𝕳𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔

Horatio and Belva had always played the parts that their father expected of them. They were not wild and unpredictable like Emilio, didn’t break the rules as easily as December did. They knew their place in the house, which was why Belva had always felt so comfortable sitting beside him on the landing outside of their bedrooms. The silence then had been comfortable, easy even, as Horatio kept track of their siblings’ movements and made sure that everyone was in the right place. Belva kept him company, sitting in the stiff chair beside him, offering the occasional bits of conversation until his clock would tick and signal that it was time for her too to get to bed. It had been comfortable, a way to remain on the shelf and in her father’s favor without having to give up the prospect of company altogether.

She finds herself more and more grateful for that quiet company, and at the relief in Horatio’s voice, she knows that she made the right decision. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she takes his offered arm, a gesture so familiar. It reminds her of their mother, of the woman she loves so much and spent so much time trying to emulate. If there was anyone that she missed at the house, it was her, and the way she could make people feel loved and cared with the simplest of gestures. Belva hums at Horatio’s words as she follows him through the house, and although they’d perhaps been offered to Horatio as a form of comfort, it’s not quite what she takes from them. His next question catches her completely off guard, and she glances up at him in confusion. It’s a question she’s given some thought, especially after her conversations with Emilio and Harley, but she never would have expected for Horatio to be the one to ask it so plainly. Their father was a hero in his eyes, wasn’t he? 

Belva struggles to find a way to explain her thoughts, like is so often the case, but she eventually settles on repeating his words. “It’s like you said. He’ll never really be gone. I mean, I still hear him in my head sometimes, you know? Telling me what to do,” she begins, her grip on his arm tightening just the slightest amount, as if she’s using it to steady herself. “I don’t like that word. Broken. Didn’t like it the day I broke my arm, don’t really like it now, but…I think there’s a lot about me that’s because of him. And sometimes I don’t like that much either.” It’s almost frightening to hear it outside of her head, to admit it, but Horatio deserved her honesty. If even he was asking such a question, then surely he had his own doubts? This causes her to look up at him again, searching for something she’s not sure if she’ll find in his expression. “Do you ever feel that way, Horatio?” 

               𝕳er bafflement was tangible; even for him and even despite the eyes which refused to meet hers as she looked up to him; staring with all his focused attention into the direction they walked in instead. it was a choice, not naive but willing to be, if she saw whichever reason – perhaps to shield herself or even him – of sharing her complete truth regarding his question. he didn’t know which respond he was hoping for either; whether to beg for words which could heal the fissures in the podium he’d raised from the ground for his father to sit on top on or for the truth – no matter how harsh it may be – a smart mind should never cease to search for. after all, it was the only way of learning something new. 

The trepidation that she had felt in anticipation of Horatio’s request is proven warranted. His request, as simple as it may seem, is one that hits her harder than she anticipates. It brings her back to the day that they had laid their father in the ground, a day filled with strangers whispering back and forth to each other, trying to figure out just who had done it. Who had murdered the man they had just buried. That day had passed in a blur, and although she had done her best to play the role of the perfect grieving daughter, no tears had come. She had kept waiting for the pain to hit, for the grief to grab hold and not let go, but it had never came. It still hadn’t come. 

If anything, everything that has happened since that day has only proven that Vidal doesn’t deserve her grief. Lips pursed at his words, Belva takes her time before filling the silence, her gaze shifting from behind Horatio’s shoulder to his face. His own gaze is settled on the watch that he always wears, the watch he’d checked when they were children before making sure that everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be. A part of her wants to tell him that Vidal didn’t deserve his grief either, but she’s been told too many times in her life how to feel, enough so that she won’t do the same now. Not to him. “I’ll come with you,” she finally replies, a minuscule nod accompanying her words. Their father may not have deserved their grief or such devotion, but if Horatio was asking her for this, then she wouldn’t say no. She cares about him enough to place his needs before any bitterness that remains for their father, and if this would help him, then so be it. “It’ll be strange this year. Celebrating in town without him there.” And it would be strange, although Belva can’t help but to wonder if it would also feel as if a weight had been lifted from many of their shoulders. 

                 𝕿he quiet which followed his question laid more heavy on the world around him than the one he had enjoyed only moments prior. it felt like a cloak; the added weight of too heavy a fabric having been used, wrapping itself with simple ease around strong shoulders which had had to carry much bigger burdens in life than awaiting the choice between a yes or no. it was easy. the possibilities limited and the probability of her choosing able to be calculated without having to spend a single thought on complicated mathematics. it should be easy. however, as the seconds reached across the boundaries of their definition; beginning to feel much longer than the reality of the hand on his watch showed, horatio could begin to feel the true weight of her silence – not a ‘ no ‘ quite yet but presumably the realisation that she didn’t want to – forcing his posture to slouch ever so slightly as, instead, the plausibility of her saying no seemed to grow. 

So much had happened since they’d all returned to the house upon the hill, so much even since Emilio had been released and December proven miraculously alive. An eeriness still lingers late at night, questions of whatever happened in that secret room downstairs and why there were strange children running through their house (there, but not really), and yet Belva attempts to push those thoughts away. Reporting July missing had been a frightening event, law enforcement of any kind setting the blonde on edge, but she had done all that she could. She’d given the information that she had (insignificant though it may have been) to people who would hopefully be able to solve the latest mystery, and now she was trying to settle back into something resembling somewhat normal. With Summer Fest and the Miss Vertmoor competition, that was made a bit easier. Checking her appearance one last time in the expensive vanity mirror in her bedroom, Belva adjusts her curls and applies a quick coat of pale pink lip gloss before exiting the room, designer handbag over her shoulder. 

The figure in the hallway is familiar, someone she hasn’t seen much of as of late, and her eyes widen slightly as she offers a smile. His words cause her eyebrows to furrow in confusion before she realizes what he’s referring to. “It’s okay, Horatio,” she replies easily, so like a child in the way things are easily forgiven. “I saw the light on in your room, so I thought you probably just wanted to be alone.” Could she blame him for that, after everything that had happened? After the house he was so used to keeping in order had fallen into chaos? His admission is a bit surprising, but she attempts to keep this from her made up face. “Yeah, what’s up?” Her tone doesn’t quite match his, the phrase so casual despite the small amount of trepidation that his question causes, the way that he seems to carefully pick each word.

                𝕳er forgiveness was as naturally to belva as it was expectable; a mindless seeming phrase spoken however with a genuine heart to give words the meaning they were supposed to carry. maybe it is okay —– both of it, as well; to vanish for a sparse moment in time and admit to the necessity of it, because you needed to get better, because you were losing a sense of yourself in the failing attempt of holding everything else together. he gives but a small nod and although, his features do not carry a smile, there’s a spark of brightness in his eyes which does; displaying a moment of delight because she’s smart – which he knows, but sometimes he still tends to underestimate his siblings – especially when it comes to the topic of him. his own brain at times, is a labyrinth of different corridors to him; dim-lighted and all looking the exact same, with moving walls and no sense behind them as there were thoughts intruding which weren’t his own —– he never expected anyone to understand it. 

                   𝕿he coffee shop was but a habitual stop in horatio’s day, based on a schedule like most things in his life rather than the spontaneous desire for a coffee. he had come from his latest therapy session, being a regular guest after those and under certain seemingly haphazard circumstances — he had a system. he always did. sitting down at ever the same table he had ordered ever the same order, as well: a black coffee; just that and nothing else, and yet – because they were being kind, his therapist would remind – they sometimes managed to mess it up nonetheless, adding a few packages of sugar and milk to the plate as well. it was not a big deal. most people, he supposed, would simply decide to put them to the side and wipe them off their mind, but he had never been able to choose what should seem insignificant to him. they had to be aligned in perfect parallels; the sugar packages to the edge of the table, the spoon to the sugar, his mug to the spoon, the milk to the mug. he couldn’t explain why; why he had to do it so meticulously as well or why it made more sense to start a discussion with a stranger than let them take a package of sugar and ruin the symmetry of it all —– but some things, vidal had taught him that, did not require a detailed explanation. some things, fortunately or not, were just as they were. 

                𝕿he silence, whether or not it was one before another storm overtook the small town and more precisely the infamous house upon the hill, was a greatly welcomed one. it’d always been his favourite state for his home; silent as either everyone else was asleep or following their assigned tasks. it was peaceful, truly, or it could’ve if only it was not for the suddenly almost defeaning sound to it – like the pressure of hands on his ears – because vidal athanas wasn’t enjoying the quiet of good children, as well, and the hole his death had left in their lives ( or in his, for at times it almost felt like he was the only one missing him ) was an entire bunker, a missing mother, and a not empty but emptied of the meaning it had held grave larger than he’d have ever anticipated it, and despite all effort he was having a harder time with it than he wanted to admit. perhaps it was the reason why he had not managed to respond to belva’s text back when she’d sent it, or perhaps it wasn’t as he barely ever found an explanation to why, at times, he could not bring his limbs to move for certain action – not even to answer with the simplicity of an  ‘ i’m fine ‘  to a person who cared for him. he was, however, okay now, standing in the hallway to their rooms as he watched the world outside go by.  

                   𝖂ithdrawing himself – not entirely but just enough to fall back into old patterns and into the role he knew most; watching his siblings and those who lingered in the house rather than attempting to figure things out – had given his mental state a bit of a break to stabilise itself and find ways to organise the chaos which had unfolded, which unfortunately was still unfolding — another one of the athanas children missing and this time, it seemed, with even less a chance of a miraculous rising from the dead. horatio wasn’t going to linger on the thought of july, however. the time wasn’t here yet, and the ticking inside his head just quiet enough, again, for him to ignore it with the sounds of his father’s beloved summer fest in the distance.