#fhls

For the last week, it hadn't been uncommon for Cress to be found curled on the single bed in her room with some form of tears in her eyes.

Thorne had tried, of course he had, to cheer her up and take her mind off of things but that had only seemed to work fleetingly and, within no time, she'd be back to her recently regular routine of mostly sadness and partially nothing.

Truth be told, Thorne was tired of it. He wasn't tired of her, no, of course not, he could never be tired of his true love, but he was tired of helplessly seeing her upset.

And yet he seemingly had no choice. Once again, he wakes to half of the double bed in their shared room feeling empty and cold and lacking. But this time, when he stumbles his way to the bathroom and glances over the cute photo frames they'd decorated the room with after they’d agreed that having the option of sleeping in the same room was a good idea, he decides he's had enough.

“If I don't make you smile today, my name isn't Carswell Thorne,” he promises, essentially to Cress but mostly to his beautiful, exhausted reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Cress doesn't smile at breakfast. Which is when Thorne cooks something that's a cross between extremely extravagant and halfway decent, then takes his creation on a tray to Cress, who eats varying amounts depending on the extent of her mood.

Cress doesn't smile when Thorne kisses her head, gives her a quick hug, and leaves to tidy his room, which had turned into a mess.

Cress doesn't smile when he returns with one of her favourite takeouts for lunch because he's too tired to cook anything but doesn't want her to get unwell. She does nod at him and mumbles what might be an “I love you.” or a “Why did you?” though, which means it's not entirely a terrible day.

Cress doesn't smile when he pokes his head around the corner to say he's going to make a grocery run or when he announces he's back with a classic “Honey, I'm home!”.

After unpacking, Thorne carefully places the soft, white roses he'd bought into a shimmering blue vase and heads to her room.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sitting on the bed beside her and placing the vase on her bedside table.

She curls into him with a slight hum and he absently starts playing with her hair, smiling to himself at how it's so silky but fluffy at the same time.

“Do you want to know what I think?” he asks, then adds, “Of course you do, everyone does. So, here's what I think: I think you're hunting ghosts. I think you're throwing all your time into those people who have long since moved on and floated away, and I think you need to stop that immediately if you truly want to exist as my darling Cress again.”

Cress doesn't smile as she ponders this but she reaches up and wraps her small hand around his own, stopping him from playing with her hair. Despite his hopes, Throne is still surprised when she uses him as her ballast and sits up, facing him with a curious look on her face.

“But that's just what I think. Should I tell you what I know?” he asks, waiting for her reply this time.

Cress doesn't smile as she nods slightly, clearly still tired beyond tiredness itself, but Thorne gives her a dazzling smile and continues.

“I know that you're beautiful and talented and normally so, so fierce. I know that you usually spend an hour with your hair before bed rather than ignoring it completely. I know that you're smart and brave and much more courageous than you give yourself credit for. I know that I've never been happier than I have with you and I know that you can find your own happiness once again. Most importantly, I know that I love you.”

Throne takes a quick breath before concluding: “Please, my darling satellite girl, please let go of your ghost hunt and come back to me, to us, to yourself?”

After a long moment in which neither of them breathes, simply staring into one another's conflicted eyes, Cress starts to smile.

She smiles, and it's perhaps the most beautiful thing Thorne has seen, and he's seen himself so that's saying a lot.

Cress carries on smiling as she nods slowly, then quickly, before throwing her arms around Thorne and melting into his embrace.

He sighs in relief, letting his eyes fall shut as he pulls her close and breathes in the scent of a midnight garden that she always seems to carry around with her.

She's small and fragile but she's finally warm and smiling and evidently considering returning to the side of herself that he'd watched her bloom into with the help of friendship, perilous situations, and a myriad of cheesy nicknames.

"You are literally one of the strongest people I know," he murmurs without thinking because he truly means it.

“Why are the roses white?” she asks as she blushes happily, and it takes Thorne a minute to realise she had genuinely said something.

“Huh?” he asks, not because he didn't understand but because he wants to hear her gorgeous voice again.

Cress giggles ever so slightly. “I asked why the roses are white.”

Thorne tightens his grip on her before pulling back and all but gazing into her eyes. “Because I knew you'd ask me that.”

She frowns but it's one of confusion rather than frustration. “I don't understand…”

“I just wanted to hear your voice, sweetheart.”

Her eyes light up, then her face falls. “How long have I not been speaking to you?”

Thorne shakes his head. “It's not important, don't worry about it. As long as you don't give me that wall of silence again; I mean, I think even my reflection was getting annoyed, and that's extremely difficult to achieve.”

Cress blushes and hugs him again, taking in slower, deeper breaths. “Thank you.”

“For the roses? I'm sorry they weren't a more exciting colour, to be honest, but they worked with my tactics, you have to admit.”

Laughing both with joy and remorse, Cress tilts her head up and lifts a hand to thread it into his hair. “For staying with me.”

Thorne plants a soft kiss on her forehead. “You deserve to have your first kiss stay with you and become your last kiss.”

Cress smiles widely as her eyes shut without her meaning them to, simply from the sensation of his kiss. “I love you.”

Taking a deep breath, Thorne softly places one hand on her cheek and blinks once, slowly. He gently rubs his thumb over her cheekbone and leans in closer, a calm smile on his face.

“Me too.” He winks.

If Cress didn't love him so much, she might have slapped him. All she does, though, is smile as if their lives depend on it, and kiss him. For the first time in too long, they smile together.

Just for the sake of it, Thorne convinces Cress to root around the internet and find them a film about ghost hunting to watch - during which they spend most of the time making each other laugh - and if either of them actually jumps during the ‘scary parts’, it goes unmentioned.

After all, moving on from figurative ghost hunting is far scarier than any film can ever be.