Analice @analiceharu23 - Tumblr Blog

analiceharu23

Apr 19

beeblisss

lucky to be here - w.w. | chapter 11: the end

(gif by theroseinthedarkness)

cw: angst, talk of panic attacks, references to disassociation, fluff (lmk if ive missed any)

word count: 5523

tags: @mollyw03, @starcollector13, @kpopslur, @mythical-mushrooms13

a/n: uhhhhhhhhh *checks calendar* whooooops

______________________________________________________

Waking up is a more strenuous task than usual, your body clinging onto sleep desperately after tossing and turning all night prior. After a few minutes of a futile effort of drifting back to sleep, you concede with a huff, flopping onto your back.

Last night's moments come rushing forward, leaving your chest feeling light but heavy all at the same time. It’s swiftly overwhelming then the feeling settles into your bones. You smile despite yourself—heart pittering of the unknown outcome of today.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Everything is calm. Too calm.

Charlie doesn’t even look up at you as you descend into the main area. In fact, the only person who seems to act like everything is normal is your mother, who glances up at you with a small smile from where she’s hovering over a pot of porridge.

“Good morning, darling.”

You eye everyone suspiciously, “What’s going on…?” you ask, “Why’s everyone acting so weird?”

Your mother’s brow furrows slightly as she shakes her head, “What do you mean?”

You scan the room once more, before looking to your mother. “You’re all acting strange.” You drawl, “There’s something off. You all know something that I don’t.” It’s at this point Charlie looks up at you, dark eyes scrutinizing you, though he doesn’t say anything.

“I haven’t got a clue what you mean, sweetheart.” comes your mother’s oddly stiff reply, “Come, come! I’ve just made a fresh pot of porridge!”

You’re ushered to your seat, plopping down in front of Charlie who is still staring at you. You stare back at him, only breaking away when your mother sets a steaming bowl in front of you. You flash a small smile up at her, and she pats your shoulder before walking away.

You take a generous scoop of your breakfast—suddenly ravenous. The spoon had just entered your mouth when Charlie suddenly chirps out, as if waiting for your mouth to be full.

“What did you and Mr Wonka talk about last night?”

You inhale the food, immediately sputtering and coughing up. Your father, sitting beside you, pats your back without looking up from his newspaper. Your mother tsks from where she’s pouring a glass of milk.

“Charlie.” She halfheartedly admonishes him. Charlie merely shrugs at her, turning back to you. You’re now able to breathe and you take a few heaving breaths.

Mrs. Bucket brings over the cup of milk, which you so gratefully sip on. Licking your lips, you look at your brother, “What’re you talking about?”

He adjusts in his seat, straightening up. “Well,” he begins in a ripened way, “you came to bed all smiley.”

You huff a laugh, scooping another spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Oh. Well, uh-” You swallow. “Willy— er, Mr. Wonka asked me to come to the factory today. Said he wanted to speak to me.” You continue eating.

“Well, you know what that means!” calls Grandma Josephina, Grandpa Joe nodding sagely beside her.

You furrow your brow, “Erm— Well, no. Not really.” Your eyes flicker around the room. A lie, to be sure. But it’s scary trying to analyze what Willy’s words the previous night mean so you simply choose not to.

“Okay, okay,” chides your mother, making her way to the table. “Let's leave her alone. We wouldn’t want to be badgered with questions about our love life, now would we?” She sits down and folds one arm over the other, smirking slightly.

You flounder. “Lo-love life…?” you quietly squeak out. Your mother only laughs, fixing you with a knowing stare.

You sink into your chair, nose brushing up against the table.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

And a long day it was. Between the not-so-subtle looks from your parents and grandparents, Charlie trying to get more information out of you, and the dread of simply waiting—you were beginning to feel suffocated.

“When do you think you’ll go to the factory?” Charlie asks. You sigh, casting an unimpressed look at your brother.

“I don’t know, Charlie.”

“Are you going to head to the factory soon?” Your mother prods. You stop where you are in washing the dishes leftover from lunch. Another huff leaves you.

“I don’t know, Mum. Probably.”

It’s now dinner time, your mother deciding to have an early dinner today. The room is oddly silent as you all eat, only the sound of clattering cutlery breaks the silence. That is until:

“So, about the factory…”

You slam your bowl down in frustration, head thrown back as you groan. You swiftly stand, placing your bowl on the big bed without saying a word. You make your way to the door, frustrated, not even looking back as you grab your coat and slam the door shut behind you.

“Do you think we bothered her?” Grandpa Joe asks. Your parents just share a look and sigh, smirking as they shake their heads.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Your head was swimming, heart pounding aggressively against your chest. It felt like you were walking in circles. Stuck in an endless, noiseless yet loud environment inside your mind. Full of thoughts while simultaneously having none.

It was quite suffocating, to be honest.

You had been walking around for roughly 15 minutes, just aimlessly through the bustling street of your little town. It was nearing 5pm, people would just be getting off of work or already making their way home. You stop walking, hands in your pockets, and gaze up at the looming factory. Squinting at the almost-setting winter sun, the factory resembled something more of a castle. Large and foreboding. To an outsider this may look like some place where workers are paid below average, under the hellacious rule of a dictator manager. Alas the man who ran the place wasn’t like that at all. He was odd. A recluse. Someone who had felt so ashamed of themselves a decade prior that he decided to never leave the cold comfort of his factory.

A man you were about to meet. Alone. At his request.

The thought makes your heart lurch—though you are unsure if the sensation is pleasant or not. You steel yourself, squaring your shoulders with a breath. Someone bumps into you as they pass. Immediately the spell is broken, and your shoulders droop. The bell of town hall chimes in the near distance 5 times, signalling the change of the hour.

It’s at this moment you decide not to wait any longer, and make your way toward the factory.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

The gates, thankfully, are unlocked when you press them. They open with a creak and you slip in, gently closing them behind you and they clang shut. The stretch from the main gates to the big doors seems miles long. You kind of wish Charlie was here with you. But you’re reminded immediately of the badgering you suffered through today and that thought is immediately vanished as you scowl.

Huddling in on yourself, you make your way to the front doors. The compact snow crunches delightful beneath your feet and you let yourself get immersed in the noise to distract from the deafening yet muted and muddled thoughts in your brain. If you think hard enough you can still feel Willy’s fingers wrapped around your wrist. The way he looked at you the night prior.

It made you want to be sick. In a good way.

You think.

Your feet take you up the stairs, right up to the doors. They’re imposing—much like the rest of the factory. And the man who owns it, funnily enough. How such an innocent and awkward man can seem so foreboding given the right circumstances. You give a hesitant knock

You stand there for a moment, taking it in whilst you wait, when the doors slide open. You smile despite yourself, feeling giddy at the thought of seeing Willy once more despite the inner turmoil. Though he isn’t there and you furrow your brow. A tug on your pants causes you to glance down, seeing an Oompa Loompa looking expectantly up at you.

He bows his head slightly, and turns, walking back into the factory. You glance around, unsure at first before ultimately deciding to follow.

The small man walks you to the same route you had taken on the tour, opening the door to reveal the meadow to you once more. It’s still as magnificent as it was the first time. The rushing of the waterfall invades your ears once more and you smile.

The Oompa Loompa gestures for you to walk ahead, and the door clangs shut behind you. The Oompa Loompa then tugs on your pants once more, and points to the riverbed a little ways away. You look back down at him after following his pointing and he gives you a bow you’d seen many times on the tour before making his leave to somewhere else in the meadow.

The burning tightness in your chest amplifies as you plop your feet one in front of the other towards the area you were directed. Moving past the various candy trees and hills, you see the back of Willy. His posture is poised and stiff—hands resting upon another on his cane. He’s looking towards the waterfall, seemingly in a trance. You stop for a second to take a moment to compose yourself—you didn’t know why you felt so nervous—before making your place by his side. He doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

“You came.” He says after a brief lull. You glance up at the side of his face.

“Well, of course I did.” you reply, “why wouldn’t I?”

Willy seems more reserved than you’ve ever seen him as he gives a tight lipped smile.

“I just—“ he swallows “—just got in my head I guess.” He titters slightly, shrugging. His demeanour is a complete 180 from the day of the tour. While he seems tense and on edge, he comes off more collected.

“You thought I wouldn’t come?” Willy doesn’t respond. Only glances out of the side of his eye at you before shyly looking down and nodding with a somber look on his face. Your heart melts. “Oh, Willy…” you maneuver yourself to stand in front of him, putting your hand atop his folded ones. He glanced up, violet eyes meeting yours. He smiles a bit.

“But you’re here” he whispers softly. His eyes flicker down to your lips briefly before he straightens up and whirls around once more. You stare at his back for a moment.

“I am.” You say softly.

Tension crackles in the room as you two stand in silence. The moment breaks when he peers over his shoulder with a soft smile. “C’mon,” he prods, “I wanna show you something.” And with that, he sets off. You’re bewildered for a moment before chasing after him; his long legs giving a much quicker advantage. Your heart is in your throat.

Willy leads you to a small path going behind the raging chocolate waterfall and you stop with trepidation.

“Willy?” you stammer out, nervously fidgeting with your fingers, having to yell over the deafening roar of the waterfall. He slowly turns with a questioning hum, a small smile on his face. You glance up at the raging chocolate cascading down in tons. “Are we…going through the waterfall?” He turns so he’s now facing you.

“Do you trust me?” He stretches out his hand. You look at his hand before placing your own in it, meeting his eyes as fingers grasp and mold into yours. He gives a small smile, before turning you around and dragging you along behind him. He walks with confidence to the side of the surging fall while you, on the other hand, have closed your eyes tight as you stumble behind him, the fall's roars becoming all consuming. The two of you stop. You’re confused; should you not be knocked down and covered in a torrential downpour of chocolate by now? This thought has you opening your eyes.

You’re shocked to find that you are now simultaneously behind and under the waterfall. A scandalized huh? falls from your lips as you crane your neck backwards to see an archway, the roaring chocolate just beyond it. You let go of Willy’s hand—who is watching you with a fond smile—and approach the archway. The chocolate gives way as your hand reaches out to it, separating like a curtain and it sloshes back as your hand flops back to your side. You whirl around, facing Willy with a wide grin.

“You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Wonka.” You say, sauntering your way up to his side, linking your arm with his. He breathes out a shy chuckle, staring at the ground before raising his eyes to yours and nudging his head in the opposite direction before pulling you along with a smile.

What lay behind the waterfall wasn’t anything you expected. In all honesty, you didn’t know what to expect but you weren’t expecting something so…ordinary.

Another archway that Willy leads you through brings you into a room, with high ceilings made of glass and all sorts of different plants. A creek--of normal water--runs under a wooden bridge, water trickling leading into a small pond. You swear you can hear a bird chirp somewhere. You detach yourself from Willy, taking in the room. The long grass tickles your ankles as you walk along a small, overgrown pathway. The bridge has small benches on either side, garnering perfect view of the pond. You sit on one of the benches, taking in the sights. Willy makes his way to you, also taking a seat. His arm brushes against yours as he fiddles with his cane.

“Willy, this is…” you blow a breath, still looking around in amazement, “This is gorgeous.” He nods.

He begins to speak and you position yourself so you’re giving him your full attention. “When I find myself needing some space, I like to come here. Quiets the mind.” He’s silent for a moment, before turning to look at you. “That’s not…silly, is it?” You shake your head.

“Not at all,” you affirm softly, scooting closer to him. “In fact, I think it’s a brilliant idea. The world is…chaotic at best. Sometimes we truly need to just sit and let our minds quiet a bit. Nothing silly about that.” The corner of his lips quirk upwards with a twitch, his expression becoming serene and composed as he moves his sight to the fretted wood. He shifts a bit in his seat before speaking again, though much softer if possible.

“That’s why I like you,” He titters softly, still averting his gaze, “From the very moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were…good. You’re you. Unapologetically so. It’s refreshing. It’s… something I both admire and am envious of.” He smirks sardonically, looking into your eyes. Your heart flutters.

“You like me?” He nods minutely, expression falling. He begins to fidget with his cane once more.

“Like I said before, I’m not good at these things,” He says, getting up and marching to the other side of the bridge. You stay put as he stands almost regal-like across from you, looking out into the glade murmuring, “I’ve never had to be. Not really, anyway.” He begins to pace back and forth slowly, lost in his thoughts.

“Willy…-” You go to stand, but he cuts you off with a raised hand, shaking his head. His eyes are intense and looking something deeper than simply at you. This gives you pause, and you sit back down. He needs to get this out on his own terms, without interruption. You understand. He turns his back to you once more.

“When I first saw you, I was terrified…” He begins.

Willy had found himself wandering out of the factory more and more lately, the crippling panic attacks becoming slightly more manageable. Today was harder than most, though. It wasn’t long after he had announced his competition, and only a day after the first ticket had been found by that little German boy. He knew things would be more hectic and while he felt the ever rising fire of anxiety prick at his skin, he was also excited to see how things were faring in the shops. Maybe it was a little sadistic to stand by and watch the upheaval he created, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that.

Bill’s candy shop—one he frequented as a young boy when it was run by different owners—was bustling as expected and he knew everyone would be too engrossed in their pursuit of purchasing chocolate to pay him any notice—and therefore be unable to recognize him if they were to ponder his presence too long (he knew he had changed a bit over the years he isolated himself—a bit thinner and paler, longer hair and a slightly different style of dress would only do so much in a passing glance to conceal who he was.)

Perching himself near the end of the store, he watches in amusement at the frantic customers. It had calmed down in the few minutes he’d been there, the customers dwindling by the minute as the evening work rush passes by. He smirks a little to himself, watching the remaining chaos before his eyes snap up across the store, finding the flustered cashier staring at him. When she notices him looking back, she gives a small, timid wave.

Willy feels himself freeze; throat drying up as his mouth falls agape. He shuts his mouth, attempting to soothe his dry throat. He darts his gaze around the store before being drawn to you once more. He quickly finds himself overwhelmed and lightheaded, turning to the door and dashing out quickly. The door slams open behind him as he can feel his heart pound against his rib cage. He’s panting slightly, trying to loosen the collar of his shirt while he stumbles aimlessly on the sidewalk, occasionally bumping into a disgruntled person who scowls in response. He pays them no mind. The fresh, cool air grounds him a bit and he straightens himself, heart still pounding as his gaze goes unfocused and makes the way home without thinking.

Despite the overwhelming experience days prior, Willy cannot stop thinking about you. He finds himself drawn to you constantly. So much so that it frustrated him. But that pull in his chest is quickly becoming undeniable and one evening he finds himself pondering over you. What exactly he was pondering, he couldn’t say. But he sits in his office chair—a big, ornate thing—biting at his nails as he thinks.

And thinks.

He gets up with a jolt—not even that fully conscious of his movements. All he knows is that he’s going back to Bill’s shop.

The walk isn’t long, a measly 10 minutes made easier by the lack of people roaming the streets—all of them inside eating dinner with their families no doubt. The thought makes him scowl. His heart rate increases as he sees the sign, shining bright and illuminating the bricks and ground below. He’s at the door before he knows it, stepping into the warmed shop air.

He’s suddenly pushed aside as an angry woman storms her way past him, shouting at him in a shrill voice. He physically recoils at her touch, grimacing at her as she stomps off. He watches her for a moment before turning to look at you, who is watching the door with a frown. Though your expression shifts when your eyes take notice of him. He straightens up as you make eye contact with him through his glasses. And once more he’s thrown into inner turmoil as he takes you in.

“Hey!” He hears you say kindly, “Sorry ‘bout that. How can I help you?”

He enters a sort of daze; similar to his episodic flashbacks but he’s less tense. He shakes his head with a sigh.

“You consumed my every thought. That has never happened before.” He says, throwing a glance at you over his shoulder. “I prided myself on being a resolute man. A man who wasn’t distracted easily and yet…” He trails off.

He remembers seeing you amongst the meagre crowd below him from his place upon the steps. He clocks in every minute change in your face, knowing you’ve recognized him. He’s full of both dread and anticipation. He almost forgets his next step--almost.

He rifles through his coat’s inner pocket, pulling out cue cards.

“Dear guests! Greetings! Welcome to the Factory!”

Willy is overtly aware of your presence beside him as he leads the group further down the thinning hall and in turn is conscious of every step and breath he takes. He’s lost in thought, stealing a glance at you when the little girl snaps her arms around him, freezing him on the spot. He resigns to his fate as the children one by one introduce themselves to him. Plastering on a fake smile he turns to address the two who haven’t introduced themselves, starting with the young Teavee boy.

He can’t help but quickly glance at you as he turns to address Charlie, your hand protectively over the young boy’s shoulder. He avoids your gaze as he then soon addresses the adults of the group.

Though he’s swiftly mortified when he stumbles over his words, flashes of his own childhood clouding his mind. When he goes to gauge your reaction he can tell it’s forced--that whatever you had witnessed, you found off putting. His heart clenches in shame.

“Okay then, let’s move along…”

He couldn’t think. It was a miracle he was even able to speak with you so near him. The scent of your perfume flooding his senses and the hue of your eyes captivates him. He averts his gaze as he answers the obnoxious boy’s question, taking a minute but deep breath to ground himself as he turns the key and opens the door, revealing the product of 15 years of isolation.

He notices you alone; his feet begin to move on their own accord. Before he knows it he's behind you, though you’ve yet to notice him.

He leans in close behind you,. “Enjoying the tour?” he softly asks, causing you to startle. Though he is relieved when you smile in response to him, beginning to tease him about your previous encounters. His chest burns where you poke him. He offers his arm to you with the promise of a private tour.

He shows you the candied roses in bloom.

He is relieved to finally know your name--even more so when he learns that Charlie isn’t your own child.

He would’ve loved to have had a few more moments to speak with you, but the little spoiled one begins to shout just as you are about to ask a question, and he--reluctantly--resumes the tour.

He thinks about the warmth of your arm in his.

Willy can feel the weight of your hand on his arm; he can hear your voice. But none of it registers, his mind elsewhere. The one part of him still grounded in reality and logic burns with shame. He only fully snaps out of his daze once the boat picks up speed and your hand returns to his arm, gripping it tightly as the boat soars down the river. He doesn’t mention it.

Nor does he mention him initiating the second time, merely eager to hold your hand. Nor the impulsive action of wiping your nose free of chocolate.

And he can’t help but feel his heart drop when you slip, nearly tumbling into the river.

He watches you go in a daze, your arm wrapped around Charlie’s shoulders.

His memories resurface quicker, zapping in and out of his mind’s eye as quickly as they come. It’s only been a few moments, though it feels like hours of reliving that day in flashes as he recounts to you.

He can’t breathe, watching your lips wrap around the spoon he was currently holding; humming in delight. His heart is pounding, feeling as if it was suffocating him. Blood is pounding in his ears.

He’s holding your hand. Gazing into your eyes. He has to hold back an annoyed sigh as he’s called away once more.

That man is flirting with you. It shouldn’t annoy Willy as much as it is, but it does.

He can feel the white hot annoyance and frustration festering in his chest as he overhears the older gentleman talking with you. It sours his mood immediately.

He can’t say he regrets seeing him fall down the garbage chute.

Willy is once more aware of every nerve in his body igniting as the two of you stand close together in the small elevator. It’s an active effort on his part to respond to the insolent boy as he prattles on uselessly. He feels a sense of satisfaction of being the one to steady you when the elevator unexpectedly jerks. He watches you for a moment more as you smooth your skirt down, taking the time to examine you closely.

Though he quickly averts his gaze when he sees you glance up to him.

He hates how his mind continuously betrays him--the most puerile thing sending him whizzing back into memories. He can feel your stare, luckily not being entirely dazed this time. Though his mood is soured, frustrated with himself. He feels irritated at your probing eyes but not at you. No, merely angry at himself for not being able to hold himself together better than this. But unfortunately he’s never been great at processing any emotion so when he meets your eye he feels himself overrun with feeling and closes himself off coldly.

He pretends not to care when you stumble into him once more but his heart betrays him.

His throat feels tight--incredibly so. Your eyes are filled with unshed tears and an unknown emotion takes place in his chest knowing he is the cause of such grief. He can feel himself digging himself into a bigger hole the more he speaks and he’s willing himself to stop but to no avail. What's worse, he thinks, is the thinly veiled anger in your expression. All directed at him.

The bad situation gets even more horrid as the words you speak jam a knife into his heart.

“I think you should go.”

The words echo in his mind. He turns to you slightly, taking a chance to see your reactions. You can see his eyes are sad, his mouth downturned slightly as his brow furrows. Your expression is no different. He sighs and looks to the ground.

“There are no words to describe how sorry I am.” His hands wring over the ball of his cane. You sigh and push yourself to stand, stepping over to him. Everything begins to click into place--his reaction to family alongside his history. His reactions and response those few weeks ago now make sense to you (though, you don’t know how it took you this long to piece everything together.) It doesn’t make his words that day any less hurtful--nor does it excuse them--but it makes them clearer as to why they were said. As to why he brushed you and your entire family off so hastily.

You’re not sure you’re fully in control of your body as you reach up and wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his chest. His cologne fills your senses as his heart pounds against your ear. He stiffens dramatically before melting. His arms wrap apprehensively around you and he rests his head in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stand there for a moment, basking in each other’s presence. Willy never wants to let go. He feels more at peace in your arms than he has in the past 15 years. His eyes begin to water, and he sniffles. You pull away from him slightly, only enough just to see his face.

His eyes are rimmed red, unshed tears resting on his eyelashes. You slowly reach a hand up, cradling his cold cheek. His eyes flutter shut, a tear cascading down his face. He practically shudders as he leans into your touch.

“I cannot imagine the feelings inside you all these years. How lonely you must’ve been. How hurt.” You say softly. Fearing anything louder than a hushed whisper would shatter the fragile moment. He heaves a bigger breath at this. His eyes open, big and wet, looking down at you as if you sparkle. The air shifts. You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like minutes, His arms are still around your waist. His head minutely jerks forward as he glances down to your lips, heart pounding.

Then he swoops down and kisses you.

It’s clumsy. It’s intense. His cane clatters to the ground as he reaches his gloved hands up to your cheeks, angling your head up as your lips merge with his own. You hum in surprise before melting into him, He backs you up, now leaning over you while your back rests against the bridge’s post. One hand of his leaves your face to steady on the post, gripping it.

You both break away once your lungs start burning. Your eyes stay closed for a second longer, opening them to find Willy already looking at you in astonishment. His thumb begins to gently rub your cheek, though you’re not sure if he’s aware of the movement.

“I--” he begins but trails off. He looks unsure of himself; the man you met a few weeks back shining through a bit. You huff a laugh, one that causes his own in response. You’re smiling up at each other. He rests his forehead on yours. “This--” he trails off again, lost for words.

“Yeah.” you whisper, “I know.”

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

Charlie barges in the rickety old door, Willy and you following close behind. Your arms are entwined--barely able to keep away from each other it seems.

“Sorry we’re late!” You hear Charlie call from inside the house. You untangle yourself from Willy, not missing his slight pout before it’s quickly wiped away as you grasp his hand and enter the home.

“They were brainstorming.” You say, as you enter. Grandpa George smirks, leaning forward in his seat at the table.

“Thought I heard thunder!” he teases. You pay no mind, watching as Willy takes off his coat and hangs it up by the door. Once he turns to you, you take the hat off his head, putting it on the old settee below the coat hanger. His hair is tousled--having grown it out a bit (he still didn’t forget that remark you made about his haircut!) and you chuckle quietly, fixing it. He watches your face with a small smile while you mess with his hair. He’s enraptured. He’s sure his hair was fine and his heart swells knowing you just wanted to be near him, finding any excuse to do so. He snaps out of it when he hears your mother call.

“Will you be staying for dinner, Willy?” she asks, smiling knowingly at the two of you. You’re done fixing his hair, merely staring up at him now with a small smile gracing your lips. He turns to Mrs. Bucket, a bit startled and embarrassed to have been caught essentially ogling her daughter. He clears his throat and nods.

“Yes, please.” He says. He looks in your eyes for a second more, sharing a brief moment. Charlie rolls his eyes but the adults merely look on fondly, all with knowing smiles. Grandpa Joe begins setting the plates as the two of you make your way to the table, sitting across from one another. You sit beside Charlie, giving him a poke in the side. He recoils, chiding you with a small hey! As he pokes you back. You laugh, and Willy watches on fondly. He’s broken out of his reverie when you meet his gaze, smiling softly resting your chin on your palm. You playfully kick at his foot under the table, to which he smiles and shakes his head.

Grandma Josephine calls your name, “Elbows off the table, dear.” You sit up straighter, hands folded on your lap as you mutter an apology with a sheepish smile.

Grandma Georgina speaks up beside Willy. “You smell like peanuts!” she exclaims. Willy glances from her to you swiftly, unsure, before she continues. “I love peanuts!” Willy looks like he doesn’t know what to do, which makes you laugh, but he takes it in stride.

“Oh, thank you…You smell like old people and…” he pauses for a second. “And soap! I like it.” This causes you to laugh harder, watching your grandmother squeal and hug him. He pats her arm as he once again looks to you, proud of himself. You share a fond look with him, proud of him, too. He’s come so far in the few weeks since that fateful day behind the waterfall, now much less uncomfortable with the prospect of family. Your heart swells as your father serves out the roast.

You look around, as does Willy, before meeting his gaze. Both your eyes say the same thing.

You truly are lucky to be here.