i can't control

( many realizations click at once, stupid georgia )

GEORGIA: yeah, i know. sorry it's not ideal

GEORGIA: i didn't bring any intern tasks to distract you

GEORGIA: i am yeah, i'm transcribing interviews right now

( a beat )

GEORGIA: what's your eta?

SONNY: snow is hard for everyone

SONNY: i'm good. i've got some options

GEORGIA: it sucks just as much as it always did

( a beat )

GEORGIA: but it's nice, what they did. the town needed it

SONNY: not for me. it's... you know it's different for me.

SONNY: the town. yeah.

GEORGIA: it's not a fucking party, sonny

GEORGIA: your house will lose power relatively soon and for god knows how long. get your ass here

SONNY: i'm on my way, peaches. chill.

SONNY: i haven't set foot in that place for...

GEORGIA: you're not on the guest list

SONNY: [ unsent ] i can't make it through the snow alone

GEORGIA: get your ass to snowcliffe

if liv had slept two hours after the tree lighting and everything that happened since then, it was too long. her head was still pounding, all the alcohol in her body and the yelling that she and apollo had to do in order to get the horse outside of her home not making it any easier. her house was a mess after the whole incident, their friend the horse having eating some of the christmas ornaments she’d put up a couple of weeks ago. so after the cleaning team arrived at her house, olivia decided to have lunch outside and to shop around some replacements for the eaten christmas ornaments. she’d been walking around the booths, stopping here and there and already had a couple of bags in one of her hands when she stopped at another booth. she’d recognized his hair anywhere and even if she hadn’t seen him, the all too familiar smell of his cologne would have let her know that he was somewhere near her. she doesn’t have the patience nor the energy to do whatever they’re doing lately, all the back and forth and the lies. so even if she sees him first, she stays quiet and instead picks up a snow globe to check out its details. “greyson,” she tries to mask the surprise in her voice with a nod of her head, but isn’t really sure if it works or not. liv looks down at the gold necklace in his hand, knowing right away that he’s looking for a gift for frankie. and tries to ignore how much she wants to reach out and touch his bruised eye, to make sure that he’s okay. the sight is enough to travel back in time to when it was them exchanging gifts, them walking hand in hand during this festival, making out under the mistletoe, taking care of him after one of his fights. a lifetime away. “that’s really pretty. small but elegant. how jewelry should always be.”

georgia lets an amused grin lift her lips as he salutes her, hoping he can’t see it as she turns away from him to work on the layout. it’s an easy choice, really. she’ll copy-edit her colleagues’ articles later, when she has a clearer mind and she is back to her normal self, the one that will judge their word choices in google doc comments and trim half of their nonsense just because she knows she could do better. once she is not the woman that allows bruised men to bribe her with instant peanut noodles. georgia begins to play around with the layout of the third page, one that she has never cared about and never will, just so that she can pay attention without showing it. greyson’s hand enters her field of vision and she is too late to move out of his way, his touch sending goosebumps up her entire arm, luckily hidden under cable-knit yarn, it takes everything in her to keep her voice steady. “he’s mia,” she confirms, lifting her phone to see no messages from skyler and she frowns, worried. her expert fingers move things on the screen as her trained ears hang on to every word greyson wells speaks. master eavesdropper, georgia never misses a word sonny says, today is not the exception. the rhythmic ripping sound of the paper as greyson opens envelope after envelope softens the blow as sonny shoots at georgia the question that plagues her every sleepless night. ellie’s teary eyes flash in her mind, the phantom satisfaction of such a heartless stab burns down georgia’s spine and her hand flexes in discomfort. let me know when you figure that one out, sonny, she wants to scoff. instead, she turns around, reaching past him to grab a stack of pastel blue post-its, discarding the pen she had been nibbling on to write a couple of notes to herself on the layout with one of her pencils. “so, are any of those questions not rhetorical?” she asks after a beat, eyes lifting to his face so he knows she is sincere. if he wants an answer, she’ll give her opinion. otherwise, she’ll keep listening. she has all night. 

being in an office isn’t a normal thing for sonny wells. he’s sure some of georgia’s coworkers are confused about him being here, alone especially. but he has a wide expertise in letters. mostly ones from adoring fans, professing love, thanking him for showing them that skiing is a passion, and always being a great role model. a great role model… fucking funny now, isn’t it? opening envelopes feels like an old friend, a welcome distraction for hands that might usually knock over a coffee with their expressive nature. the tearing of the seal is like music to his ears each and every time, refusing to allow his mind to think too much about the words he’s saying. “i mean any and all of them could go either way,” he admits, setting the letters down in defeat, letter opener falling on the same surface beside them. there’s too much in his mind in this very moment, too much for him to focus on to know if he wants answers at all. “don’t you think it’s fucking dumb as shit for people to comment on things they know nothing about?” a definite rhetorical question. “like, riddle me this, reporter girl, how in the fuck does apollo matheson have the right to tell me i don’t deserve frankie conte when the door isn’t locked. she could leave whenever she wanted to, peaches,” eyes bore into the stack of letters before looking up, desiring to meet chestnut hues affixed to a computer screen. “in fact, the door is not only unlocked, it’s wide fucking open. i am not holding this chick hostage in our relationship,” a sigh, hands punctuating his sentence before picking the stack of letters back up and pulling the first one’s contents out. “is it wrong for me to think that if she had enough self-respect, she’d just leave?” it is wrong. “don’t answer that. but i don’t care if i’m hurting her. i didn’t care when i hurt apollo,” one letter for the printing department. “i don’t give a single fuck if i hurt the majority of people in my life aside from maybe you and skyler and… jesus, isn’t that shit? shouldn’t i… care?” a letter for advertising. “i know i’m wasting your time. i just keep letting this shit sit in my head and it feels like i have to let it out.” and he does, but perhaps his best friend’s sister isn’t who you’d expect him to open the floodgates for. later on in the night, on his way home, greyson would be surprised ( confused, even ) by it, too.

skyler: i left early

skyler: ended up at the bar

skyler: dude, you don't have to be. what the fuck happened?

sonny: aight and no text saying so? cute

sonny: he said i don't deserve frankie

sonny: right tf in front of her

skyler: hey man

skyler: heard about what happened with apollo

skyler: you good?

sonny: where were you?

sonny: lit looked everywhere for you

ellie’s morning has gone by in a blur, her body falling into the usual routine, hands moving while her mind wanders elsewhere. today there is no new creations, no soft music through the bakery speakers, no playful back and forth with her regular customers. the early morning crowd comes and goes, thinner than usual, though she blames it on the headaches she’s sure the cider from the night before must have left behind. usually she’d be upset about the lack of business, but today she’s grateful for some time alone. she busies herself in the back room, taking on the task of organizing the shipment that had come in that morning, when she hears a familiar voice calling her name. she takes an extra second to check her reflection, doing her best to wipe off any last traces of smudged mascara and make her tangled hair look somewhat presentable, or at least make herself look like she hadn’t slept on the bakery floor. she emerges moments later with a small smile, a soft shake of her head, “only if the hungry is paying.” 

one a.m. and the night is only just starting for georgia. as usual, she was able to shed all of the weight of the outside world as soon as she entered the newsroom. once the paper is ready and sent to the press she will be free to torture herself with flashbacks of the festival. the hours trickle by like water, by then the front page article has been sent to her editor for approval, and georgia has time to catch up on other things. the photo story she will save for last, knowing that along with pictures of the crowd’s disappointment there are a couple of shots of her, pictures by greyson wells himself. georgia’s skin burns in the spot where he touched her earlier ( accidentally ) when taking the camera from her. a cold hand to her neck, end of a pen in between her full lips, she is absolutely lost in thought when her name brings her out of a trance, the man that lives in her thoughts always now standing in front of her as if conjured straight from her dreams. “sonny.” curious eyes land on the peanut noodles, heart summersaulting at the fact that he paid attention all those times he accompanied skyler to drop off some supplies for her to survive the night shift. georgia’s brown eyes catch every detail: the limp, the forming bruise, the way she could almost see his head spinning on the outside the way it must be on the inside. and yet, she can’t bring herself to be anything but herself. “make yourself useful at least,” she instructs, opening a drawer on her desk and handing him a stack of letters. “open them, sort them by the department they are addressed to.” georgia allows herself to take one more good look at him before returning her eyes to her double monitor to keep working on layout. “i’m listening.”

peanut noodles. countless nights he’s seen her deep into a carton of these, eyes focused in on a computer screen as he and skyler wandered into the room. attention hard to pull from her work, he was always told. georgia cares most about her career, she doesn’t handle interruptions well, let her do her job. then how, greyson wonders, is he able to take her camera in the frigid cold when she must get the perfect shot? how is she allowing him to just waltz into the newsroom at one in the morning to bug her? either everyone else was full of shit or… no, no way. “useful?” he grunts out, a groan fumbling from him when she opens up a desk drawer. of course. what else had he expected? “yes, ma’am, captain, ma’am,” a lazy salute is offered as he takes the letters, thumbing through them. an intern’s job at best. it’s just the sort of backhanded thing that georgia laurier would do, just the thing that pulls his mind from thinking he’s distracting her from her work and she’s allowing it. “i can’t find sky, i don’t know if you’ve heard from him but –“ he pauses, reaching over her for a letter opener, his hand brushing her arm as he did so. “now you get to deal with me,” an exhausted laugh as he settles back, beginning to neatly slice open each letter. hands usually fly through the air as he speaks, now contained in their duty. “i fucking hit apollo,” a chuckle. “decked him right in the ribs, told him to go fuck himself like i used to in high school… you know, the entire fucking town just watch that happen,” he pauses, continuing to cut open each letter. he’ll go back to open them and organize. “you ever wonder how i can just do that like it’s nothing? i mean,” he motions to his bruising face. “not nothing, but god i just wanted to keep going and that’s gotta like.. mean some dark shit, right?” his laughter is cold and bitter. “it’s not normal to hurt someone and it.. feel good, right?” mind flutters to frankie, too. hurting her in a different way with little to no remorse – a habit of his at this point.

[ DAY AFTER TREE-LIGHTING | 7:21 AM | THE FLOUR GARDEN ]

Frankie didn’t move right away. She couldn’t, rooted to the scene of the crime unable to will herself forward— torn. Her best friend in one direction and her boyfriend in the other. Two people she cared so much about scattered to the wind in the aftermath of what she could only describe as a deadly hurricane. Olivia seemed to have already gotten to Apollo by the time Frankie had regained her composure, making the blonde’s decision on what to do next for her. She drew in a sharp intake of breath and pushed passed onlookers with as much force as her ballerina frame would allow. “Greyson.” Frankie called when she was finally within ear shot. Her cheeks burned like she was the one who had been punched in the jaw, white hot tears beginning to cloud her crystalline gaze before she blinked them away and got a grip of herself once more. She had heard tales of her boyfriend’s anger, even experienced some of his grumpiness firsthand, but what she saw tonight was something the blonde didn’t know he was truly capable of. “Wait up.” Frankie tried a again, masking the tremor in her voice. But it was those damn shaking hands of hers that gave her away as she reached for his shoulder, bracing herself for the version of Greyson she was going to get. 

[ POST-TREE LIGHTING | 1:13AM | STOWE GLOBE NEWSROOM ] 

[ DAY AFTER TREE-LIGHTING | 2:41 PM | WINTER FESTIVAL ]

GEORGIA: ... sure?

GEORGIA: you know i did. front page news. you’re going to love the look in the mayor’s face when the tree didn’t light up

SONNY: ( thumbs up emoji )

( 11:57 pm - getting to the newsroom )

GEORGIA: hey, you alright?

SONNY: yeah i’m cool