everywhere, everything

He asked her how she was doing - a question one would casually ask of any stranger in an elevator - and her heart melted. Because he wasn't asking casually; he expected an answer. He wanted to know. He asked it the way he'd asked about her favourite song on one of their first dates. He asked it the way he used to ask if she was hungry or cold. He asked because he cared.

She'd been so broken when she'd met him, so hurt in so many ways, that the very idea of someone actually caring had been suspicious to her. She wondered what he wanted to do with the information he asked for; what plans he could possibly have for the ammunition she gave him in the form of tiny truths. But all he'd wanted was to know her.

Once again, her newfound commitment to honesty stopped the easy answer on her tongue before she could speak it. She took a moment. "I, um... I'm... shocked. And slightly cold. And my heart feels like it's trying to break through my ribcage. But, I'm really happy to see you. And Figgy. Please tell me if you're not happy to see me. I don't want to do anything to hurt you."

It felt like trying to breathe while fighting a rip current. She was just as beautiful to him now as she always had been. He'd memorized every peak and valley of her, every line and scar and freckle. He'd loved and traced them all. And now she stood before him like a ghost, a specter of a past that was no longer his.

And neither was she.

She said she was really happy to see him and it was all he could do not to react to that, to lock his knees to stay upright and unaffected. Not to tell her that he felt that, too. That he still found himself reaching into a side of the bed long since gone cold. Even here, even in this unfamiliar place in an unfamiliar bed. She was written into his code now. And, he was quickly learning, there was nothing that could rid him of the imprint of her.

He laughed, but the sound was more sad than anything, his eyes dropping down to their dog instead of her. She didn't want to do anything to hurt him. A small bitter and wounded part of him wondered when she'd decided that. How long into their relationship did that become true? If he traced it back to the beginning, which ones actually belonged to him? Which ones had been manufactured? How much of a dream had he bought rather than earned?

He was shaking his head as he looked at the ground, shaking it still as he finally looked at her again. "Of course I'm happy to see you." The words were quiet, nearly lost to the breath he could see dancing in front of him. If his words sounded a little desperate it was because he felt desperate in that moment. Of course he was happy to see her. And of course it hurt him. Two things could be true. "But I..." He blew out a breath, scored a hand through his hair. "I don't really know how to do this. I'm not... prepared to do this. And, you know, I kind of fucking hate that. I used to know exactly what to say to you, and now I feel like... like...." Frustration edged out his words, hands floating uselessly in the air between them as he struggled to land on exactly how he was feeling. Probably because he didn't really know himself. "Like I don't know how to be around you."

She had personally enjoyed the times she'd met Murph and found him to be rather fun, so it didn't feel like such a stretch to her to get to know him more. She had always figured that had Ben been closer to his brother she would have wanted to get to know him more. Rachel felt like it would have been weird, since they weren't very close and that there was a little bit of an odd history between Ben's wife who she also adored and Murph, if she had tried to be friends with Murph. But now that there was no Ben or his wife and honestly though they were still friendly they'd clearly taken her ex-husband, Ben's childhood friend's side, which she didn't blame them for it just all made sense that it didn't feel like there was a hurdle to being friends with Murph Bloom. The only hesitation she had was what Ben would think, would think that there was some motivation behind it?

Smiling brightly, being taken out of her thoughts when he finally said he would accept her offer. Rachel had realized she'd been thinking a little too ahead. The fact was that he could not be want to be friends with her and just was being polite in exchange. "A tour and coffee and I'll even throw in a coffee tour for no extra charge! I just happen to go to pretty much all the cafes and coffee shops in town." She smiled in understanding as her whole reason for being here had given her a scarlet letter of sorts and then it just was super awkward since she felt like she was unsure how to get past that impression. "Yeah, trust me I get it, when I first got here I felt like a stuck myself out like a sore thumb and then also was doing freelance work. But people around here are super friendly!"

"A coffee tour for free? You know, they always said people in small towns were friendlier than the big city folk, but I don't think I believed them until now." The friendly sarcasm was delivered matter-of-factly, something else he knew could put people on the wrong foot because they could never tell if he was joking with them or being serious.

He was rarely ever serious in social situations.

And in this, he couldn't really commiserate with her. He didn't feel like he stuck out— at least not as anything more than a new face in a small town. But she was right about one thing; they were definitely nicer here than they were back home. "It's no San Francisco," he agreed. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he held it up in offering. "Wanna trade info?"

"Thanks! I definitely have been achy since I was like thirty-eight. The grays are definitely peeping through." They weren't visible at the moment since she had the cowboy hat, not that she thought Murph would be taking out a magnifying glass to inspect her grays. She nodded, listening to him as he definitely was overcompensating with the word good. She knew how that could be though, and she felt like pointing it out would probably make him want to close up more. Instead she looked down to his feet and then back up to him as she gestured to them, "Well, great news! I found them. So one less thing to look for." Rachel grinned, proud of her lame joke.

She chuckled as he exhaled at the effort of trying to remember their last encounter. "Hey, it looks just as bad for me! Deal, we can do that." Rachel gives a smile, feeling like for however long she'd been friends with Ben, she had a feeling Ben probably didn't speak about her life to his brother. There quite a few milestones they'd shared with Ben, and Ben had shared some milestones of Murph's with her, but was that reciprocated between Murph and Ben. Perhaps or perhaps not. "I've been here for three years now. So, I can definitely help play tour guide if you need that."

It was Rachel's offer that gave him pause. His immediate reaction was to turn her down, assume the offer was made as a nice gesture rather than a genuine suggestion. The next thought was that she was Ben's friend, not his. He and Ben had shared more than enough that drawing a firm line in the sand seemed the best way to go.

But if he was being honest? He could use a friend here. More than one, really. At best, he was floundering, filling his days with gutting the house he'd bought and watching YouTube videos like it might teach him how to put it all back together. If he could just put something back together...

"I'll take you up on that, actually," he said, surprising even himself. "A tour or just coffee or whatever. It's been a long time since I had that where-to-sit-in-the-school-cafeteria feeling, but it's kind of hard to make new friends in a new place when they're not built in coworkers or classmates."

"I'm as serious about it as I am that ice cream," Esra winked, it was a 'yes' and relief washed through her. The last thing she wanted was to call her mother or something for a ride. "Moose Tracks? What a name for ice cream... what's in Moose Tracks?" Clearly it was meant to be a cute name. Like Rocky Road. But then she nodded for the door, "I'm ready when you are."

He slid into his jacket, rolling his shoulders to settle into the fit and then shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned his attention back to her question about Moose Tracks. "It's like vanilla ice cream with swirls of fudge and tiny peanut butter cups. I've got a hell of a sweet tooth," he admitted.

As they fell into step beside one another, headed for the door, Murph's head tilted in her direction. "I'm Murph, by the way."

At the mention of fifteen years, Antonio can’t help the wrinkle of his nose. Jesus Christ, it has been that long, hasn’t it? He’s surprised his back doesn’t give out right at this moment, at the mere insinuation of his age. Murph is certainly a reminder of happier, brighter times — mostly ones that didn’t involve his fucking knees bothering him so much. “Fifteen years. And you aged like fine wine,” he offers a truth, first and foremost, because there aren’t enough people who age so gracefully. 

Then—“I’ve been good,” he says, and it’s half-true. He has been good, for the most part. Roman’s made things good. Roman makes anything good. The drinking issue, well — that’s neither here nor there. Certainly not a topic of conversation to bring up now, anyway. “I am good, yeah. You! How are you? Last I heard you were still in California, right?” He gestures around them for a second, as if taking note of how much this isn’t California. “How’d you wind up here?”

What an attractive thought that was. How many things might he have done differently if given the chance?

Not enough, probably.

Perhaps it was his own pessimistic view of the world, but at the second insistent of good, Murph had to wonder if Toni wasn't currently battling his own demons. It was also entirely possible that Murph was projecting, so he took him at his word. They were basically strangers now, anyway. The polite thing to do in these situations was lie. "Good! You look good. I actually just moved here a few weeks back. Needed a change, you know? But apparently everyone feels that way since you're not the first person I've run into, believe it or not."

But that, like everything else, had been extinguished quickly and thoroughly. He could barely look at her after he found out she'd lied to him, and she strongly remembered each of the three times he'd touched her since. A shrug away, an accidental graze, an awkward handshake, and then cold endless nothing for months.

Until now. It was just a hand on her shoulder, barely more than the accidental graze, but it was him, and it was her, and it was them.

And it electrified her.

And, she thought as she turned back around, it stopped her from leaving. Which wasn't exactly a difficult task - if he'd so much as breathed the right way, she would have turned around. But for him, from him, it was a monumental move. He hadn't stopped her from leaving before.

So despite her better judgment (blame the alcohol or the love or both for the impairment there), there was hope in her eyes when she turned around. He ran a hand that she wished was hers through his hair, and said they could be adults about this. She nodded, still staring at him as though transfixed, still feeling a sting on her shoulder as though she'd been burnt.

Eventually, she snapped herself out of it and looked down, pursing her lips and gathering her thoughts. "Yes. Adults," she repeated. "We can both be in the same place together. The same... rave, together. Forgive me for not expecting you to be here," she said, smirking slightly up at him.

He said she looked nice, and she wanted to respond in an equally coy manner. Unfortunately, the agreement she'd made with herself to never lie to him again got in the way of that. The alcohol could probably be blamed too, because what she said was, "You look incredible."

Maybe it was the way she was looking at him, or the fact that they had to be almost uncomfortably close to each other in order to hear over the music, or the fact that he was in the wrong colour suspenders, but at that moment, a group of drunk girls dancing past stopped and looked at the pair of them and said "Oh my god, are you guys Jack and Rose from Titanic?! That's so cute!"

They squealed and danced away, and Valley's cheeks were as red as her dress. She decided to take a sip of her cocktail instead of speaking (or laughing) in response.

It was all just a stark reminder of how much he missed her. He missed skirting around the edge of a party, heads bowed together as they spoke in a secret language only they knew. Shared stories and laughs and secrets, a whole little world they'd created and cultivated together. There was a void now, where their planet had once orbited. He wondered if she felt that, too. Or if this had always been on the horizon for her.

Her compliment struck him like a blow and he blinked, looking away for a moment. His smile was guarded as he thanked her, looking down at himself before his gaze slid back to hers. He stared for a suspended moment. She stared back. His heart did that thing it always did when he looked at her, doubling in size and hammering against the bones of its cage. And then—

"Oh my god, are you guys Rose and Jack from Titanic?! That's so cute!"

Whatever spell he'd been under shattered and Murph blinked, looking down at himself again. He'd been going for Gatsby, but he could understand the mix up. It felt like cruel irony that they might show up here together, an unintentional matching pair. He searched for her again, wanting to follow her lead in reaction because he didn't trust himself anymore. But she didn't give him anything. So he laughed a little uncomfortably. "I should have seen that one coming. I was, uh." Was it cruel to correct it? Maybe. But it'd been cruel to be plucked out of a line of suitors for the sole purpose of being stolen from, so. "I was going for Gatsby, actually."

If he'd thought it might make him feel a little better to gain some distance from them, he was sorely mistaken. But maybe Jack made more sense here. He was just floating in a freezing ocean on a door that could have held two and yet somehow didn't. Metaphorically, of course. But it often felt like dying.

Maybe that was why he didn't think, just blurted, "come outside with me?"

Did Murph's brother even know that he was now in Blue Harbor? A large string of questions ran through her mind as she felt like none of them were good first questions to ask. So she was relieved when Murph spoke in disbelief first. "Oh thanks...I'm a Barbie." Rachel cringed internally immediately at her explaining her costume. "You look great too!" It was obvious that he always looked great, the Bloom brothers were both very handsome. The genes in that family were impeccable. "I've been doing pretty well, just celebrated my 42nd birthday, are you...how are you?!" She almost wanted to ask was he living here now, but decided to just ask the same question in return. "Gosh, it's been how long? I was just trying to figure it out and can't remember if it was after I moved to Boston or before I moved to Boston the last time we saw each other."

But that was a sour thing to linger in, so he beamed at her when she told him her birthday had just passed. "Oh, happy birthday! Welcome to forty-two, we've got creaky knees and gray hair." His smile held for a beat before it became work to hold it in place. He had a simple answer ready for her question, but it never got easier to answer if only because the real answer lingered just beneath. "I'm good, I'm good, yeah. Just moved here a couple weeks back, still trying to find my feet. But it's been good." How many times had he just said good? Jesus.

He tried to focus, instead, on their timeline, blowing out a heavy breath as he tried to count back. "I don't think I like this game. Let's just say it's been too long and leave it at that. How long have you been here in Blue Harbor?"

Part of him was content to leave it there. She was more than capable of getting a ride home herself. But the fact that she'd asked at all meant that she had a reason. Guilt would likely gnaw at him all night if he left her to it now because what if this was one of those situations where she was trying to get away from someone and needed a little backup?

"Well. If you're serious about that ride share, I think we could make this work. Make a little pit stop by Chilled Creamery and find out for yourself why Moose Tracks is the only answer to that question."

“You. Yeah. You.” Vanya points an index finger, not at all helpfully, and almost pokes him in the chest. It’s a split second before she realizes that must constitute a social gaffe, only a sliver away from actually making contact, and she backtracks. Retreats for a step. Two steps. Her hand instead hovers uncertainly in the space between them, index finger still jutting out like that same cancer stick he’d wielded just seconds past. “Flower plucked right just before you’ve gone into bloom. Dream child vultured from you. I mean—” Flowers and blooms and vultures. Mixing up metaphors now. “—your app. Fuck, man. Why is Murph Bloom here? In Blue Harbor?” Maybe she should have poked him, then, if only to challenge—no, to confirm—his corporeality.

And that was a horrifying realization to have in front of a perfect stranger. Never mind one that actually knew who he was. Knew what had been stolen from him.

And, for some reason, the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "was that a pun? Right before you've gone into bloom. That's a good one." He laughed, the absence of amusement from the sound settling in the pit of his stomach. He felt uncomfortable, he realized. So he tackled the thing he could manage first. "Uh, well. I live here, so. That's probably why you're seeing me here. Um." He chuckled nervously. "You, uh. You know my app?"

I'm not - he said.

He didn't have to finish the sentences; she heard them clearly:

I don't want you to think that I came here to find you.

I'm not in Blue Harbor for you.

He lives here. Independently of her, completely separately from her, he’d come to this tiny Midwestern town to start a new life. The hopeful romantic part of Valley's heart leapt at the thought of the red strings of fate leading them together again like this. But the painfully realistic part reminded her (loudly, cruelly) that he wanted a new life without her. That he was looking at her now as though he'd seen a ghost, and not a woman he still loved.

What was left of her smile faded entirely, then, and she nodded. Understanding.

“I…” she trailed off as her mind habitually began to spin lies, but she shook them away, forcing the truth to the surface. “I threw a dart at a map. Back in January, actually. It landed just south of Deer Park, so… I live here, too, I guess.”

She made herself look at him, even though it was painful. His hair was longer. His beard slightly scruffier. The jacket was new. She wondered what else in his life was new. Did he have a new job? A new home? A new girlfriend? She couldn't bear to ask.

“I… I didn't plan to be here as long as I have been,” she said, feeling the need to apologize for her presence. After spending so many years as Murph's partner, offering him only security and comfort and love, seeing him look at her like she was a gun that had shot him was excruciating. “Are you… did you know Rory's here?”

Vaguely, he was aware of Fig as she ran circles around them, her long lead lassoing around them like she might keep them right here forever. Part of him hoped she was successful. The rest of him wished he could go back to five minutes ago and pretend like he hadn't just undone nearly a year's worth of healing.

If that's what you could even call it.

The awareness that this was a conversation and that he was expected to speak hit him at once and he blinked, too aware now that he'd just been staring and running a hand over his beard as he tore his gaze away. He looked at Fig instead, who was now sniffing at Valley's shoes, tail still wagging happily.

He couldn't hide the surprise, or the subsequent flood of hurt, at the mention of Rory and the fact that he was here, too. He'd lost Rory in the divorce. It only made sense since he'd been Valley's friend long before he'd been Murph's, but he didn't realize until now how much of a loss that had been too. "No, I, uh. I didn't know that. It was Terry, actually. They told me about this place. They live here, too."

Now he was wondering if Terry had known. Surely not, surely they wouldn't have devised a plan like this when the intention had been to get him out of his rut, not lead him right back into it. That sort of underhanded cruelty was reserved for someone like Ben.

Something she'd said kept circling in his mind. She hadn't planned on being here for as long as she had been. Did that mean she intended to leave? Why did that suddenly fill him with something that felt far too similar to panic? Shouldn't he want that? He couldn't imagine anything he wanted less.

He was staring again, scouring his mind for something to say. There were so many things, so many questions he needed answers to. Not a single one of them would form on his tongue. He had every right to demand them, he knew. But all he could think about was the quiet way she'd left. In silence and surrender. She hadn't fought him, hadn't tried to take a single thing. All of it had been so, so confusing. And yet, presented with the opportunity to ask her anything, the only think he could manage was, "are you, um," he swallowed down the lump in his throat, his voice sounding croaky, "are you doing okay?"

"Murph," she repeated with a smile. "Is that a first name or a last name?" He ordered two eclairs plus enough pastries to feed an army, and her eyes lit up when he handed her one of the former. "Oh my goodness! Thank you so much. For someone from a big city, you've got the small town generosity thing down. You'll fit in here perfectly."

She smiled, holding the eclair happily in her hands as she ordered Thomas's cupcakes. The workers got to packing them up, along with Murph's assortment, and Izzy took a bite of the eclair while she waited. It was unsurprisingly delicious. "What's San Francisco like?" she asked between bites.

Her question brought a wryly smile to his lips. "It's neither, actually. Uh, it sort of started as a joke in school?" Less of a joke and more of a way to tease him, but semantics. "I wasn't the luckiest or more graceful kid growing up, so I got stuck with Murphy as a nickname. 'Cause, you know, Murphy's Law. I hated it at first and I think they could pick up on that. So I decided to just take the power away from them and just adopt it for myself. And honestly, I never really felt like a Samuel, anyway. Lots of Sams in the world. Not that many Murphs." He tapped his temple like he'd just imparted sage wisdom, but there was an amused glint in his eye.

And then San Francisco. He didn't think he really had an answer for her because it had stopped being a place years ago. Instead, it had become her. It had become the mornings that had become tradition, the walks with Fig, braving downtown for a sundae from Ghirardelli Square. "Very vertical," he said with a laugh, pasting a smile over the scarlet tinged memories. "And crowded. The seals and the clam chowder make it worth it, though. What about you? Are you from here originally?"

Dark hues scanned her surroundings and instantaneously lit up when the night provided a means of escape for her. “Merhaba,” she spoke in unison with the remnants of a small laugh trickling behind her words. “I'm having an interesting time, are you? There might be too many people here for me, though,” Esra commented with a fall of her shoulders while her body angled itself so she could hear the other above the heavy music, leaning into them slightly. Heavily crowded places got to her after a while. The older she got the more she cherish quiet spaces. “If you're leaving... please take me with you. Apart from the drinks I don't think this is my scene anymore tonight.” 

open starter — assume connections if you'd like!

But an approaching-middle-aged club-goer was, unsurprisingly, not in the genetic makeup of any version of himself. He'd only wasted however long it had taken him to finish one drink, though, so at least it was a lesson learned quickly.

He was already planning his walk home in his mind, maybe grabbing an ice cream as he huddled further into his jacket in the already-chill Illinois air because some sweet things were just worth suffering for. But as he slipped into his coat, his attention turned to the woman talking to him. He reached into his wallet as she spoke, pulling out some bills to leave for a tip and laughed once a little self-consciously. "Oh, I was just planning on heading home. Maybe with an ice cream detour. But I'm sure you could toss a rock and hit someone here with better options."

This music was loud enough to drown out her thoughts. Valley hadn't planned on staying long, (mostly using the night as an excuse to wear this gown) but that fact alone made her want to never leave. She could feel the bass like a second heart, thumping in her chest alongside her own. People were dressed wildly, neon colors and inhuman shapes blurring and morphing, making her feel like she was on something more than just fruity cocktails.  She weaved through the crowd, no destination in mind, just allowing herself to enjoy the intensity of this assault on her senses. Together, it all became white noise and static and she felt almost calm in the center of it.  Until she saw him.  What was he doing at a rave? That should've been her first thought. This kind of party was as far from Murph's comfort zone as it was possible to get; he must be so uneasy, so lost and anxious… But that hadn't been Valley’s first thought. Her first thought was, predictably, that he was gorgeous.  She'd only had three (or four?) of these spooky-looking novelty drinks, but they’d given her enough courage to walk up to him. It was only after his eyes met hers and her heart started melting that she realized he might be here with someone. Someone must have dragged him out tonight, right? He wouldn’t come here on his own, and she couldn’t imagine his cousin in a place like this either, so the only reasonable solution was that he had… a date. The thought was somehow scarier than the entire manor above them, and without a word, she immediately turned to leave.

And here she was again, looking stunning in a gown that didn't belong in a place like this while somehow looking like she was exactly where she belonged. His breath caught and seized in his chest as their eyes locked, both seemingly paralyzed to it. He tried to read her, the way he used to— or the way he thought he used to?— but between the loss of the confidence in that truth of them and the flashing lights of a dark club, he didn't know what she was thinking.

All those thousands of unanswered questions rushed back, roaring between his ears and drowning out everything that wasn't him and her and the space that separated them. Maybe if he just stood there, the moment would last forever. This in-between where he could still pretend that this was a look across the room at a party back in California, the kind of silent conversation that could only exist between people that really knew each other.

Those were the kinds of memories that fucked him up the most. Because how could both things be true? How could he have known her down to the very essence of her soul when he didn't truly know her at all?

But the moment, like all the moments before it, didn't suspend them in the in-between where everything was as true as it wasn't. Valley turned to leave and he knew he should let her go. But the sudden sinking in his stomach had him reaching out, hand on her shoulder which he dropped almost immediately back to his side. Don't leave, his heart pounded out like Morse code in his chest. Don't leave, don't leave, don't leave. He'd reacted without thought, without a plan, and now he wasn't sure what to do. "Sorry, I don't... uh." He scored a hand through his hair. "You don't have to do that, you know. We both live here, we can be adults about this." He swallowed, his throat feeling tight. "You, uh. You look," lethally beautiful, "nice."

location: Phantom Manor Haunted Rave

Rachel's brain was absolutely rattling to the music that was blasting, she couldn't remember other than during Halloweens of past years she'd lived here when the last time she actually went to a rave. Perhaps college? It wasn't like it was her regular scene, but it was Halloween and therefore much more fun considering the fact everyone was dressed up. She did feel rather old to be here and even more so now that she'd just celebrated another birthday the week before. But, she was also grateful for being 42 and pull off being dressed as Cowgirl Barbie. Or at least she hoped that she was pulling it off.

Going over to get a drink, which felt like the only way she'd be staying any longer than an hour at the party, she saw some familiar faces and gave smiles, finding it hard to actually talk to anyone. Leaning against the bar to shout her drink order to the bartender, she waited as they made it, nodding her head a bit to the beat, glancing around from a good people-watching spot of the party. Moving to look towards the other side, she was shocked by who was standing next to her. Had he been there the whole time? "Murph?!" She called out, recognizing her dear friend's older brother immediately shocked. Total shock was written on her face now as she looked as if trying to find his brother and seeing if he was here too.

Sounded about right, yeah.

It was only the sound of his name— pitched high with a clear inflection that whoever it was that had recognized him had not expected to see him— which had his head snapping to the side, thoughts shaken free and scattered to the beat of the music. Rachel Han was probably one of the last people he expected to see. Though, it seemed Blue Harbor was just a small collection of ghosts from his past, anyway, so why not toss in another, slightly adjacent one? "Rachel?" he echoed, coughing out a disbelieving laugh. Beneath the flashing lights, he took in her costume before moving back to her face. He wondered if he'd ever heard Ben talk about Blue Harbor, if somehow this had all been orchestrated like some kind of plot right out of The Truman Show. Or if that was just the paranoia talking.

"Wow." He stuttered out another laugh, kind of hating this main line that had just opened between Murph and his brother. "How have you been? You look great."