"Oh?"

Sofia crossed her arms over her chest and couldn't help but smirk at the other girl. She'd had compliments before, of course, but to get one from someone like her? That was quite the ego boost. Stepping just a bit closer, she finally dropped her arms in favour of wrapping them around the girl's waist. Leaning in just a touch, she allowed her a few seconds to pull away before she was brushing their noses together.

"I've been thinking about you too."

“Honestly, you’re probably the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that, right?” A very drunken Cassidy slurred to Sofia. “Like astronomical levels of beauty...like...if this was the Avengers, you would be Scarlett Johansson.” She laughed at herself, taking another long swig of her beer. After spending a lot of time with the girl recently, Cassidy had developed a love for the girl. “You doing good, princess?”

– HE GOES TO HER ROOM FIRST. BECAUSE WHERE ELSE? granted, she got shot and didn’t talk to him for weeks, so if something happened to her tonight, there was a chance she wouldn’t want to see him. there’s NO TIME to wait for a text back as he pushes his way through other students frantically scrambling through the halls to find their friends. louis is not a big fan of these kinds of crowds or people, but he soldiers forward ( not without a significant amount of hand sanitizer. ) the moment he sees sofia open her door, he doesn’t hold back, drawing her close into a tight hug. 

He should be at work. He didn’t need to take leave. He never did. Much less for the purpose of drinking Firewhiskey in the Leaky Cauldron. Molly was home, he could to her and she would help with all the paperwork - but it was bad enough to think about, he didn’t want to have to talk as well. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding his siblings so much. The grief was terrible, a heavy weight no matter which moment he had to bear it in, but at least when it was Fabian alone, he didn’t have to say the words out loud. 

And who knew it was so difficult to arrange a funeral? The parchment spread in front of him was seemingly endless. He had never had to consider such details before - he’d been fortunate, he supposed bitterly. But now with all these things to think about, he was anything but fortunate. 

Athena’s tombstone, Athena’s flowers, Athena’s eulogy. All of it was wrong, none of the things he was supposed to think about her. No wonder he preferred to drink instead. Drowning your sorrows was a cliche for a reason - it didn’t really work, but it was more satisfying than not trying anything. 

The liquid burned his throat as he picked up his quill again, re-scribbling a line about Athena’s love for her animals. It all sounded so meaningless. How could he sum up her life in words? She should still be living it. He tossed the quill away again in frustration, burying his forehead in his hands instead. 

it was no secret that rafael took great pride in his appearance, shining his shoes and slicking his hair back every day, not a wrinkle on his dress shirt as if he was about to give a business pitch instead of going to lecture. appearances were very important, at least that’s what he’d learned from his father. 

today, though, going into town, he had a reason to dress up. evidently, not everyone was taking advantage of the occasion. “sofia,” he said, coming up next to the woman. “we’re representing the town, the least you could do is dress the part.” she had to own something besides university sweatshirts. 

ask my muse questions through the different stages of his life. send with 🔍 for younger, 🔗 for current and ⚡️ for future.

“Completely and for anything? Only Sofia, Belle and Royce.”

“I trust Emilia and Lucian for personal matters, but I cannot count on them for business or responsibilities. As for Vittorio, Jeanne, Zara and Kellan… I trust them a little more than most other people outside my family, but even they have their limits.”

He was her DARK FAIRYTALE and she was his TWISTED FANTASY And together they made MAGIC. 

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

Jean-Pierre Delacroix & Sofia Delacroix née Buchanan

Adrian slipped into the diner like someone trying not to be recognized. His hood was up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a jacket that still smelled faintly like The Lucerna’s stage lights and spilled whiskey. The usual late-night crowd barely looked up - truckers, tired nurses, and the kind of people who didn't care about last names or headlines.

He scanned the booths automatically, expecting emptiness, maybe even hoping for it, but of course, she was here. Same booth as always. Same comfort of not having to pretend. Adrian stopped two steps from the table, exhaling a laugh through his nose that sounded both amused and resigned. "You know," he said, sliding into the opposite side like it was muscle memory, "if anyone ever put the pieces together, our parents would have synchronized heart attacks."

He tugged down his hood, eyes catching the fluorescent reflection off her untouched cup of coffee. "A Sinclair and a—" he cut himself off, lifting a hand. "No, wait. I promised I wouldn't say your last name in public. Plausible deniability and all that. So,” he said, leaning back into the booth, shoulders loosening like the tension was bleeding off him by degrees. "Long shift? Or did you just need to escape the whole," he gestured vaguely, "golden-child dynasty thing?" He cracked a tired smile. "Either way, you keep my secrets, I keep yours. That's the deal. Didn't expect to see you tonight, though."