#m:cleo

OHNOITSCLEO JUST POSTED !

"You guys were amazing last night," Cleo starts, carefully sliding his drink across the table before taking the seat opposite him, "really, the crowd was loving it." The atmosphere today is a stark difference to yesterday. Her body had certainly felt it when she'd climbed into bed, ears still ringing and feet aching even after ridding them of her heavy boots. It's always a coin flip as to whether she'll linger quietly at the back, enjoying the music with a watchful eye, or throw herself headfirst into the fire and last night had certainly been the latter. "Maybe I was just seeing things, but it looked like you guys really settled into it after a couple songs. That confidence always shows; the crowd bounces off it."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit. Cleo's never been the most put together, but leaving the tattered notebook she's poured her whole heart and more into ( and written her government name clearly in the centre of the inside cover in green sparkly gel pen ) in the diner has to be the worst thing she's ever done. What's left of her heart feels like it's stuck in her throat when she rushes back in to the table she'd been sat at and sees someone already occupying the space. "Excuse me— Sorry— Did you see a notebook here when you sat down? I left mine here and I need it back."

READ ALL ABOUT IT !

the party is so much bigger than she expects. it makes sense, given it's basically an entire carnival, even if it's all for one person. it just makes finding him so much harder. so much so that she almost knocks someone else over in her haste to catch him once she spots that familiar head of hair over the top of the crowd, having stretched onto her tiptoes. "winston," pleaded, hand reaching out, scared to touch him in case he flinches away. she hasn't even considered a reality where he isn't mad at her, spiralling through every way he could be just another person who leaves her behind the further she read down salma's post. "I'm sorry."

it's the second time tonight she all but runs. this time to the stage, instead of away, feet carrying her to the area she'd occupied not that long ago. it's easy to spot him, it always is, and despite the urgency pumping through her veins, she has the decency to wait until he's clear, no one else in his vicinity. wordlessly, her arms wrap around his neck, eyes closed as her chin rests against his shoulder. it's the first time they're seeing each other after either of their sets. fistful of his shirt in each of her hands, she exhales. ofeliya had pieced her heart back together in the aftermath, but there's a different kind of peace being in the arms of someone who understands the ache. "proud of you."

"Careful," she hurriedly blurts, bucket beside her wobbling from the bump of her elbow as she gestures to the sign, "wet floor," as if her being on her hands and knees on the tiles isn't enough. "If you slip, we'll probably go bust paying you off, and whilst I can find another job, everyone will have to go out of town to the cold, characterless Shake Shack for their milkshakes, and you wouldn't want that, now would you?"

She feels a little crazy, hanging around outside the apothecary, but she didn't know his schedule at the hospital, didn't want to know, but she could Google when Salt Air shuts for the day, could take a chance on him closing up. Yet, at the sight of him, far enough away that she still feels safe, the wind that had carried her here is knocked out of her. A thousand things she'd wanted to say over the years, a thousand more she probably shouldn't say. Instead— "Was I a bad fiancé?" No warning, of her presence or what she's actually here for. "And don't lie to me, Heath." It can't hurt any more than what he'd dealt her two and a half years ago. Her jacket is light, not enough in the evening breeze, but her pocket is heavy, hand curled around what's inside like a lifeline.