monsoonblooms12 · 3 years ago
Note
What Ethan & Pooja AU is this? #OpenHeartAU
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Selcouth (Ethan x f!MC)
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Summary: Set in Book 2, Pooja gets the recognition she deserves for solving Naveen Banerji's case.
Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet, marvelous🤎
A/N: Thank you so much @beastlyinstrument for the visual prompt❤ I had fun thinking up and writing this piece.
A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)
Word Count: around 3.2K (I am sorry!)
Rating: General
Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff
Warnings: 1 Curse Word (again 😆)
Prompts: Late Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge July challenge day 4: celebration
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There was stark silence surrounding him as he scribbled out points from the morning meeting of the Diagnostics Team along with some of his own observations from the patient charts. The days have been nothing out of the blue since his return from the Cholera-ridden district of Amazons.
The steam from the warm coffee filled the entire office with its sweet aroma. With winters in their full force, there was a mystic chill all around the city and the warmth the coffee gave was extremely welcomed.
It took him 30 minutes to the tee to complete his morning paperwork. And as he arranged the white sheets in a clean stack, a slow groan escapes him. He had been so engrossed in work, that he had completely missed the fact that he had emptied his coffee cup.
Ethan looks up from his desk to the windows giving an enchanting view of the brumal grounds. Snowflakes, basking in the distant sun's glory, shining like iridescent jewels, fell slowly, silently to meet their origin.
It's too serene of a day to waste indoors.
The thought caught him somewhat by surprise, even if it was his encephalon producing it.
He had spent long years of his life away from focusing on diminutive happenings like the weather or the warmth of his favourite Vienna on a frosty day.
To appreciate the beauty of falling of the snowflakes today, was a slightly unusual change. He couldn't help but wonder as to what would have caused it.
He didn't need to wait long for an answer. Like a response to his unuttered query, the notification bell of his phone brought him out of his reverie and displayed her name with the joy of a student who had solved a difficult problem with ease on the first try. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an email of her completed reports.
And yet, he was unable to control the breakout of butterflies in his stomach.
The feeling was orphic, and yet irenic.
As his heels tapped on the white floors, supposedly conducting an intriguing conversation with them, a faint intermix of voices reached him and stopped him in his tracks.
"You're wearing all black." It wasn't a question, but a fact that Alexandra's voice enunciated.
"Are you surprised?" A concordant voice questioned. Even if he didn't acknowledge it, it was one of his favourite euphonies.
"No. Impressed."
"I lost a bet to Bryce, and this is what I get in return." There is a pause. "It's a nice change though."
He can feel the smile that emerges out on her face at the end and feels his lips curl up, like a magnetic connection. He was caught off guard as he stood there thinking of the sweet nothings and sweet everythings of his reminiscences with her.
"Good Morning Dr Ramsey!"
It took him all his power to straighten himself, and to put on the stoic façade before responding,
"Good Morning Dr Walton."
Alexandra didn't initiate a conversation, just like he had expected. Bidding goodbye to her companion, she strode off her way.
Now, it was just him and her, standing in the middle of nowhere, eyes locked in intense focus, tied together with a string they find themselves unable to break.
She looked striking like she always did.
In every hue, every ensemble, at every hour, she knew how to induce that unnamed feeling in his heart.
All she had to do was to look at him the way she did, and his idiotic heart would skip a beat, and an ambrosial emotion would follow.
And what does one do when emotions go out of control?
Self Preservation.
Giving her a brisk nod, he dropped his gaze, hurrying away past her, not having the courage to look at the hurt caused.
Idiotic.
That's the only word he could use to describe his actions.
He could think of a trillion excuses, travel through a hundred bends on the roads of justification, but nothing would be enough to balance out the pain he was giving her. Not even his playlist of curses that he played in his mind every day to remind himself what he truly was.
An asshole.
As soon as his steps took him to the outdoors, the crisp cold winds blew through his hair, and he cherished the moment.
The apricity hugged him, and the scene that met his eyes, the world draped with a veil of phosphorescing snow, generated a euphoria he was unfamiliar with. As a minuscule flakelet fell on his outstretched hand, he realized that no one needs to spend a billion dollars to get happiness.
It is hidden amidst mundane things, and the only thing one has to do is to keep foraging for it.
Happiness can be made, it can be found. But can it be bought?
Never.
------------------
It was unusually calm at Derry's in the morning hours.
Not that he was complaining, of course.
In comfortable, long sips, he lets the caffeine overtake the tiredness and the heartache coursing through his body. The glare of the screen and ping of his cellular broke the aura of comfort that had spread out through the coffee shop. He wants to shut it off and throw it in a corner away from his sight, but decides against it.
It's a text from Naveen.
Skipping is not an option for today night!
A groan escapes him, the annoyance of another meet and greet taking away all the calm. He tried to convince him, but all efforts went futile. He plays the discussion all over again to find any loophole he can to escape the torture.
Flashback:
It's after hours and the wing of the hospital where Naveen's office was situated bore a silence. The amicable old man sat in his chair, leaning back as the younger one stood, with his back at him. It was obvious they had been arguing, but it seemed more like amusement for the old mentor and annoyance for the young protégé.
"There is no need-"
"Ethan, you have been repeating the same words for fifteen minutes now." Naveen chuckles.
"I very well know that there is no need for anything, dear friend. I just want a little bit of happiness and merriment in the hard times."
"I am not stopping you from doing that, Naveen, you know that. But what is the need of the celebration being about me?"
"Because you are a reason I am alive today." The man gives a melancholy smile, vision blurred as the near-death experience of the past year come sailing in front of him.
"This celebration is about you and Dr Sharma. Without the two of you, I would not have been here."
Ethan's features are clouded by the pain of losing his mentor, who has been like a father to him, and inspiration. His frown softens, annoyance long lost, as he comes as takes a seat and places his hand on his.
"Fine. I will do this. But only for you, okay?"
Naveen's lips curl up in a grateful, happy smile as if wordlessly conveying his thanks. As Ethan stands up and proceeds to leave, he cannot stop himself from laying out his observation,
"For her too."
And Ethan knew. He knew exactly whom this was about. And as much as he wanted to deny the assumption, he couldn't help but accept the truth in it. Of course, he was doing it for Naveen. But he was doing it for her too. She deserved it so much more than him. If she hadn't been there, the seat occupied by his mentor today would have been...
Flashback ends
As his eyes skim through the crisp pages of the medical journal absent-mindedly, he thinks of her again. The permanent occupant of his daydreams, who would still manage to come back, no matter how many resets he carried out.
He thinks of her attire from the hour before, hair in a neat long braid, dressed in a meticulously embroidered Indian attire. And then of the celebration at dusk, where she will finally receive the recognition she deserves.
All the doubts regarding her promotion to the Diagnostics Team would be washed away.
He remembers what she had told him a few days after he had heard those nasty rumours,
"I have proved myself and I know what's true. I don't need to show anyone else the testament of my abilities. As long as I am fair and just, their words can do no harm to me."
His admiration for her had increased phenomenally when she spoke those words to him.
His pride, his faith had not been misplaced when he picked her for the difficult voyage named Edenbrook.
He has never felt so proud of any other intern as much as he does of her.
His heart sings to him, his choice was correct. He doesn't let it elaborate itself, because one wrong move from his side would be more than enough to ruin this unpolished gem before she even gets a chance to shine.
Yes, he did tell her that some things are worth any risk, she is worth any risk, back in Miami. The reminiscences of the day still played on the screen of his mind in sepia, they lulled him to sleep.
But the risk to harm her fragile career before it even blossoms?
It wasn't just a risk, it was like a crime for him.
One which he refused to commit.
---------------------
As dusk falls and winter blues colour the land of snow in multichromatic hues, hiding any bit of orange from the setting sun, Pooja Sharma hums along with her favourite songs as she dresses up for the special evening.
No matter how much she wants to curl up in the folds of the soft Cashmere, she has to be in attendance. It's a strict order from her grand mentor and impossible for her to go past.
It's all black day, she reminds herself when picking the outfit. And she doesn't forget to leave a thank you note for Lekh as she finds the perfect one.
And now, as she stands, trying to complete the arduous job of creating a perfect eyeliner wing, a certain someone's reminiscences trouble her pained heart.
No matter how much she scolds it for its stupidity, trying to explain the futility of the hope of getting together, it never heeds, just continues to trouble her with the baritone of his that enchants her mind, the cologne that overpowers all her senses.
As she looks at the reflection in the speculum, she cannot help but imagine his reaction.
Will she even get a reaction?
Maybe just a nod, or a look.
No words.
She has convinced herself with it. It took some time, some stops, some pulls of an invisible harness, but she has convinced herself.
She's stopped hoping, soothing herself with whatever they shared, memories that felt like they belong to a bygone era, and a promise of treasuring them, just in case he ever decided to come back.
---------------------
In the vespertine hours, the diamond dust made the sun devoid city look like a fairytale. Any other time, he would have just worried about the sharp chill, probably cursing the snow.
Being so observant of the places he is a regular visitor at, it was a new experience for him.
Strange, even.
It's something that will take some time to get used to.
The interiors are warm. Minimally decorated, as he had requested. Not wanting to create a fuss, he bee-lines to the corner of the room, where the only occupant was emptiness. He decided to cherish the moments of solace before the bother of the vivacious crowd began, wanting to start a colloquy.
On instinct, he looks around, not being able to comprehend the reason why his heart leaps to his throat. And then a pang of disappointment overlaps that sudden nervousness.
The absence of one person, the feeling so profound.
It's magical.
Dangerous, but still, magical.
A mute scold follows. No matter how hard he tries, strives towards that unannounced aim of reset, his stupid heart and its childishness always ruin his plans.
The call of his name makes him turn around.
Naveen stands, jolly smile fixed in place, eyes sparkling with joy and...
Gratitude.
They chat, topics ranging from Diagnostic team cases to complaints of coffee. His orbs casually drift towards the entryway, in hope of seeing his dearest.
And as the astrologers say, the stars align, the universe comes into play, and the shimmer of black in the lambent atmosphere makes his heart skip a beat. He feels a smile emerging and hastily hides it with a scowl.
If he had to, he would have sworn that he looked like a clown.
Her ambers gaze around in a lucid, tender manner, in strike contrast to his a while ago.
There is a lack of haste, of worry, of unease.
Her very presence fills the air with tranquility and without his consent, his soul basks in it. After what felt like an eternity, their gazes meet.
Melt into each other like the wax of two candles.
Become inseparable.
She smiles, it's faint.
It seems more of a formality than a wish. The momentary cheer is replaced by a somber, melancholic expression. Her orbs drift away, gaze turns away as if to hide whatever was to come from him.
And he knows.
He's the reason.
Silence is suffocating, but right now, the chaos is even more constricting to him.
Everyone chatters, mingles, smiles.
Everyone except her.
She stands too still, flashing a half-hearted smile and half-hearted gaze here and there, as she is surrounded by the rest of her friends, preventing him from getting a better look.
As conflict rises in his interior, a to go or not to debate, the gulps of scotch become more frequent, the frown gets tighter and guilt gets heavier. Before he can drown down into the never-ending cascade of crippling self-hatred, there is a call of his name.
Naveen.
---------------------
Claps and whoots surround her, along with a cheer. She becomes the recipient of numerous bear hugs, and compliments as Naveen elaborates on her contribution to his recovery. It feels like a reel of situations played from her sweven. It took a pinch for her to realize that it wasn't.
A mic tap follows, it's Ethan's turn to speak. She freezes upon hearing her name getting repeated again. There is an uncanny depth to it, she notices. An indication that it conceals so much more than is visible. Not just pride, not just intoxicating happiness.
Gratitude, raw and pure gratitude.
And something else (or maybe not?)
Her focus all over the place, she missed a lot of the address. What stayed carved in golden words was a single sentence, unremarkably remarkable.
"It's not me, it's her. I lost all hope, but she was the one who fought till the very end, never giving up, even if she had thousands of storms to navigate through."
"There can be only one recipient of the applause today, and it's Dr Sharma."
Two contrasting emotions put her in a dilemma. Whether to let the water drops she held strongly to herself or to let the heartfelt joy induce the grin that would shine brighter than the stars the twinkle along with the forlorn moon?
Unable to decide, she let the cracks in her stoic mask deepen, let the faint upturn of lips become visible to the world. Every applaud fell short, in a haze, as the mere words spoken mere moments before played in a loop like a soft harmony.
The 360-degree turn of the evening gave her the most unexpected and the most precious memories.
The change of the blithe chilly eve to heartwarming dusk.
Rare, mysterious and yet, magnificent.
Selcouth.
---------------------
Ethan Ramsey, for the past decade of his extremely brilliant career, has never displayed even a minuscule amount of emotions. Never. The mask of stoicism fixed so perfectly, that no power could ever induce a crack in it.
No one could.
Until one day, an intern waltzed into his life like an unforeseen plot twist and induced changes no one ever could.
The mask has cracked, even if to a small degree, letting the minuscule details of a transformation out. Sometimes it could be as evident as a smile, or a genuine compliment to an intern. In other instances, it would be just the absence of the forehead frown (which had become a permanent resident at a point).
And now, the beloved plot twist of his novel stood before him, her eyes expertly decorated with kohl. She was quieter than usual, engaging in casual conversation, but prevented going into depths of it.
Their gazes never meet, only slide past each other.
He missed looking into the amber of hers, trying to figure out her thoughts like someone engaged with a very complex puzzle that ends up in a phenomenal picture.
He missed listening to her sweet whispers, mumbles which made him smile more than he had for the past decade.
He missed her.
The universe is always planning a conspiracy to make destiny true. And it's definitely an action of its, that his hand extends towards her, wordlessly.
She gazes at it, gazes at him, thinks for a while.
And finally, slips her hand, bejeweled with that bracelet she wore in Miami. He still remembers it placed on his heart, which beat at an erratic rhythm.
Which beats at an erratic rhythm now.
Looking at the Bostonian sky, only drapes of translucent mist could be seen all around. No twinkles, even the moonbeams were struggling to reach them. The silence is comfortable, only interrupted by the sips of steaming hot coffee.
Her eyes are fixed above, in a search for the hidden celestial elements. His focus stayed on the snowflakes resting on his jacket.
He leans back, places a hand down.
There is a lack of warmth.
Soon enough, another hand joins him.
The cold is gone.
And so is his search of moonbeams.
Her touch felt like light, his own moonbeam. So soft, so warm, so dear. Something he could keep etched on his skin forever.
She was his moon.
And for her, those summery blue orbs held depths of the ocean, the faint, soft wrinkles that languid years leave behind as a mark of their passing like map lines of some unknown lands.
He was her world.
In every universe, through trials and tribulations, through pain and smiles, they were destined to find their way to each other. No one powerful enough to keep them apart.
Not even they themselves.
It was a cosmic state of comfort they found themselves in. His hand in hers, their fingers interwoven, the reflex etched in his mind with an everlasting ink.
He has never believed in soulmates, but as he as leans back, eyes closed, hair fluttering along with the icy-cold breeze, having her by his side, he couldn't bring himself to believe this was anything less than destiny.
That even after so many trials of forgetting her, he would always come back to her, searching for the serenity he only finds in her presence.
The feeling is rare, confusing, maybe terrifying.
But right now, he basks in the warmth that it provides, all worries and all woes are hidden in a wooden box, discarded away from his sight. And unbeknownst to even him, he waits for the day he can kiss her the way he wants to, no ties, no binds holding them away.
Yes, he waits for the day.
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PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎
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ohjellyfish · 11 years ago
Text
Pride over Pain by brumal
RINTORI
Summary: Rin has to upkeep his image as the cool and collected senpai in front of Nitori, so even if it kills him, he'll have to pretend that everything's okay and that he doesn't feel like he'll enter a state of spontaneous combustion within the next two minutes.
Rin/Nitori: G, humour.
Word Count: 2, 000
https://archiveofourown.org/works/960827
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