loveinthe-ice

[loveinthe-ice]

allourwonder

Cora’s head snapped up from the computer when she heard Keaton enter their home, glancing over at Quentin briefly with an endeared smile playing at her lips as he sat and watched television with an utter innocence to him. She sighed then, glancing back at the laptop screen. She just wanted to make everything okay for her boy. He was too young to have to put up with any of the shit life dished out –– she wanted to stave it off as long as she could, protect him the way she wished she could have continued to do for her sister. She had failed then, but she refused to fail now.

The brunette ran a hand through her hair, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Keaton enter the main living space. Watching him greet their son with affection put a little smile back on her face –– while she didn’t like this predicament, she knew Keaton would back her up and do everything in his power for Quentin. It had been amazing to see not just how Keaton had changed in many ways upon entering into a serious, committed relationship with Cora, but also how gaining a son had brought out a fatherly, affectionate and rather selfless side of him. Everything he did, she knew he did it for them –– she knew that he wanted to be the dad his own father never had been, and she saw it in how he put them first. Every day she was glad that they’d pulled through the highs and lows to make it to this point.

She watched their casual exchange, noting Quentin’s timidness –– he didn’t like to burden his parents with the things that bothered him, and that was especially true for his father. Quentin was a perceptive kid, and though Keaton wasn’t absent in any sense, he worked hard and sometimes for long hours, and she was sure Quentin worried about bothering him when he finally did get to spend time at home with them. Having such a smart kid could be troublesome in situations like these.

Cora’s blue eyes flickered to her husband as he came over and pressed a kiss to her forehead –– she leaned into it a little, breathing out contently. “Hey,” she said softly in return, catching the way his eyes flicked to the screen. She chuckled wearily. “Yeah, I guess you could say so.” She lowered her voice a little then, hoping Quentin was still thoroughly distracted by the TV. “I got called into the principal’s office earlier.” She gauged his expression before continuing. “I guess some kids have been bullying him… I had no idea. He never said a word.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Kinda makes me feel like a shit mom, not even knowing my own kid is being bullied.”

As he listened to his wife’s account of what had happened earlier in the day, a light, protective frown immediately crossed the businessman’s face. Glancing back towards Quentin as if to have extra assurance that the boy wasn’t visibly hurt, he murmured, “What kind of bullying are we talking about here, exactly? There are so many ways this current generation manages to succeed in such unnecessary abuse.” Not that any kind was lighter or safer than the other, but Keaton would be especially infuriated if he discovered his child was being physically hurt. 

Sighing lightly, he took a seat next to her and wrapped an arm around her in comfort. “We knew we would most likely have to come across our child keeping things from us eventually-- I suppose we just expected it to be in a different way, and in the hormonal teenage years rather than now.” He knew that Quentin was not hiding this from them to be malicious in any way; their son was independent, and he tried his hardest to handle any conflict by himself both because he felt he was smart enough to do so and because he did not want to put any burden on his parents. While Keaton admired independence and could most definitely relate to having such a trait, he needed his son to know that there were always going to be some issue he would need others’ help on (a lesson Keaton had only learned far later in life). “Don’t feel bad, my love,” he muttered, turning his head to press a kiss to her cheek, but still looking towards the young boy watching his cartoons. “There’s nothing either of us could have done to have known, unless we started stalking him at school. Perhaps this experience will help him understand that outside help is alright every now and then,” he pointed out in a low voice, noticing that Quentin would occasionally glance over at the two every now and then.

“But that’s a conversation we’ll have with him later. For now.. I presume you already have a battle plan concocting in that crafty little head of yours,” he spoke with a raised eyebrow, still somewhat serious, though hoping to at least cheer his wife up a little with their regular banter.

[loveinthe-ice]

It had been a particularly busy day for the hotel owner, and after the several meetings and conference calls he had sat in throughout the day, he was ready to go home to his wife and son. 

He sometimes still wondered how his life had taken such a turn; it wasn’t as though he had never wanted a family of his own one day, but considering the businessman’s former lascivious and manipulative ways, he had never imagined said family would come to him so smoothly. Of course, he and Cora had had more than their fair share of bumps in the road when it came to the history of their relationship, but taking into account the complications Keaton would tend to get himself into as a young man in his early to mid twenties, the start of their family had been surprisingly... easy. Perhaps it was because simply everything felt easy with Cora, despite the fierce and stubborn attitude she had. He had felt comfortable with her from the start, and so marrying her had been the obvious option. When she had given birth to what was possibly the best gift Keaton had ever received in his life, the man could only further confirm that he had made the right choice, and that he would faithfully commit to his promise of never being the type of father his own had been to him.

Arriving to their rather lavish home, he walked inside and headed into the living room. Eyebrow raised at the sight of the young Brooks eating spoonfuls from a bowl of ice cream, he came over and ran his fingers through the boy’s brown locks lightly. “Rough day at school?” he inquired in his low voice, a hint of amusement sprinkled in his words. The boy immediately looked up, a small smile appearing on his face upon seeing his father-- though it was not the usual beam he displayed when he learned a new fun fact about his favorite animals or when he got a new little bow tie to match one of his father’s. 

“Hi, Dad! Uh.. kind of..” he mumbled, eyes traveling towards his mother. Coming over to her, Keaton leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his wife’s forehead.  “Hello, darling,” he greeted in his husky voice before glancing to the computer screen in front of her. “Does this “Kelly Montgomery” and her yacht have anything to do with the reason our son is eating his dessert as his appetizer?”

* ✩ ° . · . THE BROOKS FAMILY. / @loveinthe-ice​

The last thing Cora had been expecting that afternoon when she’d gone to pick up Quentin from school was being asked to come into the principal’s office first. She’d never been asked into the principal’s office before –– Quentin wasn’t the sort of kid who got into trouble that warranted a parental visit to the principal. In fact, quite the opposite, Quentin was as put-together as his father, practical as his mother, and just as ( alarmingly ) clever as both of his parents. He was a very intelligent young boy who didn’t do anything worth getting in trouble, apart from having a smart mouth sometimes ( and what else could be expected of the child of Keaton Brooks and Cora McIver? ). 

When she’d stepped into Principal Queller’s office, she was aware of Quentin already waiting in there for her, as well as his teacher, Ms. Pullman. Principal Queller stood from her seat and beckoned Cora in as the mother shrewdly surveyed the situation, stepping further into the room to take a seat next to Quentin. He looked at her with some nervousness, sadness in his face that immediately told her something was wrong, but that he was not to blame for anything. She relaxed then, offering him a reassuring smile. “Hey, baby,” she greeted the eight year-old, leaning close to kiss the top of his head. “Mom’s here, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Upon first having Quentin, being so gentle and careful had been a little foreign to Cora –– she wasn’t used to the delicacy of a child. She had no mother anymore to teach her how to be tender, how to hold them ever so cautiously, everything a mother must do, so she had had to train herself and adjust to it on her own. Fortunately, even before Quentin, Keaton had taught her how to become less afraid of affection, something she had often withheld out of her own fears and discomforts. So now it came somewhat naturally, especially for her own son. “Mrs. Brooks, I want to make sure you know that Quentin hasn’t done anything wrong,” Principal Queller began, having sat back down behind the desk. “I called you in here because Ms. Pullman has noticed some bullying going on towards Quentin from a few of his classmates.”

The meeting had gone on with Ms. Pullman explaining how the slight name-calling and rude behaviour had escalated to a few boys cornering Quentin at recess and one of them shoving him to the ground. Cora knew the only reason he had not said anything to her at home before now was because he didn’t like to cause trouble, and he knew his mother well. She was tough and didn’t let anyone get away with anything –– especially hurting her child. If someone had shoved her, she would have shoved back, and threw in a punch for good measure. But that wasn’t Quentin, and she was okay with that. It only bothered her that it thus left him a little defenseless, made him an easy target.

Cora and Quentin drove in silence home as she thought back on the meeting. Principal Queller had suggested a mediated parent-teacher meeting about it, to discuss what to do from here on out to stop anything else from happening. But Cora knew involving administration further would be the equivalent of shit hitting the fan in this situation. There was an abundance of rich PTA moms at Quentin’s expensive school, and they managed to avoid most accountability by dangling money in administration’s face. So if anyone even tried to suggest this meeting, Cora knew they’d throw a hissy fit, threaten to pull funding, that sort of thing. She’d concluded, then, that it might be better to try to speak to the parents of the kids involved one on one, ‘unofficially’, and maybe if she buttered them up and played nice they would hear her out and the issue could be resolved without administration having to further get involved or punish the kids. While Cora would love nothing more than for the bullying little shits to get suspended, and to tell the parents to learn how to actually parent them, she knew she had told hold back and play this carefully to avoid causing more damage. 

When they got home, Cora, feeling sorry for her son, let him have ice cream before dinner because she knew it might cheer him up a little. She wasn’t sure what time Keaton would be getting home, but she was hoping to run him by her plan. She hated that this was even something they had to consider, that their son was being bullied, but she was determined to do everything in her power to make it all better. As Quentin watched some cartoons and ate his ice cream, the brunette pulled out her laptop. Hard as she’d tried to tell herself to remain calm about this and not jump to conclusions, she found herself digging through the social media of the parents of the kids whom Principal Queller had named, specifically the moms. Oh, I see, Kelly is too busy out here yachting to learn how to teach her kids not to be assholes, she thought to herself bitterly as she clicked through photos. 

[loveinthe-ice]

allourwonder

 Hands shoved in her back pockets, scuffed up black boots leaving UNFORGIVING marks on the luxurious flooring of the gallery, Cora made her way over until she had his full attention. In one sense, she’d determined before even making her presence known to him that it was a bad idea to approach and open herself up to his typical arrogant, annoyingly suave demeanor. But her curiosity had overpowered her good sense –– she wanted to know just what he was doing in an art exhibit. She’d never taken him for an arts enthusiast … though she supposed expensive galleries and the fine arts were typically meant to be ‘rich people’ pursuits. She did stand out in this Upper East Side gallery … it was like wealthy people could smell class disparity.

       “Keaton Brooks,” she mimicked with a sardonic edge to her voice, now sliding her hands out of her back pockets to cross her arms over her chest. At his presumption about the reason for her attendance here at the exhibit, she only reacted with arched brows, lips parted with both slight amusement and distaste tugging at the corners. “I know that your parents have probably raised you to believe otherwise, but you actually don’t own the entire Upper East Side.” She pressed her lips together, feigning pity over his ‘confusion’. “Trust me, my being here has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with you. Something you’re not used to hearing, I’m sure.”

       She allowed herself to smirk in return then. Crush. It was a laughable word –– she hadn’t had one since what, middle school? Even if he was playfully referencing that night of sophomore year of college, well, that –– that had been pure physical, slightly intoxicated desire. And as she recalled, he hadn’t exactly been trying to put more distance between them. But she made no comment about that, because even if it might give her a brief moment of one up it wasn’t worth embarrassing herself in the process by the memory of her behaviour then.

 “Well, it’s worth the commute, anyway, to come check out some new art,” she added as somewhat of an afterthought, weaning off that edge to her interactions up until then just a little. Her eyes left him to examine a portrait on the wall before them. “I am studying it for a masters degree. It makes sense for me to be in an art gallery –– you, on the other hand …” Her gaze roamed until it fell back on him, her shoulders rising in a slight SHRUG. “Not the first person I expected to run into here. Never really took you for an art aficionado, Brooks.” That was as nicely as she was able to put it, which took a lot of strength for a Brooklyn girl.

He had known from the moment he laid eyes on her that if conversation were to begin, he would not be received with silence. Cora had always had a sharp tongue, one he still had not decided if he found impressing or too hasty. Perhaps a bit of both.

Still, it did not bother him. If anything, these were the types of people he preferred talking to. Someone to give him a challenge rather than submitting to every word that came out of his mouth-- something the Upper East Sider had become accustomed to his entire life. Females, especially, tended to flock around the young blueblood, saying anything and everything to even earn a second of his attention-- but Cora McIver had never, ever given him such satisfaction. Nor did he believe she would ever, but the thought still served as amusement. 

The mention of parents brought a small scoff out of his lips, almost automatically. “I wouldn’t say they were a part of the raising at all,” he murmured lowly more so to himself, images of his childhood in a large and empty home briefly flashing through his mind. 

The family had lived in Connecticut for the first ten years of Keaton’s life before moving to the Upper East Side, though calling them a family was solely for biological purposes in Keaton’s mind. It was the countless nannies, maids-- and one butler in particular of whom he was very fond-- who brought up the young man, with an occasional visit from Edward Brooks simply to scold him for his less than perfect behavior and the even less occasional times Charlotte Brooks would take her son on an impromptu shopping spree, laughing as if she were having the time of her life and as if her child could not see the flask in her custom made Hermes handbag. 

Where Charlotte Brooks was now, Keaton had no idea, but he knew that his father could care less. 

Arching an eyebrow slightly, he let his eyes flicker back towards the image on the wall. “It would be difficult for me not to enjoy art when I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life,” he replied in a husk of a voice, almost sounding introspective and contemplative in his words. The large and empty home he had recalled before was filled with expensive paintings and photos-- they adorned the walls far more than any pictures of him or family members in general. As a child, he liked to hear about every single one. Unfortunately, he had never gotten the chance to hear about these artworks from his father. 

“What do you plan on doing with your degree?” he suddenly inquired, glancing towards the female with his regular impassive face. If his lips were not curled up into some type of charming yet devious smirk, he generally showed no emotion to betray the thoughts running inside his endlessly calculating mind; a trait he had certainly inherited from his businessman father. 

[loveinthe-ice]

Feeling particularly frustrated with the load of work Columbia University was currently supplying the MBA student, even the beauty and luxury of the lavish penthouse suite Keaton had locked himself in for the weekend was starting to feel imprisoning. Despite being the lascivious and scheming hedonist he was, the male put just as much effort into his studies and career goals-- whether it was for himself or for his business tycoon of a father, he did not even know at this point, but either way, it was too late to recognize such a matter now. He had come too far, and besides, the success and prosperity would make it all worth it in the end. 

Still, that did not mean the future hotel owner did not need a break every now and then, and so after making sure everything about his appearance-- from his hair to his suit to the black leather gloves-- was impeccable, he took the elevator down to the lobby. 

Hauser & Wirth was an art gallery Keaton had been familiar with for a while now; one of the founders, Iwan Wirth, was actually quite good friends with Keaton’s father. The two often did business together, seeing that Edward Brooks was quite the arts aficionado, which was part of the reason why Keaton enjoyed art as much as he did now. For someone so calculating and business oriented, he felt an odd propensity towards the endless depths art contained. Perhaps he enjoyed how up in the air the critiques and interpretations could be, because that meant he could decide it meant whatever he wanted it to. 

He always did like to be in control.

As the twenty-four-year-old was examining a rather vivacious piece composed of well painted city skylines full of colors and animation, he noticed a figure approaching nearby out of the corner of his eye. Glancing over, brown hues laid upon a familiar face (and briefly drifted down to the rest of her-- just for a moment), eyebrow raised slightly.

His relationship with Cora McIver was... perplexing, to say the least. He could admit that as a fourteen-year-old high school boy, his judgment of his classmate had been baseless and ignorant. He had relied on stereotypes, as most young teenagers did-- though over time, he was able to realize in moments here and there that these assumptions did not hold validity. 

Fast forward to undergrad-- the first party of sophomore year. 

The alcohol, the flushed cheeks, the piercing gaze of two sets of eyes that, in that moment, could only see each other. Her dress riding up ever so slightly, the first couple of buttons on his shirt undone-- the lack of space between them due to other party-goers crowding around them..

Nothing more had happened besides a brief moment of lips almost touching to taste the expensive yet shitty tasting alcohol the other had consumed that night. Keaton now wondered what would have changed had Cora’s friend not come and yanked her aside, a vague memory entering his mind of an incessant whining about some senior who had broken this girl’s heart. Not that he had stayed around to hear it. 

“Cora McIver,” he greeted aloud in a husky murmur once she had come close, now respectfully turning to fully face the female. “Now, I know you’ve had an overt crush on me since we were young, but I think continuing to follow me around here on the Upper East Side is getting a bit demode.” He gave her a small but charming smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, it’s a bit of a commute, isn’t it?”

* ✩ ° . · . GET BACK. / @loveinthe-ice​

        Cora enjoyed looking at art. And not for the purpose of being an art snob and going about critiquing the artist’s skill, or spending hours dissecting the particular brushstroke techniques or whatever the fuck else art critics and elitists liked to go on about. It was just a nice distraction, thinking about a million different lives other than your own. Sure, she was knowledgeable enough to detect what sort of technique was being used, perhaps what era the type of art would belong to –– she was currently trying to earn her masters in studio arts, after all. But she traveled to museums, to big name and little one room galleries alike, really, to be told a STORY. To her, that was what made good art or not –– she could tell when an artist was a wannabe throwing something together to get attention or dupe some critics into thinking it was at all thought-provoking. And she could tell when someone had breathed their entire life story into one sculpture, one painting. 

        This particular chilly, but sunny day in New York, she had ventured to a new exhibit at a gallery in the Upper East Side, Hauser & Wirth New York because she’d been suffocating in her cramped studio apartment in Brooklyn. This was due to a number of unmentionable reasons, but regardless of those, she knew that a new art exhibit would do well to draw her attention away from other matters. And so it did –– she stood before a series of sculptures all part of a collection, trying to figure out this artist’s story, their inspiration. She could see the careful, loving work that had been put into molding the human forms. Cora had always STRUGGLED with emotions coming from another human, but found it easier to understand and analyze them when they were conveyed through art. This was real art to her, and she could see the story, and it was riddled with heartbreak and loss. Satisfied with that determination, glanced away from the display, eyes roaming the space when they stopped immediately on the familiar form of Keaton Brooks. After a moment of thought, she moved to approach him, unafraid and curious. 

        Seeing him always brought on a FLOOD of memories, against her own will. Their relationship had been wholly strange back in their high school days, and the only label she’d ever been able to put on it was something like frenemies. Which wasn’t unexpected when you put a middle-class kid from Brooklyn in the same upscale private school as an immeasurably wealthy Upper East Side kid. There was clashing in many senses, as well as strange moments of relation, of grudging acceptance of one another despite their overall differences. Once they’d graduated, they’d lost awareness of each other entirely –– well, almost entirely. They’d ended up at the same undergrad party once, and had almost hooked up, which Cora could attribute to no other reason than her extremely low tolerance of alcohol in those days. And then a few years later there they were, at the same graduate school. She felt like she was back in high school all over again: the Brooklyn kid on scholarship at a prestigious institution alongside some of the city’s wealthiest, which included Keaton Brooks. Whom she’d almost hooked up with when she was nineteen years old –– though both keenly pretended it had never happened.

[loveinthe-ice]

The male had been quite lucky that the server had, for whatever reason, decided to act as his wingman-- though he would have persisted had she turned him down, nonetheless. If it had not been clear already, Derrick Milas was not one to give up so easily. Charming grin remaining on his face as he kept his brown eyes on her, he playfully widened them at her response. “Oh gosh, are we already discussing meeting the parents before we’ve even given each other our names? I guess I’ll be on my best behavior, then,” he continued to tease in an American accent so well he had to praise himself by wondering if he had actually been born American, before mentally reminding himself that now was not the time to give in to his narcissistic thinking. 

The more she spoke, the more he couldn’t help but take note of that charming wit that came so goddamn easy to her. Other women he spoke to seemed to have the same capacity of humor as the layer of cement slathered between bricks-- not even the brick wall itself. It really was not often that the Aussie was intrigued by a woman’s words and her personality over her appearance and... other specific assets. Then again, was he ever paying attention to personality to begin with? It was not of any surprise that the words that came out most females’ mouths went in one ear and out the other. Perhaps he actually registered these words from Eleanor because he knew such superficiality would not work on her-- him focusing on her looks and appearance was not going to increase his chances of sleeping with her. 

Still, his smile remained, showing no sign of such thoughts on repeat in his mind. “Well, I’m glad to hear that-- not that the stepsisters would matter, though, because I still don’t think I’d be able to find much distraction from you,” he spoke smoothly, then wondered if sounded too similar to his natural self. 

...Eh, nah, the accent protected him from any suspicions-- right?

Sighing playfully, he nodded his head. “Unfortunately, yes, but I’ll pay for shipping if that helps.” He gave her a wink before extending his hand. “You can send it to Corey Barnes. Redwood City, California.” He paused before adding jokingly, “I’ll give you the rest of the address when I make sure there is no spell that wears off.”

He silently thanked the American student his sister had dated for about a year of her college life, as well as his father for constantly traveling abroad for work-- without either, this name and location would have never suddenly sprung into existence in his mind. Whatever the hell Corey Barnes was doing now, Derrick had no idea, but he would have never imagined such an irrelevant person would actually prove to be of some use in his life. 

Each year, the Annual Masquerade proved to be an extra special affair at the Aman Palace, the prestigious 15th Century Venetian palace situated on the beautiful Grand Canal. The best chefs, entertainers and planners had been hired for an unforgettable night under luxurious chandeliers. Eleanor had arrived at the location early in the morning, hoping that she’d be able to help greeting the international guests that were arriving at the hotel. But the guests she looked forward to seeing the most would be waiting for her at the Marco Polo airport and planned on staying at her place.

It was Mrs Middleton’s first time setting foot in Italy ever since finishing her previous marriage to Eleanor’s father and moving to Australia. It was also her first time seeing her daughter ever since the ballerina left England and sought peace, comfort and freedom in another country - could she say she had found either of that after weeks of confronting her past whenever the male Aussie was around? Regardless of everything that had happened behind the scenes, Eleanor made sure to stand with a smile on her face as she waited for the curtain call. She was used to that - she was used to her mother not reading the signs just like when she had assumed her daughter was meant to find happiness in the Prime Minister son’s arms.

After giving them a short tour around the city, handing them a key of her apartment and pointing out a couple different places they could visit, Eleanor told them she had to return to the venue to continue working when the truth was that the clock was ticking and she hadn’t even bothered to find a dress for the night. If her mother had known that, she’d have complained and pointed out more than once that she could’ve gotten the best designers from Milan to work with her. All that much ado about nothing was exactly what the brunette didn’t need at the time, so she just let them be and watched them happily leave hand in hand to explore the city before the ball.

The taxis and gondolas began heading in the same direction  as soon as the moonlight began reflecting on the water. Eleanor showed up in a simple red satin dress and carefully fixed the delicate black lace mask over her nose upon arriving. The use of masks gave the wearer power over concealment and revelation. They could be whoever they wanted to be with no inhibitions. But Eleanor had been playing that game outdoors for months now and this new chance to work with lies she wouldn’t be able keep up with again didn’t catch her attention in the slightest. Perhaps this time, she’d just be herself. Not the falsely engaged woman. Not the British prime minister’s son fake girlfriend. Not the outstanding ballet dancer. She could just be the human everyone else was not pretending to be. And maybe that was why she found it so hard to offer polite smiles to everyone else involved in a showing off competition. Maybe this time, she could use the mask as a shield - try and be herself for once without the vulnerability of being known and putting herself out there.

She had been known to be the life of the party, trying to make everyone feel welcome and making sure none was alone in a corner. The social butterfly that didn’t mind making small talk with back-and-forth dialogue. She had learned how to be liked because she needed to be liked. She needed to set the example for others but also prove that she could help her family’s image. Her parents needed England’s acceptance in order to assume important roles in the running of the country. But she wasn’t tied to them anymore, even though she could spot them chatting with others only a couple feet away from her. Hell, she wasn’t even tied to the one person she had been the one to double knot her ring finger with.

Eleanor had lost the thread of the conversation a couple minutes ago now - even though her body was right there with the talkative group of people, her mind had wandered off and was entirely disconnected from the topics that were being discussed. Had this been her younger self, she’d have done an effort to take part in the conversation again. But she had being abusing her pretending skills for so long that they were far from interested in showing up and helping her out tonight. The delicate black lace mask made her green orbs stand out as they scanned the place filled with anonymity.

There were no particularities. Each and every of them hid their mortal flaws behind their masks, making the whole room look like a perfectly homogeneous and structured painting. They’d hold themselves flawlessly with lingering smiles that showed just how much they limited themselves to be successfully wanted or accepted in such a demanding and selective place. Self awareness included but wasn’t limitated to knowing every single one of their steps on the dance floor. Absurd rules of etiquette applied everywhere that night, from knowing which utensils to use for each course to counting how many minutes could one dance with the same partner. A situation with more social faux pas than ever, indeed. And only Eleanor’s long experience had taught her what was and wasn’t socially acceptable in those celebrations.

Newcomers were walking down the large marble stairs as the acclaimed orchestra played in the background. Despite the many distractions, the ballerina found her eyes following one special silhouette even when it’d disappear behind the spacious ballroom’s classical columns. Somehow, this one person was breaking the monotonous mental scheme of the place Eleanor had created. She couldn’t pinpoint the reason why he had caught her attention. Was it the way he carried himself to effortlessly without holding the etiquette book over his shoulders? Or was it…

No, that was being too paranoid. Someone like Derrick would never ever considering wasting his Saturday night in a place like that one. Besides, who would even invite him? But even more importantly, she wasn’t meant to be in that same city. So if that were to be him by any chance, he could never assume that was her, she thought. And even if he could, he had made it pretty clear he was done with her twisted games the previous day anyway. He’d never prefer her friendship over having uninterrupted sex with his boss’ daughter. She could count with her fingers the reasons why she was just over reacting, afraid she’d be caught red-handed when she shouldn’t have been having anything to worry about. But she did, she cared. This was the longest she had gone without seeing him or hearing about him ever since they had found each other in the city’s maze. Despite how easy she thought letting go of him would be, the brunette was having a hard time trying not to find him in every single one of her thoughts. If she had learned anything, it was that when it came to Derrick a lot could happen in such little time.

Eleanor looked back at the man beside her as her opinion was required but the brunette only gave a soft smile as she excused herself and turned on her heels with a slight sight, fixing her red satin dress. Guests were thought to be disrespectful if they were seen hunching over their phones but that didn’t stop from whipping out hers and checking the screen only to see that there were neither new texts nor missed calls. The silence remained no matter how many times she opened her conversation with the Australian and began typing before blocking her phone again. Her fingernails anxiously tapped the screen, tempting her to take it further and press the one button that would allow her to hear his voice once more. What would she say? Why’d she do that when both had agreed none of this could continue to happen? How’d she explain she couldn’t seem to stand the distance that now kept them apart without bringing up her jealousy from the last scene she had witnessed?

She needed a fresh start, a way to take her mind off Derrick, a distraction. He had to leave her head, let her enjoy that night and allow her to put the guilt aside. She needed to remember how her life was before recognising her childhood best friend’s face again. And perhaps one more glass was going to lead her in that direction, hopefully. With that said, the brunette spotted one of her co-workers carrying a tray of champagne almost right away. Every staff member was dressed in traditional Venetian costumes. And even though Eleanor had always been the one in fancy gowns, this time she was wishing her boss had accepted the idea of her working at the Palace that night. She knew the ones carrying the trays more than the ones emptying them.

But the welcome cocktail had a surprise under its sleeve - a perfect opportunity to change the direction, friction in her attempt of going with the flow. Eleanor was about to be knocked off her feet but her immediate reaction had been way too different. The brunette took half a step back, almost outraged at the stranger’s careless attitude as she let her right hand fall slowly by her side. Who did he even think he was to get in her way like that? Everything was so silently calculated around there that his way of taking the lead only intrigued Eleanor even more. But surely in a good way that managed to put a smile on her face. Boldness wasn’t a trait one would often come across in events like this one - everyone fought to blend in no matter what. And even though only someone like Derrick would have the audacity to address a stranger like this, Eleanor ruled out the possibility of being before him when she was unable to find the Australian accent.

This was her chance to find her own Ciara. Could he be the one? Perhaps. But she was completely aware of the fact that she’d be replacing Derrick out of pure resentfulness. And she’d still feel guilty for lying about her whereabout too. Was she there with someone? That should’ve been an easy question to answer but it only made her notice how she had been imaging her ex fake fiance’s presence like a ghost all that night. She was a tangled puzzle that would need more than just a few hours after calling off a fake engagement to get her shit back together. And diving into this new chapter so quickly could only lead to more mistakes, lies and playing with someone else’s heart. Hadn’t see learned that during one of her last nights in London when drinking her problems away with the Prime Minister’s son? 

The ballerina was about to turn him down with a polite answer when the friend of hers holding the tray anticipated her reaction and replied for the brunette. “Absolutely on her own and would 100% appreciate your company, gentleman.” The red-haired Italian gave the other woman a suggestive look, motioning toward the glass the man was holding before finding her way to disappear into the crowd. “Thank you,” said a rather embarrassed Eleanor as she grabbed the glass and took a small sip from it. “Even though it’s too late for you to take it back, I must admit I’m not on my own. My mother and step-father must be here somewhere.” She confessed as she took a look around but quickly returned her eyes to the man before her with a small smile. “But don’t worry, there are no step sisters and hopefully the spell won’t break after midnight.” The brunette joked, raising an eyebrow. “How about you, sir? Will I have to ship the glass slipper all the way back to America?“ She ask, addressing his accent and the chance of this being probably his only night around the famous city.

[loveinthe-ice]

IDEK WHO EVEN FOLLOWS ME ON THIS WHO’S STILL ACTIVE BUT HI I’M BACK (it’s probably like 3 ppl so rly no need to make a post but here i am anyways)

tbh i RLY MISS RPING and am down to start new threads with whomst ever, pls feel free to hit me up on here if you would like to plot/rp!! my characters are HERE with unfinished bios bc i suck but p sure if u follow me u know who my babes are by now hehe :)

[loveinthe-ice]

thesweetestevil

Lennox felt nothing but confusion at the moment – perhaps a little fear even, after all, who was this person and how did he know her name? Could he be someone from her past? Perhaps. That notion hit her like a slap; if he was indeed someone she’d once known, she probably would no longer remember him now. Worse than that, he was looking at her like she was a mad, a hint of anger eve dancing in his eyes. Could it be possible that he was mistaking her for someone else, or had he really known her before?

As he tried to reaffirm her name, the brunette simply gave a nod of her head. Should she even trust him? Suddenly she found herself glancing around, trying to search for Cece; the other woman was bound to help her, clear up any confusion, right? But the blonde was nowhere to be found, probably already too lost and focused on a boy to remember she’d left Lennox behind.

“Mason…” The brunette repeated, a small crease in her forehead. “I… I don’t know any Mason Taylor.” She added then, shaking her head at his last question. If only there was another way to do this, to make sure he wasn’t someone crazy or someone trying to take advantage from her. How could she be certain? Her fists curled up, nails digging into her palm, feeling herself growing anxious. How could this be happening right now? “I don’t remember anything from the last 6 years of my life. If you’re someone I met during that time, I don’t remember you. And if you’re someone who knows and is trying to take advantage of that, I’m going to murder you.” Her threat wasn’t serious, that much was clear, but she had to say something. After all, what if he was a crazy guy who was trying to take advantage of that?

The more confused she looked, the more stunned he felt. He noticed her look around, seeing she clearly felt uncomfortable, and while he would generally never even think of making a female feel that way, he did not even know himself what to do about the situation. How did this make any sense? He had deemed there was no possible explanation until she spoke.

Mouth slightly dropping open, he blinked a few times as he processed what she just told him. “You-- six years?” he asked slowly, just barely audible. There were a million thoughts rushing through his mind. He could tell simply by looking at her that this was not some type of practical joke. He could see the anxiety in her body language, even a bit of fear and wariness in her eyes. She had to have gotten into some type of accident and obtained a head injury for her to lose her memory for so long, and so he immediately wanted to know what happened. But before he could ask that, she needed to know who the hell she was talking to. On top of all this, he could not believe he had just basically gotten an answer to the question he had been asking for years-- why did his best friend cut him out of her life entirely?

“Jesus,” he breathed out, running a hand through his hair. He was not even sure how to feel. At least he knew now that he had done no wrong, but the thought of something so tragic happening to the woman he loved was far too awful to make him feel any sense of relief that he had finally solved this mystery. “I.. I don’t even know where to start. No, no, I’m not taking advantage of you, I swear,” he promised, finally answering her own statement.

 He was considering asking if they could step outside to talk, but realized that would probably look even more suspicious. “Len, we-- uh, I mean, Lennox-- we knew each other from school. You were kind of my best friend.” He cleared his throat, patting his phone that was currently in the pocket of his jeans. “I have some pictures if you need proof.” Even though he had gotten a new phone since then, there were several pictures of the two on his Facebook from the years they were in college together; unfortunately, even social media had not helped him find her, considering all of her accounts had been deleted. “You, uh, also dated my older brother. Declan Taylor. It was a pretty serious relationship, I just...” he trailed off, unsure where he was even going with the subject. He did not particularly want a refresher on the relationship that had practically killed him on the inside. He pulled his phone out instead, biting on his lower lip. “Do you want me to show you? The pictures, I mean? I swear, I’m not lying.”

remember me | sailo & lennox

[loveinthe-ice]

God, he hated it here.

He sighed, knowing he was being dramatic with these thoughts. It was not as though he was forced to be sitting in a mud puddle in the middle of the rainforest to do his work; this new cafe he had discovered was just as nice as any other cafe located within the city of Las Vegas would be. 

But it was not the diner, and he was now convinced that was the only place he would ever feel truly comfortable working in besides his own hideout of a home.

Was he being unreasonable? This question had been lingering in the back of his mind for days now, but every time he thought it out, he seemed to come to the same conclusion. Continuing to frequent the diner meant becoming even closer to Sloane, considering she was practically always working there. Becoming closer to Sloane meant a real relationship in his life, something solid and expected to be stable, as a friendship was generally seen as. And having this close friendship with another person? That meant said person would be marked as a target for the rest of their lives.

That, he knew he was not being dramatic about, even if it sounded it. Pixel had learned this the hard way. He had made the terrible mistake of making friends before, and he could practically feel the fresh tears that had trickled down his cheeks upon ultimately losing them. For someone who looked so innocent and goofy, he had far more enemies than any regular twenty-three year old male, and therefore his loved ones automatically inherited these enemies. 

He could not do something like that to Sloane. He already felt guilty enough for even becoming acquainted with her. What was he thinking? Someone like him could not have friends. He had chosen this life, and he needed to accept his fate.

Still, his heart hurt. He missed her company, he missed having someone in his life. He had not even begun to think about romance or love, but the mere concept of companionship was enough to make him feel giddy on the inside; yet he seemed to be destined to a life without even that much.

He was snapped out of these thoughts with a sudden flinch of surprise when the very cause of them herself was standing in front of him, barraging him with questions and comments that were very much dripping in sarcasm. His first instinct was to immediately shake his head and apologize, but he stopped himself. He could not be that Pixel right now. He sighed lightly, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s alright,” he mumbled, dark brown hues now flickering back to his computer screen, his attitude one of neutrality though with a tint of disinterest. It was definitely a side of him he had never shown Sloane before, and as much as it killed him, he needed her to walk away. Let her hate him, let her slap him if she wanted to-- as long as she eventually walked away. “Just needed a change of environment, I guess.” 

( &&. @loveinthe-ice )

With his messy hair and his hands attached to the keyboard, it was hard to miss Pixel. Sitting alone on a table, on the corner, as he always preferred to do. Sloane could tell right away that it was him, even through the window.

A car started honking, a warning shot probably, because the brunette was standing in the middle of the way. Startled, she looked over to where the sound had come, and then stepped forward to the sidewalk and out of the way, further closing the distance that separated her from the boy working inside the coffeeshop.

For someone who would spend 24/7 in the diner where she worked, only leaving when he was absolutely required to, it was strange that he would no longer come around, it was obviously weird when he stopped coming around – not even less, not even a few days here and there; Pixel just stopped going altogether. It wasn’t her business. But she had considered them to be friends, and her feelings were hurt.

Glancing to her side briefly, Sloane considered just walking away, going on her own path to her workplace, after all this was none of her business, it was his personal choice. Only, she’d thought they were friends. Instead, before she could stop herself, the waitress found herself barging inside the coffeeshop, only stopping when she was near his table. He didn’t notice her right away, and it wasn’t until she spoke that Pixel looked up. “Fancy seeing you here. Was it their pie that won you over? Or are the waitresses here cuter? Looks like a nice place.” She mused, pulling the chair in front of him and sitting down on it.

[loveinthe-ice]

The past two weeks had been simply heavenly for Oliver thanks to he and Lucy’s rekindled relationship, and he wondered how he could have been going along without this feeling for the past few years. Even if he were to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, simply thinking about the fact that the love of his life loved him back and that she was now his girlfriend once more made his stress melt away. It was cheesy, and it was definitely a side effect of the infamous “honeymoon phase”, but Oliver also knew they were strong enough to last even beyond that. He was not going to mess this up this time around, and he knew she would never do anything to jeopardize their relationship, either. 

Which was why he had been so adamant on taking her to his family home, even if it may have seemed like a big step. They had known about their relationship before, anyways-- especially his brother. While his parents and sister did not know the full extent of their time together, Oliver had told Thomas everything. He had always been the sibling he was most close with, being more close in age with him than with the youngest, Victoria, and the two simply had a better understanding of each other. Thomas had been the only family member to not judge or criticize him for wanting to step out of the royal limelight, for wanting to live as any other citizen of England. Some would say he was only supportive because he was to be next in line, but Oliver knew his brother better than that.

“That’s right,” he smiled amused, looking towards her. “My sister is Victoria, and my brother is Thomas.” Reaching over to squeeze her hands gently, he looked down into her eyes. “Don’t be nervous, alright? I’ll be right there with you. Don’t think of them as royals or anything. Just your boyfriend’s parents.” He paused and chuckled slightly, cocking his head. “Alright, maybe that’s still a bit nerve wracking, but I promise it won’t be bad.” Biting his lip, he admitted, “I just can’t wait to show you my home and where I grew up. I’ve never really gotten to show this side of my life to anyone before...”

oliver & lucy / meet the (royal) parents

It was hard to believe that just a little over two weeks back together, Lucy and Oliver were now on the way to the estate of the Duke and Duchess of Kent … the home of his parents. It hadn’t been a long journey from Paris back to England, which Lucy was quite thankful of considering any more time to obsess over her nervousness of meeting Oliver’s family for the first time would have probably resulted in her changing her mind and insisting on turning back. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to be that important to Oliver that he wanted her to know his family –– it was that they were British royalty, and Lucy had ended up being more of a British outcast. And it had only been two weeks back together … that had come up during the conversation Oliver had started on the matter. 

“But isn’t it too soon? I assume they don’t know our full history, so only two weeks may seem … a bit premature to them.” Lucy chewed on her lip, looking at Oliver through worried eyes. “Well, they don’t have to know the exact time length, do they? It’s not something we have to bring up. And besides, Lucy …” He’d taken her hand in his then, giving her the pleading eyes she could never refuse. “I love you. And I want you to finally meet my family. We never got the chance to take the step before, and I don’t think this time around I want to wait to do the important things. Please, say you’ll go.” 

And here she was, sitting in the back of a limousine ( ! ) on the way to the country where the castle of Kent made its home in a large estate. She looked over at her boyfriend ( the word brought a faint smile to her lips ), who was staring out of the window. “You said your sister’s name is Victoria, right? Last thing I want to do is walk in calling people by the wrong names.” She chuckled nervously. 

@loveinthe-ice

[loveinthe-ice]

@eleanormiddleton

Dark brown orbs peering out through a jet black mask, scanning the premises for his target-- the man was on a mission now, and not even the pretty little party-goers in their low-cut, backless, and all other sorts of revealing outfits could distract him in that moment. Yes, it was supposed to be an elegant and classy masquerade ball, but what could you do? This generation was becoming more and more bold by each day; not that Derrick opposed it.

Rewind.

These types of gatherings were not generally Derrick’s cup of tea. While he had to admit he looked damn good in a suit, he did not like the stiff, prim, and proper mannerisms of the people who attended these gatherings, and he did not fit in with them. He was far too blunt, too playful. He did not take anything seriously in life, save for the disappearance of his father. 

It had begun when he had been visiting Aribella at work, generally liking to come harass her in typical big brother fashion when the lunch rush was over. As the two had been talking by the bar, it was none else but Eleanor’s mother and father who walked in through the doors, doing a little sightseeing and hoping to catch a bite before the restaurant closed until dinner. What were they doing when their daughter was not even in town? That was what Derrick’s first thought had been, anyways, until they told him they had actually come to Italy to see their daughter, and the male was already beginning to scheme. He may not have been the brightest person, but when it came to manipulation and plots, he could be considered an Einstein in his own sense.

“Oh! Then... I guess Eleanor hasn’t told you yet, huh?” his eyes twinkled mischievously, a smile spreading across his lips as if he was keeping a secret.

“Hm? Told us what?” Mrs. Middleton inquired, now instantly curious as she looked at Derrick with amusement. “What are you hiding from us?”

He grinned as he rubbed the back of his neck, biting on his lower lip. “Well... I was supposed to wait for her so we could both tell you together.... but honestly, I’m too impatient. I want you to know now.” Taking a deep breath, the Aussie finally announced, “I proposed to Eleanor... and she said yes.”

As their eyes widened in surprise and happiness, Derrick continued playing his role. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call and ask for your blessing first,” he spoke with an ashamed and sheepish look anyone would have thought seemed genuine; he sometimes wondered if he should have become an actor instead of a personal trainer. “I just couldn’t hold it in, you know? I love her so much, and I’m confident that I can make your daughter happy. I only want the best for her. You aren’t mad with me, are you?”

Of course they weren’t. They had loved Derrick back when he was a mere child, and it was clear they still loved him now as they ferociously shook their heads, taking his hands and squeezing them in happiness over the prospect of the man becoming a part of their family. He almost felt bad. Quite honestly, he had no idea how he was going to clear this one up when the time came to reveal there was no real engagement, but he did not have to think about that right now. Besides, it was Eleanor who had initiated this relationship to begin with, right? Was it really on him?

“Then you must be going to the ball tonight with Eleanor, right?” Mrs. Middleton laughed in happiness, covering her mouth with her hand. “How precious. Let’s get drinks afterwards, alright? You kids have fun.”

And so here he was, certainly about to have his fun.

It was not difficult to spot her. Not for him at least. Despite not having seen her for a majority of her life since she had moved, he had learned her mannerisms, her posture, and the way she held herself in the short time they had reunited. Not only that, but quite honestly, not many women in the vicinity could compare to the beauty radiating from the brunette. He was not sure what it was about her that made her stand out so damn much, but he also did not waste his time thinking about it. He was not here to ogle over her. Well, not from afar, anyways.

Clearing his throat, he made his way towards her as she was about to take a glass of champagne from the tray of one of the serving caterers, smoothly cutting her off and taking two glasses instead. Handing one to her, he gave her a charming and confident smile, hoping this mask would do its job well. “Sorry to step in the way, dear,” he spoke, the feigned American accent completely masking his Australian one. “But just coming up to you and saying hi seemed much more boring and much less gentlemanly.” He grinned lightly, barely cocking his head. “You’re not here with anyone, I hope? Because then I’ll just take that right back,” he joked, gesturing towards her glass.

[loveinthe-ice]

allourwonder

His arms held her close as if he never wanted to let go again, and Lucy smiled against his shoulder, unable to help herself. She had not had the fortune of good luck for many years, but this moment made up for all the bad. His soft words made her shudder, her whole being overwhelmed with it all, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Then he was looking down at her seriously, speaking words that lifted her heart. “Okay,” she nodded, breathing out softly before a joyful laugh bubbled past her lips. “You do make me happy, more than anyone ever could. Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend, of course!”

With a sound of glee she placed her hands on either side of his face, reaching up to press her lips against his without a second thought. Until the thought did hit her that maybe she was overwhelming him and she immediately pulled away, eyes round as saucers. “Oh, gosh I –– I’msorry, I got too excited, I didn’t mean to jump you.” But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t missed the feeling of his lips against hers, of his body being so close to hers. To say she was enamored with Oliver was a bit of an understatement.

“Well, I suppose there’s no reason for me to be jealous of Leonie any longer … not that I was jealous of her, per say –– more so her obsession with you. And I got the stupid idea maybe you’d want her more than me since she’s so …” Lucy paused, trying to find her words without being offensive about his student ( even though she had little like for the Parisian girl ). “ –– Er,confident in herself.” The more she said it aloud, the more she realized how foolish and insecure she’d been all along to think Oliver hadn’t had eyes for her and only her this whole time. “You can laugh at me, I know how ridiculous it sounds.”

Her acceptance made his heart jump for joy, but nowhere near as much as the feeling of her lips on his own right after. Even though it was the first kiss they had shared in a long time, it somehow still felt so comfortable, so right. It was as if they had never stopped, yet at the same time, he still felt those same butterflies he felt every time he was with her. Only she could have this effect on him, he had soon come to learn, making practically anyone else of no romantic interest to him.

He simply smiled at her apology, pulling her in again for another firm but loving kiss, his hands placed on her waist. “Don’t ever apologize for kissing me again,” he mumbled playfully against her lips, pulling back and pressing his forehead against hers, smile remaining on his face. “You’re allowed to do that whenever you want. Got it?” He knew it would be difficult for him to control himself around her, anyways-- now that they were officially together again, he had no desire to let go of her. He had plenty of years worth of time to make up for, not having been able to even talk to her in so long, but he was confident in redeeming himself and making their relationship even better than it was before.

He tilted his head slightly as he listened to her, chuckling softly and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s not ridiculous. I would very well feel the same way had the roles been reversed. Jealousy is an... interesting thing, isn’t it?” he sighed, shaking his head. “But I promise you, you never had to worry about her, or, really, anyone else for that matter. I’ve never loved someone as much as I’ve loved you, Lucy,” he admitted honestly, looking down at her a little more seriously. “So remember that, alright?”

oliver + lucy | une déclaration d’amour

[loveinthe-ice]

He had been far too distracted with the situation to even notice the brunette so blatantly eye his physical appearance-- he was a one track minded man who simply felt overwhelmed at the occurrence of even two things happening at once, and because of this, there would be no relentless, cocky teasing over how his childhood friend was clearly checking him out. Quite honestly, even if he had noticed, he still felt more confused over her presence at all than anything. In his head, Eleanor was out of the country, and that was where he had left that thought. 

But he would figure that out once he was sure he was safe from this Ciara situation, which was much more pressing at the moment considering his job was on the line. Even though he had signaled her to be quiet, he really was not surprised that she was talking; there was only so much he could do to actually make her listen to him. He could not even remember a time she had actually listened to him, now that he thought about it. Not that he could fully blame her-- he wasn’t particularly known for being wise or influential. 

He rolled his eyes at her words, about to respond but blinked as he glanced downwards feeling the movement of the cloth to his lower region. “Come on, don’t act so grossed out,” he muttered, glancing back towards the door though holding the towel obediently. “It’s just a penis. The ones you’ve seen are probably in far worse shape.”

 That was simply his arrogance speaking, though he wasn’t putting his full heart into it. The last thing he wanted to do was add fuel to the fire, but his stubborn self also wasn’t one to be so willing to let someone else have the last word. 

Unsurprisingly, though, she had more to say, and while he assumed it would all be pointless, meaningless words he had no interest in hearing, he found himself to be quite wrong. She was not simply being sarcastic and snide now, but rather speaking on a more serious level as she addressed their relationship. Was this really the time to do that, he thought to himself? However, the more she spoke, the more frustrated he felt himself get. This was why he avoided any type of relationship deeper than sex with a woman-- it always led to these bizarre conflicts and need for some damn meaning behind all actions and motives, which Derrick had none of. Yet this was the first time he actually felt strangely heated over such an argument; generally, if his female companions started these kinds of rants, he would simply wave it off and let them believe he was the bad guy-- as long as it meant they would leave him alone. 

Gritting his teeth slightly, he turned around and looked at her with somewhat narrowed eyes, a new fire behind his brown orbs. 

“God dammit, Eleanor, this has nothing to do with you, or us, for that matter,” he spoke in a low tone, mainly only because he was still very much focused on making sure he wouldn’t be heard by the pretty little Italian brunette still wandering around his home.

 “I could care less if a girl I slept with sees me and you together in my bathroom, hell, they can see us fucking in the damn shower and I wouldn’t care.” Glancing towards the door before looking back at her, he continued, “But this is my boss’ daughter, and I’m sure you can understand that I’d like to avoid a hissy fit that eventually leads to losing my job.” Suddenly, but temporarily, forgetting about said girl, he stepped forward towards the Australian and looked down at her with a piercing look in his eyes, one much different than the mischievous and devious twinkle that was generally found. “Over?” he repeated, scoffing lowly. “What was there that had even begun, Eleanor? You are the one who roped me into this fake engagement and you are the one who made it perfectly clear there was never any meaning behind it. Whatever this is was “over” from the second it started. That’s what you wanted me to believe anyways, isn’t it?” 

He was about to say more when he froze upon hearing his name outside the door, now expecting Eleanor to simply walk out there and ruin it all for him-- could he blame her for doing such a thing? His words had been a little blunt, and while that wasn’t unusual for him, this was also a rather unusual topic. However, her quick reflexes seemed to be willing to work in his own favor, and he was surprised to find himself being pushed towards the shower. The harsh expression on his face fading, he gave her a little curious glance but got in obediently, unsure what to expect but somehow trusting that she would not let him down. 

I frutti proibiti sono i più dolci…It seems that the more someone is prohibited from having something, the more that something becomes more appealing than ever. The journey to becoming a professional ballet dancer had taken superhuman levels of time, dedication, and focus—and that included paying attention to what she put in her belly. Wine and chocolate had been part of the red list of things that ought to never be in her shopping cart during the previous weeks leading up to a show. But none of her trainers or dietitians had warned her about the type of prohibited fruit she’d continued to crave regardless the time of the year and circumstance. And unfortunately, not being supposed to lay a hand on the man standing right in front of her only made the overwhelming feeling even worse.

Speechless and astonished, that’s how Eleanor felt the moment she caught sight of the image before her. If the ballerina hadn’t been tipsy enough not to put on an act, she’d have pretended it was discomforting. If she had been able to think straight, she’d have offered one of her careless comebacks about how he had to be ashamed and he’d never have a bit of decency. She could only thank the universe and probably Sailo for not putting another beer between her hands. Otherwise, the story would’ve been a completely different one. If that bit of alcohol had been successful at making her euphoric enough not to feel the need to overreact and confront the person who was her number one target of mistreat, she didn’t even want to think about a lot of unpleasantness that usually goes hand in hand with being drunk. Her reflexes were clearly delayed and that was pretty visible by the way her light hazel eyes remained on the svelte figure in front of her without shame. Even when the brunette tried to react, she simply managed to let her eyes travel up and down his ripped body before looking down reluctantly and letting her jaw drop in a useless attempt of putting into words. “Enlightening.” One word — that was all she managed to speak and it had been quite a special selection. One word that had probably spoken louder than a lot of words together. 

She had once taken it too far right before the car accident. Back in London after months of dieting and not giving in to the temptation that the rutti proibiti was, she had gone from one extreme to the other and learned about the consequences of always getting too close to experience feelings of euphoria, a state that was so pleasant, so rewarding, and so enjoyable, that the desire to experience it had become overwhelming. She hadn’t need any of that lately. She had been so focus on the man standing naked right in front of her that such devotion seemed enough to keep her busy and awaking those sensations that once only came around with substance abuse. How could she not describe the experience as special rollercoaster of emotions when never in a thousand years would she have pictured herself in many of the situations they seemed to be stuck in together pretty often? Sometimes she was out of touch with reality whenever he was around but still managed to act as if his presence only bothered her. Having him laying right underneath her to conclude the nerf gun war had been an exception   — it had led to a kiss that, to this day, Eleanor still couldn’t explain what had pulled her to react that way. And this exact same moment was yet another exception. The anger and jealousy from when she was just a listener downstairs had been replaced by difficulty concentrating. Her speech would’ve been slurred if only his sudden presence hadn’t acted like a slap that made a tiny voice inside of her scream for her defence mechanism to work.

However, everything began to sink in the moment her presence stopped bothering him and she just went back to her place starring as a supporting actress in that movie where the leading stars were him and another woman. He wasn’t naked because of her, for her, with her. She was the reason why he had closed the door but only because his business out there was more important than what he had to lose in there, she thought. She was hurt but also mad at him without any valid reason — could she possibly explain herself without making it sound like she cared about him more than she should? She was no one to have a word when it came to his privacy and even less when she had been the one to force her way in the life of someone. Was it jealousy or pity she felt toward the other woman? It certainly wasn’t her fault — who could ever be found guilty for giving into temptation when the man was just too hard to resist and no sort of commitments and feelings were on the table? It was easy, both could get what they wanted without much trouble. Moreover, Eleanor was furious at herself for the amount of lies that constantly seemed to flourish without any warning when it came to the consequences. She wasn’t meant to be there. She wasn’t meant to be pretending Derrick didn’t have a hold on her. She should’ve been sincere since day one and perhaps the outcome would’ve been different. But twisted situations had been part of her life since she was born and her mistake was pulling someone else down the hole with her.

“For god’s fucking sake, now I’m not only deaf but also blind.” Eleanor complained with a roll of her eyes which she kept on the dull wall in front of her. She had refused to lay her gaze on Derrick for as he remained there but then she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he had only moved closer to the door and he didn’t seem to be considering the idea of leaving her alone. Her body stayed facing the door but she moved her head slightly to the side to look at the finger he was holding out for her to stay in silence — which she did, only for a second before stepping forward. “If there’s one thing you’re encouraging me to do is throw up, not shut up.” She stated as she held his finger between her own while her other hand reached out for the towel resting on his shoulder. She pushed it against his waist, before lowering his hand with her other hand and forcing it to hold the only piece of cloth that allowed a silent sigh of relief to escape through her lips. She fought really hard the entire time to keep her hands from shaking and her eyes from deviating. Eleanor knew Derrick would’ve enjoyed her uneasiness around his nudity if he hadn’t been so focused on the situation that could develop before his eyes if his recent lover opened that door. “Great, now I’ll also have to soak my hands in disinfectant the rest of the year.” The brunette shook her head, taking a step back before crossing her arms over her chest.

The ballerina was out of her element by this closeness, this lack of clothing and unexpected contradictory feelings. She could swear to god she’d have made such a huge scene and would’ve turned that into a unnecessarily big deal if only the sounds coming from upstairs hadn’t taken her aback the moment she stepped arrived. Eleanor had been off ever since that first moan, that first hint which gave away more than what her heart and mind were expecting to find there. There was a sort of calmness in her attitude that couldn’t be just the effect of a few beers. She seemed to be…at ease, suddenly, coming to terms with the fact that perhaps his life had always been like this and she needed to take it in her stride since it wasn’t up to her what he did with it. She couldn’t neither change it nor interrupt it. “Why don’t you introduce us, Tarzan?” Eleanor asked quietly, raising her eyebrow intriguingly before shrugging a bit. “There’s nothing for us to hide. Physically and metaphorically at this damn point…” She trailed off with a soft chuckle and took a hand to her forehead, trying to go back to the main point of the idea. “What I’m trying to say is that we’re nothing, Derrick. We’ve come a long way since our bubble baths together and they never meant anything. Just like this and we do not mean anything.” These words could be considered lies but Eleanor was genuinely trying her hardest to turn them into truths and stand by them for as long as she could. She needed to go back to those years were they had been nothing, merely a simple memory of the childhood in each other’s minds, if she wanted to create that distance they had before the fake engagement. “She doesn’t know who I am and if she asks, tell her the truth. I’m unwelcome.” If he wanted to be with this woman, she wouldn’t try and stop him out of selfishness. She could’ve gone out with whoever she wanted in England that weekend and not even for a second had Derrick intended to get in the way, this is the least she could do. “This is over. For the two of us. It was my mistake and bloody believe me I’m paying for it with this punishment of yo-” She was interrupted by the echoing of the female voice calling his name down the hallway and the ballerina closed her eyes for a second, clenching her jaw before looking toward the door. “I’ll be Jane, not Eleanor.” She stated in a whisper, taking a grip on his arm and pulling him away from the door. “And I’ll have your back if it’s how I can start to make up for this hell I made out of your life.” She stood behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders as she led him toward the shower. “You’ve my word for it. Now, hurry up and get in there.” She ordered, staying behind and lifting her shirt over her head to take it off.

[loveinthe-ice]

thesweetestevil

Sloane let out a chuckle at Pixel’s response, knowing from the start that was how he was going to react. “Of course I’ll share, can’t let you have this wonderful piece of pie all for yourself.” The brunette teased some, handing him a fork which she’d fished out of the drawer behind the counter. “I can’t kick you out yet, it’s not closing time.” She teased some. Honestly, Sloane was tired – it was really late already and she was surviving on caffeine. But the girl didn’t want him to leave, not yet. She wanted to sit down and enjoy a little chat with him, unwind from the pressures of the day and the asshole costumers she’d had to deal with. 

Pixel was different from the rest. Sloane was an easy person to get along with, fun-loving, acting as if she was completely carefree. There was more to it than that, more that she kept hidden underneath, and it wasn’t often that she allowed someone to get too close.

Their friendship was mostly based around the diner, they never met outside of it and Sloane never thought to offer because, well, sure, Pixel and her had grown close and he was someone she considered as a friend, but the young man spent all his time there, so would he really be up to meet her somewhere that wasn’t that old diner? It hardly mattered anyway.

“If it’s up to me, this place will never be open 24/7! Can you imagine how many more hours Rosie would make me work??” She shivered, mostly to add a dramatic effect to her complaints. She probably wouldn’t have to work any more hours because of it, but she knew if the place was open the whole day and night, some people would never ever leave. Which, honestly, could be good for business, but not so much for the poor bastards who would end up working the whole night.

As Pixel held out his fork for her, Sloane couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning over and opening her mouth so she could eat the little piece that he was offering her. “Hmm it’s good! Try it.” She urged him, taking the fork out of his hand and cutting a piece which she then offered to him, knowing that otherwise, he would just keep feeding her. The brunette waited until he ate the piece before speaking again, watching him as he savored it. “It’s good, right?” The waitress always made sure to save up a piece of his favorite pie, knowing that he at least needed the energy to keep working. “Aren’t your eyes getting tired of looking at the screen?”

It truly meant a lot to him that even after a long and tiring workday, the brunette was still so willing to keep him company and talk with him for a bit before closing down the diner. As someone who worked long and hard hours himself, he knew he was always itching to have as much free time as he could get it, and considering that was hardly ever, it only made him more desperate. She really had no reason to entertain him or even spare him a second glance, but here she was. It had been difficult to find people like that before-- mainly because, he had to admit, he could be incredibly annoying and confusing to those who didn’t understand him or his odd sense of humor. He couldn’t even count the number of times he had been deemed as childish and senseless, but it was only because they did not bother to search deeper than the surface. Not that he wanted them to, anyways-- that would only lead to trouble for both ends.

“Well, if you ever did want to kick me out, I’d obey! I’ll follow your every order, goddess!” he exclaimed as if he worshiped her, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “I guess I could just go to the diner across the street.... but their pies are nowhere near as good as this one.” He gestured to the slice in front of him with his fork, though did not take a bite yet; he always waited for the other person to eat first. He was not sure where this rule had come from, considering he had been raised in a poor background where he had been practically fighting for any bit of food he could get, but perhaps it was because he wanted to stray away from that part of hi as much as possible. “And their waitresses are nowhere near as good as this one, either.” He added as he pointed at her with the fork, grinning widely.

Laughing softly, he nodded his head. “I guess she would, huh? Can’t she hire more people and give you a break? I’d offer to work here, but, ya know, school is taking over my life.” He sighed, glancing towards his computer screen with a little pout, the mere sight of the device reminding him that he only had a few hours to go until he had reached his deadline. Still, he did not let his features show any sign of stress or worry, the pout turning into a smile again within seconds. “But I would still sit here during your working hours and give you company, so you would never be bored! Super Pixel to the rescue~!” he cheered a little too loudly, resulting in a weird look given in his direction by Sloane’s boss, but it didn’t bother him in the least. 

“Okay, okay, you know you don’t have to tell me twice!” he replied happily, taking a bite from the fork. “Mmm.... delizioso, as always. Thank you, Sloane.” He gave her a genuine smile before chuckling lightly at her question, shaking his head immediately. “Nuh-uh. My eyes are strong! They work out by looking at computer screens all day!! They’re invincible!” he declared, pulling his laptop a little closer to him. “Besides, they have to get used to this, ya know? This is going to be... the rest of my entire life!” The words sounded upbeat and perky, but had he been alone, this foresight would appear far more dismal. It wasn’t that he did not like his job, because he did. He had a natural talent for hacking and for anything related to technology and programming, really-- but that did not mean he didn’t feel... trapped. This was not a job by choice, but rather one by means of survival. A job that could quite literally kill him if he even made one, tiny mistake. 

Not that he would let Sloane know any of this. He couldn’t. The last thing he needed was to appear as some damaged, troubled boy who didn’t deserve to have any relationships in his life at all-- he would continue to keep a safe distance, but be happy with his friendship at the same time. There was no way that could fail, right?

pixel + sloane | codes and coffee

[loveinthe-ice]

allourwonder

Lucy could tell there was something heavy on Oliver’s mind and even if it wasn’t what she thought it was, she would listen with every ounce of attention because that was what she did, and always would do. Her eyes searched his expectantly, eager for him to speak. And he did, opening up to her and revealing a truth she had perhaps known along but had been too scared to place hope in. His hands found hers and her eyes nearly fluttered shut at the touch she had craved for so long –– it seemed like her fingers held on tighter as if a reflex of muscle memory. Her breath caught in her chest as he said the word –– the one she still associated so strongly with him –– ‘love’. It nearly brought tears to her eyes again, but she toughened herself up and set her chin firmly so it would not quiver.

Now it was her turn as he nodded at her, allowing her hands to slip out of his. She wished he hadn’t let go, but decided they should have plenty of time to hold hands later once she told him the similar truth. “I did,” she agreed softly, the edges of her lips curving upward so tenderly as she looked at him. “I guess I had my reasons too, for being scared to voice how I’ve been feeling. Silly reasons, mostly, but given everything that’s happened … I let my insecurities and doubts get to me. And I never should have when you’ve been my best friend and the person I trust most in this world. I should have been honest long ago –– because I love you too. I never stopped loving you, not even when I was so … angry about how things ended. Even then I missed you.”

She chewed her inner cheek as she paused to get a hold of the emotions threatening to spill over before venturing onward, gazing at him through shiny eyes. “I want you still as my best friend … but as more than that too. I was too afraid to say it because I thought maybe I was reading into things incorrectly, seeing something that wasn’t there … but it is there.” A little joyful sob escaped her and she stepped forward, pressing herself close to Oliver in a tight hug. Her hand reached up to rest against the back of his head affectionately, fingers slipping through soft hair as she allowed his familiar scent to overpower her and held him close as she had years ago.

She did not seem unpleased or turned off by his thoughts, which was a good sign. He had been a little paranoid that he would receive a scoff of disgust, or some type of painful reminder of how he had screwed her over in the last relationship with the vicious rumors that had spread. However, as soon as she began talking, it was becoming more and more evident that she was not dwelling on the past anymore-- much to his relief. He barely nibbled on his lip as he smiled, feeling somewhat overwhelmed with emotions, but in a way he had no problem with at all. 

The three words he had missed far more than he could ever imagine finally slipped out of her lips, and he felt the same rush of love and compassion he had felt during the relationship itself. He almost felt selfish and undeserving-- how was it possible that she was saying everything he had hoped she would say to him one day? It wasn’t as though he had wanted her to suffer these past few years missing him and regretting any of the choices she had made, but to know she had been on the same page as him all this time was both relieving and frustrating in itself; mainly only frustrating because perhaps they could have rekindled their connection even sooner.

Then again, he was also aware there was no need to rush these things. They had needed time to grow and look back on their choices, and now that they had had this time, he was confident they were both ready than ever to do this again. 

He did not hesitate to hug her back the moment her arms wrapped around him, his own holding her close to his body unable to hold back the smile stretched across his lips. “God, you have no idea how it feels to hear you tell me this,” he murmured, moving his hand up to run his fingers through her hair comfortingly, the happiness even evident in his low tone. “I.. I missed you so much. I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone so much.” Pulling back slightly but still holding onto her, he looked down at her with a slightly more serious look, but soft smile remaining. “I don’t want you to feel those insecurities or doubts around me, Lucy. I want to make you feel confident. Not just with us and our relationship, but with yourself, because that’s what’s most important. I just want to make you happy.” Biting on his lip, feeling somewhat nervous even though he quite literally knew where he stood, he tilted his head hopefully. “So.. at risk of sounding like a little boy here... will you be my girlfriend again?”

oliver + lucy | une déclaration d’amour

[loveinthe-ice]

[loveinthe-ice]

Heavy breaths, heaving chests, flushed skin, and the physical feeling of all heaviness being lifted from shoulders-- this scene was one Derrick was very accustomed to by now in his eight years of sexual experience, and it could also be one of the most difficult. Because now that all the fun was coming to an end, he and the female beside him would need to bid farewell, and Derrick generally preferred that part of the schedule to be carried out as soon as possible. He had a few rules (that he kept to himself, of course), and one was that if he was sleeping with a woman anytime before 10 PM, there was really no need for said woman to keep him company for much longer after they had finally met their satisfaction. He could allow for a sleepover situation if it was late, mainly because that meant there would be morning sex upon waking up, but that was it. He knew that the more women stayed around, the more attached they became. Well, perhaps not all of them, but most. It wasn’t as though he could blame them, anyways-- with his charm and confidence in overdrive, how could they possibly resist? 

His brown eyes fell upon the young Italian woman beside him, wondering for just a moment if this was a mistake, then brushing the thought aside. Of course it was a mistake, but his philosophy was to have no regrets, and so he would not worry abut it too much. 

Her name was Ciara. She was twenty-one, currently enrolled in university to get her degree in something related to... history? Art? Hell if Derrick knew, but he was proud enough that he had remembered that much. 

She was tall-- around 5′9, with tanned Italian skin and dark hair that fell to her chest, one that was a bit on the small side, but Derrick was not being very picky these days. However, the real outstanding feature was her physique; a toned stomach he could bounce a quarter off of, with lightly developed arms and legs to match. It was also very evident that she was familiar with squatting, considering the lascivious Aussie couldn’t help but sneak a peek at her ass whenever he got the chance.

Perhaps the fact that she was the daughter of his boss at the gym he worked at contributed to her excellent shape. 

And that was where Derrick would cut off his thoughts, sitting up as he ran a hand through his messy brown hair. The sheets were all over the place, mostly on the floor, the nightstand had been moved slightly to the side, and some of the items that had originally been on his desk were laying pathetically on the floor where they had been swept off. It was safe to say the two had been occupied for hours, and had they had the whole house to themselves, it would have probably been the whole day. 

“That.. that was amazing,” the girl breathed out, sitting up and looking at him with a little smirk, her light brown eyes twinkling in the ray of sunlight peeking in through the half shut blinds. He allowed himself to get a good look at her naked body while he had the chance, offering her a signature smirk of his own. “Well, of course. I hope you weren’t expecting anything less, darling. A girl like you should never expect anything less.” He gave her a wink before standing up, stretching his arms and back muscles. “I hate to cut this short, but I told my friend I’d meet up with him for dinner tonight and I should... really shower.” He smirked as he gestured to his sweaty body before looking back up at her. “But I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again. I don’t think I could stay away from such a pretty face for so long.” Grabbing his towel and slinging it over his shoulder, not really bothering to put it around his waist considering the bathroom was right down the hall, he nodded towards her with a little grin.

 “Have a good night, mm, sweetheart? I’ll text you later.” He lied with ease before heading out of the room, not particularly giving her a chance to respond. If he did, it was sure to lead to something involving far more commitment, and that was out of the question. 

Besides, Sailo could take it from here-- Derrick knew his younger brother always had his back when it came to women, and he would always do the same for him. Not that he had ever really needed to, considering the redhead was the complete opposite when it came to his relationships with females, but it was the thought that counted, right? 

He was already twisting the doorknob when he heard the familiar voice from inside, but he registered it too late. He was now met face-to-face with the one woman he had least been expecting to see, especially considering she had told him she was going to be on a flight to London. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked dumbfounded, though even in his surprise, he still could not be bothered to cover himself up. Nudity had never been a subject of humiliation or embarrassment for him, which could probably be implied by just about anyone if they saw him on a daily basis considering he just about always lacked a shirt. However, upon hearing footsteps coming from his bedroom, Eleanor’s response became his last priority as he immediately stepped inside and shut the door, twisting the lock. Unfortunately, the only thing currently protecting him from the world outside that bathroom seemed to be out of function at the moment, and so he hoped that Ciara was simply heading downstairs and out the door. He was not the brightest person in the world, but he did know this much-- if the daughter of his boss were to come see him with another woman in his very own bathroom after having just slept with her, it would not make for a very good day at work the next day. He had already known from the start he had to be careful going into this, and so the plan was to keep things simple, have casual sex, and nothing more. Which, in his defense, was a completely foolproof plan. How could he pass up sleeping with his boss’ daughter, especially when she had a body like that?

Pressing his ear against the door to listen, he stretched his arm out to lift his pointer finger in Eleanor’s direction to shush her too, his mind far too preoccupied at the moment to continue wondering what his fake fiance was doing in his own bathroom and why he couldn’t ever seem to have one moment of peace. All he knew was that Eleanor had a tendency to talk too much, especially when it came to her endless sarcastic comments about him, and now was not the time for such a conversation. Ideally, it would be great if Eleanor had no idea he had been with a woman at all, but if she had been in that house for at least five minutes before she had entered that bathroom, he was positive she had probably heard the noise from his bedroom. That itself was another situation he would need to deal with-- even though he and Eleanor were in no way actually committed to one another, his gut instinct told him that this was something he should not have done. While she technically had no right to be mad about it, he felt strange about what he had done himself, which only frustrated him more. 

It wasn’t as if he had anything to feel guilty about, right? 

What was she getting out of the whole plan? Sailo had a point to which Eleanor hadn’t managed to give an answer yet. Was she consciously denying her unconscious? It had been an impulse, sure. But had she been driven by the idea of having some sort of untouchable and privileged role in her childhood best friend’s life? Was this the only selfish and hasty idea she had thought of in order to become part of his life once more in the heat of their unexpected encounter? But even then, the question remained unanswered — what was the benefit? Why hadn’t she stopped this whole lie the moment things began to get out of their hands? But now this was leading to a new tornado of uncertainty and confusion in her head — why hadn’t Derrick refused to take part in the plan when it went against his lifestyle? All she knew was that it clearly wasn’t an obstacle for him and he hadn’t had to give up any of his pleasures in life according to the evidence. 

“Well, people perceiving me as the naive and foolish woman who’s cheated on every single night is far more entertaining.” More than once she had bumped into slim and fit women in their sports clothes looking at her as if they had the right to believe themselves any better for sleeping with a taken man behind her back. If only they knew the mistake they were doing by biting the hand that fed them, the same hand that could burst the fantasy bubble with only holding out her middle finger’s nail…They were puppets, she thought, believing themselves to be a special home before becoming just another abandoned getaway point on the map. Had the fake ring and hostile attitude being her defence mechanism not to become one of these last ones, too? As much as she liked moving the game’s pieces to her heart’s content from far away, it always drove her up the wall whenever Derrick managed to turn her into just another participant and victim of his closeness. “I’m getting exactly what I want, Sailo. I’ve the right to make a scene.” Eleanor pointed out almost in a too calculative and insensitive way before she continued. “It’ll never cease to amaze me how easily they all nibble on the bait.” She brunette’s lips curved slightly as she shook her head. “To their disbelief, I’m the one holding the fishing rod and choosing whether to feed him salmon or catfish. It’s said there’s plenty more fish in the sea but wait until he fights against the tide to reach the lighthouse and safe land.” Had she unknowingly allowed some of her rationing to slip through her fingers? Was she that everlasting safe land and the promising lighthouse? How could she even begin to consider herself the one who’d make him settle down when she could swear on her life the plans for her future went beyond some flirting with Derrick or any other quick fling?

“You could say I’m his fairy Godmother, just making sure my favourite people in this world get a sister in law that isn’t a Kardashian.” Eleanor joked, looking over at the male with a shrug. “Worse would be having no choice but receiving the title of Derrick Milas’ brother upon birth.” The brunette lowered her head and wiggled her eyebrows, teasing Sailo playfully with a quick comeback. Both were incredibly lucky to have one another — that was probably one of the many things Eleanor wished had been different about her childhood. Had she been fortunate enough to share all the changes with someone who could see the family from within just like her, perhaps she wouldn’t have grown to be so independent to a point where she would hide anything regarding the private side of her life she couldn’t let people to help her and figure to puzzle out together. Despite such disadvantage and the many kilometres that had kept the Milas away from her, Eleanor was slowly beginning to understand that neither of them had grown to be perfect people with perfect lives since the last time they had seen one another and she wished the day would come when they’d all have no other choice but open up about both of their families’ past which most likely continued to haunt each of their daily lives.

Eleanor strongly believed that they hadn’t made a kind of distorted reflection of Derrick in their minds. At some point in their lives the two of them had interacted face-to-face with that side of him that was nowhere to be found now. If anything, he never was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. All of his versions were authentic and genuine without bad intentions underlying them — or at least that’s what the brunette liked to believe. However, the change in his younger brother’s voice brought some sort of concern and seemed like a desperate cry for reassurance as if he truly needed to know he wasn’t blind by his affection and someone else could perceive Derrick through similar eyes.“Time…” Eleanor began to say before letting a small sigh escape her lips at the thought of how difficult it was to put the difference between the present and the past into words. “Time changes people, Sailo. That’s pretty undeniable…but I don’t believe one come become completely unrecognisable no matter how many years go by.” The ballerina looked at the younger Milas for an instant before motioning toward him. “Look at you, never would I’ve thought you’d leave your chocolate milk obsession behind. Yet here you are holding a holy beer and somehow despite the changes you’re still the most Sailo you’ve ever been to me.” Eleanor smiled a bit before shaking her head as she realised she was simply beating around the bush. “What I’m trying to say is that…of course, I don’t know him nearly as much as I used to.” She frowned slightly, hating how true but painful that was. But he didn’t know her either and perhaps it was fair after all. Maybe they were lucky enough to introduce themselves to each other however they wished with their clean slates. “But somehow…at least once a day…even if it’s just for a split second…I can see piece of the Derrick I used to know before the world, reality, life and growing older made him hide behind the layers that would keep him breathing and alive.” All of them had had to create surviving mechanisms to go through everything that life constantly threw at them. Perhaps he wasn’t that serious about his romantic life because he had taken as a lesson what loving someone and being left by them could feel like — and she was sure her father wasn’t the only one who had taught him what he needed to change in order to go on and fit in.

The hope in her eyes began to disappear the second Sailo mentioned the closest bathroom’s difficulties. “If I weren’t feeling as if the most inoffensive approximation to sewer water could make me give back whatever amount of beer that’s in my stomach, I’d go ahead and apply my no existent plumbing abilities.” Eleanor suggested as she walked toward the staircase at her own pace. “But I’d rather be reasonable just for once and today looks like a good opportunity to try out what everyone says I lack.” As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked up and sighed loudly as a complaint. “But please Lord, do not let me encounter something more disgusting than sewer water.” Eleanor put her palms together as if she were praying and held them to her chest before looking over at Sailo with puppy eyes. “Would you please go ahead and call 911 if I don’t return in ten or a deafening scream instead of a moan makes it downstairs?” And with that supplication, Eleanor clung tighter to the handrail with every step closer to the source of her discomfort that she took. The further she went, the greater the amount of knee flexion involved. Even though such use of energy was meant to have little impact on someone in good shape like her, it quickly had Eleanor’s heart racing by the time she reached the top of the staircase. 

To her misfortune, all the doors that appeared right in front of her were closed and there was almost no way to distinguish each one except for their order. The brunette only spotted a pair of heels right next to one of the door frames and decided that could be either Derrick’s or Aribella’s bedroom. Whichever it truly was, it only meant that she had managed to discard one door out of four and was heading in the direction of not walking in on her fake fiancé shamelessly having sex with someone else. Holding her breath, she stood right in front of the second one and even though she made sure to be gentle when wrapping her fingers around the handle, it was impossible to open it. How could she be so smart when it came to some things but hadn’t asked Sailo before making her way upstairs? Now the loud noises were gone almost on purpose to confuse her even more. And asking Sailo for help all the way from there was simply off the table. She wanted to be unnoticed and get out of there the soonest.

Luckily, the next door was the one. She checked the hallway in case she had just made the ticking time bomb go off before successfully walking inside the bathroom and slowly closing the door behind her back. Moving her hand across the wall, Eleanor reached the light switches but only placed her fingers on the top one. This way, she managed to light only the spot right where the vanity was and created a rather intimate atmosphere where she wouldn’t be forced by the harsh light to see the truth: she was thought to be in another country by now but instead found herself facing a situation she wasn’t invited to witness.

The overhead lighting wasn’t kind on her flaws at all — the dark circles under her eyes were undeniable evidence of the nights she’d toss and turn trying to silence her thoughts and come to terms to the reason why the other half of the bed was always empty. Was it true that she had a tendency to deflect when she started catching feelings for a guy that she’d find a little intimidating or hard to get? Maybe he’s not a fuckboy, maybe you’re just projecting. She felt as if she were trapped in some bizarre fun house that left her unable to recognise her true self. She caught a glimpse of her unusually pale skin on the mirror — was this more than being metaphorically ghosted? Everything was in slow motion. The uncertain agitation eating her alive. She had had fears before but they were nothing like this one. These sparks could only fly so high before they sizzle out. Was talking to herself in the mirror a sign of sanity or insanity? Yes, sure. It could help anyone clarify their thoughts, tend to what’s important and firm up any decisions they’re contemplating. But surely this wasn’t working like that right now. 

Overwhelmed by such uneasiness, the brunette threw her head backward as if she needed that physical move to overcome the pain inside and breath through the lump in her throat before leaning forward. “You brought this on yourself, Eleanor. You brought it all on…” She muttered before dropping out the end of the sentence with a shake of her head. The few beers weren’t the only ones to blame for the way her blurry vision was making it hard to stay aware of everything surrounding her. The brunette titled her head to the side and peer sightlessly at the door. Somewhere behind one of those other doors was the only person who could make anything else fade away quicker than any substance. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt as if he got a tight grip around his neck, too. If he had the same anxiety and fears like hers. She wondered if he was anticipating the fall as much as she did, the painfully slow movement of their worlds coming to a halt.

Was it because she couldn’t stomach the idea of having her freedom restricted in a different way, too? Were they unknowingly stuck in the dreaded “almost” relationship? He had all the right to hang out with someone else and she had no right to be mad about it. But she was being left with more questions than answers. How can she mourn something that was never really hers in the first place? How does she move on from something that never even truly began? What if? What if? What if? How different and twisted in a special way could this be that it seemed even harder getting over it than over an official break up? Her hurt feelings didn’t feel justified because after all, they never stated they were exclusive, right? Eleanor wanted her story to be an organised beginning, middle, and end — yet Derrick’s presence always left her lost somewhere in the middle. Perhaps their story had only began back in the day when they were little and the rest of the chapters had been frozen in time to be completed once they reunited again. Even though that was a more positive mindset, Eleanor was convinced of the fact that either both were awful storytellers or always got lost in translation due to their awful handwriting.

Her joke about the Kardashians stopped being funny when she spotted one of the infamous Kylie lip kits right over a towel. You were meant to have my back Aribella, damn. Perhaps he deserved a Kardashian. Maybe he wanted a Kardashian. Chances were this whole matter was a mistake and both of them deserved exactly what they were getting before forcing their way into each other’s lives. Either way, he was there somewhere and she couldn’t help picturing his body with somebody else’s and for god’s sake that was even worse than the biggest wave of wastewater in the world. With a sudden pounce, the brunette reached for the toilet almost automatically. The mere idea of someone else having such privilege had twisted her stomach mercilessly. But all she did was rest her elbows on the seat and take her temples between her hands while her fingers pulled from strands of hair as if that could make her get rid of such horrible mental illusions. A shiver moved down her spine and she stared at the crystal clear water without a single blink for a whole minute — what if I’m pregnant? It had been months since she last slept with someone, that was unthinkable. Unless…the delivery dude, shit. But that would be Derrick’s fault, right? I mean, he left and…Eleanor closed her eyes and held her breath, trying to form at least one coherent thought of a situation that was driving her insane. She was able to hear some footsteps above all the mess going on inside her head, like if her survival instinct had simply intensified. Had she spent that much in there that Sailo was starting to wonder if she had either killed someone or was killed and wanted to check on everyone? The brunette ran both of her hands down her face, turning around quickly but not managing to focus clearly. All she saw were some feet before looking back to the toilet and placing a hand on the wall to get on her feet. “Just one second, please.” She said exhaustively as if that psychological torture had made her fight for a bit of sanity way too long. If only she knew she was about to go completely nuts…

[loveinthe-ice]

— @loveinthe-ice