am I in," repeated Fabian, glancing between the other three. The silver and the gray and the orange and he was just a speck of lavender, stuck between a collage of pebbles – "oh what the heck."
The other three grinned. Four hands gripped and shook, crossed over and intangled, the completion of an age-old manly bond.
Jerome smirked, Mick let himself grin, Alfie bounced, and Fabian sighed loudly.
Anubis House stood on.
So there was actually supposed to be a scene here where the girls see the guys streaking down the hallway, but that ending was too good so this is it.
The End.