she's a rattlesnake

confusion  surfaces  easily,  milo  had  never  been  that  good  with  hiding  emotions  on  his  face,  especially  not  to  someone  who  had  known  him  basically  their  entire  lives.  “  is  everything  okay?  “  it’s  said  too  quick,  his  second  assumption  shifting  to  something  far  more  dangerous.  something  she  had  to  escape  at  home,  someone  she  was  running  from.  it  wouldn’t  be  the  first  time  their  place  had  served  as  a  harbor  for  her,  mostly  because  of  his  sister.  actually,  only  because  of  isla,  a  voice  in  his  head  is  quick  to  correct.  and  then,  her  words  offer  no  explanation  at  all,  though  a  quick  exhale  of  relief  pushes  out  his  nose.  “  alright,  “  it’s  said  with  a  taste  of  amusement,  as  if  she’d  just  switched  back  to  their  previous  banter.  though  he  can  feel  the  tension  in  her  body.  had  memorized  it  far  too  greatly  not  to  torture  himself  with  the  thought,  brims  pushing  into  a  line  as  brows  shoot  up.  there  are  a  few  suggestions  in  his  mind,  assumptions  that  are  either  far  too  hopeful  or  too  destructive,  he  tosses  them  out  equally,  choosing  to  pick  up  the  pieces  only  when  she  delivers  the  blow.  “  why  are  you  here,  elira?  “ 

she watches his concern flicker across his face and she’s careful not to let it settle into anything that could resemble relief. surely, he doesn’t think she’s here because she’s fragile and unraveling at the edges of some unseen crisis. she refuses to correct him with honesty, her pride moving faster than truth can. “ i’m not here because something is wrong, ” syllables are spoken evenly, each word placed with deliberate precision as though language itself is a stage she refuses to stumble on. the implication lingers between them anyway, that she’s not the kind of girl who shows up like this for rescue. and yet, here she is. her gaze drifts past him again, into the house she knows too well, finding none of the evidence she’s searching for but the absence doesn’t soothe her — it only sharpens the question she refuses to voice. “ you’ve been busy, apparently, ” her tone is feather-light and carefully detached as she adds, her jealousy rebranded as observation, curiosity disguised as indifference. she decides to step inside then, because hesitation would look too much like retreat and retreat would feel too much like loss. only once she’s fully within does she glance back at him, maintaining a composed expression. “ i’m surprised you’re home alone. no plans with a certain someone today ? ”

chooses  to  maintain  her  attention  on  the  male  in  front  of  her,  even  as  an  apologetic  smile  surfaces  on  her  features,  nodding  slightly  in  dismissal  before  finally  shifting  her  gaze.  it  takes  a  deeper  inhale  to  swallow  the  response  that  builds  from  the  remains  of  anger.  the  echoes  of  his  words  still  haunt  no  matter  how  many  miles  she’d  put  between  them.  his  flowers  left  to  die  against  the  hotel’s  marble  counter,  even  if  she  insisted  the  cleaners  couldn’t  throw  them  away.  making  sure  to  get  photographed  when  it  mattered,  so  he  could  be  impacted  by  her  stupid  decisions  instead,  this  time.  she  nods,  resisting  the  urge  to  roll  her  eyes  at  his  possessive  display  even  as  it  pulls  on  the  strings  of  her  heart.  “  it’s  a  car  ride  “  she  mumbles,  dumbly.  stating  the  obvious  and  at  the  same  time  attempting  to  place  a  boundary  she  knows  won’t  hold.  had  felt  his  hovering  presence  the  entire  night,  wandering  eyes  betraying  her  more  often  than  she’d  admit,  finding  him  as  attentive  to  her  presence  as  she  was  to  his.  at  least  it  was  now  a  burden  they’d  both  have  to  carry. 

he’s spent the entire night practicing restraint in its most disciplined, almost suffocating form as he watched her entertain other men. every provocation felt like a deliberate test of his patience. and yet, he told himself to behave, knowing if he wanted to get back into her good graces, he couldn’t afford to lose her in public again. he steps in before he can decide not to, closing the space between them and suddenly the conversation she’s having with another man feels distant, irrelevant — like background noise he no longer has the patience to tolerate. he turns just slightly, polite enough to excuse her from the other man’s attention without turning it into a spectacle, but final enough that there’s no misunderstanding left to linger. the boundary registers instantly as her attempt at control and it only sharpens him, like she’s drawing a line he’s already decided he’ll find a way across. “ that’s fine. i’ll still take you home. ” the words are delivered with a practiced gentleness that barely disguises the possession underneath, the kind of composure he learned young in rooms thick with smoke and men who smiled while deciding your fate. then he offers his arm — open palm, steady and unhurried — an assumption dressed as courtesy. there’s a quiet finality in his gaze as he looks at her like the word ‘ no ’ has already been accounted for and dismissed, leaving no room for negotiation.

feels  his  company  before  hearing  his  steps  becoming  louder,  the  whispered  conversations  on  the  terrace  go  on  clueless  about  what  had  gone  down  between  them,  couples  too  entranced  by  one  another  to  notice  her  state.  she  shifts  slightly,  not  daring  to  find  his  gaze  but  acknowledging  he  is  there  nonetheless.  arms  cross  shut  against  her  chest,  offering  protection  to  whatever  is  going  to  come  out  of  his  mouth  next  and  to  physically  stop  herself  from  shivering.  too  much,  like  that.  he’s  not  taking  his  words  back,  just  regretting  that  they  came  out  at  the  wrong  time.  it’s  something,  her  beaten  up  organ  pumps  up  to  her  brain.  as  soon  as  browns  register  movement,  she  tries  to  tell  him  no,  that  she  doesn’t  want  a  kind  act  from  him  but  her  mouth  shuts  closed  just  a  moment  before  it  opens.  allows  the  fabric  to  rest  over  her  shoulders,  immediately  regretting  it  as  she’s  left  to  drown  in  his  scent.  the  perfume  she’s  had  attached  to  every  single  dress  the  morning  after,  the  one  she’d  come  to  miss  when  her  bed  was  on  her  own  pillow  instead.  it  brings  familiarity  and  comfort  she  doesn’t  want  to  allow  herself  right  now,  and  yet  she  doesn’t  dare  to  move.  “  i  don’t  think  i  can  be  your  friend  anymore  “  she  speaks  after  a  moment  of  silence,  lips  pushed  together  as  eyes  finally  land  on  his  face,  meeting  his  gaze  through  blurred  vision.  “  or,  whatever  it  was  that  we  were  “  there’s  a  sadness  in  her  tone,  in  not  being  able  to  understand  their  relationship  anymore  when  she  was  once  so  sure.  “  you  were  right,  it  wasn’t  fair  that  i’d  go  on  dates  and  show  up  at  your  place  afterwards  “  had  he  said  that?  not  in  those  words,  at  least.  “  you  never  promised  me  anything,  i  had  no  right  to  be  angry  “  and  yet,  no  excuses  come  to  mind.  because  they  both  know  her  reasons.  or,  god,  she  surely  hopes  he  can  understand  why  it  bothered  her  so  much.  why  the  idea  of  someone  else  sharing  his  bed,  drinking  wine  on  the  counter  he’d  kissed  her  against  and  talking  on  the  couch  until  they  weren’t  talking  anymore,  it  all  tormented  beyond  explanation.  it  wasn’t  the  fact  they  weren’t  exclusive,  it  was  how  quickly  he  replaced  her.  “  it’s  done  “  because  what  was  the  point  in  pretending  his  words  hadn’t  done  some  damage,  when  he  knew  her  to  an  extent  by  now.  it  was  nothing  new,  it  was  nothing  she  hadn’t  thought  about  herself,  it  was  the  fact  he  saw  her  like  that  too  would  bother  her  for  a  while. 

he’d watched her walk away after their petty jealousy amplified into cruelty, each reaching for wounds they knew the other carried deepest. and for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, charm had failed him entirely. following their last encounter, apologies had been dressed in expensive gestures — flowers delivered to hotel receptions with handwritten notes tucked between stems, room service bills quietly settled. but then came the gossip columns, the photographs of her draped across football stadiums and afterparties, always accompanied by the smiling face of a world cup player the tabloids had decided belonged beside her. eventually, he’d stopped sending anything at all. now, months later, fate has placed them beneath the same glittering chandeliers once more, asking civility from two people who had never quite mastered restraint where the other was concerned. after greeting her by name and telling her she looks beautiful, he drifted easily between conversations so she never feels cornered though she’s never far from the corner of his vision. it’s when he hears another man offer to take her home that his fragile composure fractures and the words leave him before he can reconsider, “ i’ll take you home. ”

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if he would have been honest with her , she wouldn't have been put in this position . she wouldn't be crying , used by yet another man in her life claiming to want her for her and nothing else . she felt stupid , the alcohol intensifying her emotions to an unreachable height as she stares up at the one person in her life she was meant to trust . and she does . this doesn't deter that in the long run , but right now ? right now , she feels slighted . "always someone else , always someone prettier -- smarter , better , and then when i -- you tell me i deserve more but then you --" inhales a deep breath , stumbling over her words as she hiccups , wiping her face clean of the tears that won't stop falling . "if anyone would have made me feel better about it , it would have been you . i thought you knew that ." come morning they will both forget this conversation , pretend it never happened because ruining what they had was never meant to be in their cards . she couldn't survive it . but tonight is different -- tonight , everything was laid out on the table . "i want to go home ," she inhales a breath , sobs breaking through , dropping the bottle down on the ground while picking up her bag . "have fun with stacey ."

every fractured sentence of hers lands like a revelation he should’ve seen years ago. she’d been watching, keeping count of every girlfriend, every fleeting infatuation, every dance he’d attended on another girl’s arm. all of those instances quietly translated into proof that she wasn’t enough for him. and that realization hollows him out. his head shakes on instinct, horror eclipsing every other emotion. “ no, ” the syllable escapes in a rasp. “ no, that’s never been it. ” all those other girls had never mattered in the way she believed. they were easier, safer, but they weren’t her. dating them never carried the risk of losing his best friend while dating stasia would have carried the possibility of losing the person who had become synonymous with home. “ i got it wrong, ” he admits quietly, confession devoid of excuses. noticing the bottle slip from her hand, he guides her gently away from where the glass rolls to a stop. when she mumbles about going home and tells him to have fun with ‘ stacey ’, he doesn’t correct her. instead, he slips off his suit jacket and settles it around her shoulders, then retrieves her bag before she can bend for it. “ okay, ” he meets her tear-glossed gaze. “ let’s go. ”

doesn't mean to look but she does, just for a second, just long enough to see the name before something cold settles in her stomach where the warmth had just been living. she's off his lap before she's even consciously decided to move. the shift happening on an instinct, like touching a hot stove. puts herself back on the cushions of the couch couch, pulls her knee up to her chest. the guilt arrives fast and ugly, like bile rising in her throat she needs to swallow back down. because sadie knew exactly who dylan was. had probably googled them at some point, had probably seen the old photos, the interviews where they'd danced around questions about each other with the practiced ease of two people trying very hard not to confirm something the whole world already suspected. sadie knew, and she still smiled at dylan on that rooftop like she had nothing to worry about. femme thinks about that smile now and feels genuinely ill. "you should answer it," she says, not looking at him, eyes fixed somewhere on the projector wall where cher is having a crisis that suddenly feels very on the nose. she reaches for her plate, finds it empty, sets it back down. needs something to do with her hands and comes up with nothing. "it's probably important."

he immediately feels her absence. the instant she slips from his lap, his hand follows on instinct before restraint arrests them midway. the space separating them expands into an immeasurable gulf, the room abruptly colder than the air that had enveloped it only seconds earlier. she speaks and she won’t look at him when she does, which seems to wound more profoundly than the interruption itself. five seconds ago, she’d been close enough for him to count the rhythm of her breaths. now she’s retreating behind civility, offering him an exit he hadn’t asked for. just like the rooftop where she had volunteered herself as sacrifice before anyone could ask. her words settle heavily as she urges him to answer, not because she’s wrong, but because he knows she isn’t. his gaze drifts from her profile to the phone still vibrating in his hand, thumb hovering uselessly for another beat before obligation prevails, as it always has. he answers but not without clearing his own throat, scarcely recognizing his own voice. “ hey. ” there’s a pause before sadie speaks, her voice gentle enough to tighten the knot already lodged beneath his ribs, ‘ where are you ? ’ “ i’m.. ” his eyes find dylan despite himself. “ with a friend. ” the partial truth leaves an acrid taste in his mouth because somehow, it feels far more dishonest than a complete lie ever would.

watches  as  realization  washes  through  her,  feeling  slightly  more  guilty  every  beat  that  passes,  silence  sitting  between  them  in  a  haunting  manner.  when  an  answer  finally  comes,  it  doesn’t  serve  to  appeal  to  the  turmoil  that  keeps  happening  inside  his  chest.  yet,  instead  of  saying  anything  else,  he  nods.  it  was  the  dismissal  he  was  looking  for.  the  justification  for  walking  out  before  things  even  started.  he’d  come  here  for  her,  most  of  all.  to  make  sure  she  knew  he  was  somehow  grateful  for  what  she’d  been  doing,  even  if  he’d  wished  their  grief  hadn’t  gone  in  completely  opposite  ways.  mouth  opens  to  bid  goodbyes,  another  night  he’d  spend  alone,  wasting  his  time  on  thoughts  about  that  evening.  what  could’ve  changed,  what  he  could’ve  done.  and  then,  she  speaks  again,  eyes  lift  up  to  meet  her  own,  corners  threaten  to  pull  slightly.  another  dismissing  apology  comes  up  his  throat,  those  feel  almost  natural  by  now.  sorry  i  haven’t  called,  sorry  i  haven’t  been  around,  sorry  i  need  to  leave.  they  were  all  part  of  the  person  he’d  become.  though,  he  pauses,  gaze  shifting  to  where  she  tugs  on  his  jacket,  the  ghosting  feeling  of  her  touch  causing  his  stomach  to  flip.  “  you  have  an  event  to  run  “  it’s  an  excuse  not  to  go,  an  excuse  to  turn  his  back.  but  he  lingers,  not  pulling  away  or  breaking  eye  contact,  inhaling  a  little  deeper  than  he  needs  before  offering  a  quick  nod.  “  alright  “  he  mutters,  offering  a  shadow  of  a  smile.  he’d  still  leave  afterwards,  he’d  still  not  want  to  be  there.  but  the  garden  sounded  less  awful  than  the  images  that  hang  over  their  heads.  and  her  company  felt  more  hopeful  than  the  loneliness  of  his  house. 

“ they’ll survive five minutes without me, ” the remark is paired with a faint shake of her head. her father had taught her that appearances were everything, that every room demanded her unwavering attention. tonight, perhaps for the first time, she chooses a person over performance. the shadow of a smile as he accepts is enough to ease that tension inside her chest, relief arriving quietly. her fingers loosen from the sleeve of his jacket, never asking for more than he had already given. he said yes. not to the gala, the foundation, not to everything they had failed to be for one another these past years — but to five minutes. and that’s more than enough for her. with that, she finds one of the coordinators nearby to have a brief word with them, followed by an apologetic smile, relinquishing her responsibilities to someone else to ensure that the evening continues smoothly without her. then together, they slip beyond the ballroom. the crescendo of conversation dissolves behind closed doors until only the evening air remains, fragrant and cool against her skin. the rose garden greets them with an almost painful familiarity — years ago, elise had insisted on wandering these very paths, laughing as she stole roses despite every little sign warning against it, dane trailing behind with exasperated affection while lorelai could barely breathe through her laughter. the memory threatens to bloom into something heavier but she lets it pass. “ i’m glad you came, ” she says instead, her voice gentle. beneath the speeches and carefully arranged centerpieces, she harbored the hope that somewhere between everything they had lost, they might still find each other. “ i didn’t invite you because i needed another guest, dane, ” her gaze finds his as she makes that distinction clear. “ i wanted to see you. ”

she doesn't lie well around him. that's the fucked part. every relapse has always looked the same from the inside. she always tells herself it'll quiet everything for an hour. that this time she'll stop before anyone notices. that she still has enough control left. then he notices. a sick part of her wants to tell him she's clean just to watch relief dismantle his features, even if it only lasts five minutes. another part wants to laugh because they've done this enough times that they both know the script by heart. he asks. she lies. he doesn't believe her. she disappears anyway. like he's watching someone drown who keeps batting away the hand trying to pull her out. she hates that look more than withdrawal. she stares out at the black water instead of him, digging the toe of her shoe into damp sand until it caves beneath the pressure. for a second she almost says no automatically. the syllable is already sitting behind her teeth. " does it matter ? " her eyes slip away before he can answer.

does it matter ? the question settles deep beneath his ribs and he doesn’t answer immediately. for a fleeting, disorienting moment, he’s seventeen again, standing on the banks of hollow creek while people asked questions he could never answer. his life has become an accumulation of those moments, forever convinced that if he’d noticed something sooner, asked one more question, lingered a little longer, someone might still be alive. parker is the only person who has managed to fracture that belief. she keeps proving that vigilance alone can’t save someone determined to outrun themselves. instead, he moves to stand beside her, shoulder nearly brushing hers, his gaze settling on the black water stretching endlessly. he doesn’t ask what she took. the professional version of him would — he’d gather facts, build timelines, search for cause. but she stopped being a case file a long time ago. “ i’m not asking what happened, ” he shakes his head, his voice absent of accusation. he looks at her, “ i’m asking if you’re alright. ”

homme let the unanswered claim hang where she'd left it, unbothered by the silence around it — she wasn't wrong to leave it there, and they both knew it. by the time the bartender set her gin and tonic down, his own glass was already waiting, poured without him having to ask, the same thing he always had. "you make composure look like confidence," he said, watching her, the particular brand of resignation dressed up as wit not lost on him. "most people can't do that. they let you see the seams." his gaze stayed even, unhurried, the same way he'd watched her all night — not unkindly, just thoroughly, the habit of a man who'd learned that what people didn't say was almost always more useful than what they did. something loosened at the corner of his mouth. "first night's the hardest," he added, and then a low quiet laugh followed it, like he'd caught himself mid-sentence and decided honesty was funnier. "actually that's not true at all. but it's what people say." his eyes stayed on her, something almost like ease settling into them for the first time all night. he raised his glass toward hers. "to surviving first days."

his remark about confidence unsettles her more than she lets show. because it’s accurate. she’s spent years making composure look effortless, turning sharp edges into wit and exhaustion into indifference. “ years of customer service, ” she rebuts lightly, pretending fluorescent lights and rude customers were what taught her to smile through discomfort. the truth is much older than that; it is childhood. then his correction about first nights earns a small huff through her nose. “ good, ” it’s uttered dryly. “ i was worried it only got better from here. ” she lets her glass meet his with a soft clink. small, reluctant, the first gesture between them that isn’t part of the performance. she takes a sip of the gin and tonic before studying him in return, properly this time. he knew where she worked, where she lived, what she owed. he’s assembled pieces of her life while she still knows almost nothing about this, only observations stitched together from a single evening. she dislikes how uneven the ledger feels. “ you spend an awful lot of time figuring other people out, ” a pause. “ does anybody ever get to figure you out ? ” always believed every person had a fracture somewhere. her father hid behind his rage, her mother behind a bottle. she finds herself wondering, despite herself, where abel keeps his.

there's a feeling deep in her gut that tells her she should have never even gotten this close to him in the first place. that she should have never invited him over, because while her intentions were pure at the time — not wanting to invite the attention of paparazzi if they were to hang out in public — dylan now realizes that privacy was somehow infinitely worse. that they could indulge in each other free of consequence, at least for now. had built herself a very pretty trap and walked straight into it. and she can't bring herself to care even slightly. has never wanted anything more than this, his forehead against hers, the warmth of his hand cradling her face like she's something worth being careful with. the tip of her nose brushes against his, and whatever was left of her resolve goes quietly and without a fight. "no talking," hums playfully as she shifts her weight forward and lifts one knee, then the other, until she's settled across his lap entirely, hands finding his shoulders. femme pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes tracing his face like she's relearning something she never actually forgot. her fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of mouth like she has all the time in the world, like she's enjoying the last inch between them almost as much as she'll enjoy closing it. tilts her chin up, lets her lips hover just a breath away from his — and then his phone goes off.

the shrill vibration cleaves through the silence and he flinches instinctively, eyes slipping shut as quiet frustration settles across his features. of course. perhaps this was always going to happen, consequences merely patient enough to wait until the precise moment neither of them possessed the fortitude to walk away. he doesn’t reach for the phone, lets it ring once, twice, a third time, each vibration feeling less like a call and more like reality demanding to be acknowledged. only then does he become acutely aware of their position — dylan seated across his lap, his hand still cradling her face with unconscious tenderness, her fingers woven into the hair at the nape of his neck. “ give me a second, ” the request emerges with palpable reluctance. not an invitation for her to leave, merely a plea not to disappear before he finds the courage to confront the interruption. instead of reaching for the phone, he leans forward again until his forehead rests gently against hers, eyes closing for one lingering beat. a silent understanding passes between them that neither of them could pretend this evening had remained innocent. when he finally forces himself to look, the screen illuminates with the exact name he’d expected. sadie. his thumb hovers above ‘ ACCEPT ’ without moving. all his life, he’d answered every call — from coaches, family, managers — without hesitation. tonight, he finds himself wishing that obligation would simply stop calling.

it’s  basically  shameless  how  quick  his  stomach  turns  at  the  sight  of  her,  door  opening  into  what  he  expects  to  be  an  impromptu  visit  from  his  family,  a  friend  or  even  some  type  of  delivery  he  forgot  was  scheduled.  anyone  but  her  would’ve  been  right  within  his  folder  of  options.  and  then,  he’s  speechless,  something  completely  unseen  for  the  male.  he  waist,  as  if  she’s  going  to  offer  an  explanation.  maybe  she’s  here  to  see  his  sister,  even  if  she’s  not  home.  cross  get  wired,  maybe  she’s  early.  what  he  suspected,  though,  as  a  result  of  recent  events,  was  that  she  wasn’t  here  to  see  him.  and  perhaps  the  sentence  that  exits  her  mouth  is  a  hint  of  that.  mouth  opens,  shutting  down  just  as  quickly,  he’d  promised  himself  not  to  play  this  game  again  with  her.  “  isla  is  not  home  “  and  then,  he  slides  to  the  side,  making  room  for  her  to  enter  their  place.  “  she’ll  take  a  while  “  it’s  almost  dismissive,  as  if  he’s  setting  the  scene  to  go  back  to  the  solace  of  his  room,  but  he  lingers,  waiting  for  her  next  move.

she doesn’t move, one foot stubbornly remaining anchored outside, the other just barely across the threshold, suspended in an indecisive liminality that feels almost laughable considering how many nights she’d crossed this doorway without a second thought. back then, she knew where she would end up, where he would touch her, how the evening would unravel. there had always been a script, even if neither of them ever admitted to rehearsing it. now she stands there with nothing but silence between them, discovering that uncertainty weighs considerably more than anticipation ever did. his assumption lands sharply when he reveals his sister isn’t home, almost dismissing her with that. not why are you here ? not i wasn’t expecting you. simply the conclusion that she couldn’t possibly have come looking for him. “ i know. ” her mouth curves into a brittle resemblance of amusement. “ i’m actually here to ruin your evening. ” only then does she lift her eyes fully to his again, studying him with measured indignation. “ you’re not even going to ask why i’m here ? ” it’s light enough to present as sarcasm but an unmistakable challenge is threaded beneath it.

once  silence  surrounds  them,  she  feels  a  little  lost.  looking  for  something  else  to  get  her  hands  busy,  wanting  to  avoid  his  attention  even  if  heart  continues  to  beat  faster  under  it.  “  you  looked  very  “  lips  are  pushed  together,  eyes  narrowed  as  she  pretends  to  look  for  a  word,  head  bobbing  as  she  fights  smile  from  spreading.  “  very  tall,  i’d  say  “  and  then,  she  gives,  offering  a  grin  that  says  what  she  can’t  put  into  words,  ignoring  the  heat  that  rises  behind  her  neck  as  she  meets  his  gaze.  “  and  you’re  doing  it  “  she  breathes  out,  a  sense  of  pride  blooming  inside  her  chest.  from  all  the  times  she’d  heard  him  go  over  the  details  of  the  sport  when  they  were  nine  years  old,  nodding  her  head  along  and  attempting  to  pick  the  small  things  because  she  knew  it  was  important  to  him.  to  now,  watching  her  best  friend  stand  on  podiums  across  the  world.  his  next  words  catch  her  by  surprise,  not  because  they  hadn’t  discussed  it,  but  because  she’d  been  far  too  entranced  in  her  own  web  of  thoughts.  and  then,  it’s  quick,  smile  faltering  before  she  can  school  her  features  into  hiding  it.  “  maybe,  “  she  nods,  there’s  a  slice  of  sadness  to  it.  the  realization  that  to  watch  him  shine  she’d  actually  have  to  leave  the  space  she’d  felt  safe  in.  “  maybe  if  it’s  close  enough,  i  could  get  away  for  a  couple  days  “  it’s  the  promise  he’d  heard  too  many  times,  guilt  sinking  her  stomach.  “  my  grandma  can’t  really  be  alone  for  too  long  and,  “  shrugs,  the  explanation  he’d  also  known  too  well.  the  weight  of  knowing  she’d  always  be  stuck  in  their  town  as  he  conquered  the  world. 

the silence is deafening after a race weekend. and this time, it’s not because there had been any shortage of noise. it had been quite the opposite, with engineers apologizing over poor strategy and reporters calling the result unfortunate, like the word could soften the sting of watching victory slip through his fingers behind a safety car and ill-timed pit stop. his father’s voice had been the loudest of them all: you should’ve won. as if seven hadn’t been telling himself the exact same thing since the checkered flag. he’d left before anyone could stop him. before his father could notice. before callie could coax a smile out of him he didn’t possess. there had only been one destination his mind kept returning to. home. his duffel hangs from one shoulder as he stands at celeste’s front door, exhaustion settling so deeply into his bones. how many times had she pieced him back together without even realizing she was doing it ? too many. if there has ever been a place where the noise finally stops, it has always been behind this door. his hand hovers for only a second before knuckles meet the wood in three quiet knocks.