𝔣𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 !

marcel dupont's funeral was the last event aileen had wanted to attend. alas, appearances were everything and she had much more to lose if she hadn't gone. still on edge after emilia's secret had been exposed, aileen was cautiously walking on eggshells since then. she had been more socially withdrawn when it came to the other praeditus members, namely keeping more to herself. unfortunately, this led to her incidentally pushing certain people away. even so, aileen figured it was easier that way. she needed to focus on polishing up her seemingly pristine image, just in case she was the blackmailer's next victim. she couldn't lose everything she had built.

“wait for what? for someone else to die? for someone else’s secret to get exposed? i can’t just wait around aileen. we need to do something.” there was no warmth left in her to sound aggressive, her words soft with exhaustion, almost as if she was pleading with the other to take away her pain, to tuck her into silken sheets and kiss her on the forehead, play house for a second and pretend everything really was going to be okay. “i wish i believed you, i really wish i did.”

the  two  girls  had  spent  the  morning  together,  sipping  coffee  and  carefully  selecting  outfits  for  the  occasion.  it  was  girlish,  a  soft  sort  of  moment  that  emerges  only  in  the  face  of  something  discomfiting.  a  break  in  the  rhythm,  a  vignette  from  a  dream.  now  they  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  cathedral,  two  figures  among  many  lit  by  the  dismal  light,  umbrellas  protecting  them  from  the  drizzle  of  rain.  eyes  hidden  behind  dark  sunglasses  genevieve  glances  over  at  gemma  beside  her.  palm  reaching  out,  she  gives  gemma’s  hand  a  tight  squeeze.  it  had  been  evident  to  her  that  the  other  girl  did  not  share  genevieve’s  stoic  approach  to  the  day.  “  how  are  you  ?  are  you  ready  ?  ”

@spillcdinks

and yet, chan does empathize with gemma's desire to get away from people. it's what motivated his coming here to read, too, and he's reminded of the fact that besides a couple others in praeditus, gemma was one of the main members besides chan who actually held some affection for marcel. so he softens, remembers dom's words about gemma being too good for him, and tries to be a bit kinder in his next words. "i get it," he replies. "i don't think i can handle another conversation about murder weapons and possible motive. it feels too much like i'm playing a game of clue." he shuffles between feet, unsure what to say next. "what are you reading?' he settles for, lamely.

she’ll laugh at that, a delicate rumble in her chest, appreciates his attempt at softening his countenance. “which character would you be in clue? professor plum?” gemma asks, an adoration for board games fuelling her question. it had been her favourite time of the evening, sitting down across from her nanny and shuffling a pack of cards, or rolling the die and moving along snakes & ladders. as she’d gotten older, she appreciated the more nuanced games, the ones with deep-seated lore and booklets of rules. she’d spend hours pouring over strategy, not so much a competitive spirit but an interest in taking part. “hecuba” she pulls the play from next to her, the pages dog-eared and fragile to the touch. “you know, the one about the wife of king priam. it’s one of marcel’s copies. i was interested to read his annotations.” 

was it the healthiest mindset to have? of course not. she knew that. perhaps it was why she always felt so guilty around her, the undercurrent of their every interaction that mari always tried to ignore. she was still grateful for gemma's presence in her life, however, and still appreciated the friendly face at praeditus meetings whom she could sit in a corner and ignore the chaos with when the others became too much. "gem," she greeted, her tone warm and her smile fond. "yeah, i'm good. i mean, i'm coping." another reason they would have never worked out — her complete lack of ability to be honest about how she was feeling, especially around gemma, who had always seemed particularly sensitive to negativity. "how have you been holding up? i know the past few weeks must have been hard on you, and now... all this."

coming to meraviglia had been a fresh start, a chance for a clean slate, to date on her own terms, to finally fall in love brilliantly yet fleetingly. meeting mari had been her first case of this, of true desire, butterflies, rose-coloured glasses. gemma had looked at her like she hung each silver star delicately in the sky, and treated her just as softly. “it’s… hard,” she’ll exhale lightly, a fountain of honesty in comparison to the other’s locked lips. “it kind of feels like i’m drowning but i’m not underwater, i guess. there’s just a lot going on.” and if her lip begins to tremble she’ll bite it roughly, unwilling to cry in front of her again. “it’s not just about me though. it’s everyone. we’re all going through the same thing.”  

however, when the gentle knock at her front door revealed gemma, emilia's hard-set expression softened, the brows that had been furrowed all morning unknit. "hey, gemma." she greets the other girl, her gaze flitting down to the basket in gemma's hands. it's a sweet gesture, one that sends a crack through her heart. you didn't have to do all this, she wants to say, it's not real. but of course, she says nothing, just listens to gemma's voice and tries not to think too hard about the whole thing, as if that's ever worked for her.

"this is really kind of you, gemma, thank you. i'm... alright." it's a tentative answer, but she pushes forth a small smile for her visitor. "'cool' isn't the word i'd use, but it's nice to know they don't think i'm awful for it." she takes a step back, opening the door wider so that gemma and her basket of goodies could enter the apartment. "want to come in? i don't think i can eat all these cupcakes by myself."

she enters the apartment with awe, admiring the décor dom & emilia had chosen together. it’s the green of jealousy that will begin to taint her golden heart just for a second - a longing for something. a companion. a roommate. someone to come home to. it’s brief, pushes the feeling down as she follows emilia into the living space. “everything is just so messed up at the moment. i’m finding it hard to think,” she’ll admit as she finds a seat on the couch, curling her legs beneath her. “if you told me a year ago all this would be happening, i think i would have laughed in your face. this all feels like something out of a novel. and not one that i’d enjoy reading.”

the  sweetly  laced  words  that  followed  were  imbued  with  a  sense  of  care  that  genevieve  would  scarcely  accept  from  anyone  else  in  her  life.  the  genuine  nature  of  gemma  does  not  appear  to  genevieve  like  a  weakness  as  it  does  in  others.  gemma,  gifted  with  intellect,  and  yet  still  she  moves  through  the  world  in  kindness.  a  girl  like  a  blinding  light.  perhaps  genevieve  wanted  to  corrupt  her  softness,  but  that  didn’t  mean  she  allow  for  her  grace  as  well.  

“  like  anyone  you  want.  you  can  have  your  pick,  ”  she  says  it  with  confidence,  as  though  the  academic  minds  on  the  campus  waited  merely  for  her  selection,  like  ripe  red  apples  ready  to  be  picked  at  her  whim.  “  why  not  find  someone  a  little  fun.  you  know  marcel  may  have  been  respected  but  his  style  was  so…  ”  it  was  hard  to  describe  marcels  style,  it  wasn’t  dated  in  the  sense  of  traditional  academia,  far  too  distinctly  his  to  be  left  with  all  the  rest.  no,  his  style  was  biting  and  precise  in  a  way  that  was  almost  classical.  “  how  about  that  cute  ta  from  dr.  lau’s  lecture  you  were  telling  me  about.  i  bet  they  could  do  more  for  you  than  just  reading  your  essays. "

“i think you’re confusing YOU with ME.” looks at the other pointedly, “you can have your pick of anyone on campus..” this realisation doesn’t sadden her, her priorities far from the warm touch of another. in another life, perhaps she would have craved affection, chased after height and muscles and played the doting girlfriend, but in this life, she’s lost too much already. the thought of getting close to someone to watch them leave is too much to bear, and the thought of trusting someone just to let them hurt her was enough to fill her with shame. “all the choice in the world, and yet.. when was the last time you picked a nice guy, gen?” 

and the blush at the mention of the TA is more than the product of alcohol this time, the hot flames of embarrassment licking at the plain of her face. “ssh ! i told you that in confidence !” turns her head in an almost 360 degree motion, wide eyes scanning each corner of the bar for eavesdropping ears or familiar faces. “he’s probably got a girlfriend anyway. he’s too cute and smart to be single. he’s read all of Nabokov’s texts in the original russian. what girl would pass that up?”

so anyway, the greenhouse is a bit like those northeastern gardens, and chan goes there sometimes to read the same books he used to read when he was seventeen. he's about to do that very thing when he opens the door and finds a familiar face already there. he does the same thing he always does when he sees gemma, soften just around the edges at first and then harden twice as much in response, lest he reveal the fondness he feels for the girl when nobody is looking. "no, just me," he says. "plus isaac asimov." he holds up the book he was planning on reading, though the attempt is now abandoned. "what are you doing here? weary of extra credit, you've turned to intellectual insights from the isodons?"

and in the golden light of the greenhouse, gemma can’t help but admire the sharp slope of chan’s jawline, and the subtle glimmer of something-she-can’t-quite-put-her-finger-on in his eyes. she does this a lot - she’s realised - romanticises things she shouldn’t, admires insignificant moments and cradles them close to her chest. “i just came to get away from people. you know.. with everything that’s going on, i thought this was a good hiding place. clearly, i was mistaken.”

“don’t let god hear you saying he makes shitty wine… you’ll never make it to heaven.” it’s said in jest - she’s not religious by any means, how could she believe in a deity with the hand she had been dealt? what kind of divine being would make her suffer the way she has? she’d rather get on her knees and hold her breath than ever scream amen! would rather let all her darkest secrets poison her heart than spit them out in a confessional. she wonders if there are any similarities between herself and aileen, if they can relate to each other over more than just skin and bone. 

like gemma, the secrets are far from dom’s mind. while he stands there with her, contemplating their opposing gifts, he can only come to one distant conclusion. “can’t believe we’ll never get to know.” then, after a beat, dom refocuses. he remembers who he is with, and thinks, even if briefly, to offer a consoling touch — before his hand falters midair, falling back to a place of indecision, of inaction.

“yours… sounds like he liked you, at least. knew you. do you… feel like it fits?”

she won’t notice the way his hand falls back into place, her eyes gloomy with the threat of tears, marble-like droplets that flirt with her eyelashes - if she stays still for long enough maybe the ground will wrap her in its own attempt at comfort, a cuddle of ivy or a hug from a rosebush. 

“i’m not sure if he liked anyone, but i have to pretend he did for my own sake of mind. i spent a lot of time in that office with him. he was like a mentor to me, even if he didn’t want it. i always admired the way his brain worked - he pushed me to be the best version of myself. my grades weren’t bad before by any means, but once i started going to him for advice, it was like i’d opened a whole new part of my mind… as for the bluebells, i mean.. maybe? they’re a symbol of humility and constancy.. but also everlasting love. i’m not so sure about the last part.”

“  they’re  perfect,  trust  me  i  go  to  this  place  every  time  and  they  always  stay  perfect  for  ages,  plus  the  green  suits  you,  ”  she  catches  one  of  gemma’s  hands  and  holds  it  up  in  the  dim  lighting,  admiring  the  shade  with  a  smile,  “  they’re  beautiful,  ”  she  concludes,  her  voice  warm  and  authoritative.  “  oh  and  susan’s  a  bitch,  if  you  don’t  mind  my  french.  ”  she  doesn’t  really  realize  she’s  misquoting,  the  sentiment  much  more  important.  

she  drags  her  (  also  freshly  manicured  )  finger  along  the  edge  of  her  wine  glass  as  gemma  continues,  “  i  wouldn’t  worry  about  that  gem,  you  know  you’re  brilliant,  right  ?  and  i  don’t  say  that  to  just  anyone  plus  i’m  an  excellent  judge.  ”  she  smirks,  taking  an  elegant  sip  before  continuing.  “  if  you’re  really  stressed  though  i’m  sure  we  can  find  someone  much  better  to  proofread  for  you.  ”

“ thanks gen. i don’t know what i would do without you. probably lose my mind. ” her words so genuinely saccharine it’s like toothache, doe eyes gazing at the other like she scattered the stars across the sky and golden flecks of sand over the beaches.  as though having a confidante so dear to her is so unbelievable she cannot comprehend, gemma will never understand why, out of everyone, gen picked her to befriend. 

“ really ? like who ?”  she’ll speak with narrowed, untrusting eyes, a look normally reserved for other members of the group. the smirk gracing gen’s lips is enough for gemma to know exactly what’s coming.