pomegranate seeds.

where: Sweet Spot with: @coracovington​ 

Normally, he would have passed out for a decent 13 hours max after coming back from a trip. Unfortunately, Christian had the gall to enter the Landry’s humble abode at an hour where his eccentric father was wide awake rather than succumbing to insomnia that bled into the early light. After a rousing conversation about how one of his siblings had suggested taking melatonin gummies, Christian had been made the scapegoat to go collect a bounty of pastries for the family to have over morning coffee. As tired as he was, he happily agreed if only to get away from any other weird topics his father wanted to discuss at the moment. Kings Head Harbor was always colder this time of year and after coming from the warmth of the south, he couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter about it. He was eyeing up the menu to see if Bash would still be a baby about scones, when briefly brushed against another patron, a familiar one at that. “Cora Covington,” He gleamed with a devilish grin. “What is that?” He snatched a bite of her bakery treat, warm and delicate. “I might have to get some.” 

It was a well-loved Christmas routine within the realms of Kingston Memorial - whoever avoided on call over the holiday period would supply the surplus seasonal treats. Whilst Cora was often on the receiving end, the OR a reasonable excuse to avoid family, it was now her own concern to return the favour with all of its trimmings. It would be unalike her to not outdo the offerings years prior - settling on the yearly preference that was Sweet Spot itself. The cashier beamed from ear to ear upon her entrance, offering a warm greeting and momentary small talk to pass the time. They discussed the weather, the tasks of today and the influx of customers which swarmed the property. All until Cora’s arms were left full, unaware of the other inhabitant until he made his presence known.       “How bizarre,” she feigns confusion, brows knitting together. “I didn’t realise something of mine was reserved for you.” Her head tilts as she observes him - blue eyes dissecting his sharp edges. “It’s gingerbread fudge. I was feeling festive.”

    Christmas day at his mom’s place was tradition and as usual when he walked inside the dogs barked at his feet, his hand instinctively moved down to pat all three, furry heads before he shrugged off his jacket and gave his mother a hug. She immediately started talking about her week, spanish flowing faster than the speed of light from her mouth but he still listened with a grin on his lips, until she mentioned she’d invited a special guest and lazily motioned to the kitchen as she fixed, or pretended to fix, a few lights in her christmas tree. A real one, standing in the living room, that Max was surprised the dogs hadn’t torn down yet. His brows furrowed a little, expression saying ‘what’ more than words ever could. Who else except his aunt and her wife was coming?     The shock on his face was obvious as he walked into the kitchen, man speechless for several seconds as his gut felt like it was eating itself up. He obviously hadn’t told his mother about kissing Cora, not even able to imagine how she’d react. ❛ Ma, ❜ he called, as if she’d let the wrong person inside her home.     “¿Qué? Se amable. No creo que me gusten las Whittakers más que a ella.”  Fuck’s sake.     Nervous hands pushed into the front pockets of his black jeans, his eyes having a hard time meeting hers. The last time he saw her he’d kissed her and she’d told him to leave and he’d apologized. Fine, he was sorry but more so confused. Skylar’s words echoed in his head. She was wrong. She had to be.     ❛ Yeah, uhm… Sorry. Merry Christmas, ❜ he said, turning back to Cora and clearing his throat, forcing a soft smile upon his lips. ❛ That’s cool. I get it. Wish she would have told me, though. ❜ Last words were turned up in volume a little so his mother would hear him too, the woman shouting back an apology from the living room that almost sounded fake before she arrived into the kitchen and slapped Max’s hand off a turrón. “Not yet, hijo.”       ❛ You guys… Need help with anything? ❜

Wish she would have told me.               “And what would you have said if she had told you?” Her eyebrow arched in response, all too aware that he’d be leaning heavily towards no. Cora didn’t need to vocalise the thought further. It was wreathed within her tone. “Can you pass me a napkin?” She had felt the air change as soon as he’d discovered her. Further solidifying Camila’s lack of knowledge regarding their current predicament. Though today was far less a day for them and much more for unifying each inhabitant within this home. She’d remain civil if he allowed her. A change of topic would be best.             Her expression altered at the emergence of Camila - much warmer than before. How peculiar that she felt far more at ease with the older woman than the man she had known deeply. It was an unusual reality to discover how time would twist and turn.             “I don’t know,” she responded, setting down the final cutlery set. Her eyes peering upwards beneath dark lashes. Observing him in a momentary silence. “Max, do we need help?”

She’d been trapped within this particular booth for what felt far too long; caught somewhere between withholding an encroaching yawn and rolling her eyes to the back of her skull. Her Tinder date was not as described. Handsome under certain light but the words which fell from his lips - now that was what unnerved her most. She’d considered fleeing early, pondered how close the exit was in the event her goldfish required exercise. But she remained. Allowing the vicinity’s menu to ease her discomfort. When he disappeared into the bathroom, she exhaled freely, finally allowing the notch in her spine to soften.             It was the inaugural moment of relief - her attention gravitating to the other restaurant inhabitants, settling comfortably on a passing employee. A chef, perhaps. Though she wondered if they were coming or going.              “Strange question,” she peers upwards, a cautious smile tugging at her lips. “How much mess would it make if I took myself out with this fork?”

She was tucked away in the kitchen like a secret, blue eyes perusing a selection carefully chosen by Camila herself. It was a feast to rival what she was most accustomed to; all of which prompting Cora’s mouth to water. Whilst Christmas was deemed an occasion to unite family, it often felt inapplicable for the brunette. Though she still relished the elements it included: well-seasoned food, laughter founded by the triumph of party games and the art of gift giving. The latter at the focal point upon her arrival, two neatly wrapped presents resting on the coffee table for both mother and son.           Her son - the thought is unnerving and she’s frightened of the edges she might prick herself on.           She hadn’t spoke a word to him since that fateful evening; the moment now distorting what she once believed to be clarified. It triggered questions in the expanse of her skull, none of which assembling into audible words. Their friendship had been no more confusing than that of those she made within the workplace. However, now it felt complex. As if they were teetering on an edge which extended over an inky black abyss. Neither one of them desiring to discuss the matter in fear of descending first.           “Merry Christmas,” she hears him before she sees, her words slipping out between a task, slender hands arranging polished cutlery at the table. “Camila invited me. I don’t need to tell you why I chose her over my family.”

– 

He wished that he didn’t ache to touch her. It had been so simple keeping himself busy ever since they had argued in the stairwell of work and words had burnt at the bottom of his throat as if they were scratching to come out. Words he had managed to swallow and keep in the pit of doom they seemed to have manifested themselves from. Now though, now ignoring her or the nagging feeling that had arrived in his brain didn’t seem to easy to ignore. Not even sober. 

The temptation to lean closer to her as she settled herself against the wall, fingers itching to spread across the black fabric that covered her skin. The relief that she was out here and she was away from the prying eyes that had been on her all night. Did she know? She must have. The question was could she see the jealousy that had passed through his blue orbs all night long whenever his attention hadn’t been pulled else where by some else vying for his attention. “In that case you won’t mind if I light up another…you want?” He asked before he pulled a fresh cigarette from the box using his lips, slipping the box back into his pocket and rolling the familiar metal over his thumb to spark a flame and light the end - orange embers glowing as he took a slow drag. He’d stop again in the morning when there wasn’t so much other temptation around. 

At her compliment the hand not holding his lit cigarette moved so that he was lent ever so slightly against the wall, leaving plenty of space between them, eyes flashing up though he could see nothing on top of his head. “Thank you, I’ve been told it really makes my eyes pop.” He muttered, eyes dropping so they moved over her. “You look gorgeous but what’s wrong with your face it’s all twisted…do you feel sick?” The surgeon found himself asking though he made no effort to move away from her. 

“I’m good,” she lifts a palm in refusal, a tight-lipped smile equipped as punctuation. Her vices were not so much cigarettes and narcotics, much preferring their counterparts: cheap wine and mindless sex. “My mom always told me not to accept cigarettes from friends, much less-” the words dissolved on her tongue. She would hold them hostage in her throat. Tonight didn’t call for it. Though Cora would presume he’d hear wind of it soon enough. “A cardiothoracic surgeon smoking... There’s some kind of irony in that, don’t y’think?” She’d observed the fluidity of his movement - remove the stick from his pocket, light the end of it, smoke until his lungs tarred. It prompted curiosity. She wondered how long it had been his vice of choice and the others it dulled.          His chosen words caused a singular brow to arch - her head canting in response. “Word to the wise, don’t say someone’s face looks all twisted. Hurts their ego.” Though she’d suppose - through her own experience - his ability to profess the wrong thing had now become his forte. “I have heartburn,” she responds, her slender arms remaining crossed between them, an instinctual reaction to expand the open space. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need you to look after me.” She could handle it. A few antacids and the discomfort would cease. “I don’t think I’ll be staying much longer anyway. I can already feel my social battery dying out.”

.

    Muscles tugged at one of his brows at Cora’s response, lips pressed together to hide a wide smile. They both knew Ian wasn’t invited and either way, he probably wouldn’t have come even if they’d pay him for it. The pair didn’t want him there anyway. As much as Bash still loved Lily, there were some aspects of her life he’d just never like. Mostly her dad.     His face cracked and a laugh fell from his lips. ❛ Sounds more fun, and less painful probably, ❜ he said, nodding his head a bit before popping a fry into his mouth, barely warm at this point but still good enough. ❛ If anyone could get away with murder, bet it’s you. ❜ As much as he didn’t want to wish more death on his ex’s family, Ian Whittaker’s passing wouldn’t sting, for Bash at least, but he thought about Lily and he knew how hard it was to lose a parent and with her brother’s fairly recent death he didn’t want more pain for her. Not after he’d personally probably caused enough too.      ❛ Like I didn’t already have my shot at it, ❜ he scoffed quietly, eyes dropping from Cora to the half-eaten food in front of them for a moment before giving her a slightly puzzled expression. ❛ I don’t think so…. Since I don’t know who that is. ❜ His Spotify wasn’t that well used honestly, since he didn’t use his phone much, more inclined to put actual CDs in his stereo. It just gave him a whole other feeling but of course kept his music a little limited to what he already owned.       ❛ I’m fine though… ❜ he shrugged, taking a bite of an onion ring.  ❛ I just… ❜ Miss her.  ❛ She’s over it. I get it. ❜

Cora placed both palms on the diner table to brace herself. The shock, the disgust - her features contorted throughout a disarray of emotions. Bash was many things but the brunette finally considered that now he had gone too far. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Shit, Bash, I liked you once.” At least this would be an easy Christmas present. “He did the classics ‘You’re Beautiful’ and ‘Goodbye My Lover’. He also roasts the hell out of people on Twitter. Hilarious.”                Her expression softened as Bash spoke further, settling somewhere between pity and comfort - a strong desire to reach out and hug him, even if he felt as if it would be unrequired. It was a difficult situation for both involved. Words were unnecessary. She knew the air changed when the subject was addressed. “Over it is a little different to dealing with it. I don’t speak for her but even I know you don’t just get over shit like that. What you both had was special.” There was a pause, a cautious smile tugging at her lips. “I just want you both to be happy. You and Lily deserve that more than anything.” 

***

Skylar’s fingers moved up and down the wine glass before she downed the rest of the drink in one long sip. The restraint it took to not crush the glass was too much to bear but she hated the idea of wasting alcohol. “This is what I get for actually liking you and living next to you. I’m cursed by your curse,” she murmured out as she grabbed ahold of the wine bottle sitting on the table, pouring the remainder into her glass. “Cora, I’ve been telling you to go fishing in the sea of women for the past, oh– forever. So, why haven’t you?” She inquired with an eyebrow raise, swirling the wine around.

“There’s truly no higher compliment than knowing my neighbour actually likes me.” Speaking of, as Cora consumed the remaining red within her grasp, she promptly disappeared into the kitchen. Emerging only when her hands were occupied with what would be perhaps deemed more Skylar’s taste - Noah’s Mill bourbon. Selected with the intention of gifting to the woman before her. “This is for you,” she offers a half-moon smile, her hands gesturing to the bottle in question. “Consider it some form of Christmas gift.” Cora returned to the prior topic as she seeks out something more her taste, her heart remaining with her true love: red wine. “I don’t know... Men are easier to fuck with? I feel like women deserve to be worshipped - which doesn’t really tie in with my schedule. Men, on the other hand, I couldn’t really give a shit what they want. They’re just content with having a woman touch them.”

“Haven’t settled on a name just yet, I’m thinking I’ll want it to be Disney-themed to go with Belle’s. Bambi is the frontrunner, for alliteration. I have a few more weeks to decide, though. He’ll be fawn-colored, just for some variety since Belle is a tricolor corgi.” Lily was more than excited to add another canine to her small family, seeing them as part of it as much as any future children she may have. “I think I’d want a child eventually, but definitely not anytime soon. And I don’t think I’d feel unfulfilled if I never have a baby,” Lily explained with a shrug, knowing that Cora was not of the opinion that everyone should want children. In fact, the two had always been respectful of their differing opinions regardless of the context.

“You know him?” Lily asked, straightening her posture at Cora’s question. How popular was Aless after all? “I met him briefly at Sanem’s wedding two years ago, but apparently he and I run in the same circles and I just never connected with him till we matched on Bumble. He has a girlfriend now I think, so… the timeline is a bit interesting. Going on dates and then having a serious girlfriend not too long after?” Her eyes sparkled a bit when Cora asked more about James, knowing that it was a while before she introduced the professor to her family. But hopefully, that day would come in the future and he’d fit right in with the Whittaker-Covington clan. 

“I’m not bringing him to Thanksgiving or Christmas just yet, we’re taking it slow - a lot slower than I usually do. But I think you’d like him a lot, he’s a better fit for me than Bash was. Bash was just so…” Impulsive? Volatile? Wayward? “Just not someone who’s compatible with me as a long-term partner,” Lily concluded, knowing that she made the right call even though sometimes she had fleeting nostalgia of their past relationship. She knew her cousin was fond of her former boyfriend, but hopefully she was open to change. “Navy scrubs, nice! What does that signify?” Lily asked, almost apologetically for being in the dark on the color code of medical attire. “But either way, good for you. What’s the next level… or scrub color you’re aiming for?”

“Uh, yeah- I definitely know Aless.” Her brows raised instinctively, a specific interaction between them having burned a mark across the innards of her skull. She’d suppose it could scar the bone. The Italian destined for the same blemish. “We didn’t date. We just...” The secret was too deeply rooted to pluck out and spill. It was all too unfair to reveal Aless’ shortcoming before he dared to utter it himself. That alone was a scenario unlikely to come to life. “We went to church together.” Cora wasn’t a religious woman - her cousin would know that well enough. Still, the truth could be twisted and tweaked. It was entirely possible that Cora had a lapse in judgement; a moment in which her sins grew too ghastly to harbour. She had lived through plenty enough that one would expect God himself to shun her. “I wouldn’t put too much thought into it. Have you seen his friends? I’m pretty sure even Max now thinks with his brain penis.”            How the final sentence stirred something unpleasant within her. Features contorting at the sheer weight of it. An uneasiness which would fail to go unnoticed. Lily wouldn’t require further hint as to how the particular man had influenced such response. He had existed somewhere deep within her for years, a muted and misshapen version of himself. Construed over the years that she had grown - new cells replacing those that he had touched. Until he had sought her out, caught somewhere between liquor and nostalgia.            “Y’know how I feel about Bash. He stirred up the family enough that being around your father was almost manageable,” she continues. “But that pales in comparison to your happiness. Hell, even if I want to poke this James’ eyes out with my own fingers, I’d tolerate him if it meant you were happy. You deserve that at least.” She understood the mentality. Cora had experienced it herself once upon a time. Sometimes those you loved weren’t destined to exist as a constant. “It means I’ve truly outdone myself. I’m officially a fellow - my final step until I’m official. All this training will have finally paid off.” A reality that once seemed so far out of reach now closing in. “Attendings still wear navy, so it won’t change. I just get to be all the more impressive.”

Closed starter for Cora | @coracovington Location | Aurora

He had been tempted not the come tonight. It didn’t seem like a good mix, an alcoholic in recovery in a bar like this in the mood he was in? The mix just didn’t seem like a good one but Jones and promised that he would keep an eye on him and deep down Jonah knew no matter how tempted he was to just crack open a whiskey and to finish the whole bottle for himself, he didn’t want that more than he wanted to keep his career and his family. Even though Jones had long since abandoned him he had known he would still watch as his colleagues enjoyed their Christmas party and he stayed sober so that he could remind them all what they got up to on Monday morning. 

Somehow he had found himself outside with the nurses, crown on his head and cigarette in his hand. It might not have been the best practice for the cardio surgeon but he still had to have some vices right? Taking a long drag his blue eyes were pulled in the direction of the door swinging open and suddenly his gaze was locked with a familiar one, following her as she came to a stop. Handing back the half shared cigarette he let the smoke pass his lips. “Excuse me ladies.” He muttered softly as he stepped through them, moving forward until he had come to a stop in front of Cora, a dangerous move if she was sober let alone if she was as drunk as she seemed to be. “If you’re about to give me a lecture on the smoking, save it, I already know what it does to my lungs.” 

Cora existed with a meter instilled within her. A tool of measurement provoking a voice to rear its head. It was a gage of sorts - how sociable she could be until she desperately needed space. It was what differentiated her between her extroverted colleagues. Where some felt energised by vast company, she was simply whittled down until the very bones of her were exhausted. It was why she had sought the bitter bite of fresh air; the uneasy swirl of alcohol churning beneath her skin an addition. Though what amplified it further was the sight of him - exchanging his current company for hers alone. How unfortunate, she thought.               His words plummet, accumulating as the coins at the end of a wishing-well, glinting in the inky hollows of her chest. She swallows the russet taste on her tongue; it’s bitter, unwelcome. He had approached her - she didn’t need to defend herself in response. Still, assumptions were just that. All the more uninvited for the inebriated brunette. “A bit presumptuous, don’t y’think?” There’s a weight to her heel as she steps backwards, her lithe frame leaning against a brick wall for support. Wine wreathed itself within her blood - but vodka? A different form of poison. “I’m not your mother, Harris. What you choose to do is none of my business.” And it was his alone to harbour. He owed her nothing and she the same. “Besides, I just came for the fresh air.”              And the hopes to diminish both nausea and heartburn. The ache in her chest multiplying the saliva in her throat. God forbid she asked the nearest victim to hold her hair back.             Her blue eyes peer upwards between lashes, arms crossing one over the other. She observes him beneath the dark sky and notes how the shadows further contour his angular features. “Nice tiara.”