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Winterfall
Synopsis: When you thought of your life, Glenview Psychiatric Hospital was the last place you thought youād end up. What could be weirder than calling a place like this home? Finding people who remind you that, sometimes, the messiest parts of who we are can be the best parts of us too.
Pairings: Christian Yu x Reader x Jay B x Reader (Itās a love triangle, yāall)Ā
Series: ongoingĀ
Word Count: 5186
Warnings: mentions of self-harm, mental health issues, mental disorders, slight violence, sexual themes
A/N: This is a hard one to post. Iāve had this in my WIPs for over seven years. Iāve rewritten it multiple times. Consider if this was a series, I was willing to share. As someone who suffers from BPD II and PTSD, it felt strange to dive into mental health. In a way, I felt like I needed a safe place to get it out. To share. This fic isnāt meant to be sad. Itās meant to be about growth. The journey of mental health can be a messy one, but it doesnāt have to hinder our own growth. Our sadness does not define us. If I ever miss anything in the warnings for chapters, please let me know and Iāll fix it ASAP! This fic is loosely based off of one of my favorite films, Girl, Interrupted. And remember, if you you ever need to talk: Im here.
Shout out to my bestie @deadneverlander for always being the better half in our clownery. I wouldn't be able to do half of this without you.
There was something about the bleakness of winter that seemed to make countless peopleās bones ache for the warmth of summer. Their loneliness is somehow made more apparent by rain clouds and negative degrees, turning thoughts into reminiscent scenes of a doomsday film.Ā
Youād always claimed that fall was your favorite season because the vast spectrum of your sadness didn't match the heat of summer. Sure, you loved the possibilities of hot cocoa, warm fires, ridiculous horror, Christmas films, and the first sight of snow. Somewhere along the way, however, came the anxiety of holiday dinners. Where the comfort youād found in overcast skies turned sinister with repeated looks that reminded you that you were the black sheep; the odd man out with another year of nothing to show.
Fall no longer meant binges on shows and breaks from the endless routine that was work and school. It meant laying in the snow until your body heat forced it to melt underneath you, seeping into the fabric of your clothes to leave your nerves numb and transparent like ice. Your mind silently hoped it would be enough to extinguish the agony that blossomed in your chest.Ā
Jackets were no longer marked for warmth, but strictly to hide your struggle to feel anything past the chasm thatād grown in the past couple of months: to bleed out the parts of you that didn't belong. It wasn't a surprise it's what landed you a one-way ticket to the cozy room inside a psychiatric hospital. Maybe that's just what happens when you're found unresponsive with a belly housing a fifth of rum. The marks on your skin lay like a map to follow on how you got there; only being found like a frantic afterthought.Ā
Glenview Psychiatric Hospital, or GSH that was strategically labeled in bright crimson above the pocket of your prison-inspired sweatshirt, had been home for three months now. It was meant to be a place of healing, among the basic mood stabilizing and therapy sessions everyone held in a day. You felt further away from that concept with every group activity the doctors forced you to take part in. Your social anxiety becoming apparent each time it lands on you to speak, either to close the circle, or to be a part of the ridiculous game activities. The last time you played volleyball your face saw more action with the pleather ball than your arms ever did.Ā
It was currently 12:47 p.m. The clock giving you a false sense of hope that the time wouldnāt just creep by to leave you stranded the last thirteen minutes until youād earned your freedom. There was, however, the off chance if Dr. Thompson wasn't hearing what he wanted; the hour-long group activity would be extended.Ā
You scanned the other six faces that made up your group: the huddled mess of piled sweaters and huddled blanket of Soomi a fleeting moment of comfort. It only took your eyes adjusting on her figure to know she didnāt have one. Her tiny body composed of thick layers of clothes to portray a false sense of shape. Her anorexia becoming so severe her family had no other option but to put her here, or watch her die. Jasonās endless finger taps on every surface he could touch the only giveaway to his OCD until he removed himself from his chair. Sejun with his alcoholism and Yuna with her acidic imagination that the wind whispered her deepest secrets out into the world.Ā
All this ending with your gaze narrowed on the statuesque figure of Jaebum who comically sat opposite of your current position. The two suicidal inmates that shared in the anxiousness of sadness but little else, and the usual reason why your group never seemed to end on time.Ā
You couldn't say it was a shame to be stuck sitting dead center of someone so attractive; as shallow of an observation as it was there was no denying how ungodly true that statement was. He held a silent attractiveness that resonated in the solitude he kept around himself, and Jaebum was indeed a solitary creature.
He preferred books over people. Usually moving away from anyone who got close to his latest reading perch without ever glancing up from his current book. Jaebumās favorite place heād reserved to get lost inside his fiction the seal of the window that looked out the expanse of the instituteās backyard. The entire estate currently covered in the dead burgundy and gold of a forest of oak tree leaves.Ā
It wasn't like you were laying avid amounts of your attention on him or anything. You didn't pay attention to how broad his shoulders looked in his old man sweaters that you could've bet money smells like mothballs. How his features seemed sharpened to match the fierceness that lived inside his eyes. The only thing that exposed his softness was the speck of a mole that dusted itself on his left eyelid.Ā
Jaebum just held a presence that demanded to be noticed. Whether he himself liked it or not.Ā
āJaebum: do you have anything youād like to add to the session?ā
Dr. Thompsonās question made the both of you jolt in your seats. Youwere too busy staring down at your nails while you plucked away at the cuticles. Jaebum's head turned, unbeknownst to you, from looking at you to the good doctor. It was enough to make your cheeks flush hot.Ā
His crossed arms gave a soft shrug, and you hated how your eyes stayed captivated by the movement. You were willing to blame it on the charcoal-worn cable knit sweater he favored. It really did smell like moth balls and age making you willing to bet it wasn't his to begin with.Ā
āWe talked about this guys. Shrugging is not an adequate substitute for an answer.ā
His tone showing his frustration more than anger at his need to repeatedly inform the group. Dr. Thompson looked at each of you individually until he stopped on Jaebum, who didnāt seem the least bit moved.Ā
āI have nothing to say.ā
A sigh escaped from Dr. Thompsonās lips as his head shook softly. His eyes averted down to the tin clipboard momentarily before they resumed their previous position.Ā
āAnd what is it exactly you would like me to add, huh?ā You felt your body tense against the chair. Your hands grasping at its edges like it would be the only thing to keep you stable against the oncoming rage that was Jaebumās agitation. āWe do these pointless sessions over and over: again and again. For what? Do you think it āsavesā anyone?ā
Your eyes diverted from the safety of your knees; counting every frayed piece of cloth on your jeans that hung loose from torn holes. No part of you needed to acknowledge that he was standing. The room did that well enough with the tension his power caused. The room itself swelling with anxiety that made fidgety Sera begin to rock violently against the back of her chair. Her head shaking hair into her face, like a curtain to hide what she feared was coming her way like the abusive hands of her father.Ā
The orderlies were already beginning to circle his chair, but Dr. Thompson held up a hand of warding. He reminded you too much of an irresponsible ring handler at a circus. Unwilling to recognize his own tiger was about to maim him.Ā
āNo, no thatās fair enough. I see you have an issue with the way we try and help our patients.ā
āHelp?!ā Jaebum snarled. āIs that what you call it? Like you helped Simon remember all the things he wanted to forget! Is that what you call endless therapies until he killed himself! You consider being helpful with the way you handled Ian?ā
Dr. Thompson regarded Jaebum quietly, but his eyes were focused and searching the young manās face. You watched in helpless awe as one stood like a calm in a blazing storm, while the other raged so furiously you thought the walls would come down. No longer was his voice a strong current, but now thunderous words that hurled like lightning bolts were being directed at the man before him.Ā
Jaebum was right. Sometimes, the doctors picked and picked a part at you until you were left bare and raw. And if their words didnāt do it their physical methods picked up where they lacked. His anger was justified, because deep down so were you. But you didnāt have the towering strength like he did to stand up to anyone. Your fear of the seclusion rooms kept you prisoner: locked in your chair as a simple flick of Dr. Thompsonās hand sent the orderlies rushing to Jaebumās side.Ā
āI think thatās enough for todayās session.āĀ
In the back of your mind you knew that Jaebum was right. In part. Who were counselors and psychologists to tell the broken mirrors of people how to put their pieces back together? Only to end up with more blood on their hands from struggling to put sharp pieces in place. They studied people like you, Jaebum...people like Ian who were features in their college books. They themselves barely ever one to experience it themselves.Ā
Healing, even if unconventional, was still healing in the end. There was no right or wrong way to get there, but here, with people like Dr. Thompson, their textbook solutions were the only solutions. Maybe thatās why it backfired so terribly with Ian.Ā
So for once, you wanted to stand up with Jaebum. To call out the injustices of treatments forced on patients, like Ian. Treatments theyād placed on patients that only wanted to forget, because no one wants to remember traumas and everything that makes them feel like failures.Ā
You knew, however, if you took that chance to be brave for once you would end up like Jaebum. Uselessly struggling against orderlies who came prepared with syringes to make you complacent and an endless day being locked for god knew how long inside seclusion.Ā
It was cowardice that kept your mouth shut. All of you stayed quiet as an orderly you aptly nicknamed, āThe Bull,ā grabbed at the neck of Jaebumās sweater. That was all it took for him to react violently. Jaebumās elbow flew back with such force it dislodged The Bullās grip, which only seemed to make it worse.Ā
āJaebum, please do not struggle.ā Dr. Thompsonās voice didnāt sound as soothing as he probably imagined. Obvious agitation outlined every word; the struggle forcing all of you up from your chairs and away from the fighting. āEveryone out. Now.āĀ
A part of you hated listening. For not firmly digging your feet in to stand for something you agreed wasnāt right. It was an odd thought. Since Ian was the usual instigator of the chaos of how these ended. Never Jaebum. Maybe he just felt like in Ianās absence he needed to take over for him.Ā
āYou play god with everyoneās emotions and leave them to drown alone in the aftermath. You are the reason Christian keeps escaping and Hyujin is gone! Itās you! Itās all of you!ā
Jaebumās rage became more apparent with each sentence and broke as his throat formed the words of his former friend. Former because heād found himself as one of Dr. Thompsonās experimental new treatments. A treatment that brought back too much Hyujin couldnāt cope with - was forced to confront - before he was ready.Ā
The ward still felt hollow - missing in the sound of Hyujinās laugh.Ā
You wouldāve been impressed with the way Jaebum was laying into the doctor. He was holding his own against the orderly at his arms until the Bull snuck behind him and brought him falling down to the cold concrete floor.Ā
That was the last you saw of Jaebum as you were ushered outside the doors. You faced them for a long time. No one questioned why you stood at the entrance as Jaebumās yelling dulled to nothing. It was too late for you to run back and play the role of knight in shining armor and standing in front of the door would only make the staff assume you were waiting to cause a scene.Ā
Turning on your heel you headed towards the living area. Your mind racing heavily with indecision and not paying attention to the overcrowded chairs and couches. You bypassed them all to head to your favorite window seat. It was opposite to the one everyone knew as Jaebumās; reading a new book every week during free time. It was so engrained to the fabric of the facility that no one tried to take it from him. Not even Ian.Ā
You folded into yourself as soon as you sat down on the window seat. Your chin pressed into your shoulder so you could get a better look outside. The vibrant colors of changing leaves reminding you that fall was coming. Maybe they would let you work outside if you were good? You were tired of doing bathroom and kitchen duties, but because of Ianās latest stunt no one was allowed outside. Not until the fences were made higher with wire curled along the top.Ā
If thoughts could be breathed into existence, you were positive you alone would be deemed responsible for Ian walking, right then and there, through the facility's double doors. Of course, Ian could never simply enter a room quietly.
Christian entered every room like a force. Wild and unpredictable. Mother Nature couldnāt compete with his massive hurricane personality. No one could come close, because underneath all that unhinged nature was a magmatism that far outreached just good looks.Ā
Was Christian good looking? Devilishly so. It was his way with words, however, that left many people reeling. Not just fellow patients, but staff as well. He was painfully charming and, if you werenāt prepared for his wide-set smile directed in your direction, you were going to find yourself in trouble. Deep, deep Christian-flavored trouble. The staff had even labeled him with a warning of āverbal jujitsuā - you had to stay miles ahead of the conversation or youād find yourself like the recently fired psych tech whoād handed over the ward keys without a second thought.
Seriously. Thatās how Christian escaped this time. All the other times, well, the man could be considered the second coming of Houdini.Ā
āHow have you been, Bob? Are your feet still giving you grief, Margo?ā
It was impressive how he acted like it wasnāt a big deal heād magically reappeared. The guard and orderlies awkwardly keep watch over the double doors heād come through like heād disappear back into thin air.Ā
You hated how happy you became hearing the richness of his voice. The way his accent reminded you of the battle of wills on what was the proper way to say, āwater,ā and the teasing you gave him about constantly saying, āNaurrā.Ā
āItās Margaret, jackass,ā the older psych tech mumbled in reply. She didnāt even bother to look up from putting a new bandage on Bobās hands.
āMissed you too, babe.āĀ
You watched his reflection in the safety of the glass of the window. You didnāt want to show how eager you were to see him - or to find out that every time he left the ward became almost too much to bear alone.Ā
In the safety of the window, you could pretend the call to freedom was what kept your eyes hypnotized. Not the sleeveless tee heād tucked inside the waist of skinny jeans that hugged to the muscles like paint or the layers of tattoos that covered honey skin. He wasnāt tan when heād left. Where had Ianās adventures taken him this time?Ā
You would get the chance to ask him yourself.Ā
When his eyes caught sight of your huddled frame curled in the window seat his trajectory changed completely. He didnāt think youād noticed him yet, but it didnāt stop his infamous megawatt smile from brightening up his features and the butterflies heād left trapped in your gut instantly springing back to life.Ā
The only downside? You were more than positive Ian saw you only as a sister. If heād thought of you in the past as anything else you wouldāve definitely known by now. As much as Ian was known for his charisma and whirlwind energy, he was also known for slipping into the janitorās closet with more than a few now-fired staff members.Ā
In a matter of seconds, he left the mirage of the window to become real beside you. The smell of cigarettes and his preferred cologne enveloped you, instantly turning the space intimate. You tried your best to ignore him. Ian would receive nothing but the side eye from you after the latest shit heād pulled.Ā
He let out a heavy sigh as a finger playfully poked into your side. He wiggled the digit in a weak attempt to tickle you thinking it would be enough for you to finally look at him. Fat chance. Using your elbow, you pushed down with just enough force to dislodge him from your side. The act forced a heavy sigh to flare his nostrils as he leaned back against the window.Ā
āCome on, āRoo. You canāt be that mad at me?ā
Of course, he would use your nickname. The nickname you earned one night when heād tried to tickle you until you couldnāt breathe. To be honest, he thinks youād kicked him accidentally in the chest because you might wet yourself. The truth? Ian had gotten dangerously close. A few times it felt like his lips were just a few sharp breaths away from landing on yours, and that night youād felt hollow. So hollow. All you wanted was to burn and Ianā¦he was so full of fire and life and for once you wanted to know what it felt like to be filled with something other than emptiness.Ā
You wanted to catch fire too.Ā
So youād kicked out at him in panic. Hence how you became his Kangaroo. His āRoo.Ā
āActually,ā you began, biting out the world with each syllable. āI can be upset with you and I most definitely am.ā
āDonāt be like that, āRoo. I know you missed me.ā
āNo, I didnāt. It was rather peaceful while you were off on whatever antics you decided to get into.ā
A tsk sent his bottom lip into a pout as he crossed his arms. His shoulders lean further down the window and slightly into your view.Ā
God, why did he have to be so heartbreakingly handsome?Ā
You refused to make eye contact with him. Donāt do it. Itās a trick. You knew it was a trick. A sneaky ploy and yetā¦you looked. One look was all it took and Ian knew he had you.
āI missed you.ā His voice caressed your skin like velvet causing it to erupt in goosebumps. āSo, I know if I missed you that can only mean that you missed me.ā
A snort of disbelief left you as you finally gave him what heād been asking: your full and undivided attention.Ā Ā
āIs that how it works, Ian?ā
āAh!ā He beamed. āShe finally looks at me.āĀ
You couldnāt keep your eyes from rolling as you tried to face away from him, but Ian wasnāt having it.Ā
āI shouldnāt even do that.ā
āWhere is all this hostility coming from?ā He pouted. āDid you experience another one of Dr. Thompsonās riveting group circles?ā
āItās not funny, Ian. You always leave.ā You hated how your voice betrayed you. The way it cracked before you could glue it back together. āYou go and leave me here, without you, all the time. One of these days you may not come back.ā
All the playfulness slowly drained from his features. The sly smile wilted to a grimace as deep brown eyes scanned over your face. Calculating your words with the body language of guarded arms and saddened eyes. His hands gently grabbed at your elbows to loosen your arms before turning you to him. His head dipped down just a bit to make sure he had you at eye level.Ā
āHey, āRoo. Iām sorry. I come back for you, you know that right?ā You knew he was lying, but try telling that to the butterflies fluttering around like crazy in your gut. āThese assholes could never catch me if I didnāt turn myself in, and I only turned myself in to get back to you.āĀ
You didnāt know what you wouldāve said at that moment. Maybe something he wanted to hear or maybe - finally - youād have the guts to call him out on his bullshit. Luckily for you, the muffled sound of Jaebumās screaming slowly grew louder until his struggling body was brought through the double doors from therapy.Ā
āLet me go, you assholes!ā
Youād never seen Jaebum fight so fiercely before. The way he flailed his arms to find a way to get them released along with his legs kicking out like a madman. They practically dragged him down the hall towards seclusion. For a split second, in his struggle, his eyes landed on you. His gaze held yours for what felt like a lifetime until the spell was broken. It felt like slow motion as his face turned to see Ian on your right and all the fight drained from his body.Ā
Did he think he was fighting for Ian? Himself? Jaebum was never much for acting out. That was usually Ian who created trouble. Maybe that was why he looked so shocked seeing Jaebum being dragged down to seclusion.Ā
āOi! What the fuck is this?ā
Ian was up off the window seat in seconds. A couple of orderlies were already coming out from behind the nursing station to meet him halfway. Whatever they were saying, you werenāt all too sure. Ian was doing his usual of screaming and shoving causing the orderlies to prepare for a fight. The patients closest to all the commotion desperately trying to get out of the way.Ā
It was all chaos. All classic Ian. The only non-classic thing was Jaebum looking at you in a way youād never noticed before. It created a row of questions that sat heavily on your tongue and ones you werenāt sure he would ever be willing to answer.Ā
It wasnāt until everything had settled down again that you snuck inside the room that held group therapy. Your eyes instantly homing in on Jaebumās chair and underneath it one of his grandfatherās books.Ā
Before you dared to push all the way through into the room you gave one last cautious glance to the recreation room and slipped inside. You made sure to hold the door so it didnāt click into place. There was no denying if you were caught sneaking in somewhere you werenāt meant to be youād be joining Jaebum in your own seclusion room.Ā
The sterile room with its egg-white walls was most definitely not your favorite. The only way to add your own source of color to its walls was to display your thoughts - projecting them out like a fucked up home movie that youād rather forget.Ā
You made sure to cut across the room silently. Your legs bending at the knee to swoop down to grab the worn-down cover and secure it to your chest.Ā
You couldnāt explain why as you made your way out of the room towards the upper floor that held the seclusion rooms what made you want to do this for him. Itās not like he would thank you, but you werenāt looking for that.Ā
It wasnāt hard to notice the way Jaebum cared for his late grandfather's things. From the sweater he wore daily that was meticulously cleaned and laundered to the few books Jaebum was able to keep from his collection. He coveted them the way others valued trophies but it wasnāt praise that Jaebum found secluded inside their pages: it was peace.Ā
You didnāt know much about him. Jaebum wasnāt much of a sharer. He was reserved. The only way to know him was by the pages you held close to your chest. So, you werenāt terribly sure why you were doing this for him except for the fact you believed no one should go without something that they loved.Ā
Just as you were about to round the last corner to the hallway that held seclusion rooms 1 through 3, you caught a flash of an orderly speaking to a nurse. From the brief moment youād caught before you found the safety of the opposite wall, they were more than likely flirting.Ā
Ted. That was the name written on his uniform. Heād called Ian a āPsycho,ā a handful of times. You wondered if Ted knew the nurse he worshiped spent the same handful of nights sneaking inside Ianās dorm.Ā
āDo you maybe want to go get breakfast in the morning?āĀ
Breakfast?! You mouthed to yourself before you snuck another peek around the corner.Ā
āOh, I donāt know, Ted. I might have plans later.ā
If your eyes could roll back any harder you wouldāve seen brain cells. You knew exactly what her supposed plans were. You could already hear the moans that echoed down the halls like a haunting. The only thing haunted here would be you.Ā
You didnāt have to see Tedās expression to know he was defeated. He was probably wondering how someone could refuse breakfast or maybe he was finally growing tired of being told no. The mystery of the unknown in this love triangle would sadly (not really) remain a mystery. You didnāt really care if they had breakfast together or hunted Easter eggs. You just wanted them to finish their awkward conversation and leave the damn hallway.Ā
A few more strangled pieces of conversation later and you could hear the shuffling of feet. Quickly, you moved inside a linen closet and quietly shut the door. Your ears straining - waiting - to hear a pair of feet move past your location so you could finish what you came to do.Ā
Every second you were out here and not inside your own dorm waiting for the nurses to come in and check you were there was one second too many in a chance at punishment. After a few more minutes went by and the coast sounded relatively clear, you creeped out from the linen closet and dashed towards the seclusion rooms.Ā
āJaebum!?ā You half whispered half yelled. āJay!ā
āWhat the hell are you doing over here?ā
Ah, there was that condescending voice youād grown accustomed to. Following the sound of his voice, and with the help of his fingers hanging out of the small seclusion window, you darted towards the back of the hall. Your arms still securely held onto his grandfatherās book and only began to loosen as you got closer to the door.Ā
āI wanted to bring you something before they placed it in lost and found.āĀ
With another cautious glance down the hall, your fingers wrapped around the edges of the book's spine. You offered it up to him and gently started to push it through the small window. Jaebum hadnāt spoken since he noticed what you held in your hands. His fingers overlapped yours as he took it from you. His arms immediately brought it inside with him with the sound of pages flipping while he made sure each page was still accounted for.Ā
āHow did you-ā he began, but his words quickly died out.Ā
āCan you believe it ladies and gentlemen? For once, he was too stunned to speak,ā you teased.Ā
Jaebumās eyes narrowed in on your face. His hands wagged the book as if he was going to hit you over the head with it. Who knows, he might have if there wasnāt a 30-pound door stationed between you.Ā
āIām serious. You came all this way to give me this?ā
You shrugged his words off like what youād done wasnāt a big deal. Both of you knew it was. So many factors that could lead you to where he was, or worse, if they believed you were trying to steal someone elseās property. Which, they one hundred percent would even though kleptomania wasnāt part of your conga line list of disorders.Ā
āI remember how much his things matter to you. I didnāt want Bull or Kojak The Great Dick to get a hold of it. I know they wouldnāt have respected it after today.ā
Youād expected a lot of things to come out of this exchange. The main one? At least a thank you. All you were getting now felt like the cold shoulder that featured a very unnerving stare. With every second you were feeling more self-conscious and it took everything in you not to shout, āBoo!ā in an attempt to get him to blink.Ā
You couldnāt take the awkwardness of the exchange any longer. Your feet were already backpedaling as your arms swung, thumb extended out, to indicate your exit before you spoke.Ā
āGreat well, this was a fun chat-ā
āHe lies to you, you know.ā
Jaebumās words took you by surprise. You were sure that was the point. His face was set in deep lines of determination as if what he needed to say was something you needed to adhere to like the gospel from the Bible.Ā
āOkay, Jay Iāll bite: who is he?ā
āYou know who Iām talking about. Ian. Itās who he is. He doesnāt know how to tell the truth, and you always set yourself up for failure with him.ā
Maybe Jaebum thought he was being helpful - calling to light all things you were aware of but couldnāt bring yourself to say out loud. You must have seemed too weak - gullible - in his eyes for him to believe he needed to say these things.Ā
You eyed him coolly through the window. Your tongue rolled around inside your cheek trying to decide what exactly you should say at this moment. Did he want recognition that you knew you were an idiot? What did it matter to him if you knew Ian didnāt give two fucks about you.Ā
So, the only thing you could settle on was the beginning of a long sigh before you spoke: āI know I might look like a love-sick puppy to you, Jay, but I know my place.ā
He tried saying your name to stop you. You just ignored him as you shook your head and allowed yourself to begin to move back down the hall towards the safety of your own dorm.Ā
āItās alright, Jay I get it. Take care of your grandfatherās things better, okay?ā
You didnāt wait to finish your sentence before you were already turning to head down the hallway. The bottom of your feet itching for you to sprint in the opposite direction. Your mind raced over Jaebumās words and matched them with the growing chasm in your chest.
So lost in your head, you barely caught the sound of his parting, āThank you,ā as you bolted around the corner.Ā
https://x.com/HeadfirstForYu/status/1868816134390399016?t=-nhhPyNHviCROv3InY5gVA&s=19
@HeadfirstForYu
Mito's in a winterfall š§
@DPRIAN_ #DPRIAN #MITO #MRINSANITY
Mokum Part 2 (Alfie Solomons x Reader, Modern AU)
Genre: Romance, Angst, Humour, Modern AU
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Alfie Solomons x Dutch Fem!Reader
Word count:Ā 20K
Warnings: Swearing/Cussing, allusion to eating disorders, lots of self-doubt and melancholy, Alfie being a tooth-rotting fluffy gentleman, vaping, Papa Solomons/Wolfy antics (yes, that is a warning in and of itself).
Summary: Sequel to Mokum Part 1.
Alfie
Itās funny, innit,Ā āow I get to meet the little dove in a city thatās called a safe haven. A place where I donātĀ āave to worry about the business or me whole bloody kingdom. Yeah... real nice place, Mokum.
Exactly what I saw in a recent revelation too. I saw myself sittin' at a window, a cup of coffee in front on the table. The scenery outside was as evanescent as always, slippinā through Time and Space like the steam from the coffee. Unsteady, waverinā, fluid. Impossible to catch and anchor, to make a concrete world, an existence to fully live in.Ā
But thereās also always another presence across from me. I merely assumed the shadow in the other chair was a person, a spectre of myself to forebode the end or Yahweh āImself wantinā to talk or give me a proper send-off to Hell. Never assume things you arenāt certain of, right, because you end up makinā big mistakes that way.
I was wrong.
It was Y/N.
Inside the little bubble in that vision, she stopped time and gave me a chance to live. To forget me health and enjoy the minutes I have left.
I want to live slowly with her.
I donāt fully understand yet why or the weird effect she āas on me. But what I saw will come to fruition one way or the other. Even if I will only get to enjoy it for a second, right, I will do my damn best to get through that thick pretty āead of āers and āave that moment.
A last cup of coffee with my little dove.
Afterwards, I can let go.
Open the cage and setĀ āer free.Ā Ā
Y/N
There is something wonderful about chasing dreams, an ideal like Love. You keep thinking you are worthy of it until you have it because itās unfamiliar. The heat seeps into the walls youāve created to protect yourself, crumbling them bit by bit. Yet you fight to prevent them from collapsing, terrified of the aftermath should it happen.
But sometimes itās worth the wager, the ruin of those high walls. After all, who knows what might arise from the ashes?
One wolf tried and failed, a false victory on my behalf. To this day I regret I didnāt end the war with my heart and mind sooner.
However, now itās Alfie whoās knocking at the gates with books and coffee.
And I stand on the other side of the door, twiddling with the key.
The sound of butterfly wings being torn ringing in my ears.
Authorās Note:Ā Oh my days, here it is at long last. My hand definitely slipped with this one. However, I wonāt lie, it kinda makes me want to dabble into novellas. Maybe I should properly attempt NaNo this summer. Anyway, cracking on!
Iāve thrown some Russian and Dutch into the mix of languages this works seems to become quite rich in. Nevertheless, as before and the same goes for the use of Yiddish, if you see any mistakes when it comes to Russian, please let me know! I will edit the text immediately.
TH Masterlist
Tag List: @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @buttercupsandboys @zablife @babaohhhriley @rose-like-the-phoenix @dreamlandcreations @elijahssuitā @liliac-dreamerā @alikaheroesāĀ @wandawiccan60āĀ @vir-tualāāā
Shoutout to the fathers who believe the blatant lies of their daughters.
āThatās a nice scarf. Is it new?ā
āYeah, I bought it recently.ā
Shoutout to the fathers who donāt ask any relevant questions.
āWhat are you dressing up for this early?ā
āItās Saturday, remember? The fabric market.ā
Shoutout to the fathers who donāt converse with their daughters.
āAh, right! Well, have fun.ā
Hereās a shoutout to their absence, their silence.
And the hidden life we daughters live in it.
Thereās only a limited amount of luck in a day, but it seems I used up two days worth yesterday.Ā
It isnāt unusual nowadays for there to be a strike and it influencing public transport.Ā
Neither is it for my sister to ask me what Iām up to, although it is strange I have to lie to her. Normally I would never for it is sometimes better to keep my silence rather than tell the sometimes harsh gods-honest truth. However, the question for who the Delftware and white fluffy wolf plushie is came a little too close for comfort.
āA friend. Iām meeting up with them after the fabric market for a pumpkin spice latte.ā
Not a full lie.Ā
A half-truth, half true.
I smiled to myself, temporarily having forgotten the rush to get to Amsterdam Central Station.
Funny, that sounds like something Alfie would say.
Shoutout to the sisters who readily accept your word.
At last I reach the destination. I mingle into the crowd to get off the train, but slip from the throng of bodies once my foot hits the platform. As per usual, they stream right to the escalator, where they form a new queue. It will be a miraculous day if the same happens at the stairs a little ways ahead.
Clutching my bag tight and pulling Alfieās scarf closer, basking in his familiar scent and grateful for its lingering, I descend the steps into the station hall. No matter how many times Iāve been here, I always have to look both ways to make sure I head in the right direction.
Left.
Right.
Ah, there's Starbucks.
Right it is.
Outside, itās as chaotic as ever. People walk between the trams, aggravating the drivers to no end. All around there are hellos and goodbyes, fragments of various languages on the wind which interrupt the incessant noise from the construction that is still going on. Then again, maybe it isnāt a far-fetched guess to say itās started anew because of whatever it is they have broken up terrain for this time.
I scan my surroundings in hopes of finding Alfie. Yesterday it was fairly easy to spot him, towering above the rest of the people in the mostly empty parking lot. However, this is a spot where finding a person whose number you donāt have is like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Anyone with a Vape?
The thought makes me uneasy, worry making my fingers itch with the urge to clutch his arm and beg him to stop smoking. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to ask such a thing from him. After all, we only have today. Besides, why would he listen to a girl he barely knows?Ā
I fish the white and Deltware wolf plushie I made out of my bag and look wistfully into its beady eyes. Whatever the outcome of today, I have no regrets having put hours into making the wee thing. If anything, it was good practice.
Though I hope it gives him something to remember me by.
A moment.
A memory.Ā Ā
But youāll stay with him, wonāt you? Until the end.
My breath hitches, my throat constricted by dark melancholy. The world slows down, bodies blurring and melting together, each face as vague and indistinguishable as the next one.
I have to find him. Jaysus fuck, where are you, Wolfy?
Itās ridiculous, a grown young woman clutching a stuffie frantically looking around. But what else can I do, desperate for what little time we have and a reason to apologise?
What if⦠What if he gave up? Left because Iām late? No, dear gods, no.
A wave of relief lightens the burdens off of my shoulders when I notice a long grey tweed pea coat and wolf cane by the metro entrance. Todayās outfit consists of a navy blue knitted cardigan with a beige tartan blouse underneath, both of them hanging open, and a grey button-up shirt with the top buttons undone. As I approach, I notice some of his chest hair peeking out, dark brown peppered with grey.
Fluffy wolf. Oh my days, whereās your sanity, woman? Your honour?
āAlfie, Iām so sorry, but I got held up at home and the bus was late and then my train got cancelled and-āā I blabber, my knuckles turning white like the plushie in my hands as my nails dig into it. Even to my own ears, the apology sounds silly.
āShhh,ā he places a hand on my shoulder, āTake a deep breath, darlinā.ā
Basking in the warmth of his touch, I inhale deeply and exhale through my mouth.
āThere. Thatās better, innit?ā I nod, indeed feeling a bit better.Ā A twinkle illuminates his eyes. āāYouāre wearinā my scarf. Like it that much?āā
I tug at the fabric, the tips of my ears warmer than before. āāYeah, itās- itās nice. I can return it, though! Right now or Iāll wash it and send it.āā
āāKeep it. It looks good on you.āāAn eyebrow raised, he shifts his attention to the plushie in my hands. āWhoās this?ā
āOh, right!ā I present the half-forgotten surprise gift to him. āI made this for you. As a, letās say, little āthank youā for yesterday and my leg.ā
Alfie takes the plushie from my hands. A smile slowly spreads on his lips as he looks it over. āThis little chap needs a name, doesnāt āe? Iām not gonna travel with someone without knowing their name, way too dangerous, right, because you donāt know who or what youāre dealinā with. Then again, yeah⦠I think I know.ā
āKnow what? A name?ā
āWolfy the Second,ā Alfie proudly declares.
āWhoās the first?ā
āMe.ā
Is he serious? Judging by that grin, he is. That⦠Thatās kinda cute, though. Youāre an idiot.
I press my lips together, cheeks aflame and not from the lingering summer heat. āI see.ā
āBut āe goes by Velvel. Means āwolfā in Yiddish.ā
āThatās kinda on the nose, innit?ā
A twinkle sparks in his eye at my response. āWe could also go with another variant of the name. William or Vladimir, which do you prefer? Or maybe Volf?ā
Head tilted, I purse my lips. I snap my fingers at the first idea that pops up. āHow about Vladimir Volf?āĀ
Alfie makes a face.
Okay, maybe not.
āHey, heās your travel buddy now. You decide.ā
āBut youāre āis creator. You choose.ā
āHeās yours to look after.ā
āYou brought him into this world. A name is a powerful thinā, makes one whole. The honour is yours.ā
āAre we seriously debating a plushieās name?ā
āWe wouldnāt āave to if you bloody decided.ā
I open and close my mouth, gobsmacked by his argument. āExcuse me? If I decided? I gave him to you.ā
āYouāre cute when you get angry,ā Alfie smirks.
Were you simply trying to rile me up just so you could say that? You⦠you bloody bastard! You idiot!
āI hate you.ā
āNow, now, āāateā is a strong word, donāt you think?ā
I cross my arms. āWell, you wonāt like the alternative.ā
āWhich is?ā
Donāt make me say it.
āY/N,āā he lowers his voice, slowly yet clearly pronunciating his words, āāwhatās the alternative?ā
I lose the will to remain defiant when he leans in, my body ready to submit in the face of power. āMeanie.ā
Alfie laughs heartily. āYou donāt āave a bad bone in your body. I think Iāll go with Velvel.ā
āVe- Vel-āā
āVelvel.ā
āWith a schwa?ā He nods. āVelvel. Yeah, you know what? I like that.ā
āThatās decided then, innit?ā He stuffs the wee thing into his backpack. āSo, my fair guide, what are we goinā to do today?ā
āI thought Iād show you Mokum through my eyes. I mean, the Dam and Rijksmuseum are nice and all, but thereās more to Amsterdam. Although, the Rijks does have a nice art collection, so, if youād like, I mean, I donāt know how much you like art galleries-āā
āāOw do you think I gain inspiration for my designs?ā
āWell, uhmā¦āā I rub the back of my neck, eyes averted to the ground, āāInternet?ā
āFucking āell, Iām only pullinā your leg. Youāre not wronā, though. āāBut,ā he rests his hands on the handle of his cane, āif my guide thinks it barbarous for me to miss the, āowād you say it again?ā
āRijksmuseum, often nicknamed āhet Rijksā.ā
āR- Rey-āā
āRijks. I canāt really think of a word in English that has a similar āijā sound.ā
āIj- ij- Rijks. āEt Rijks.ā
āNot bad, not bad at all,ā I beam at him. āBut itās quite a wee bit away from here and I think it might become too much for your leg.ā
āDarlinā,ā he boops my nose, āstop worryinā that pretty little āead of yours. Iāll strain meself āowever fuckinā much I want. First things first, though, letās get you your pumpkin spice latte.ā
You remembered!Ā
However, there is no chance to let myself be swallowed by the storm of butterflies inside my body to drift on their wings, because my companion seems to be in a rush.Ā
Alfie starts walking ahead, head held high and with a resolute stride like he is on his way to proclaim victory on a battlefield. I scramble after him, gobsmacked by his confidence. āDo you know where youāre going?ā
Surely you havenāt spent enough time here in the city centre yet, having been busy with the convention?
Then again, I donāt know what he did before I arrived, after I left, or at night. Who he spent his time with.
I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue and force myself to unclench my jaw while trying to catch up with him. Although his leg is a problem, it doesnāt seem like it is today considering how swift on his feet he is. Alfie is even faster than I am during rush hour and high on caffeine.
āTo the Starbucks near the Dam,ā he says casually. āItās the only place I can find āere. Youād expect youād be able to find anything you desire in a city that claims to be a safe haven.āā
āāMaybe your greatest desire right now is a cup of coffee,āā I say in between breaths, closing the last bit of distance between us with a light jog.
How fast would you be if you were revved up on caffeine and your leg wasnāt hurting?Ā
Alfie blinks, eyebrows raised with a sudden realisation, and then hums in something that holds the middle between amusement and displeasure. He slows his pace to match mine. āāCould be, yeah, but I still need your guidance. Otherwise, I donāt know where your world is. And Iām done with wanderinā.ā
āThe bookshops of this city are part of it. If you lose me, look for me there. Or, you know, shoot me a message over IG.ā
āOr we could call.āĀ
He loops his arm through mine to safely guide us across the street, where we come to a halt. Alfie fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, creates a new contact, and hands it to me. Apparently, he named me Funny Accent. āI promise I wonāt make unsolicited calls. You āave my word, darlinā.ā
I frown and glare at him. āMy accentās not funny.ā
āIt is, considerinā who you are.ā He bounces on his feet, chuckling. āYou give me your number, I change the name.ā
āTo what?ā
āYou wonāt know till you put it in, wonāt ya?ā
āI could also not give it at all.ā I shrug. āGuess Iāll remain the lass with the funny accent.ā
āExcept you donāt want to be, do ya?ā He tilts his head, full lips pulled into a lop-sided smirk. āYour number, Y/N.ā
Grumbling about how he can so easily read me, I fill out my details and hold out his phone to him. āThere. Now please change it.ā
āBecause you ask so nicely,ā he purrs. āA promise is a promise.ā
Alfie bites his lip, dreaming up a gods-only-know what kind of nickname. Then he nods, types it out, and shows me the screen. āāEre. āOwās that?ā
Little dove.
Hardly capable of not giving into the warm fuzzy feeling inside, I nod. āBetter.ā
āI also have an alternative.ā
āWhich is?ā
A sly smile spreads on his lips. āLetās first get to know each other a little better and maybe, yeah, if you play your cards right, Iāll tell you.ā
āSo mean.ā I shake my head and place my hands on my hips with feigned hurt. āHere I am, kind enough to be your guide and this is how you treat me.ā
āI am terribly sorry, my lady, but we āavenāt known each other that long, āave we? Your āumble servant merely stated a fact.ā
Youāre not wrong, though. This is only the third time weāve seen each other.
āThat may be so, but I might forgive your transgression if you give me your number as well, good sir.ā
A few people turn their heads and look at us, puzzled by our theatrical bickering. Alfie and I exchange glances. He raises a sarcastic eyebrow and rolls his eyes. I giggle and curl a finger under my nose, head bowed. When I look back at him, heās grown still, observing me. āWhat?ā
āNothinā. Never mind, just me old mind goinā places.ā He clears his throat and holds out his hand. āYour phone.ā
I pull it out of my bag, create a new contact, and hand the device to him.
āWolfy?ā
Caught red-handed committing a blatant crime of the heart, I turn my face away. āYeah. I- I can change it.ā
āDonāt.ā His fingers fly over the screen, typing out his number. Then he hands my phone back to me. āAnd call me that as much as you like.ā
āWait- You- Hang on, you seriously wonāt mind? You know I was being weird when I said that, right?ā
Is he for real? Surely heās joking.
āYou were beinā yourself. And,ā he groans, muttering under his breath as he continues, āI kinda like it. Very much.ā
āWolfy,ā I tug on his sleeve, lips pulled into a pout and filled with an uncharacteristic amount of bashfulness , ācan we please get a pumpkin spice latte now?ā
āāOw am I supposed to say ānoā when you do that, eh?ā
āDo what?ā
āEntshant mir.ā Alfieās expression brightens when he notices I perfectly understood him. He holds out his arm and instinctively I clutch his bicep. āLetās go, you clever little dove.ā
Unsurprisingly, the coffee shop is stacked to the brim with people, most of them foreigners and teenagers. I let go of his arm and scan the area, but thereās no available seating. āI can check if thereās another branch nearby. Hopefully, we can plop down there. Although, the station has a Starbucks as well and thereās always room.ā
āOr we stay āere, I chase a few people away, and we āave a nice and quiet coffee moment together. āOw about that, eh?ā
I turn on my heel, searching his face for a clue he doesnāt mean what he said. āYou canāt be serious. About the āchasing people awayā part, I mean.ā
āI am. Really, itās no trouble.ā He runs a hand through my hair. āYou get me a cappuccino, right, and Iāll find us a place to sit.ā
āNo intimidating people. Stay here.āā I grab his sleeve when he makes to go on his coffee shop war. āāWeāll order together and drink it outside.ā
āAnd where do you think to sit, hm? Maybe I wanna do some people watchinā, a bit of drawinā.ā
āWhat would you draw? Also, no working. Itās your day off.ā
āI draw for a livinā, Y/N, but also for pleasure. And maybe,ā he leans in close enough for his breath to ghost over my lips, āI want to draw my little dove enjoyinā her pumpkin spice latte in a nice and cosy environment.ā
āYou could also do that somewhere else.ā
āNah, my vision is of you, the place āere. Itās good to be stubborn as an artist.ā He slips me his card and kisses the tip of my nose. āGo on. Wolfy will find a place to sit.ā
With total disregard for the mayhem he unleashed inside me, he mixes into the throng of people. I gawk at him as he does so, my tongue paralyzed, incapable of calling him back.
Which might only make matters worse.Ā
Iām fairly certain an exploded heart is lethal.
He⦠He kissed me! The tip of my nose! What- What the fuck?
I flip his card between my fingers, biting my lip to suppress the smile tugging on the corners of my mouth.
That was actually quite nice.
A sweet little fragment to be left with.
The queue moves forward at a snailās pace, but fast enough for me to start panicking about how to order.
One cappuccino, medium, and one pumpkin spice latte, small. No, wait. One venti, is that the medium size? Or grande? Iāll just say medium. And a tall pumpkin spice latte. With no cream. Or should I go medium too? And a focaccia, to share. Yes.
I repeat the order over and over in my head, silently mouthing the words as inconspicuous as possible. Step by step, the moment approaches.
And passes without too much hassle. Well, without too much stuttering and plenty of effort to maintain my composure. Nevertheless, the order came out much smoother than anticipated.
I join the rest of the people waiting for their drinks, scrolling through Instagram to gain some inspiration for future tattoos. However, from underneath my lashes, I scan the cafĆ© to look for Alfie. Casually I glance around the space when the former doesnāt work out, my chest tightening with the suspicion I look like a skittish moron.
The feeling fades, though, when I notice him sitting by the window. The sunlight illuminates the grey strands in his hair, which form silver highlights in his tousled locks. Sitting at an angle that allows him to watch everyone from the corner of his eye, heās drawing on his tablet while Velvel watches over him.
He looks as serene as he did in the harbour yesterday, lost in thought as he taps his Apple pencil against his lips. To be honest, Iām glad that in moments like this he seems removed from the world.
Unable to see other women staring at him.
Lusting after him.
Out for whatās mine.
Although, is he really? Alfie can be humorous, casually playful or for reasons yet unknown. But the kiss on the nose, the argument about Velvelās name, the way he insisted on being noted down as āWolfyā in my phone, the whole of yesterday.
Is there an ulterior motive?
Or is it plain fun, something to pass the time?
My breath hitches, my fingers growing cold and restless with the need for warmth.
For assurance.
A safe anchor to ground me in reality.
I wish you were right here, holding my hand.
Like heās read my mind, Alfie turns in his seat and our eyes meet. Whatever heās seen in mine makes him ready to get up, hand already on the handle of his cane. Nonetheless, he sits down again when I gesture for him all is well.
Sort of.
āA cappuccino and pumpkin spice latte for Y/N?ā
āYep, thatās me!ā I turn and grab the drinks.
āEnjoy.ā
Itās funny how the mind works. One minute youāre in the present, and in the next a cruel wave of nostalgia hits you with a half-forgotten memory.
The same drinks.
Chris sitting in one of the worn leather chairs in the middle of this very same Starbucks, drawing in his notebook.
Chimes.
Norigae.
Dark eyes bright with a joyous tenderness Iād never seen before when my ghosts sits down across from him and passes him his cappuccino.
Once again testing his āpuppy taste budsā even though he clearly hates coffee, nose scrunched for a moment before he forces himself to drink it anyway.
Laughter.
Our laughter.
The high screeching of the steamer pulls me from my reverie.
Shit, Chris, where are you? Do you⦠Do you still think about me?
The world turns watery while my heart feels like itās forced through a shredder.
Are you still in love?
I inhale a shaky breath, mentally chastising myself for such a display of weakness.
Turns out I still am. Have been all along.
I breathe in deeply, blink a couple times, and sniffle.
No, this isnāt fair towards Alfie.
Cruel, isnāt it, how the heart remains engraved with the stories you thought had ended long ago? But it isnāt only the heart.
You remember.
Like the forest does.
Acting as if nothing happened, I rejoin the man by the windowās company and put the medium cup in front of him. āThere you go. I also got us something to eat.ā
He doesnāt pay the food nor coffee any attention, gaze focused on me. I sit down on the chair next to him and take a sip from my pumpkin spice latte. āWhat?ā
āNothinā,ā he grumbles after yet another moment of scrutiny. He clenches and unclenches his fists, the beads of the bracelets around his wrists rattling. āNothinā.ā
āYou sure?ā
āYeah.ā
For a while we remain silent. Alfie occasionally sips his coffee when heās not looking at or poking the cup, nibbling on a piece of focaccia I feed him or drawing on his tablet in the meanwhile. I watch the massive crowd manoeuvring the street, tourists trying to make sense of the trams, some afraid to be run over by a car or bicycle, unaware of the policy of ājust bloody goā. You need to be daring if you hope to get anywhere in this damned city.
āAt this rate, we wonāt make it to the Rijks.ā I glance at my watch, almost half past one. If we are to have proper lunch, surely there wonāt be much time to leisurely wander around the museum.
āMhm.ā
āYou donāt mind?ā
Alfie shrugs, still drawing. āThereās next time. Besides, you owe me a museum trip now.ā
I lean in, not that it will prove I misheard him. āI owe you?ā
āLetās phrase it like this. I, yeah, owe you a museum trip. For today, live slow with me.ā He smiles softly. āYou always seem so rushed.ā
āIām Dutch, we always have business to conduct. Weāre merchants.ā
He pokes my head. āI mean up āere, mostly, ya silly girl. But so am I. I think we need to do somethinā ābout it.ā
āOi!ā I put my coffee down and rub my forehead. However, my stomach churns when his words dawn on me. āWhat goes on in yours?ā
āYou donāt wanna know.ā Tenderly he kisses my forehead and hums like a pleased wolf when he nuzzles my nose with his, his whiskers ticklish on my skin. āLive slow with me. Letās just sit āere, drink coffee. Iāll draw, you read. Velvel would like it too.ā
āAttached to him already?ā I take a big sip from my latte to swallow the last piece of the bread, basking in its spiced warmth.
āMaybe.āā Alfie pets Velvel with his Apple pencil, moving it in between his ears. āāIām still jealous, though.ā
āHow so?ā
āYou made āim. āE knows the power you āold. Your touch.ā
I put my cup down again and reach out to trace his jaw. His beard is coarse yet smooth against my fingertips as I run them through it. āYou do as well.ā
Brow knitted, his lashes flutter shut. A low groan erupts from his throat as he leans into the touch. āOnly, hm, only like this, yeah. Very shallow.ā
His hand snakes up my thigh, leaning on it without putting his whole weight on it. Itās the same kind of grip he used back in Birmingham, securing my leg without hurting me. I suppose it can be said itās rather thoughtful.
Nevertheless, it tightens when I trace his bottom lip with my thumb, using me for support while he rushes forward. In reflex I flinch and lean back, hands on his shoulders to maintain some distance between us. His breath is shallow, his whole body shivering with restraint.Ā
Alfie swallows hard and moves his hand to the side to clench the edge of my seat. āIām sorry, Y/N. Canāt behave, can I?ā
I wrap my fingers around his wrist to put his bear-like palm back on my thigh. āIām not well acquainted with your touch either.ā
āYouāve already seen its rough side.ā Lips pulled into a straight line, he brushes my cheek. The touch is light, close to jittery. Like he is handling precious porcelain and mortified at the thought of breaking it. āIt aināt swollen. No damage. Did it āurt much after I⦠crossed the line?ā
āNo, it was okay again by the time we drank coffee.ā
āRight.āā His voice is lacking conviction, cold in its acknowledgement of what happened yesterday.
āItās okay, Alfie.ā
āRight.ā He traces the shell of my ear, barely touching it and quick to retract his hand. āDrink your latte. Enjoy the view. Let me do the work and capture this moment, eh.ā
So we sit, the chaos of conversations held behind us dimming into a low buzz. Alfie occasionally sips from his cappuccino, but only when I throw him a hint itās still there. Brow furrowed, his lets his stylus glide over the screen while sometimes mumbling under his breath in Russian, Yiddish, or English. The frown only fades when he glances at me, his features smoothing out into studious wonder.
In the meanwhile, Iām reading on my phone. Nevertheless, itās difficult to focus on the story when Iām continuously wondering whether Alfie likes books and what he would recommend. Then again, given heās fascinated by religion and symbolism, I wager he at least likes stories. But does he lean more towards fiction or non-fiction? Or does he prefer the fine line between the two of them?
Outside, Amsterdam gradually transforms into an impossible to navigate sea of people. Itās perhaps the thing I loathe the most about the city, be it here or abroad. Itās gets too busy, too chaotic, too fast. Yet, today, itās actually less irritating since thereās no obligation to pull us away from here, pop our bubble and throw us back into the throng for work or suchlike.
We sit here, enjoying ourselves in the warm sunlight.
Basking in each otherās presence.
Happily on a date.
Could⦠could we call it that? I mean, Iām simply his guide, just a friendly local. But, he did kiss my nose. And then thereās what happened just now. Does that mean⦠no, no, itās not. This isnāt a-
āPenny for your thoughts?ā
I snap out of my reverie, blinking in astonishment. Alfieās looking at me, head tilted and a frown marring his handsome features. āWhat do you mean? I was just looking out the window.ā
āNo, you werenāt. You were too far away for that, darlinā.ā He puts his tablet down and leans on the table. āDonāt even think about lyinā. Whatāre you lookinā so pale for?ā
I squirm in my seat, embarrassed by my own words. āI- I was just wondering if this is⦠a- a⦠you knowā¦ā
āNo, I donāt,ā he answers matter-of-fact, but the gleam in his eyes tells me he wants me to use my words.
Like a good girl.
His good little dove.
āAlfie, you know very well what I mean,ā I grumble, though even to my own ears I sound like a whining child.
āGo on. Say it.ā
āOh, come on.ā
āSay. It. Youāre a clever little thing, so use your words.ā
āA date,āā I relent. āāI- I was wondering if this, here, now, is a date.ā
āSeems pretty obvious to me.ā
āNot to me.ā I avert my gaze to my hands, clasped tight in my lap. āIām a little stupid, so please tell me.ā
A big warm palm covers my trembling fingers, a pleased hum vibrating through them. āIt is.ā
āDonāt say it if you donāt mean it.ā
Itās okay. I wouldnāt blame you. There was nothing there to begin with, was there?
Above the buzz of conversation and woven into the tunes playing over the speakers, the strange sound I have been hearing since we met resonates in my ears. Like butterfly wings tearing apart.
Rip.
The squeeze he gives my hand was meant to be encouraging, but is firm to the point it hurts. Alfieās words match the gesture, hasty and desperate despite the effort to keep his emotions under control. āI do. And before your funny little mind is gettinā ideas again, this is the first time, right, the first time Iām doinā this. Ollie would be āavinā a bubble if āe āeard me, but itās true.ā
I look up to take him in, waiting for the lie to break the mask of frantic blue eyes. āYouāve never before-āā
āYouāre the first girl, listen, bloody first girl Iāve met up with outside work. The first in a long time, in general.ā
āNever married?ā
āNever.ā
āPartner?ā
āI avoid permanent intimacy.ā
āFlings?ā
āDonāt like āem. Only when I couldnāt take care of meself.ā
āSo, youāre not one for relationships.ā
āDonāt mean Iām not willinā to try.ā
āYou just said you, and I quote, āavoid permanent intimacyā.ā
āMaybe Iād like to change that?āā His features soften, a hopeful calmth smoothing the lines in his face and making him look younger. āāNever simply assume, yeah, makes for dangerous business. You donāt sign a contract you āavenāt read, do you?ā
āUhm, wellā¦ā Truth be told, there have been times in the past where I blindly signed a contract, simply glad to have a job, a form of income.
He pokes my head again, stressing each word with an additional poke. āYouāre indeed a little stupid. Never sign anythinā without readinā, ya hear me?ā
āYeah, yeah.ā I swat his hand away, a dull pain throbbing between my brows.
He grabs my face like he did yesterday, fingers digging into my cheeks. Alfie lowers his voice, a threatening tone lacing his drawl as he leans in, our noses touching. āI asked if you āeard me.ā
āY- Yes,ā I stammer, caught between panic and the haze caused by the combination of the warmth between my thighs and his presence.
āYes what?ā
āYes⦠Alfie?ā
āAlmost.ā
āYes, Wolfy.ā
āGood,ā he purrs, loosening his grip. āGlad weāre on the same page again.āĀ
He packs up, drinks the last of his coffee, and puts Velvel in one of the side pockets of his backpack before he slings it over his shoulder. Cane in hand, he looks at me expectantly. āCāmon. Letās carry on.ā
āHang on, give me a second.ā I finish my coffee too and scramble to my feet. Clutching his arm, we leave the building. I hold him a little tighter as soon as our shoes hit the pavement.
āBusy, innit?ā
I hum in agreement.
āEasy to lose each other in.ā
I grab him a little tighter, reluctant to let go.
Whatāre you on about?
āLet go of my arm, darlinā.ā
āWhy?ā
What if I donāt want to?
āBecause otherwise youāre bound to lose me in this fuckinā ant nest. Go on. Let go.ā
I do as he says, forcing myself to stop clutching him.
But the hesitation immediately disappears when he grabs my hand, his palm warm and rough against mine. āThere. Much better. Now we canāt lose each other.ā A satisfied grin spreads on his lips. āWhere are we off to?ā
In spite of trying to suppress it, I hum contently. Only to crumble in the next second, having forgotten the routes I planned for us on the way here. āUm, well, we have two options. Either we crack on to Scheltema, which is a very large bookstore and go from there. Or, we first go to the fabric store I frequent thatās a little outside the centre and work our way back to Rokin, which is just past the Dam.ā
āI like option two. It would be good for me leg to get some exercise. āSides, Iād like to see the little seamstress in her natural āabitat.ā Lips pursed, he tilts his head. āThough, youāre not that, are ya. Youāre more like this goddess who creates life with needle and thread.ā
āWell, I wouldnāt go so far as call myself a goddess. Iām just a girl who sews.ā
āDos meydl hot geshafn lebn fun di keytn, vos zi hot opgeshnitn fun dem volf, vos hot zikh farvandlt in a mentsh, gekhidusht fun ir magish.ā
A girl⦠something about a wolf⦠a human, person, individual, whatever, and something ābout magic. Cāmon, this isnāt fair.
āWhat did you just say?ā I raise an eyebrow. āDonāt shut me out by switching to a language I donāt understand.ā
āJust a little story of the woods. One your words made me think of.ā He gestures in the distance with his cane. āLead on, my fair guide.ā
āNot until you tell me what you said.ā I try to yank my hand out of his grip, but Alfie holds on tight. A flicker of disappointment flashes over his face, mixed with a strange sentiment I canāt name.
āItās part of a story me mum used to tell me, an old legend of her people. But itās also a tale told by the people in Scandinavia. In fact, itās originally a Norse myth. āOwever, itās a strange one since I found it bore similarities to an Irish myth I āeard from a couple of Travellers. Itās almost as if itās a fusion of things. Then, when I was in Israel, and according to my faith, the story was also linked to the life of one of the prophets.ā
āWhatās the full story?ā
āIāll tell you some other time, yeah.ā A weathered look, which makes him look older than he is and tired to the bone, twists his handsome features. āItās quite a long one.ā
āIf you donāt wanna tell me, just say so.ā
A shock of butterflies kickstarts my body when he kisses my temple. āCome to England and Iāll tell you. Thereās an art piece in the British Museum about it, so Iāll get to make good on that date, eh?ā
āPromise?ā
āI solemnly swear so, my fair lady.ā He gives my hand an encouraging squeeze. āNow, can we carry on?ā
āThat eager to see me browse a fabric store?ā
āItās part of your world, innit, which also makes it part of your mind. Gives me an inklinā of āow it works. So of course I am.ā
I chuckle and shake my head. āWeirdo.ā
āIām a little funny, yeah.ā His gaze turns distant. āBoth mad, but sharing the same insanity.ā
A gift given to a select few so you told me in Birmingham. Iām glad we both have it.
āCāmon, Wolfy, letās go.ā I gently tug on his arm.
As planned, the nickname brings him back to me.
To us.
Here.
Together.
We navigate the mass of bodies back to the crossing near the central station. Some people make way to let us pass after being glared at by Alfie, who keeps me close at his side and towers over me like a human shield. In the meanwhile, I scurry after him, half hidden in his coat. After making a left, we cross the bridge.
Alfie points at the hotel we pass with his cane. āCurrently stayinā āere. Aināt bad, but itās a shame thereās a two-person bed when thereās only one of me.ā
I follow his gaze, staring at the edifice too. āSometimes itās nice, though, to have a big bed all to yourself.ā
āStill feels empty. āAvenāt been sleepinā well ācause of it,ā he grumbles in response.
Thereās more to that comment, isnāt there? Iām hard-pressed to believe you missed me so much it kept you awake.
āYou donāt have to anymore.ā His brow furrows at my remark, questions floating around his head. I nod to the wee plushie in the side pocket of his backpack. āYou got Velvel now.ā
A dark chuckle bubbles from his throat. āI do, donāt I? āE donāt take up much space, though.ā
I would. Iād gladly take his place.
Glancing around the plaza with its brown cafĆ©s and restaurant, I clear my throat. āLetās⦠letās move on, eh. Weāre almost there, just gotta walk right on through.ā
We enter the narrow street leading away from where we stand. It passes through Chinatown and leads towards Nieuwmarkt. Itās a big square where, honouring itās name, thereās basically always a market going on. In the middle of it stands The Waag, a fifteenth-century building that was once part of the cityās walls and acted as a gate. At one point in time, itās been a guildhall, museum, anatomical theatre and much more.
Totally did not look it up in the train and rehearsed the entire Wikipedia page.
While telling Alfie about the building, we pass by my favourite boba shop. I point at the sign depicting a bunny drinking a milk tea. āThatās one of my favourite places to get milk tea. Shame we just had coffee, but otherwise Iād say we get us some. Or, well, me. I- Iād quickly go get some boba. I mean, I donāt know if you-āā
Fortunately, as he seemingly tends to do, he saves me from breaking out into a ramble. āNever āad it. Thatās that Taiwanese drink, right, the one everyoneās losinā their damned minds over? The one with balls in it?ā
I snort at his description. āYeah, but those balls are called tapioca pearls. And I used to be a sceptic, but itās actually quite good. However, I have to be in the mood for it. Especially since itās also a calorie bomb. Itās definitely good for when youāre low on sugar, though.ā
āIt aināt wrong to indulge every once in a while,ā he says, the grim twist to his mouth hardly hidden beneath his beard. āFood isnāt meant to be worried ābout.ā
āI like to watch after what I eat. Nothing wrong with that, right?ā
āYouāre pretty as you are. There wonāt be any worryinā, right, when you eat or drink with me. Not āere, not when you come to Margate, not ever. Only, yeah, I, me, Wolfy, gets to worry. āBout the bill tonight, ābout being able to provide properly for you. The only thing you get to worry that little āead of yours about is what you want on your plate later.ā
Surprised by the twist in the conversation, I squint as if it would help me discover whether I heard him correctly. Judging by his humourless expression, I did. āI didnāt know we were heading out to dinner.ā
āWe are. Weāre on a date and I want to treat you right. Coffee, dinner, a nice long walk, explorinā the city. Livinā slow together.ā He comes to a halt, grabs my chin with his free hand and tips it upwards, forcing me to look at him. He tenderly swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, in the same way I did earlier. āThereās little Iām serious about when it aināt business. But I am ābout this. Greed is a sin, but one I seem to be guilty of committinā yet again.ā
āHow so?ā
āBecause I want you all to myself today.ā A shadow casts over his face. āBut that boy, the one who drew in āis notebook, āeās still on your mind too, aināt āe?ā
I step away, slipping my hand out of his, and shake my head. āNo, he isnāt.ā
āDonāt lie to me!āā Alfie roars, but tones down his volume when he notices how it scares me. Nevertheless, he doesnāt do the same for the rage boiling inside him. āāāEās the reason you spaced out. āOw much did you two do? Did āe take you out like this? āOw far did you go?ā
We likely didnāt even make it past the beginning. I created a false start.
One step forward.Ā
āWhatās āis name?ā
One step back.Ā
āDoesnāt matter. None of it does. Yes, I do still miss him sometimes. But I am here with you. With you on my mind.ā
āYouāre dealinā with a man now, not a boyā He grabs my sleeve, putting thought into grabbing a part where thereās only fabric, and pulls me to him with enough force to not make me stumble over my own feet. The distance between us closed, Alfie leans in, lets out a deep sigh, and nudges my nose with his in apology. āA man, damned as āe is, who will show you what itās like to be treated right. Because thatās what you want, innit? To be treated well, to be loved right.ā He places a hand on my hip and pulls me closer against his warm body, its heat tempting to trigger the uncharacteristic tendency towards complacency I seem to have around him. āBy a man older than you. A man with experience. A king.ā
I put a hand on his chest to gently push him away. To create some space to breathe.
To make room to forget.
Alfieās gaze flits my hand to my face. Eyes squeezed shut, he grimaces as he mumbles something in a berating tone under his breath. With a slight tremor in his hand, he envelops my fingers.Ā
āIām sorry. Itās just,ā he begins, his voice devoid of its former fierceness, āI āave this funny thought. Really funny. So much so I loathe it.ā
āI think I know what you mean.ā I rub his upper arms. āBut weāre going very fast.ā
āPerhaps we are. Yet, you deserve to know my mind. At least this part.ā
āI⦠I thought, no, never mind.ā
Maybe this wonāt be a one-time thing.
āLet me do the thinkinā.ā He cups the back of my head to draw me in for a kiss on my forehead. āI want you to simply enjoy yourself today. Which means, no thinkinā, no worryinā, no nothinā. You deserve a break.ā
āYou do too.ā
āI wouldnāt know āow. Itās always one fuckinā thinā after another. This comes close to it, though, beinā āere with you.ā
āYou have my number now. You could call or text me for a break.ā Feeling bold, I move in to hug him. Automatically, he wraps me up in his arms. āWhen I finally get to England, I want you to take a proper break. Put your feet up, have a glass of rum, unplug.āā
āI still have to teach you āow to shave a man, though.ā His chest rumbles with a cheeky chuckle. āI do see it as self-care to put you in me lap for a trim.ā
A flush of heat treks through my body as I imagine us sitting on the edge of the tub. His dreamy eyes are focused on me while I glide the razor over his skin. Heād easily be able to pick me up and place me wherever he wants.
āWhat if I mess up? Cut you?ā
āYou might, but it wonāt matter.ā He curls a finger under my chin again to make me look at him. āI wonāt get angry, I promise. Youāve never done it before, so āow could I expect you to do it perfectly on the first try, eh?ā He frowns as he thoughtfully hums. āFunny.ā
āWhat is?ā
āFunny,ā he repeats. A moment after, as if pulled from a fevered dream, he blinks. āAnyway, enough dawdlinā. Lead on, my fair guide.ā
We move on, crossing the Nieuwmarkt and following one of the streets leading off of it. A little further ahead, we round the corner, stepping onto Nieuwe Hoogstraat.
I point to a shop on our right. āHere we are.ā
The fabric store consists of three narrow but deep spaces filled with everything you could possibly need for a sewing or knitting project. In the utter left and utter right space, the walls are lined with rows upon rows of fabric. In the middle, you can find the smaller things like buttons and patches. Itās truly a seamstressās Valhalla.
āAnythinā you need in particular?ā Alfie asks while trailing behind me.
āI use a specific kind of fluffy fabric for the bottom of my plushies. Should be somewhere round here,ā I answer as I nod to the woman behind the till and crack on to the space on the right.
The roll of fabric Iām looking for is in its usual spot on top of the display near the front window. I look at it from where Iām standing, mentally cursing my height. āI hate being small.ā
Alfie makes a dissatisfied sound. I raise an eyebrow even though I can already guess the reason behind his displeasure. āBeing tiny can be a curse.ā
But Iāll admit itās a blessing when it comes to you.
Without waiting for his response, I grab the nearby ladder and set it up. I set a foot on its lowest step after giving it a slight shake to test whether itās steady.
From behind, rough fingers warm the back of my neck, giving it a light squeeze. āLet me.ā
āReally, itās no problem.ā I turn in his grip, oddly comforted by the hold, but donāt step down. āIāve done this before.ā
His hand falls away to push his cane towards me. āHold this, darlinā.ā
āAlfie, youāre not going up the ladder.ā
āWell, I sure aināt goinā to stand āere while youāre riskinā your neck.ā
I put another foot on the ladder.
āWhatāre you doing?ā A note of sternness mixed with caution sharpens his voice. He taps the floor in annoyance. āGet down.ā
I cross my legs and plop down on one of the steps, staring at him in defiance. āEither itās me who goes up or you who goes down.ā
Alfie cocks a sarcastic eyebrow. āThreateninā me, intāya?ā
āFor your own good.ā I sigh in exasperation and roll my eyes. āAlfie, Iām serious. Itās alright, I got this. Like I said, Iāve done this before.ā
āI donāt want you to fall, Y/N. Maybe itās different for you, but I, yeah, I donāt particularly fancy a trip to the āospital. Even less so to drop you off.ā
āJust hold the ladder. Itāll be alright.ā
He opens and closes his mouth, but groans when he realises protesting is of no use. Instead, he does as I ask and keeps the ladder steady while I clamber up.Ā
With a bit of pushing, pulling, and forceful manoeuvring, I manage to pry the roll of fabric free from the pile.
āLook at you, doinā big girl things,ā Alfie calls from below. Thereās an oddly proud yet affectionate twinkle in his eyes, which makes my heart somersault.
āOh, shut it.ā The roll of fabric tucked under my arm, I clamber down.Ā
Alfie puts his arm around my waist once Iām in reach, holding me tight while guiding me down. āāCāmon, nice and safe on the ground. Next time, Iāll go up. No negotiatinā.āĀ
He continues to grumble under his breath about his leg and how heās perfectly capable.
I giggle and pat his arm. āOkay, okay, no more ladders. Anyway, this is everything I need. If I start browsing, weāll be here for quite some time.ā
āWouldnāt mind it.ā
You say that now. Just you wait until I get going. You might regret it, love.
āBut I want you to see more of my world.ā I nudge his shoulder with mine. āMy favourite bookshops are next, if you donāt mind.ā
āBookshop?ā Alfie perks up.
āYou like to read?ā
āI do. Whenever I aināt workinā, Iām down at Foyles. You ever been?ā
āThe one on Charing Cross Road?ā
āYeah, you know it?ā
āIāve been to London multiple times. āCourse I know it. Itās one of my favourite spots in town.ā
āWe could spend a day there, if you fancy.ā He rubs the back of his neck. āIāll show you my world. Not just me kingdom in Camden and Margate.ā
I nod, abuzz with excitement. āIād like that.ā
Yay, a bookshop date!
āGood,ā he purrs. āGood.ā
While we wait as the fabric is being cut, I feel Alfie reaching for my hand again. Hesitantly, his fingers brush past mine, asking for permission. I wrap my fingers around his thumb, feeling like a silly girl yet indescribably pleased. After paying and receiving the plastic bag with the fabric, we step outside.
Me still holding his thumb.
āāAppy?ā Alfie asks once we step into the street.
āI am.ā
āGood.ā
āRight, now, let me check Maps to see how we need to get to āhet Spuiā.ā
āThat sounds funny.ā
āWhat? Het Spui?ā
āYeah. What does it mean?ā
āAh dinnae ken.āā I shrug. āāI just know itās where the Waterstones and American Book Centre are and that itās close to Rokin.ā
āYou āave Waterstones āere?ā
āWe do, but only in Amsterdam.ā I chuckle. āThatās another reason why I like England so much. There are Waterstoneses⦠Waterstone⦠multiple branches in one city.ā
āCareful now. Donāt let the Irish hear ya.ā
āOi, no one does the book trade like the Irish. Although, I mean, Dublin is the best place bookshop-wise. The rest of the country does it, well, so so at best. Donāt tell them I said the English and Scots do it the best.ā
āI wonāt,ā he muses. āOr else me and the London boys will take care of it.ā
āThere you go again, protecting me.ā
āBecause Iām fond on you.ā I give him a quizzical look. Alfie squares his shoulders, each word perfectly clear and proud. āYeah, you āeard me and Iāve no shame sayinā it. Iām fond of ya, Y/N.āā
Regardless of it being nice to hear, the confession leaves me conflicted. I turn my face away from him, focusing on the road ahead. āHm.ā
You barely know me. Weāre talking of me visiting you in England after only having met twice. Of dates like weāre a thing. Iām holding your hand like this because you make me happy, but Iām scared shitless at the same time.
Everything comes at a price and those who say theyāll stay or like you will end up leaving. People canāt be trusted, especially men.Ā
Men like him, who come on strong to women half their age making promises of a rosy future. And if theyāre handsome, it makes you question where the line is. Perhaps, this time itās different. This time heās serious.
Until you get to the part where youāre talked into sex, the only thing theyāve wanted from you all along. Afterwards, youāre either discarded or as a piece of meat to satisfy their urges.
Chris wasnāt like that.
Or perhaps he is and I simply never found out.Ā
I suppose the walls I kept up left me too guarded, too blind to the possibilities with a wolf boy I used to call mine. Or maybe the solemn fort I have locked myself in has protected me from a gruesome yet sad truth.
Guess Iāll never find out.
Something squeezes the back of my neck.
My fingers hold air.
ā⦠you, little dove?ā
I frown, surprised to find ourselves on Rokin. Itās strange how your subconscious can be there and nowhere at the same time. How your body can move in a set direction while your mind wanders.
āSorry, you were saying?ā To hopefully add credit to my show of casualness, I look left and right to situate us.
āI wasnāt sayinā anythinā. I was askinā you where you were.ā
āJust lost in thought.ā I grab his thumb again and point across the street. āRight. We need to cross the road and take one of the side alleys.ā
āSure you were,ā Alfie says, ignoring my directions and evidently not done with the topic. All the same, he lets me guide him. āLyinā, right, aināt proper. Now, then, tell me what funny thought you āad.ā
Halfway.
āDoes it matter?ā
āYes, it does!ā Little specks of spittle fly through the air while some get stuck in his beard.
Safely across.
āIt fuckinā matters to me! Look at me. I said,ā he grabs my face like he did earlier today when I donāt, coercing me into looking at him, ālook at me. I, yeah, āave been nothinā but āonest with you. I care, right? I bloody care about you.ā
āYouāre only saying that.ā
āWhy would I, eh? Why would I?ā
I pry myself loose, hardly finding any resistance as I wrap my fingers around his wrist and push him away. In hopes of concealing my shaking shoulders, trembling with hardly contained sobs, I try to keep my voice even. Nonetheless, I canāt prevent it from cracking with each word. āThis is only a joke, innit? Just some charade to talk me into sex.ā
Eyes wide with disbelief, he gawks at me. āYou think thatās what this is?ā
One step forward.
One step back.
āYou fuckinā think that?ā
āA girl canāt be too careful around men, Alfie.ā
āIf I wanted sex, right, only sex, then tell me why I feel like this. Why, right now, it feels like me chest is being ripped open and me ticker pulled out of it, put right through the fuckinā shredder. Why I feel like thereās a brick in me stomach and a ball of cotton in me throat each time you drift off or seem upset. Fuckinā tell me!ā His chest rises and falls in quick succession, nostrils flaring and panting plush lips parted. Thereās a crack in his voice too when he continues. āTell me because I donāt understand it.ā
āYou feel that way?āā I sniffle, blinking away the tears obscuring my vision. āāYouāre not pulling my leg or anything?ā
Give me one thing to believe. Prove to me Iām wrong, that itās different this time. That this is real. Legit.
āFuck, Y/N! I would never lie to you. I swear so on every holy book in this damned world.ā He points at the bag in my hands, his rings reflecting the sunlight. āIf you donāt believe me, smack me with that. If you do, come closer.ā
Iām a little stupid.
So, after a moment of assessing him, I step forward.
And place my hands in his as he closes the distance.
āCan this old chap be really selfish?ā
āDonāt cross the line.ā
Alfie leans in, nudging my nose with his. Our lips brush past each other, his whiskers ticklish against mine. āIs this?ā
āNo.ā
His lips are soft and tender, genuine in their affection. I answer the kiss in kind and cup his cheek, feeling how he leans into the touch. I clutch his shirt, holding on tight to the fabric with determined fists. A warm palm rests on the small of my back, pulling me further against him.
Further into our own world.
From which we have to retreat sooner than expected.
Heās the one to break away, to let the moment end with a shivery breath longing for more and a kiss on the tip of my nose. āIād never touch you, yeah, without your permission. Iāll wait till youāre ready, but know this aināt about sex for me. I wonāt lie and say it wouldnāt be a nice addition to what we āave. But this, right āere, us, itās about you. That kiss? Because I like you. Fuckinā āell, that donāt even begin to describe it.ā
āSame here.ā
āYeah, you like me too?ā
I bite my lip and nod.
He lets out a pleased sound holding the middle between an amused chuckle and satisfied hum. āGlad to āear it because I āave plans for us. Speakinā of which, I āave one right now. One which involves you givinā me one more?āā He taps his slightly swollen lips. āāFor the road?ā
āSure,ā I say, smiling into the gentle peck he steals.
āCanāt get too greedy.ā
Fingers entwined, we leave the argument behind us and crack on with renewed vigour.
On to the next moment.
Since Alfie is more than familiar with Waterstones, I propose going to The American Book Centre first. I hear him take in a short sharp breath like heās preparing himself for a difficult task before he makes to cross the plaza. Using my body, I gently redirect us to walk around it instead.Ā
Brows knitted together, he looks down at me.
āThe cobblestones,ā I point to the side. āTheyāre uneven.ā
He lightly squeezes my hand as he hums in gratitude.
We walk towards the bookshop, where Alfie holds the front door open for me. I shuffle through the small opening and he follows closely behind.
Before us is a big round open space lined with magazines. A man is leaving through a gardening-related one while a girl sits on the steps with the latest issue of a gossip one. On our left are tables and a small section with books related to tattoos and the art of tattooing. In front of us and to the right, next to the tills, are racks with stationary.
A soft groan falls from his lips when Alfie spots the big staircase leading to the first floor. Walking already takes a heavy toll on his leg, so I can only imagine the amount of pain he has to suffer through when climbing stairs. A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach when I recall how he had to pay the price for straining himself too much yesterday.
And I refuse to put him through that again.
āThereās a lift.ā I nod to the other side of the shop.
āWould youā¦ā he begins, hesitant yet suggestive. Though I know little about him, I have noticed itās difficult for him to admit his weaknesses.Ā
āIām claustrophobic, but Iāll brave it for you.ā
He pets my hair and wraps his fingers around the back of my neck. āAttagirl.ā
I let out the breath Iād been holding when we arrive on the first floor.
āProud of ya,ā Alfie murmurs into my hair, kissing the top of my head.
āIām glad to be out in the open again, not gonna lie. Anyways, here we have fantasy, sci-fi, crime, thrillers, young adult and the romance section. Upstairs are the non-fiction, general fiction, spiritual, drama, poetry sections.ā The mechanical whirring of a coffee grinder resonates loudly in the background. āRight, thereās also a wee cafĆ© here.ā
He looks around, leaning on his cane. āWhat do you like to read, darlinā?ā
A warm fuzzy feeling spreads in my chest at his bright expression. It would seem we are both in our natural habitats, a place where our worlds overlap.Ā
āWell, Iāve found myself drawn more towards general fiction since my studies. Even then, though, I still pick up canon literature. Call me a bloody classist, but they donāt write like the writers of old anymore.ā I smile wistfully as we walk among the shelves and navigate among the other customers. āThey donāt write letters either.ā
āWhat did you study?ā
āEnglish literature with a particular interest in Irish lit.ā
āWhat a surprise,ā he chuckles.
āOi, say what you will, but itās hard for me to find anyone who writes like W.B. Yeats and James Joyce.ā
āFavourite books?ā
āA Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and The Picture of Dorian Gray. Hands down the best. And my professor was right about the former. It was life-changing.ā A wave of peace and contentment washes over me as I recall the feelings the novel instigated, my mind filled with the memories of the moments I could identify myself in Stephen Dedalus. āI finally felt understood. Found someone with the same vision. I felt⦠legit? No, thatās not the word. Ehm, whatās it called again when you feel like you finally matter? Are part of something?ā
āValidated?ā
āYes! Validated. I felt validated. I should re-read it, actually.ā
āOut of pleasure or,āā his shoulders drop as he slows his pace, āāa need to be accepted?ā
āBoth, perhaps,ā I admit.
Because the world has little to no place for people like me. Not anymore.
āI see you.ā We come to a halt at the end of the rampway. Alfie lets go of my hand to brush my cheek. āI am curious about your mind. Your vision. The artist within.ā
āSheās a little twisted.ā
āLikely less than me.ā
āRead Acts of Desperation. I think it could enlighten you a little about how she thinks and feels.ā
āMaybe I should pick it up then, eh, if we āappen to find it.ā
We saunter back over to the grand staircase to check out the romance section. Usually I skip it, but occasionally I like to see what titles are currently being published and what type of stories publishers are apparently looking for.
āAnything you recommend?ā
āOllie would be havinā a bubble if āe āeard this, butā Alfie sighs and bites his lip, āI like Jenny Colganās books.ā
I blink, gobsmacked by his answer. āJenny Colgan? Small town romances concerned with bakeries and bookshops Jenny Colgan?ā
He shifts his weight, groaning in discomfort. āDonāt tell anyone, alright? Itās a guilty pleasure. A more innocent vice, basically. But otherwise I can recommend The Half Drowned King by Linnea Hartsuyker or The Last Kingdom by Bernard Cornwell. Recently I also picked up this book called River Kings. Canāt remember who wrote it. It tracks the heritage of a certain bead and shines a light on the Viking expeditions to the east.ā
Unable to help myself, I clap my hands in excitement. āThat oneās so good!ā
āYou read it?ā
āYeah, picked it up during my last trip to Ireland. In Cork. I normally donāt like non-fiction, but give me anything to do with Vikings and you make me one happy lass.ā I calm down a bit and lead him back up the ramp forming the walkway between the sci-fi, horror, and fantasy sections. āI donāt really like fantasy. High fantasy, that is. Take Ben Aaronovitchās books, for example. Those I like. In fact, I recommend them.ā
Alfie scans the shelves, focusing in on the row with the authorās name. āWhich oneās the first? Or are they standalones?ā
āTheyāre a series of standalones connected by a red thread. The first is called Rivers of London.ā
āThis one, then.ā He picks the title off of the shelf and fishes a pair of glasses from his backpack to read the backside. āInteresting. Iām also not one for fantasy, but Iāll admit this sounds good.ā
Oh, come on. This aināt fair. How? How does he look so fucking good in glasses?
Unashamed, I gawk at him. First a kiss and a somewhat love confession and now this is being thrown at me. I swear, if someone is going to pinch me and I jolt awake to find this was all a dream, I will go ballistic.
āWhatāre you lookinā at?ā He squints as he reads me, looking for an answer before I can give it.
āYour glasses.ā I point at the thin golden frame on his nose. āI didnāt know you had them.ā
āIām far-sighted, so these readinā glasses take the strain off me eyes. Also got a blue-light filter in āem.ā
āStaring a lot at the screen, eh?ā
āMore than you think. When Iām not drawing, I have either a book or my e-reader in me āands. Thereās somethinā about readinā late into the night. The worldās silent. Even this fuckinā city finally calms down a bit the same way London tends to go quiet at nightfall.ā
āI really need to get back into reading. I mean, I keep buying books yet always end up never reading them. Or, rather, I end up reading a few. My bank accountās not happy.ā
We head back to the lift, taking the walkway instead of the wee stairs to spare Alfieās leg. While waiting, I grab his thumb, but evidently Alfie has other ideas and weaves his fingers through mine.Ā
Inside the tiny cabin, he gives them an encouraging squeeze and another one when we step out onto the second floor.Ā
As Alfie browses the history section, I explore the general fiction section. As per usual, I stop in my tracks to scan the shelves with the books which are on sale. After all, there could be an absolute steal among them. Furthermore, it seems Iām in luck because the three racks are well-stocked. Crouched in front of it, I pluck out a few titles to read their backsides and put a few aside to take with me.
āYou know your account aināt āappy with ya. Yet āere you are, five books in your little hands,ā a familiar raspy voice remarks, stern yet amused.
My heart somersaults into next week as my soul leaves my body. I scramble to my feet, jaw clenched and ears ablaze with shame. āTheyāre discounted.ā
āI bet you say that every time youāre āere.
I nuzzle into the scarf around my neck to hide my rosy cheeks. āShut up.ā
āCāmon, give me those.ā He beckons for me to give him the books in my hands.
I take a step back. āNo.ā
He rests his hands on the silver wolf head handle of his cane. āAt least four out of five will gather dust on your shelves. Said so yourself, didnāt ya? Go on. Pick one and put the rest back.ā
āHang on a minute.ā
āIām keeping your finances āealthy, darlinā. One book. Pick wisely.ā
āAlfie.ā Sullen like a child denied a piece of candy, I pout.
āDonāt be silly.ā He tilts my chin upwards, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. āWolfy knows best.ā
āWhy do you have to be right?ā I turn away and crouch to do as he says.
After a while of making comparisons, asking myself how likely Iāll actually be to read it, and comparing prices, I pick Nightshade by Annalena McAfee. At this point you can almost call it typical how I find myself drawn to the tormented artist.
āThis one.ā I hold up the novel.
āLet me know whether itās good. In fact, never āesitate to tell me ābout what youāre readinā. Donāt matter if itās my taste or not.ā
āThe same goes for you.ā I narrow my eyes as a thought pops up. āHey, just as a question, considering what you told me. Did⦠You tattooed me without glasses.ā
āI wore lenses that day. Tried them out, really. Optician said I technically donāt need āem, but I thought Iād give them a spin anyway. Donāt ya worry. I would never tattoo someone if Iām as blind as Sheishet.āā
āAnd?ā
He cocks an eyebrow. āAnd what?ā
āDo you prefer them? The lenses, I mean.ā
Gods, heās absolute hubby material.
āWould you?ā
āNo,ā I shyly admit, sharing his taste.
āGood, ācause I donāt.ā He smiles brightly. āSo Wolfy will stick to glasses.ā
We head downstairs to check out. As at Starbucks, itās him who pays.Ā
I try to get him to hand over his purchases - two books on Vikings in England - but fail. In Alfieās words, I should think of my wallet rather than him. Also, āāit aināt proper for a woman to pay when sheās on a date with a gentleman, innit?āā
The attempt to tap my phone on the pin machine before he can with his card is as successful, kept back by the waist by a bear-like hand.
Purchases paid for, we head to the wee cafƩ upstairs. Alfie buys us two cappuccinos and a scone to share. Sighing in pure contentment, he plops down in the seat across from me. A dreamy look in his eyes, he gazes out through the window to the world below.
āHappy?ā
āI am,ā he mumbles. āA dĆ©ja vu is a strange thing, innit? Youāre in a moment that may or may not āave āappened, maybe somethinā you dreamt about in your sleep or in a daydream. Or it could be a moment your soul has lived, remembers, right, from a past life.ā
āDid you have one just now?ā
āI think I did⦠yeah.ā He nods, slowly descending into one of the deep rabbit holes his thoughts create. āWrong location, though. Different. Always different. Sometimes the same.ā
āCan you recall anything else? Or, rather, do you have an inkling of what else goes on, went on, usually?ā
āAlways the same yet different,ā he mumbles in response, cryptic.
I cut the scone in two and push the plate against his forearm to grab his attention. āEat. If you donāt, Iāll eat the whole thing.ā
āCrack on.ā Features soft, he turns away from the window.
āIām only joking. That focaccia wasnāt proper lunch. Cāmon, dig in.ā
āIām not pullinā your leg, Y/N. Eat.ā He fishes his tablet from his backpack, ready to retreat in his own bubble again albeit with one foot across the border of reality.Ā
To stay with me too.Ā
My mouth dries up, throat constricted with his words. Alfie glances at me through his lashes, exhales, and reaches out to bring my fingers to his lips. The steam from our coffees is warm against my palm. āDonāt ya worry, Iāll eat tonight.ā
āYouāre beautiful,ā I blurt out.
āWhat?ā
āYou donāt have to watch your figure.ā
āY/Nā¦ā
āYouāre perfect as you are.ā I sit up a bit to lean over the table and caress his cheek. āScruffy wolf.ā
āYou forget, little darlinā, the old wolf is a king. That is, anywhere but when āeās with the little dove.ā
āWhat is he then?ā
āA humble servant.ā He nuzzles my palm. āA guard dog. Faithful.ā
I retract my hand to take a sip of coffee. Itās warm, the milk feather soft and foamy.
A comfortable silence naturally descends between us. He draws while I look out the window, gazing into the distance.
If this is what living slow is like, there is no other type of life Iād want.Ā
āAlfie, Iām scared,ā I say after a while.
He looks up from his tablet, eyebrows raised. āOf what?ā
āOf going home.āā Biting my lip, I stare into my cappuccino. āāIs it selfish of me to say I donāt want to?ā
āNo,ā he sits back and shakes his head, āit aināt.ā
āI think my parents have figured out by now Iām not at the fabric market.ā
āWould it help if I introduce myself to them?ā
āYou donāt have to. We havenāt known each other that long.ā
āAfraid I wonāt behave?ā His eyes are alight with mischief as a cheeky grin slowly spreads on his lips.
āHm, maybe a little bit.ā
Besides, how am I gonna explain you, a forty-five year old tattoo artist? Although, rather, the question is how or whether Iāll be able to explain how happy you make me.
And convince them and myself both that this is real.
āDonāt worry, I will.ā He runs his fingers through his beard, already cooking up a plan. āGonna have to do somethinā ābout this. Gotta present the perfect picture, aināt I?ā
āDonāt shave. I like your beard.ā Though I have nothing against clean-shaven men, I have no shame in admitting I like them better when they have facial hair. Especially when itās more than a little scruff.
The way Alfie does it.
āI think Iāll have to go short and go with a stubble. Itāll only be for a short while, Y/N. Youāll get your scruffy wolf back, donāt ya worry.ā
āItās fine as it is,āā I say, making an effort to keep my voice low. āāLooks great, in fact.ā
He chuckles at my determination. āIām not sure your parents would agree.ā
āThey wouldnāt if it was like this bushy, unkempt wizard beard.ā
āSo, the previous version. What I had in Birmingham.ā
āWhat? No! That wasnāt a wizard beard.ā
āIt was kinda unkempt, though. Rushed to get to the studio and be on time for you.ā
āIt was fine. And you didnāt.ā
Donāt start bootlicking. Itāll get you nowhere. āSides, youāve likely used that line before.
āI did. Well, not at first, since I didnāt know what kind of person Iād be dealinā with. But,ā his expression softens with warm tenderness, āthat was before the wolf knew what the little dove was like.ā
I tap the sides of my cup, head bowed to hide the way I still canāt fully trust him. That Iām conflicted by his words, kisses, and other gestures. āAnd now?ā
Where is the line? Why canāt I stop awaiting the moment this will all fall apart?
āNow āeās gonna sit back and draw āis little dove while she eats a scone and reads. Slow day, remember?ā
āI do.ā His expression falters, devoid of emotion as his eyes glaze over. āAlfie?ā
After a moment of not getting a response and too desperate to think about proper manners, I snap my fingers. āAlfie? You with me?ā
āYeah⦠yeah, I am,ā he drawls, slowly returning to wherever his mind wandered. āJust āad another dĆØja vu.ā
āOr low blood sugar.ā I cut the scone in half. āPlease eat. If not the whole thing, at least eat bloody half of it. In the meantime, Iāll see if I can find a good place for dinner, eh.ā
He leans in to wedge the half between his teeth, a few crumbs crumbling down into his beard.
āCharming,ā I snort. āBy the way, just in case, you eat kosher, right?ā
āMhm,ā Alfie answers, mouth full.
āGood to know.ā
While he draws, I scour the Internet for a restaurant that offers food according to our dietary wishes. Although, Iām more critical about whether they have kosher food rather than plenty vegetarian or vegan options. After some thorough research and a quick glance at the menu, having decided to forego my own diet, I settle for Meat Me Kosher.
āAlfie?ā
āHm?ā He briefly stops drawing to show heās heard me. Without looking up from his tablet, he signals with his stylus heās waiting for me to continue.
āCoffee.ā
āMh,ā he hums, taking a moment to nip at the cappuccino thatās likely to have gone cold in the meantime. Or, with luck, itās still lukewarm.
I pretend to divulge in the novel I bought and my half of the scone. However, in reality, Iām glad Alfieās caught up in his own bubble because it gives me the opportunity to unashamedly watch him. Lips pursed or moving with inaudible words, he looks down at his tablet like the masters of old did at their canvases. The pencil glides over the screen, his thick fingers occasionally tapping it in annoyance when something isnāt as envisioned.
After a while, he lets out a deep sigh and puts his tablet into his bag again. In its stead, he pulls out the book I recommended him, puts it on the table, and takes another sip of his cappuccino. Immediately, he scowls. āPizdets.ā
āWhat?ā Feigning innocence, I glance at him from over the edge of my book.
āGone cold. Be right back.ā He gets up, briefly places his hand on my head, and walks over to the counter to order a new cappuccino.
Looking like a satisfied bear, he returns a few moments later.
āHappy?ā
āAlmost.ā
āAlmost?ā I repeat, incredulous.
Whatās missing? Did I do anything wrong? Is there something I can do?
āYeah,ā he mumbles as he takes a sip. Humming in delight, chuffed with the warm drink, he sits down and reaches out. āGive me your āand.ā
Wary of his intention, I slowly do as he says.Ā
My breath hitches when his warm palm encloses my fingers and gives them a light squeeze. āNow I am.ā
Albeit a bit clumsy, we continue to sit like that while we read, drink coffee, and, eventually, finish the scone.
Barely do we let go of each other, closely glued at the hip while we navigate Amsterdam. Even as we arrive at the restaurant, Iām still holding onto him.Ā
Alfie appreciates I've chosen a kosher place, but something in the way he orders for us both and shares his food with me betrays his own thoughts. He basically feeds me the entire falafel table we have as a starter, barely touching it himself.Ā
āāEre, try this,ā he says, holding out his fork when our mains are served.
And again it trembles.
āYour handās shaking,ā I remark, leaning in to snag the piece of pargiot off of it.
āIs it? āAvenāt noticed.ā
āWhatās eating at you?ā
āWell, currently, you. Youāre eatinā off me fork, arenāt ya?ā The feigned amusement fades when I give him a displeased look. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth on his napkin. āRight. First, yeah, let me say I appreciate it you goinā out of your way for me. You truly didnāt āave to pick a kosher place.ā
āCourse I did. Gotta take your diet into account. Weāre out together. Canāt just pick any place without checking whether youād be able to eat anything.ā
āBut you need to account for yourself too, Y/N. Do you āonestly like the food āere? You werenāt so keen anymore when you saw the menu, were ya?ā
āI normally eat vegetarian, true, but not out of any convictions. So, you know, every once in a while, Iāll gladly deviate. Besides, there are some tasty things on the menu I can eat. Sure, itās only the starters, but, really, I donāt mind. Plus, this is some proper food.ā
My words offer little comfort. Knuckles white with restrained violent sombreness, he clenches his cutlery. āDonāt put me before yourself.ā
āNeither should you,ā I say, calmly cutting the chicken leg on my plate.
But the act soon falls apart when he slams his fist on the table. A few people turn in their seats, curious about what is going on at our table. However, as at the convention, it only takes a deadly glare to make them mind their own business again.
Lips pulled into a straight line, Alfie turns his ice cold gaze to me. A shiver runs down my spine, triggering the fight or flight instinct. Nonetheless, I clench my jaw and make an effort to control my breathing. I have to stay put, to be brave. After all, he wonāt hurt me.
I hope.
āFignya! I will, whether you like it or not.ā
Stop acting like you mean it. It feels good to be with you, but this wonāt last. It isnāt real, despite what you said.
āWhat language is that?ā Feigning ignorance, I take a sip from my ginger ale.
āāOwād you mean?ā
āThat word before the statement with which, mind you, I strongly disagree.ā
āRussian.āā A faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he sits back. His rigid posture loosens as the tension leaves his body. āāThought Iād stir it up a bit and pose my clever little dove another challenge.ā
āAs if Iām that good at Yiddish.ā
āYou seem to understand me very well when I speak it, though. Donāt discredit yourself. Youāre a smart woman.ā
āI guess Iām posing you quite the challenge too.ā Absent-mindedly, I tap the sides of my glass.
āAre you? I wasnāt aware of one.ā
āLoving me. Or, rather, being with me like this when I keep having these nagging doubts I canāt seem to silence. I know what you said and I desperately want to believe you, but⦠you know⦠I donāt know. Iām sorry. Iām, yeah⦠sorry for being such a downer.ā
āOh, Y/N, no.ā Alfie gets up, face pale with anguish and saunters over to crouch at my side. A grimace briefly flashes over his face when a fresh surge of pain rushes through his leg. āIām āavinā a wonderful time, for the first time in a very, very bloody long while. And Iād not want, right, to spend this time with anyone, any-fuckinā-one but you. Iāll put myself before you because I want to. Because if thereās one thing I can and want to do in this damned world, itās to take care of you. Iām fond of you, my dear. Never doubt that.ā He pokes my head, but the smile on his lips does not quite reach his eyes. āIāll say it every time we meet. Fuck, Iāll tell you until the words finally register in that funny and pretty little āead of yours. And even after it āas, Iāll tell ya.ā
I lift one of his hands from my knee and place it against my cheek, hands wrapped around his wrist to keep it in place. The honesty in his voice isnāt a farce, too determined and true to be an act. It renders me silent, only capable of showing I am listening through gestures like this.
āThis is real, yeah? You. Me. Us āere. All real.ā With gentle force he pulls me towards him, his nose giving mine an accidental nudge when weāre closer than he evidently planned. In his defence, he isnāt wearing glasses. āAll real.ā
āAll real,ā I repeat, blinking away the tears brimming on my lashes.
āAttagirl.ā
During the rest of our dinner we talk about the small things like books weāve read and places weād like to visit one day. Alfie regales me with stories of his travels around the world, be it because of a guest spot or for leisure. One day, he hopes to travel to Japan.
Eventually, the conversation turns to conventions. After all, I have to know when the next time will be when we can meet.
āThereās a tattoo convention in Utrecht in October. Halloween weekend,ā I say while a server clears our table and the wait for dessert begins.
āToo short notice. Got appointments, I think. Ollie knows for sure. Keeps my agenda.ā
āBrussels in November?ā There are no other ones Iāll be able to visit that still take place this year. The anticipation of a negative answer creates a heavy weight in my chest, slowly crushing my heart.
āWould you like me to?ā His eyes glisten when I nod, frantic in my desperation. A slow lopsided smirk spreads on his lips. āThen Iāll make it āappen.ā
Alfie is the one to pay the bill yet again, hijacking the serverās pin machine by playfully dismissing my debit card with a waving gesture. Afterwards, he helps me into my jacket before putting on his coat and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Holding my hand, we walk into the chill evening air to make the journey back to his hotel and the central station.
Along the way, he pulls out his Vape. Nevertheless, whereas he used it without care yesterday, he now thumbs the device and puts it away.
āItās okay. I donāt mind,ā I say, having noticed his hesitation.
āNah, I think I should quit. Vices arenāt good, Y/N. Theyāll only tear you asunder.ā
The homebound journey comes to an end too soon for in about half an hour weāve reached the imposing and elegant building of the hotel Alfieās staying at.
āWell, I guess this is it.ā We come to a halt in front of the stairs leading up to the entrance. I let go of his hand, turn, and look up at him. āThank you for today. I had- I really had fun.ā
For the first time in a very long while.
The last time was with a wolf boy at my side.
āGlad to āear it.ā He spreads his arms. āCan I get a āug as a reward?ā
I burrow into his coat as he wraps me up in his warm strong arms. For a few moments we remain like that, standing there yet adrift in our own world. An idyllic moment to cherish later.
Although reluctant, I eventually force myself to put some distance between us. Placing my hands on his chest to use as leverage, I gently slip from his grasp. If I donāt, I fear neither of us would ever leave. āI should go home.ā
āDonāt.ā
āAlfie, I donāt have any pyjamas or toothpaste or-āā
āNo need to worry, darlinā. I think we can remedy that.ā
He drags me along into the hotel lobby. My common sense urges me to resist, but the need for more time together and unwillingness to leave makes me pliable. Ready to give into our shared whim.
āUhm, sir, Iām sorry, but no guests are allowed after ten oāclock,ā the front desk worker says, standing up as she trails our movements towards the elevator.
āGuest?ā Alfie stops in his tracks and turns towards the poor woman, who goes pale the moment his eyes centre on her. āShe aināt no guest. This āere, yeah,ā he points at me, half hidden behind him, āis my companion. Simply isnāt checked in, but Iām sure that wonāt be a problem, innit?ā
āSir, I apologise-āā
I squeeze his hand when I feel the first trembles of rage coursing through his fingers. He briefly turns to me, his frown slightly softening when our eyes meet. āBreathe. Iāll go. You have my number.ā
āNo, you aināt goinā anywhere. Itās startinā to get dark out and who knows what lurks in the shadows, eh? āSides, Iām sure youāll enjoy my little plan.ā
āAt least stay polite.ā
āFine.ā He takes a deep breath and turns back towards the front desk. āCan I āave a word with the manager?ā
āY- Yes, sir. Iāll- Iāll go get him.ā Meek and hurried, she dials up her supervisor.
Without so much as a second thought, I squeeze his hand again and murmur words I hadnāt expected to use in relation to him. āGood boy.ā
āHm,ā he returns the gesture, his voice lowered to a purr, ācan be nice.ā
A little while later, a man clad in a striped suit appears around the corner of the lobby.
āEvelien, is there a problem?ā he asks in Dutch, glancing at the terrified woman. Her expression speaks volumes, so his attention automatically shifts to us.
āWhat āe ask?ā Alfie leans in.
āWhether thereās a problem,ā I translate.
āMister Solomons,ā the manager starts in what I can only describe as Dunglish. Itās occasionally duped Louis Van Gaal Engels, named after the terrible English spoken by one of our more famous soccer coaches. Iād argue Mark Rutte comes close to it too. Of course there are plenty others who sound and are as terrible at the language as them, but those two men take the crown when it comes to making my toes curl with cringe. āIs there a problem?ā
Oh gods, please shut up.
āYeah, there is,ā Alfie grumbles. āApparently, itās not allowed to āave my girl with me. Sure, she aināt checked in, but thereās plenty space in my room. Now, sheās āad a long day and it aināt safe to send her back on āer own at this time of day. Considerinā that, I offered she stay with me, yeah, because it aināt safe to let a woman wander on āer own in the dark. Surely you understand.ā He takes a few steps towards the manager, looming over him. āRight, little man?ā
The manager opens and closes his mouth, chasing words that remain elusive. Eyes wide with panic, he awkwardly clears his throat. āOf- Of course, mister Solomons. She can stay. Would you, ah, do you need extra⦠towels?ā
āGood man.ā Alfie puts a hand on the managerās shoulder. āIām glad we see eye to eye.ā
Leaving the question about the towels unanswered, he grabs my hand again and leads us to the elevator. Iāll be honest, despite my statement earlier today, I am unashamedly happy he has used his status to prolong our time together.
āWhy were you bristlinā?ā he asks when we are out of earshot of the now both very pale hotel employees.
āHis English.ā Alfieās expression goes slack, eyebrows knitted together. āNot every Dutch person is great at English to the level they have an, I suppose, native-like accent like me. Most transfer the regular monotone Dutch speech pattern to their English, which makes it very flat. And I just canāt stand it.ā
āFunny. Youāre not even English and yet you react like you are.ā He chuckles while we head to the elevator. āYouāre a very strange woman.ā
āYouāre not the first to say that.ā
āOliver Cromwell.ā
āDonāt mention that name,ā I snap.
Alfie laughs at my outburst. āAre you sure youāre not Irish?ā
The doors open and we get in. He pushes the button for his floor.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed. āMaybe in a past life. As you said yesterday, history has a funny way of repeating itself.ā
āYou think we met? Our past selves?ā
āWhoās to say?ā I avoid his gaze, trying to fathom who and what we couldāve been.
āIr zent bakant far mir.ā
Ik ben bekend voor je? Whatās that in English again? Familiar! Iām familiar to you?
āIn what sense?ā
āI donāt know, darlinā.ā The doors open and we step into the hallway. I match my pace to his as we make our way to his room. āPerhaps it doesnāt feel like it to you, but to me, right, itās like Iāve known you for a long time.ā
Itās starting to feel like that for me too. And Iām not sure yet I like it.
āI canāt say the same,ā I say, entering the room as Alfie holds the door open. His gaze is cold, boring into my back. When I turn to him, leaning against the wall, his blue eyes have gone vacant and dull. Although, upon closer inspection, they rather seem haunted and hiding a grim pain he has carefully locked away. āNot yet, at least.ā
āRight,ā he murmurs. āIāll run you a bath, yeah. Itās been a long day.ā
āAlfie, donāt be like this.ā I grab his wrist as he moves past me. āI just need more time. This is all new to me and Iām scared.ā
He frees himself from my grip, mumbling to himself. āEyn tog ir ken gedenken mir. Oder ir vet nit. Es tut nit enin enimor. Ir keynmol hobn fryer, azoy vos volt ir itst?ā
He storms off to the bathroom. A few seconds later, I can hear the tap running.
A frog in my throat, I settle down on the edge of the bed. I hang my head and weave my fingers through my hair, quivering bottom lip caught between my teeth and my breath shallow.
One day Iāll⦠gedenken? In English, is that the same as remembering, remembrance? One day I can remember you? Or⦠Or not? It doesnāt something.
As for the last part, neither Dutch or my high school level German can help translate.
My vision becomes watery as his annoyed yet sombre words echo in my ears. We came this far. Heās got me in his room, the farce he put up broken the moment I donāt agree with him.
What the fuck am I doing? I already pissed him off. I should go. Iāll think of an excuse and shoot him a message. Yeah. Okay, gotta be fast.
I stand up and grab my bags. However, the second I turn towards the door, Alfie pops back into the room. Standing in the doorway, he takes me in. āWhatāre you doinā?ā
An involuntary sob escapes me. Immediately he saunters over, a look of shock on his face when I take a step back. āY/N, whatās wrong?ā
Another step forward.
Another one back.
āTalk to-āā
āStep back.ā
āWhat?ā
āStep the fuck back,ā I roar, on the verge of breaking down completely. He does as I say, hands held in the air in surrender. āAnd donāt follow me. Donāt try to stop me.ā
But of course he does.Ā
The idea was to walk around him with a bow and bolt out the door, take the stairs, run outside and straight to the station. Alfie, however, grabs me by the arm and pulls me flush against him, arms locking me in place. His heart is thundering in my ear, chest rising and falling quickly with the effort it takes to make me stop struggling.
āCalm- No- Calm- Y/N, calm down!ā He caresses my hair, lips pressed to the top of my head and his voice stern yet worried and kind. āWhat was the plan, eh? Youāve gone fuckinā mad if you think Iāll let you walk out that door without tellinā me what the fuck youāre playinā at. Tell me, yeah? Tell Papa Solomons what funny thinā you were tryinā to do.ā
My breath tapers, knowing thereās no way out now. I swallow hard, hardly able to form coherent and audible sentences. āI- Iām- I thought you were mad at me.ā
He presses another kiss on the crown of my head, softly swaying to help me calm down faster. āWhy would you think that?ā
āBecause of what you just said. In Yiddish.ā I inhale a shaky breath. āI-āā
āOh, darlinā, if I were angry with you, Iād say it in a language you understand.ā
āBetter start learning Dutch, then.ā
āIāll tell you in English until I can. Even so,ā he presses a kiss on my forehead and then tips my chin up so he can kiss away the stray tears rolling down my cheeks, āI promise Iāll never, yeah, never get angry with you.ā
āSo, what- what happened yesterday wasnāt- when I went to get coffee and after-āā
āNo, I wasnāt angry with you. I was simply being a stupid old man raginā at life.ā He tightens the embrace and cradles my head. āIt wasnāt because of you.ā
āAlfie, is it- No, never mind.ā
Itās too early to say I love you.
āNah, none of that.āā He stops moving. āāTell me. What did ya wanna ask?ā
āNothing. Letās leave it be. Thank you for running me a bath.ā I wriggle out of his grip and rub his forearms lovingly. āIāll go enjoy it.ā
He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed and his hands on my waist. āIf you need anythinā, just shout.ā
āI will.ā
He tentatively presses his lips against mine, shaking with the strain of not bursting out in a fit. However, it doesnāt feel like anger.
More like deep-seated sorrow.
āDonāt forget this.ā He lets go of me to rummage in the closet, pulling out a white hoodie with his studioās logo embroidered on the left side on the front. He turns it around so I can see the back, which depicts a fierce Fenrir devouring the sun. āI āavenāt worn it yet, so itās still fresh. It might be a bit big, but itāll keep you warm. Thereās also an extra toothbrush on the sink, the blue one. You can use my toothpaste. Oh, thereās also micellar water. I use it for me skin, but itās also good to remove makeup with I āeard.ā
āIt is. Thank you, Alfie.ā
He looks at me and nods, a grateful grunt erupting from his throat. āāTold ya I had a plan.āā
Hoodie draped over my arm, I head to the bathroom.
The bath water is the exact right temperature, hot yet not enough so to scorch your skin. Like our silences, itās comfortable. I undress and hop into the lavendel-scented tub.
Submerged into the water up to my chin, I repeat the conversations we had today in my head. Because Iām still waiting for the catch. A sign this is either a cruel joke or a feverish dream.
Apparently, itās not allowed to āave my girl with me.
This is real, yeah? You. Me. Us āere. All real.
If I wanted sex, right, only sex, then tell me why I feel like this. Why, right now, it feels like me chest is being ripped open and me ticker pulled out of it, put right through the fuckinā shredder. Why I feel like thereās a brick in me stomach and a ball of cotton in me throat each time you drift off or seem upset. Fuckinā tell me!
There truly was a crack in his voice.
Tell me because I donāt understand it.
āMe neither, Alfie,ā I mumble to myself. āMe neither.ā
I raise my leg to admire Anubis, the first god to grace my skin.
We created a bloody masterpiece, āavenāt we?
He sounded incredibly proud, not of himself but of us both. The same genuine delight I spotted in the various little smiles he tried to suppress.
When I climbed down the ladder. Put back the books. Drank coffee while he was drawing, half concealed by his tablet.
When we broke away after that first kiss.
The feeling of his beard is still vividly imprinted on my lips, which grow ticklish as soon as I trace them. My cheeks remember the warmth of his hands, a bit rough yet affectionate and secure.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply and let out the breath after holding it for a moment.
Maybe I should have a little faith. Take the gamble with you.
I wash my hair with his shampoo, rinse it out, dry off, and put on my improvised pyjamas. All the while, I canāt shake off the idea of taking a bath together.
Iād lean against his chest, sturdy yet grown soft and supple with neglected muscle. Our fingers would lazily fumble with each other, tracing shapes or the tattoos on our skin. He could dry me off and dress me after wrapping me up in a cocoon of towels. Maybe carry me to bed, curled up in his arms like a small child.
Back in the room, Alfie is leaning against the headboard and drawing on his tablet. His glasses balance on the bridge of his nose. He sits up when he hears me enter, trailing my movements as I do.
āI know, I know,ā I flail my arms, clutching the hems of the sleeves to maintain my sweater paws, āit looks about as flattering as a sack.ā
He puts his tablet on the bedside table and places his glasses on top of it. āNot at all. Cāmere, let me look at ya.ā
I approach his side of the bed, taking slow steps towards where heās sitting. As soon as Iām in armās reach, he pulls me down on his lap. To not smack head-first into his face, I steady myself by grabbing his shoulders. Hands on my waist, he holds me in place. āMhm. Yeah.ā
āAlfie?ā He tilts his head, his hands trailing lower to my thighs. A shiver runs down my spine when his rough calloused palms glide over my skin, culminating in the growing warmth between my legs. I run my fingers along his jaw and beard, scratching it in the way he likes and makes his expression go hazy with distant dreams. āWolfy? Ah- hm~ā
His lips crash into mine, feverish and hungry, as he grinds my hips on his. A pleasant dizziness sets in, created by the few seconds he allows me to draw breath and his unashamed desire. A faint throbbing and hardening sensation is tangible through the thick denim of his jeans, wanton and yet longing to be closer.
Alfie swipes his tongue over my lower lip and gives my nose a little nudge with his to ask permission for more.
And more I readily grant him because, like him, Iām also guilty of subjecting to greed. I suppose that even in our sins we are united.Ā
The faint taste of the chocolates we had with our after dinner coffees mixed with his cologne and the underlying plea in his expression strangles each logical thought.Ā
Thereās only here, a safe haven without consequences or concerns.
Only us, two people who seem to have found one another after a long time apart.
I surrender to the guidance of his hands, steadily rocking my hips against his to further put my underwear to shame. The dominance of his tongue, finding no resistance as it explores my mouth. The rapacity in his curiosity, embodied in my secret pride in coaxing out the wolf within.
Alfie slips his hands beneath the hoodie, enveloping my bum and spreading the cheeks so I can feel him better. A sound in between a gasp and a moan spills from my lips when he presses himself against me, ready to take this further.
Beyond the boundaries of comfort.
And it frightens me.
Too fast. Weāre going too fast.
Abruptly, I pull back. Alfie chases my lips, evidently far from done.Ā
To show this is where I draw the line in the sand, I place my hands on his shoulders and push him back to create enough distance between us to speak. To hide the tremble in my fingers, I clutch the fabric of his shirt. A corset of guilt settles around my chest, growing tighter with each second and every word I try to utter without showing the cracks of fear. The disgust I feel towards myself, throwing myself at him like that because it makes part of me happy while my rationality keeps pointing out the likely longevity of our relationship.āAlfie, I- Iām sorry, but can- can we stop?ā
I donāt want to seem easy.
I donāt want to be easy.Ā
He grows still, his gaze still glazed over but slowly sharpening as the spell breaks for him too. Languidly he raises one of his hands, which hovers a few millimetres from my cheek. I wrap my fingers around his wrist and bring his palm to my face, placing a kiss on it before leaning into its warmth. āIām sorry.ā
āDonāt be. Itās alright, Y/N. Itās okay. You āave boundaries and thatās good. Iām proud of you for speakinā up,ā he purrs, voice gravelly and low. After a momentās hesitation, Alfie rests his forehead against mine. āCan I at least see āow our good pal Anubis is doinā?ā
I nod and guide his hand to lift the hoodie just enough for the god to show in all its healed glory.
My breath catches in my throat as his fingers glide over my skin. āGood girl. Taken proper care of that, aināt ya?ā His gaze darts to my face when he feels me go rigid. āāI apologise, I shouldāve asked before touchinā you. I know it aināt a proper apology and I shouldāve thought twice, perhaps three, fuck, five times before-āā
āāAlfie, itās okay. I know you didnāt mean anything by it,āā I cut him off, saving him this time from breaking out into a ramble. āBy the way, everything smells like dragon blood now.ā
The careful smile I give him makes him relax, at least enough to join in on the joke and erase the grimace from his face. āThe smell aināt that bad, right?ā
I shake my head, feeling rather silly like a little girl. Free of the burden on my shoulders now that the atmosphere has brightened.
āIām gonna shower. Can I kiss you before I do?ā
āYeah.ā
He hums and presses his lips to my forehead. āI wonāt take long. Lie down and get cosy. Read a bit. If you want, you can also browse through my designs or use my tablet for YouTube or Netflix. The code is 1888.ā
An involuntary yelp erupts from my throat as he flips us over. He pulls back the sheets so I can scramble beneath them after propping up his pillow. Honestly, I had expected him to simply drape the sheets over me, but Alfie properly tucks me in.
āComfy?ā Alfie runs a hand through my hair, tracing the length of a lock to my cheek. He cups it, tenderly brushing his thumb over the skin.
I nod, smiling contently.
āGood.ā
He saunters to the bathroom, picking up a pair of sweats and a loose fitting shirt along the way. A few seconds later the sounds of Alfie undressing and the shower fill the otherwise quiet room. I put on my glasses and settle in with the novel I bought, enjoying the silence.
Which is soon broken by a symphony of hardly stifled groans and bitten-back curses.
Is he⦠no, surely itās his leg. Then again, donāt be naive, you bloody idiot!
I hide behind my novel, my ears as hot as my cheeks.
Oh, Lord.
Though I stand by my decision to not have sex with him, I canāt suppress a smirk nor deny the prickle running down the back of my neck. After all, how many times will I get to enjoy the pleasure of hearing him like this?
Proud as a peacock, basking in the knowledge Iāve reduced him to this state, I put the novel to the side and lie down on the pillow to listen to the going-ons in the bathroom.
His breath grows shallow, the growls deeper and feral. My fantasy makes a run for it and imagines him here in bed, sweating while mindlessly rutting into me. How many rounds would it take before heās run out of stamina or for his balls to be empty?
Sooner than I wouldāve liked, a snarl followed by low murmurs betrays heās finished. Then again, he did say heād make it quick.
Did you think about me? What you wouldāve done if we hadnāt stopped?
To keep up appearances, I pick my book up again, put my glasses on and read until heās done. Fortunately, he falls for the false show of innocence. Either that or heās too wrapped up in towelling his hair dry and moving to notice Iām not thinking clearly either.Ā
A tad awkwardly he swaggers over to the bed, moving as if his clothes are in the way. I cross my legs, grateful the covers are there to conceal how his lumbering frame affects me.
āWhy the grimace?ā I tilt my head and try to keep my voice level, devoid of the amusement he unintentionally provided. Feigning ignorance is easy. Itās the maintaining of the act thatās the hardest part. But try I will.
āI-āā He opens and closes his mouth as he scours his mind for an appropriate explanation. With a groan, Alfie lifts up the duvet and slides beneath it. āIām not used to wearinā pyjamas.ā
Now itās me whoās gobsmacked. I trail his movements, if only to hide the fact I have to let his confession sink in. Precarious information like that I need to register properly.Ā
Because my mind can get terribly creative.Ā
I scoot over to make room for him, still incapable of tearing my eyes away from him. āUhm, I donāt know if this is appropriate of me to ask, but⦠do you sleep naked?ā
āYes, itās how Yahweh means it to be.āā Alfie lets out a content sigh, finally settled in a position in which neither his leg nor his body in general takes a toll on him. āāThe first āumans were naked. Itās our natural state, but I didnāt think youād appreciate me goinā commando. āEnce the bloody clothes.ā
āIf itās really, you know⦠uncomfortable for you, you could, uhm, t- take them⦠off?ā
āYouād run straight out that damned door if I did and I wouldnāt blame ya. And we canāt āave that, can we? No, the clothes stay on. I can āandle it. Aināt as bad as me health.ā He wraps his arms around my waist. āPut the book away. Cute as you are with your glasses, itās time to hit the āay. Iām knackered.ā
āI can leave only the reading lamp. Iām not tired yet.ā
āNo, darlinā, even big girls need sleep.ā He props himself up on his elbow, plucks my book out of my hands, and reaches over to put it on the bedside table. Then he gently removes my glasses, folds them, and puts them atop the novel. āIf I ever want you to do as I tell you, right, which, I know, isnāt very feminist of me, itās now. Just this once, Y/N. Can you do that for me?ā
Well, you also told me not to get a tattoo by Chester. Then again, I havenāt promised you I wonāt.
I sigh, turn on my side, and shuffle closer to him. āAlright.ā
Alfie pulls me flush against him, his chest seeming to radiate heat naturally. Itās exactly as I imagined it would feel beneath all the layers of clothing, beneath that white shirt back in Birmingham. Sturdy yet grown soft and supple with neglected muscle. Our legs entwine, the muscles in his thighs keeping mine firmly in place. I clutch his shirt like a koala, determined to hold on till sunrise.
One bear-like, no, wolf-like paw tucked beneath the pillow, he rubs my back with the other. All the while, he holds my gaze, looking at me with eyes as blue as Starry Night by van Gogh. Itās a shame he canāt see heās the piece of art between us. I am merely the artist who canāt lay claim to him. āNice, innit?ā
Maybe not yet. One day. Until then, I have dreams in which I can confidently call you mine.
Involuntarily, I yawn. My eyelids grow heavy, the clutches of sleep slowly entangling my body. āMhm.ā
āIād love to do this when you visit me.ā
āIād like that.ā
āGood.ā He kisses my forehead.
I raise my hand to run my fingers through his beard, still fascinated by the feeling of it as well as the intimacy. Although, itās perhaps Alfie allowing it in general thatās most fascinating.
After a few moments, starting to lose the fight to stay awake, I let my hand rest on his neck. However, he puts it back on his beard, evidently having other ideas. āDidnāt say you could stop, did I?ā
I let out a breathless laugh, too drowsy to make a louder sound. āDoes it feel good?ā
He closes his eyes, unconsciously guiding my fingertips to the spots that feel especially good. It could be because of the drowsiness, but his usual rumbles of delight have turned into the purrs like those of a very big pleased cat.
We continue to lie like that for a few more moments. Nevertheless, as soon as Alfie notices Iām losing what little momentum I already had, he takes my hand and places it on the side of his neck. āGo to sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.ā He buries his nose in my hair, inhaling the scent. I donāt need to check to know heās smiling. āMeetinā the parents⦠fucking āell.ā
āDonāt have to,ā I mumble.
āOllie and Tom need to shut up. Maybe I should shoot them both.ā
āNo Timbuktu, Wolfy.ā
āRight, no Timbuktu.ā He leans in far enough for our noses to touch, places a peck on mine. āGeyn tsu shlofn, meyn mlkh. Deyn volf vet haltn ir zikher.ā
A heaviness overtakes my body as I sink deeper into slumber, descending in the peaceful safety created by his arms and the knowledge thereās nothing to worry about for a few hours. Any problems created today will have to wait until tomorrow.
I remember dreaming of a Queen and a wolf sitting beneath a tree with nine branches spreading into the sky. They were looking out over a vast body of water, maybe a sea. And Iām fairly certain the wolf was keeping her safe.
I donāt know how long I slept when I wake up. Judging by the faint light falling in through the window, itās still night or perhaps very early in the morning. We changed positions since we went to bed, me facing the window and Alfie firmly pressed against me, his chest rising and falling against my back and one arm draped over my waist to keep me close to him. I look over my shoulder, unable to suppress a smile at his calm expression which slowly etches itself out against the dusk.
He stirs, a grunt spilling from his lips as he rocks into me. Again I feel the same prodding sensation that woke me up.
Hang on.
Experimentally, I grind down on him, lip caught between my teeth to muffle the moan threatening to spill from the friction. The action gets rewarded with a warning snarl. Beneath the sheets, his hands grab my hips and squeeze them hard enough to cause bruises.Ā
His cock twitches when I press myself against it again. For a moment the idea to wake Alfie up to lend him a helping hand passes through my head. However, my common sense gets the better of me. We both have boundaries. Now itās my turn to respect them.
Itās better to leave things, us, as we are. I donāt want to give off mixed signals.
So, having had my extra bit of fun and enjoying the clear display of possession, I drift back to sleep.
Perhaps I donāt need dreams. Iām yours and youāre mine.
Strange how the expected can turn into the unexpected only to leave you filled with suffocating disappointment.
I roll over in the bed, but whereas I could snuggle into Alfieās chest just a few hours ago, all I can seek warmth from is the cold and empty spot next to mine.
Maybe heās just making a call or heās downstairs in the gym.
Itās nonsense, absolute rubbish. Yet, I need something to contradict myself, the incessant voice in my head called āconscienceā. To suppress the rapidly spreading bleak feeling, my instincts tuned into the situation and not tolerating any flight of fancy.
I slowly sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, making a quick mental prayer to have him there when I open them. Itās pathetic, of course, to hope for such a thing despite the clear signs.
Itās only me, in an empty hotel room in Mokum.
Clenching the sheets, lips pressed firmly together, I blink away the watery world.
The lonely reality.
Donāt cry. You couldāve expected this. What were you doing anyway? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why do I have to be such a fucking idiot?
With tears still brimming on the edge of my lashes, I scan the room for any hints about Alfieās whereabouts. Then again, how much can one find when there is no trace to be found?
His jacket, cane, phone, suitcase, backpack. Gone.
I check my phone, but the screen lights up with nothing but new notifications from online shopping apps. He also hasnāt left me a text or an Instagram message.
Well, at least he has Velvel with him. Or would he have dumped him somewhere? No, that doesnāt sound like Wolfy. He isnāt like that. He isnāt!
The thought of the poor little stuffie drowned in rubbish wrenches a violent sob from me.
At least you couldāve left him here, you bastard!
On the coffee table stands a tall white cup with a familiar holder around it. There seems to be something tucked underneath. Temporarily forgetting the plushieās fate, I get up to get a closer look.
An envelope.
Inside is a letter, written in an elegant cursive reminiscent of the kind you find in really old vintage ones. I sniff at the cup and take a small sip of the, apparently, cold liquid inside.
Pumpkin spice.
How the hell did this get here?
Latte in hand, I sit down to read.
My dearest Y/N,
The coffee mustāve gone cold by the time you read this, but I didnāt want to wake you up. You looked too peaceful, like a little seraphim at rest. So I packed my stuff as quietly as I could so as not to disturb you. However, please do forgive me for this, I couldnāt help but murmur my goodbyes and kiss your forehead. You stirred, but I do hope I didnāt wake you up.
Yesterday, at the bookshop, you said that there are a lot of things people donāt do as they used to, especially writing letters. Yes, I heard you. This old man remains very good at paying attention, comes in handy when [crossed out text]. I couldāve sent you a message over Instagram, but I didnāt want to be that bloke. To be honest, you deserve better than that, love. Itās been a very, very long time since Iāve written a letter so hopefully my handwriting is still legible in spite of the years.
And even though Iām not there when you read this, I can imagine you wonder how in the bloody hell I managed to get a piece of paper and an envelope. I kindly requested them from the staff at the front desk. No force was used, I promise. Only a bit of coercion and intimidation. Nonetheless, I hope you can envision my desperation to leave you a personal note.
By the way, donāt worry about check-out. You can do so whenever youāre ready to go home. Speaking of which, I regret I made you the promise of meeting your parents and not being able to follow up on it. Something happened in Camden which requires me to return to England at once. I would rather have stayed here with you and let Ollie handle it, but heās not the person who should deal with it.
Velvel is sitting at my side and he isnāt happy to leave you, either. But Iāll make sure he becomes a hardy boy, a London wolf like your man.
Weāll miss you. Yet, we also know youāre a big girl who can save herself (even when I donāt like it, next time Iām going up the ladder).
Donāt cry for me, sweetheart. I hate myself for knowing you likely are, so let me make the promise Iāll never make you cry again. Now you have my word on paper, a powerful weapon to use against me any time. For you are the only woman, the only person, who this king bends his knee to.
(The good one, right knee)
And let me make another promise.
I, Alfred Josef Menahem Solomons Jr., swear to you, Y/N L/N, that I will return once winterfall has come. If I donāt, itās better if you forget about me. What good is a man who canāt live up to his word?
Until then, I cherish the time we spent together. You made me feel like a free man, a man of flesh and blood. Alive, risen again like Lazarus.
Iāll keep you in my heart and hold the ghost of your hand until we meet again, my love. For you have been the last dream of my soul and I refuse to let it, YOU, go.
Your sincere and faithful servant,
Wolfy
I squint at the letter.
Winterfall? What and when is that? Youāre not coming back, are you? This is just a pretty way for you to say goodbye.
Thereās a postscript.
P.S: Iāve left you the drawing I worked on yesterday. Again, there was no force used to have it printed and delivered to you, my dear. I asked the staff very nicely to help me out. Let me know what you think of it. Or, even better, write to me. Thereās an address on the back.
On the table is the referenced artwork, revealed from its hiding spot beneath Alfieās letter.
Itās not precisely what I expected. In fact, itās drawn in a style entirely different from his tattoos, a watercolour portrait rather than black ink sketch. The background is blurry, the colours in the scenery flowing over into each other. Only a window is clearly drawn, a black cat holding a cup of coffee staring out of it.
My eye falls on the title of the piece, written in a neat elegant surface in the corner.
Bast.
I turn the piece of paper around.
Thereās an address in Margate.
The world can get incredibly loud once a lost soul returns. Its happy wanderings are drowned out by yelled concern, anxiety mixed with guilt having created a heavy shroud to wear.
But I keep his letter and drawing tight to my chest.
And lapse into silence.
*Outside @mini-games' lobby, is Prof, the basilisk(@combat-menu) still wrapped around the staff, trying to see if there are gnomes around..*
*Prof hears something, something falling. He looks up and sees... @ultrakill-style-bar-updates?*
What the fuck-

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thought id try my hand at some !WF @scifigirlgamez fanart :) i think sheās neat
youāre the only one who made me feel like something feel like something
in a winterfall
Crimson Evenfall - Winterheart (1997)







