Circle Sewn With Fate

Agatha groans, flopping back on the rug. Wanda's stupid responsible girlfriend absolutely hates Agatha, and she can't figure out why other than vague accusations of Agatha being a "bad influence" and a "freeloader" and "a menace to society." It's not like it's Agatha's fault that Wanda was nice enough to let Agatha crash on their couch for a few weeks after she left Rio.

The things that went missing after Agatha moved out could be considered her fault.

That time sucked. It reminded Agatha too much of the other time Wanda let her crash on her couch. Back before Wanda started dating Natasha, but right after Pietro died. The Maximoff twins had just graduated. The apartment was tiny, but Agatha had finally gotten a job so that she could be free from living with her bitch mother. Rooming with Wanda wasn't all bad, if you ignored the arguments they had when Agatha would be under the influence and get short tempered with a very raw and vulnerable Wanda who cried almost daily.

Somehow, after Agatha finally moved out, Wanda still wanted to be friends. Agatha isn't sure who is crazier, the one who kept making dead brother jokes when she was scared of admitting that she cared or the one who looked past it because at the time, all they had was each other.

Why is she thinking about this? What were they talking about?

Oh, right. Anyway. Agatha's pretty sure Natasha is just jealous.

"I'm hungry," Agatha says.

"I know."

"Your girlfriend is a bitch."

"Don't be mean."

"That's like asking a dog not to bark."

"Muzzle."

"You offering?"

"No."

"I'm going to raid your kitchen."

"Agatha," Wanda whines and sighs. "Fine, I'll get you something."

"Yeah, get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich." Agatha snorts at her own joke. Wanda just glares at her over her shoulder as she goes into the other room.

Something soft brushes against Agatha's arm, and she instinctively recoils. Wanda's (well, Natasha's) black cat blinks at Agatha. Probably wondering what her mommy's least favorite guest is doing on their floor. Agatha sits up, and the cat crawls in her lap.

"You're a lot nicer than your mom, aren't you Lilo?" Agatha mumbles.

"Her name is Liho!" Wanda calls out from the kitchen.

"Same thing." Agatha scratches Liho's cheeks, fascinated by soft she is. Having the cat right in front of her stirs up a thought, and she lowers her voice. "Do you want to know a secret, Liho?"

Liho doesn't respond.

"You seem like a good secret keeper, so I'll tell you," Agatha whispers. "I might have stolen your identity to cover up a little lie. I sent your picture to the person I'm seeing and said you were my pet. You don't mind, right?"

"What?"

"Holy shit, the cat can talk," Agatha gasps, but then she looks up to see that Wanda has returned with a grilled cheese in hand. Agatha reaches up and takes the paper plate eagerly. "We're so back."

"What did you just say to the cat?" Wanda blinks at her in disbelief.

"Why would I be talking to your cat." Agatha speaks through a mouthful of homemade sourdough and fancy farmer's market cheese.

"Agatha."

"I was telling her a secret. God, there's no privacy in this house!" Agatha throws her hands up dramatically, which scares Liho away. Agatha pouts. "Aw."

"It's my house," Wanda reminds her. She sits down in front of Agatha, smoothing her skirt over her legs. Agatha shifts awkwardly. "Why did you tell your girlfriend—"

"They're not my girlfriend," Agatha corrects quickly.

"Whatever. Why did you tell them that Liho was your cat?"

The room feels too warm. Agatha fidgets with the rings on her fingers. She could make up another lie easily, but Wanda is scrutinizing her now. Even though Agatha can still pull one over on Wanda a lot of times, she has a feeling this one won't slide.

"I can't tell them about Scratchy," Agatha mumbles.

"Are they…allergic? You know they make pills for that," Wanda suggests innocently.

"No. They can't know because Scratchy's picture is the one I use on Etsy listings."

The gears in Wanda's head turn. Agatha finishes her sandwich and sets the plate on the coffee table. She leans back on her hands. Wanda's eyes widen.

"Agatha, are you dating a client?"

"I don't think I'd call them clients, really. I think client implies something more professional, and therefore more questionable if I did it. I'm dating a customer." Agatha says it all casually. Wanda's reaction seems pretty subdued, so maybe the situation isn't as ethically dubious as Agatha thought. Her rambling continues.

"It's a funny story really. They bought a love spell, and as I do with all my customers, I stalked them a little bit. Nothing crazy, just finding their Instagram. And I was like, fuck they're cute. I hadn't even realized they lived in Westview yet!" Agatha laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation of her own design. "So, I messaged them. Worked my natural charm. And now we're dating. Or whatever you wanna call it."

Silence settles between them. Not the good kind of silence that Agatha has gotten used to with you. The bad kind of silence that makes Agatha think she might be in trouble.

"Let me get this straight," Wanda says finally. The conversation seems to have sobered them both up a bit, judging from the exasperated tone in Wanda's voice. Though, depending on the direction this takes, Agatha might take another hit.

"Do you have to?"

"Now isn't the time for a gay joke."

"Jeez." Agatha tugs at the collar of her shirt. "Tough crowd."

"Can you be serious for a single minute?"

"What's there to be serious about?" Agatha rolls her eyes. "I found a cute girl on Instagram and took a shot. Slam fuckin' dunk if you ask me."

"You stalked a customer—"

"Looking up someone's Instagram is normalized. Plus, they love those dark love stories, so they'd probably find it hot." Agatha shrugs. Wanda gives her a glare. Agatha waves her hand to tell Wanda to continue her lecturing.

"Someone who you know is emotionally vulnerable and probably sitting around waiting for their one true love to come and sweep them off their feet. Which you can't say you didn't know, because you literally performed a love spell for them!"

"Does it count if I didn't actually perform the spell?" Agatha asks. Wanda puts her face in her hands and lets out a groan of true frustration. "I'm just saying, like, where does that tip things on the morality scale?"

"That's…that's also shitty, but not the point, Agatha!" Wanda raises her voice. The tone shift puts Agatha even more on the defensive. "You took advantage of them while they were vulnerable."

"They're a big girl. They can handle it."

"Your relationship is based on a lie."

"Wouldn't you say that the ends justify the means?" Agatha proposes. "It's not like my intentions were bad."

They weren't exactly good either. Neutral, Agatha would posit. Omitting the fact that she found you by running a mild scam on you really doesn't seem important enough to inform you about.

Especially with how dramatic Wanda is being about the whole thing.

"What were your intentions?" Wanda asks.

"Well, I usually stalk my customers a bit anyway. But when I discovered they were cute, I figured I could get something out of it. Entertainment, at minimum. Sometimes I just like to see where something goes. Call it sociological curiosity."

"So, you're telling me you did this because you were bored?"

Sure. Just bored. Not lonely or anything.

"In the beginning, yeah. Then it turned out I actually enjoy their company, so I stuck around. Honestly, I assumed I would've sent them running by now. Not many people have been able to handle all this." Agatha gestures down her body. Wanda rubs her forehead. Probably a migraine again.

"Have you even considered that they might be looking past all your issues because they were so desperate for a relationship that they were willing to buy a love spell?"

"I didn't say anything about issues. Don't be a bitch."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Why do you sound so pissed at me for this?" Agatha snaps, hackles raised. "It doesn't have anything to do with you."

This isn't like Wanda. Wanda will lecture her and tell her to be better, but the sass is new. That's Agatha's job, and she doesn't appreciate the competition.

"I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you," Wanda sighs. "I'm being hard on you because I worry."

"Worry about what?" Agatha sneers. "Everything is perfectly fine."

The longer this conversation goes, the more that Agatha is doubting herself. Which is a truly horrible emotion that she'd rather never feel again. She's always right. Even when she's wrong, she's basically right.

But she can hear herself making flimsy excuses. And, normally, she wouldn't give a fuck. She's been the villain before, and she'll happily be the villain again. The other people that she's screwed over in various ways didn't matter, so she wouldn't even bother trying to excuse her shit behavior. Once she got what she wanted, she'd happily embrace it. Why would she care about being an asshole to people she didn't give a shit about?

But this time is different. She's playing with the emotions of someone who actually gives a shit about her. Someone who sees past the thorny exterior and treats her gently, but not like she's something broken that needs to be fixed. Someone who seems like they not only can handle her, but actively wants to.

"I'm worried because I've seen the look on your face when you talk about them." Wanda chooses her words carefully, knowing that any direct accusations of four-letter-word-that-starts-with-L would send Agatha spiraling. Smart girl.

"I didn't think it would last this long," Agatha finally confesses in a reluctant mumble. Admitting that she severely miscalculated her plans physically pains her. "I didn't expect us to get to a point where I could even hurt them with this. I assumed I'd get bored and hurt them in a completely different way."

"Knowing you, that's not a horrible estimation," Wanda teases, though her smile is sympathetic.

Ugh. Pity.

"Did I screw this up before it even started?" Agatha asks. Her voice sounds a bit shaky. Stop it, Agatha. Do not get choked up. You can't get choked up over a relationship that's just over a month long. That's only one menstrual cycle!

Wanda doesn't respond, which is enough confirmation on its own.

"Alright. Well…Should I just break up with them?" Agatha proposes flippantly. "Since you think this is such a big deal."

Wanda purses her lips. Despite her exasperation, Agatha knows that Wanda will want to help. At this point, they were ride or die.

"I think your options are either to tell them or spend your entire relationship keeping the secret. The longer you keep it, the worse the reaction will be, probably," Wanda says. Agatha grunts, suddenly very interested in picking at the fibers of the rug they're sitting on. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, because we both know that you wouldn't listen. But, I think you should think about it."

Guilt is not a feeling that Agatha Harkness is used to. She's a little glad that she'd never truly experienced it before, because she is not enjoying the way that her mind is racing or the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach or her heart clenching in a way that it usually only does when she's had too many energy drinks in one day.

With doubt heavy in her voice, Agatha shrugs and gives Wanda a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "What they don't know won't hurt them, right?"

As you walk through the dusty shelves of the bookstore, fingers tracing along the spines as you pass, you suddenly see a small cloud of smoke from the adjacent aisle. You roll your eyes and peek around the corner, suspicions confirmed.

"Agatha, you can't vape in here."

Agatha looks at you incredulously. "Who says?"

"The no smoking sign."

"The one that shows a cigarette?"

"Smart-ass."

"Hey, you love my ass." Agatha winks. She does relent and tuck her pen back in her bag.

You were kind of expecting an argument, considering Agatha's moodiness today. Despite agreeing to go out, Agatha's been a bit off for the past week. You weren't off put by most of it, but you have noticed that you've been the one having to engage conversations and dates more often.

Was she losing interest?

Agatha is virtually impossible to read, so it was hard to say if it had something to do with you or her mind was simply on other things.

But of course, Agatha will always keep you guessing. Because the next thing you know, she's tugging you down a different aisle, towards the back of the store. The light above you both needs to be replaced. It flickers, leaving the little nook in partial darkness.

"What are you doing?" You ask. Agatha's expression has shifted from annoyance. You know that look in her eyes by now. Sparkling with mischief. Definitely planning something.

That something turns out to be pinning you against the bookshelf. You let out a gasp, surprised by the sudden force. The book you were carrying falls out of your hands and lands with a solid thunk.

"Agatha, what are you doing?" You repeat. She leans in closer to you.

"What do you think I'm doing, angel?" Agatha breath is warm against your lips. Her tongue darts out to tease you. Your back presses against the shelf, used copies of Twilight digging into your spine.

"Someone could see us."

"Doesn't that make it more exciting, baby?" Agatha grins. Her fingers tease under the hem of your shirt, tickling against the skin of your stomach. You flex your abdomen out of reflex which makes her chase your body so she can grip your waist. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Since your first time with Agatha, you've quickly learned that her libido is virtually unstoppable. Having been deeply starved for it for years, you certainly weren't complaining that you had a super hot woman asking if she could sit on your face daily. Frankly, it made you feel desired in a way that you never thought possible.

But you really weren't expecting the smell of old books to get her going today. You look around. This section is so tucked away that you can hardly hear the few other customers milling around. From this angle, you'd be able to see if someone got too close. Agatha's fingers drift slowly to the waistband of your pants. Paused. Waiting.

"Keep going," you whisper.

Fingers push into your underwear. Agatha presses her hips against you, her mouth against you. The heat of her breath is heavy on your neck. With how suddenly she sprung on you, you're not quite wet yet. Agatha removes her fingers and presses them against your lips. You part them, thankful for the way they muffle the needy sound you make as you suck on them.

Now slick with your spit, Agatha pushes her hand back into your pants and finds your clit. You bite your bottom lip hard. Her movements are frantic and sloppy. As much as you'd like her to take her time with you, you know that you have to be fast so that you don't get caught.

Agatha's eyes are on you, lips parted as ragged breaths come out. She's watching you intensely, but her brow is furrowed like her mind is still on something else. You bring a hand up and cup her face. Run your thumb over her lip and then over her cheekbone. She wants to say something, but the words are getting caught. Not at all like your Agatha.

"Talk to me," you murmur. She closes her eyes and her inhales sharply. You know the tenderness of your hand on her face always makes her clam up. She's not used to it. Which of course means you do it as much as physically possible.

"I…" Agatha swallows. She presses her forehead against yours. You can count the freckles that are scattered across her nose and cheeks from here. "I've thought about this. Taking you like this."

"In public?" You ask. Agatha pushes her fingers against your entrance. You gasp. She nods.

"In a bookstore," Agatha admits. Pink stains her cheeks, a pretty flush that you want to kiss. So you do. She makes a groaning noise. "You're always telling me about those books you read. Getting all flustered when I ask you about the smutty parts."

Your whole body feels like its on fire, eyes fluttering shut when she pushes a finger inside you. Any questions die in your throat as you let out a moan. Agatha covers your mouth with her other hand and keeps talking.

"I touched myself to the thought of doing this with you," Agatha says, voice low and husky. The thought of Agatha masturbating to the thought of you sends fire through your body and suddenly you feel yourself getting pushed closer to the edge of climax. In your time together, you've never known Agatha to show any shame for anything she does, but the expression on her face as she admits this to you betrays her. "I want you so bad."

"You have me," you whisper. Agatha leans in and kisses you deeply, tongue pushing into your mouth.

The shelf behind you creaks as she pushes you more flush against it, her body rocking against yours. One more finger added and a precise curl of her fingers is enough to make your body explode with pleasure. Agatha holds onto you tight, using the bookshelf to help support you so your legs don't give out.

With a kiss on the cheek and Agatha wiping her fingers on her pants, the two of you manage to pull yourselves together enough to make your purchases and leave. The cashier definitely gives your disheveled appearances a once over, but Agatha's glare makes them keep their mouth shut

In Agatha's car, music playing, you can feel that the earlier tension that was lingering around her has dissipated. She's humming along, hand on your thigh and fingers drumming rhythmically.

"Hey, maybe I could come over to your place tonight?" You suggest as she makes a rolling stop through an intersection. "You wouldn't have to drop me off, and your place is closer to here, isn't it?"

Agatha's hand freezes on your thigh. "I don't think that's a good idea."

You should've known better. She's never invited you over to her place. You've been trying to write it off as nothing, but every time she denies you, you can't help but wonder if she's hiding something.

"I don't mean to invite myself over," you start. "But I'd like to see your space, y'know? And meet Scratchy."

Your body jerks forward as Agatha hits the brake too hard. The red light that you've stopped at mocks you.

"No," Agatha says firmly, facing forward and refusing to meet your eyes. As if she ever focuses properly on the road.

"Why?" You finally ask. "Are you embarrassed about your apartment or something? I don't care if its a mess, I've seen how you keep your car—"

"I said no!" Agatha snaps.

You flinch. Agatha is known for having a bit of a temper, but she's never had one with you. You don't like it. Your body deflates, slumping back into the seat. What happened to the woman who was just obsessing over you? The trees look blurry as Agatha hits the gas again. Always driving just a bit too fast, like she's ready for a car chase at any moment.

The silence is painful. You don't want to be the one to talk first again. The ball is in her court. Her hand is still on your thigh.

Neither of you speak until she reaches your apartment building. You gather your things quietly. Her hand finally leaves your thigh, resting on the gear shift instead, tapping rapidly against it. You don't make eye contact, afraid that if you look at her she'll see the tears threatening to fall. You'd feel stupid for crying in front of her like this.

"Do you still want to go to the museum this weekend?" Agatha asks quietly the moment that you start to open the door.

It's not an apology. Or even an explanation. But, it's something.

It's the plans that you hadn't officially made. The thought of a fun date that you'd dropped in the middle of another conversation. You hadn't said directly that you wanted to go, just said there was a few new exhibits that looked cool. Truthfully, it was so minor that you had almost forgotten that you even brought it up.

But Agatha remembered.

The hurt still sits heavy in your chest, cradled by your ribs next to your heart. You look over at her. Agatha's fidgeting with her rings, wearing an expression that you've never seen her make before. The way that her brows pinch together, the slight downturn of her lips, the way her eyes flick frantically over your face like she's trying to figure out what's going through your head.

Agatha is scared.

It breaks you. Any hesitance at taking her peace offering flies out the window as soon as you see that look in her eyes that she would die before she admitted how desperate it is. You take a deep breath and steady your voice.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

This has to be a set up. There's just zero chance that the universe hates Agatha enough for this to be a coincidence.

The banner above the temporary museum exhibition outwardly mocks her, the words a threat and the dim purple lighting emitting from the room highlighting her face like she's at an interrogation table.

"DOWN THE WITCHES ROAD: A JOURNEY THROUGH THE HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT"

Agatha closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. You're busy chatting with the man at the front desk, where you're supposed to be buying tickets, but have clearly gotten preoccupied. A million thoughts run through Agatha's mind. Was this some sort of test? Did you suspect something, and now you were trying to coax the truth out of her? Have you brought her here so that you can have a dramatic "gotcha!" moment and then break up with her in front of the black and white photographs of Salem?

God, she hopes she doesn't get broken up with in any proximity to Salem. That's where her mother is.

"Ready, babe?" You walk back over to her, looping your arm in hers.

"Yeah. So, which exhibit was it that you thought looked cool?" Agatha asks, keeping her tone intentionally relaxed.

"Honestly, I didn't look at what was going to be here that closely," You shrug. "I knew they added some things since I was here last, and they change out their temporary one monthly. I didn't check what it was though. I figure maybe we can go to the new contemporary art wing and then circle back here to check out the witchcraft exhibit before lunch? Oh! And the gift shop, of course."

Okay, great. No conspiracies. This is just karma, and the universe hates her more than she previously thought. Which is saying something.

The beginning of the date goes fine, but Agatha is sure that you can feel the way that she's not fully relaxed. She's hoping that you chalk it up to left over awkwardness from the fight the other day. The one which neither of you have dared to address. Agatha suspects that you're worried that addressing the elephant in the room would make things worse than just making peace and moving on. And she's certainly not eager to try to explain away her little outburst.

Over the last couple of days, Agatha imagined about twenty different ways that conversation could have gone. The best option she's come up with is, "The real reason that you can't come over to my house is because I have a rabbit. I lied to you about him being a cat. Oh, why did I lie about that? Because if you saw him you'd immediately recognize him from that little Etsy listing that you stumbled upon. But hey! Now that the rabbit's out of the bag, you can come over!"

Really, not ideal. But, as much as Agatha hated to admit it, Wanda was probably right that the truth had to come out at some point. It was either that, never let you come over to her apartment, or get rid of Scratchy. The not visiting part is clearly a new point of contention, and she'd never even entertain the idea of giving Scratchy away.

Though, she did consider if dyeing his fur would be a viable option.

Agatha holds your hand as you lead her to different art pieces. You take time to read every tag, noting to her every one that you really like. Even the ones you don't like, you seem to find something nice to say about them. Agatha, of course, has something snarky to say about most of them. But she tries to let you react first, so she doesn't shit on one that you happen to enjoy.

Finally, you reach the end of the art exhibit, and loop back to the entrance to the temporary exhibit wing.

"You wanna sit for a second, or you good to keep going?" You ask Agatha innocently. Agatha gives you a small smile and tells you she's fine. Internally, she's bracing for impact.

Agatha's always had good instincts. She's always a few steps ahead of everyone around her. It's what makes her so savvy. She's never once thought that it was a bad thing. Until now, because her stomach is churning with anxiety that she's not used to because she knows what's coming.

It's a shame that Agatha can only concentrate on the discussion lurking around the corner rather than the museum. Any other day, she'd be eating all of this information up. Maybe she'll try to come back before the exhibit leaves and explore it properly. If it doesn't give her PTSD after today.

She can already tell by the look on your face as you read the displays that something is on your mind. There's a question hanging in your head, the string so thin that it's about to snap without any pressure.

Once she goes down this road, there's no going back.

The other shoe doesn't drop until you stop in front of a particular glass display case. It's full of crystals of all shapes and sizes. Behind them, there's a chart explaining all different types of metaphysical properties that each kind has. Emeralds, amethysts, jade, and more shine under the warm light of the case.

Your face scrunches up in concentration as you read. Agatha's stomach does a somersault.

"Do you believe in any of this type of thing?" You ask, glancing at her.

Yeah, my crystals are actually like, way bigger than these. Not that size matters. Instead of saying her very funny joke, Agatha shrugs noncommittally. Smooth.

A beat. You chew on your lip thoughtfully. Agatha's stomach is now competing for gold in gymnastics.

"Can I tell you something?"

The words set off her fight or flight instincts. But even though she's great at doing both of those things, has spent her whole life doing them, all she can do in this moment is freeze.

"Before we started talking, I honestly had almost given up on dating." You turn away from her slightly as you continue, too embarrassed to make eye contact. "I couldn't find many social things that suited me, and dating apps are a fucking nightmare. So, one day, I impulse bought one of those manifestation spells on Etsy."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

"And that same night, you messaged me." You squeeze her hand. Agatha's breath catches, and she finally dares to look at you. Your eyes are shiny in the light, and she's praying it's just the light and not fucking tears. If you're getting emotional already, the rest of this conversation is not going to be fun. "So, I think I believe in it. Because I really don't know why you ever would've messaged me if it wasn't because of some sort of shift in the universe."

Agatha swallows hard. You sincerely believe that the two of you meeting was magic. It would be so easy to just keep up the lie from here.

But she can't. Not now.

It's not the nagging voice in her head that sounds an awful lot like Wanda that finally pushes Agatha to speak, but it's the thought of having you believe that it was some outside power that drew Agatha to you. As if you were undesirable otherwise. As if Agatha didn't want you from the very second she saw you. She's going to break down this false reality even if it hurts her, because she simply can't let you think that magic is the only reason Agatha is with you.

"Funny story, actually," Agatha begins, feigning a casual tone. "I actually knew about that."

"…What?" Your face falls a little. But you don't look totally shocked. Like maybe the thought had crossed your mind. Your grip tightens around hers.

"Basically, you fell for one of my side gigs. I learned about witchcraft in high school and started practicing some stuff as a hobby. I started doing things like spells and tarot readings for friends. I didn't hop on the Etsy witch train until after I broke up with my ex. Needed money, so I figured why not? Turns out, you stumbled upon my page. I take the liberty of researching my customers, because I don't always actually perform the spells. Wasted effort on people who probably don't deserve it."

All of this spills out of her, and now that the floodgates are open, she can't stop. You open your mouth to say something, and she just keeps going. It has to all be laid out right here, right now.

"Not that I think you didn't deserve it, even though your message was kind of pathetic. I just didn't think you needed it. What you needed was a confidence boost. But, anyway. I found your profile and thought you were pretty cute. So I messaged you. You know how the rest went. Oh, also, Scratchy isn't a cat. He's my rabbit. The one from the listing photo. That's why I haven't let you come over."

You shake your head, overwhelmed with information. You drop her hand, running yours through your hair. Brows pinch together as Agatha watches you try to put all of this in context to your relationship.

"Pathetic?" You ask indignantly. Agatha holds her hand up and makes a pinching motion with her pointer and thumb to say a little bit. "Okay, well, maybe. But wait. So, not only have you hidden this from me, but the spell wasn't even real?"

"Nope. All I did was burn the candle so the set up looked real. Got high and scrolled through your videos while I waited for it to melt." Agatha remembers how she masturbated to the thought of you. It feels too revealing to say. Too obsessive. Too raw. So, instead, she turns it on you. "Honestly, I'm surprised that you didn't realize sooner. But maybe you're just so obsessed with me that you intentionally misread all the signs."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Agatha realizes the route she's taken. She's pushing you away, and she can't stop now that she's started. The train can't just steer off the tracks. You simply stare at her, struggling to form words in the face of the realization that Agatha had been keeping this secret and is framing it like you were the fool for ever trusting her.

"I'm assuming you don't want to get lunch now," Agatha sighs, as if this situation is a minor inconvenience and not her twisting the knife into the one piece of true happiness she has. "Do you want me to do the hard part here so you don't have to?"

"Agatha…" Your voice cracks.

No. Agatha isn't going to break things here. Not officially. She can't bring herself to say those words. But she'll be damned if she gives you the opportunity to.

"I suppose I should give you some time to think about it. See if you come running back to me."

Agatha leans in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek, turns on her heel, and walks away, leaving you still stunned in the middle of the exhibit room. Her boot steps echo through the museum, the tall ceilings and tile floors making them sound deafeningly loud with how heavy her steps fall.

Agatha doesn't look back at you. She can't. She just has to cling to the hope that you'll follow.