Dancing On My Own

going radio silent was very unlike alfie , he always had to share his thoughts , voice his opinion but once she broke things off he just abandoned all hope when it came to her. she ceased to exist in his head and he moved on. at least that's the impression he gave off , his abrupt return to london caused speculation , his parents seemed worried and yet he dismissed them and continued on. her number did remain unblocked , name simply changed to a big red stop sign. " that seems a bit anticlimactic. " and it was , truthfully he didn't know what to say to her , so instead he said nothing. silence was the better option , he had always thought heartbreak was idiotic , but now he understood all those songs. " so you were paying attention , " to something other than what she was doing --- he found it surprising.

She reaches for her glass of wine. These days, she drinks too much. A high-stress job, the death of her violent father, her newfound sister. Amelia swallows back the glass of red, allowing a drip of red against her pale skin. God, she could spit. Only Alfie could do this. He was the best fighter she's ever met, which made every fight of theirs epic, for better or for worse. "No, you didn't. Did I ever tell you mine?" The point is clear in her eyes; neither of them were honest about the things that mattered. Their relationship, their histories, their pain. Instead, they dig into each other. Case and point -

"Not all of us are like you, born with a silver fucking spoon and zero chances of actual failure. Look at your hands--" She gestures to the ones she's held down the street, the ones that held her face. "You've never done a day's work in your life. You're spoiled and privileged, and despite being glaringly self-aware of that fact, you still manage to judge me." Well, she's having none of it, and Amelia reaches into her purse out of spite. Dropping two hundred dollars in the bartender's tip bowl to cover her cheque, and pushing out of her seat. "Fucking hell."

he knew her at the start of her rise to fame , humble beginnings as one called it but he thought she didn't need to be humble about what she had accomplished. he always pushed her to be bold , to be outspoken , have nothing to fear and yet that very advice bit him in the ass when all he wanted to do was say he was proud of her. the very pride that once attacked him to her , now he could only look at with a bit of disgust. " would you have rather i sent you a lengthy text of what i actually thought ? " mainly about how they fought over everything , anything and yet neither put any effort to fight for their relationship. " ingrid , " he said a bit too quickly , finishing up his drink. " then it was candice and then ava --- do i need to go on ? " he questioned , tone a bit more harsh than usual.

"I moved in with my sister." She defends immediately. "Who happens to live in a fucking penthouse. Not my choice." It's embarrassing, really, and Alfie knows how she feels about it. Another item to add to the list of reasons why it didn't work out. Yet nothing is logical, least of all love, and none of the reasons for why not stopped her... Until it did. "No, it's fine. I've got it." Amelia tries, failing when the bartender's eyes jump between them. Sighing, she slumps into the seat. "Thank you." She says, because she can hear how he means it, despite the animosity. Amelia turns to her meal, eating with just enough purpose to be out the door in ten minutes. "Why the Reserve?" she asks, after a long beat. "You could've done anything with your life." Implicit in that, he could achieve so much more than a life of crime and living off a trust fund. Amelia believed in Alfie, even when he didn't.

𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐩 to the bar, fully intending to keep chasing down the lead lottie had given her. the screen sat open between her and amelia, glowing blue over scattered notes, a half-finished drink, and an ashtray neither of them were supposed to be using inside. “so,” rin said without looking up from the document she hadn’t edited in twenty minutes. “what would you say if i told you i was going to go sober?” it came out flat, almost bored. it was the kind of question that would have sounded like a joke to anyone else. amelia, unfortunately, was not anyone else. rin finally glanced over, brow lifting. “and also gonna quit and write romance novels?” it was a little flare sent up in their own private, shared language of ambition and self-destruction. where saying i might quit meant tell me not to be stupid. she reached for her glass, then seemed to remember the first part of what she’d just said.

At the mention of Oktoberfest, her eyes roll instinctively, a groan escaping. “I remember parts of Oktoberfest.” Cleo near-shudders under the duvet strewn across her shoulders. “If you hadn’t sweet-talked that cop, I would’ve gotten us thrown in a German jail.” She had only gotten that drunk after a conference had brought her mother, whom she had not seen in a year, to Germany that same week, yet she couldn’t even be bothered to meet up for lunch. Cleo had taken eight jäger shots back-to-back. ‘Fuck her, Mads, fuck her.’ She’d been in a particularly anti-authoritarian mood that night. His offer to stay makes her pause. For a second, Cleo looks at him through the mirror, bare-faced. Then she smiles wanly. “No, it’s alright, really. I have to be up at 6, anyway. Driving to Jersey,” she crinkles her nose. “Plus, I'll be sleeping either way,” She rattles a bottle of pills at him like a maraca. “You need?”

"Who knew I was that big, old bear's type, eh? I figured you'd have a better shot--" But there's no accounting for preferences, and that's what makes them a dangerous duo. At least one of them is bound to be someone's cup of tea. "I liked your rendition of Olga, the hot and very strict bar maid." Complete with an outfit and everything. Cleo doubles down at every turn, always game to match his energy. Of course, it comes after parental disappointment. With Maddox and Cleo, sex and danger are the escape route from their family's burning pressures. At her answer, he catches her eyes, taking one more inspection of her before nodding. "Mhm, 'kay. Let me at least drink you to sleep." He jokes, giving her a quick kiss on her temple. "I got some back at my place. Save it for you, and get me a drink for the road instead."

Still, Santi's sentiment manages to actually land. Maddox nods, slow and understanding. "No, he wouldn't have. He would do all his duties with you, and then fucked off to the Maldives with me." The perfect in-between. Despite his cheekiness, there's a very meaningful look he passes over Santi. "You're not going anywhere, mate. I won't let you."

he did the kid a favor one time and now isaac thinks he's abusive of the system. though in all fairness , isaac had asked for it -- in a way , he thought he would need maddox's help if he ever got into trouble. however , there was a big problem ---- isaac was squeaky fucking clean in comparison to maddox. since the news broke out that sebastian died , the younger man had been somewhat a pain at his side every other weekend when isaac actually preferred to be sleeping like a normal adult. instead he was out at 3am , answering a call from a what he could only assume was a completely hammered maddox being held at the station. the only thing isaac did was loudly sigh before hanging up and driving towards the station. once arriving the holding officer read off the charges while isaac signed off on release , though they hadn't charged him , knowing isaac would probably get him off the hook like he had done before.

as they stepped out he simply looked at the other and said , " public indecency ? really ? what are you ? fifteen ? " he shook his head , absolutely judging the other's choices in life.

"What are you? Fifty?" He challenges back as he emerges from behind the counter, glitter on his cheek and the smell of vodka on his lips. "What are you doing sleeping on a Saturday night?" Isaac's a hell of an ally, but unfortunately a tremendous bore. "Live a little, man. You only do it once." And the proof is in the people he loves - Sebastian, now Romeo... What's the point in playing by the rules, when the rules don't mean shit?

when selin had decided she was moving out of her sister’s place, she had not imagined herself looking at townhouses in manhattan. but working no fewer than six jobs for the past year had done surprisingly decent things for her bank account. still, she never would have been able to afford a place like this if amelia had not been looking for a roommate too.

amelia’s admission pulled a small, surprised laugh from selin. “me either,” she admitted, stepping in beside her. “i mean, i used to live in an apartment where the kitchen was basically in the bathroom, and i shared it with two other people.” back in türkiye, when she’d been a struggling actress on a moderately successful television show. she followed amelia through the living room, trying not to look too openly dazzled. then they reached the sunroom, and the garden opened up beyond the glass. for once, nothing clever came immediately as the morning light spilled over everything. “oh,” she said, then, after a moment, she glanced over at amelia. “do you know how to garden?”

"Yeah?" Amelia chuckles. "I'll be honest, I imagined you in one of those crazy artist lofts." The sort of place beautiful and talented women blended seamlessly. Oddly, it makes her like Selin more. Further proof of how grounded she is, despite all the glamor and reason not ot be. "My last apartment was so small you bumped into the fridge every time you left the bathroom. Anyway, everyone's on me about getting a better place, so." There they are, in the precipice of a new beginning. A house that is big, but not grand. Something that could maybe be home.

"Would you be surprised if I said yes?" Amelia may give off New Yorker energy, down to her speediness and crabbiness, but alas -- "I grew up in San Diego. My mom kept a lush garden. I'll be busy, but you know, some annuals and a few perennials." Good as anything. "I'm not much of a decorator, though." She admits sheepishly, nodding back into the living room. Apart from the packed boxes, the space was relatively bare, save for some crown moldings. "Tell me you have some talent in that department. Can't say I have any good furniture either, apart from a lumpy sofa and an Ikea coffee table."

Lottie only watched Amelia's reaction to the news she had just learned herself - sparing her of the details that she still remembered at least a few times a day. Similar to how Romeo, now gone, had freed them of the father that had only ever tormented both of them in every way that he could. "He made sure to do that until his last day on Earth." Charlotte mumbled, her tone almost coming off as neutral. She swallowed hard, grabbing her matcha latte to appear more nonchalant. "I need your help with your team. Prioritize any lead on Pantheon, as small as it may be. I want answers." About who killed Romeo, that was. Hopefully, her sister knew her well enough to understand that. As an after thought, she clicked on a different property on her laptop, another link that Amelia had sent her and rolled her eyes. "You do know you're the one that'll be living there, right? It's smaller than your own office."

She understands Lottie better than one might think. For all their differences, their similarities are glaring. She understands her impulse to pull to neutrality, to shut down the rage that lives inside you. Knowing just how dangerous it is, Amelia nods in understanding. "After everything's that happened, finding out who's behind the Pantheon is a small consolation." Romeo sacrificed himself for them in more ways than one, and Amelia knows the way it haunts her.

"I was thinking... Noble Story's been reporting about everything but the fires. Focused on the sensationalism, instead of the who's-who behind it. Not like Alexis is a shit journalist." Would be easier to out her if she was. "And speaking as someone who's blackmailed into a side--" by Lottie, no less. "Who's to say she isn't, either?" And if nothing else, Amelia has her own professional motivations.

"I'm good being alone, but fine. Open the next one." Unlike the previous contenders, this one was partially inspired by Lottie's entrepreneurial spirit. A Townhouse in Midtown, close to the office, and made of sturdy brick. "It's lavish, for me." She prefaces, knowing by Lottie's standards it's just a home. "But you're right, I have money. So, I don't know. I was thinking to invest; buy, instead of rent. Selin needs a roommate, and being alone hasn't felt great lately." And she loves it, from the garden space to the short commute to work.

if he could avoid amelia for the rest of his life he would , even if his gaze said something different. or the way his body seemed to instinctively turn towards her , all signs pointing towards the illusion of a reunion but his brain told him to stay away. she was nothing but trouble , even now -- her quip not totally falling on deaf ears. " no , love. i abandoned that the day you dumped me , remember. " he was no stranger to confrontation , she should have known that and accepted it once she decided to sit next to him.

"Who says? I'm not the broke journalist you knew." She challenges, taking a sip of the wine. Fuck, that's good. Alfie's taste never misses, and she takes the relief of the bartender returning with a plate of fine sushi topped with microgreens and truffle shaving. Further proof that this place is beyond her and her tastes. "Thank you, and the bill, please." Because chances are, any time spent with Alfie is going to blow up.

he hadn't fully kept up with amelia since joining the reserve , he'd been in and out of the country and avoiding her was third in his list -- a list that he intended to keep growing as his time in new york seemed to hone on the more permanent side. he had however noticed she had gotten everything she ever wanted career wise --- she should be fulfilled , right ?

the bartender immediately left to note her order and he couldn't help but want to crawl into whatever hole was closest. he had swore she didn't affect him and still continued not to affect him to this day but he couldn't help but feel , something , as he sat next to her. the closest they had been since she ended things and he left her there in what was supposed to be their apartment. his company left and now it was just them and suddenly the room felt quiet , his mind replaying their last interaction before her voice pulled him out.

It's a fate worse than being strangers, or simply being 'exes.' Their estrangement runs deep, made terrible by Amelia's one track mind and Alfie's pride ensuring it stays that way. What's left is something odd, best avoided. Except New York isn't as big as anyone pretends it to be, and Lottie runs the Reserve like a tight ship. Despite herself, she can't help the light snort; "Did you get a degree in revisionist history since I last saw you?" It comes out of her too quick. That whip-fast wit that was once an instrument of flirtation, now feels like a defense mechanism.

Fighting was how they flirted. Bickering was how she and Alife formed closeness. Arguing was their way to express passion. This? Amelia doesn't know what this is.

She traipses over to the bookcase. One of many bookcases, because Cleo has books everywhere. Her fingers dance over the spines of Euripides. de Beauvoir. A catalog from a Berlin exhibition she keeps meaning to finish leafing through. Then, at last, she arrives at the right one, wedging free a copy of the Kama Sutra. “Fitting, no?” Cleo flips through the pages, stops on a particularly graphic illustration, and turns it to him. “I think this is what broke the bed, by the way.” Not that she is complaining, smirk toying at her lips, the pale of her eyes wide and airy. “You wanna stay for a nightcap? I’ll put a Kraftwerk record on.”

Still, he takes the book, slotting it underneath the post. Perfect fit. "You know I can't say no to Kraftwerk and a drink. Remember Oktoberfest?" One of their many international escapades. He can still feel that hangover years later. "You sure you don't want me to stay and cuddle?" He doesn't say it in mockery. Rather, in authenticity. Maddox and Cleo may be 'fuck buddies' and 'reckless hedonists.' But they are people, too, and Maddox is a heartfelt person first and foremost. He gives her a small smile, something true and caring. "I'll even knock off in your guest room, if it'll help you sleep." It's not been easy to get back into, with first his cousin and now Romeo haunting his dreams.

alfie had finally settled into new york rather nicely and now his task was to find the best places to eat. alfie had picked up some cooking skills from someone before but now the thought of using his kitchen for anything more than to get a beverage made him sick. so instead he tried to go to a new place every night , somehow he had made it in to a very popular spot , so he opted for a bar seat. he had sprung up conversation with the person next to him , even if he tried to avoid it his accent usually brought on questions and well --- who was he to say no to a free drink. the bartender even lingering in to hear the conversation , chiming in from time to time.

"I--" The bartender's eyes furrow, offended and curious. He glances first at Alfie, then at Amelia, and she catches the question in his eyes. "It's fine." She answers the question in his eyes, lets the bartender exchange her glass for a fresh one. "And just an entree - whatever's easy. No allergies." Implicit in that, whatever the cook can whip up fast. It's not that she's afraid of Alfie. Rather, she's afraid of the ways he can crack her open, and let out the best and worst parts of her. When the bartender leaves, alongside the haughty woman beside Alfie who seems snubbed by the gestures, they are alone. As alone as they can be, in a busy restaurant.

"You know," she starts, finally acknowledging him, eyes still averted to her new glass. "I never liked it when you ordered for me." Memories of their messy fights outside of restaurants come back to vision. But so to did those impassioned kisses shortly after.