the chariot

Charlotte Matilda Broussard, 21, PoliSci

[olive-1x1]

Emmett couldn't explain why, but it felt so right to be in this place with her, laughing to himself as she buries her face into his shoulder. Emmett raises his hand to rest gently against the back of her head, absentmindedly running his fingers through her hair. "I think I could be good. To you." her words run on repeat in his mind as he loses himself in the softness of her curls. He can barely stomach the idea that someone could be good for him, that he could be good enough for someone else. Everything in his body rejects it, trying to drag him back into his never-ending despair. Yet, he finds his way back through the safety of Tillie's closeness, it's magnetic pull refusing to let him slip back into nothingness. Emmett kisses the top of Tillie's head, dropping his hand to the back of her neck. He runs his fingertips lightly along it. "I think I could be good to you, too. Really good." Emmett briefly wonders if he is lying to them both, but he wants to force himself to believe it. The second chance he'd been silently hoping for was here at this fingertips and he would be foolish to let it escape him. "Yes, tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that....." he says quietly into her ear. "I'll be here."

Emmett's lips linger against the skin of her hand a moment, a devious smirk taking shape on his lips as the two of them watch each other through the haze of their desire. He toys with the idea of biting the tip of her thumb, maybe pulling it into his mouth. He fondly remembers the way his body had thrummed with adrenaline as he'd built up the courage to kiss her for the first time and how that same excitement was surging through him now. He brings Tillie's hand up to his cheek instead, placing her open palm against it. Emmett holds it there gently, letting his eyes drift close a moment, a feeling of contentment rising within him. When he opens them again, it's for a dramatic, playful eye roll. "Charming? Please. I've been called many things, but charming has never been high on the list. You, though...." Emmett's tone is gentle and quiet. "You just bring it out of me. I love to charm you, I love watching you get shy." a small smile blossoms on his face. "And you're just too cute when you get shy. Can't help myself."

Tillie continues to wrestle with her thoughts - Emmett can see the internal struggle playing out on her face. He can't blame her for being so conflicted - it had been terrifying to feel as though all ties to reality were cut the moment that frog jolted back to life. Hell, maybe she was right. Maybe they shouldn't be going back to French class. Yet, Emmett cannot bring himself to turn his back on the curiosity that called out to him. He didn't quite understand what was steering him so powerfully towards this research, but there was something building inside of him that he was desperate to understand. "I don't know what I'm hoping to find, if I'm being honest, but I'm intrigued by what I've learned so far. Killing frogs isn't the only way to practice magic. I just want to know what's out there. Witches can be incredible healers as well, y'know. They can do an immense amount of good, should they so choose it." Tillie's kisses his cheek and the feeling of it immediately releases him from his anxiety - he lets out a breath he'd been holding in his chest for too long. Emmett is perked up by Tillie's next words, a sense of hope budding inside of him. "Oh, of course. There was never a doubt in my mind about that." he says jokingly, silently thankful for her offering of companionship on this undertaking. "You and me it is, then. We can meet somewhere off campus? Maybe once a week."

Emmett is brimming with concern for Charlotte as she begins to contort her face in pain, tensely rubbing at her temples. He opens his mouth to offer her any comfort that he can, but closes it again as he realizes that he has no idea what to say. Emmett is just as confused as she is and he struggles his way towards a response, a way to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. But, how could he possibly know that? Deep in his gut, he felt quite the opposite, really. Emmett reaches the conclusion that is pointless to say more while Tillie is clearly in the midst of a panic. He begins to take a step towards her, hoping to help her calm down. "Hey I- I think you should sit down. Let me get you some-" before Emmett can finish his sentence, an unusually strong wind gusts into the room. It nips at his skin, ruffling his hair and his clothes. Tillie rushes to close the window and Emmett is relieved when it's finally sealed shut, however he is unable to shake the fear that is now coursing through his veins. Was she with them? Even now? Before he has much time to think, Emmett freezes. He watches as a thick line of blood begins to drip down from Charlotte's nose.

"Fuck-" he whispers harshly, breaking himself out of his stupor. His heart begins thundering in his chest. Emmett instinctively pulls his shirt sleeve down around his hand and uses it catch the blood before it can drip down to her chin. "Hey, it's okay. It's going to be okay. We're going to lay down for a second, okay? You're alright." his tone is soothing and rippling with worry at the same time. Emmett carefully sits Tillie down on the bed and guides her head down to the pillow. He puts pressure on the bridge of her nose, tilting her head back. Emmett brushes the curls away from her face with his other free hand. "I- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out like this, I would never have said - I mean if I would've known -" Emmett shakes his head, feeling rather stupid. "Are you feeling okay? Is your head hurting? I can get you some water." Emmett releases the hold he has on her nose to reach for his water glass. His gaze lands on the heavily blood-stained sleeve now resting on his arm and decides to take the shirt off, quickly tossing it aside. Emmett turns back to her with the water glass, relieved to see that the bleeding had slowed considerably. He laughs at himself a bit. "I don't know why I used my shirt. I do, in fact, have tissues." Emmett hands her a couple before laying down on his side, facing her. He props his head up in his hand. "Does this happen to you often? The nosebleeds?"

[charbroussard]

His words are honey sweet, and just as thick. The weight of them settles over her body slowly like molasses and envelop her in both comfort and heavy significance. What was the power of a day when before they had felt so inconsequential? Something so finite now feels infinite and endless. What could they do together in that time? What could they be together? She can feel some rugged and sharp parts of her that she had always wanted to conceal becoming polished and new, some locked away parts being cracked open by something akin to hope. If this was possible from one day with Emmett she cannot imagine what was possible the next day or the day after that. Had she deprived herself of this feeling all of her life? And had it been so difficult from her own doing? She had resigned herself so long ago to being perfectly even, never too happy and never too upset. It was no surprise then that most often she was unsatisfied with what life was or what she thought it was supposed to be. But this? What she is overcome with tonight feels almost overwhelming. She cannot name it yet. It is so foreign she fears she doesn’t have the language, or that if she designated a label to it that it might lose its power. What she does know is that she has never wanted to hold onto something so tightly before. What she knows is that now when she pictures a new day, her heart doesn’t feel heavy. Tillie had gone through much of her life so alone. The thought of somebody wanting to share any of it with her now makes her slightly unsteady. But here Emmett was, hopeful, willing, and ready. Sparks of some new electric current flare and twinkle inside of her chest. She gazes into Emmett's eyes, and the promise of change and of solace reflect back at her. Whether from the warm light she senses within him or her burgeoning optimism, she does not know for certain.

Her hand lingers where he has placed it, palm resting softly on the warm skin of his cheek. It surprises her how easily she can fall into all of this touching - the indulgence of closeness and intimacy. Something inside of her has longed for it and was satiated every time they connected. But, dubious from his admission, her hand drops back to her side. Who would not be taken by him? Who could not be charmed? In all of the years they had been at Le Troadec, and in the brief moments she had observed him from afar, she watched the ways it felt like he had everyone wrapped around his finger. She always assumed that it must come very easy to him and that he had grown accustomed to all of the fawning - That he liked it. Before, it had vexed her. Now, she understands. He wasn't trying to be anything more than himself, she knows that now. The magnetism she and everyone else sensed was a part of him, as real as his smile. Her head understood this, but nonetheless, she catches herself still trying to glean the earnestness from his charisma. Without it, she can't stop the nagging feeling that his words, although lovely, were empty and untrue. “I seriously doubt that.” Her eyes stay locked on his as she gives him a playful shove away from her. Shyness is the least of her concern. She is doing tremendous work in her head to fight the thoughts that he enjoyed embarrassing her, or that he reveled in her discomfort. There was, she was slowly figuring out, a childlike part of her that never forgot what it felt like to be picked on, and was always waiting to react to any semblance of that particular sting. She doesn't know why there must always be a battle in her body or why she could not just take Emmett at his word. He had said a sweet thing, so why couldn't she leave it at that? She tries, and swallows the pathetic need to ask him what made her so special. "I'm not shy and i'm not cute. I'm a respectable, even-tempered, normal person." She says, feigning seriousness, but cracking almost instantly under his teasing gaze. "You're the - the cute one." A few muscles in his face color it faintly with a tint of surprise. She smirks. "You think I don't love watching you try to woo me? Yeah. That's cute."

Perhaps on another day, one where she didn't feel so stubborn, she could feel what he feels. She envies how easily it seems to come to him, the pushing desire to discover as much as possible about the unknown, to dive headfirst and damn the rest. But this wasn’t an ordinary quest for knowledge. She can sense the danger it carries the way you can smell rain before a storm. She blinks at him, unsure of whether she should continue to fight or finally resign. As much as she would like to believe in their benevolence, she just doesn't know how much good she can trust everyone wants to do. But she doesn't quite understand why she feels that way. They had done nothing to show her that they could be capable of anything malicious, but when she tries to imagine any of them delving into this the way Emmett wants to, a dark feeling looms in her mind. There is also a deeper fear she isn't ready to admit. That, perhaps, she would not be able to trust herself with all of this. But Emmett's example conjures up different thoughts. She tries to remember something her mother had told her once about her grandfather. She had called him a healer, but Tillie never knew what capacity she spoke of and now it was too late to ask. But then, if maybe someone in her family had done it - could she? She sighs. “Please just promise me a bit of caution.” Tillie whispers, painfully earnest. She can see the glint of something squally within him, something turbulent and wild, but only in certain moments, if the light caught his face just so. Fear rumbles at the base of her stomach for the potentiality of his investment in that energy. When he continues, though, the rumbling eases slightly. She nods her head slowly a few times, a sense of calm resituating itself back in her veins. "You and me" - Like they were already a team, like the essence of them had already become fused into some amorphous being. Emmett-and-Tillie. She smiles at this, and it only widens at the rest of his proposition. "Ah. So definitely... like, not a date or anything..."

Time shifts into something unfamiliar in the moments that follow the blood. One moment she is looking at him with wide, frightened eyes and in the next, her body follows his lead, sitting where prompted and reclining where led. What the hell was going on with her? Never before had she felt such a complete lack of control over her life - her body. For Emmett to see her this way was grotesque. She wants to wave him away, to tell him not to bother, to run away and clean herself up, but he is so gentle. The way he is looking at her and tending to her makes something come further unwound inside of her chest. Perhaps a wave of adoration or a flutter of panic, she cannot tell. She knows that she can't handle more of his concern, his tenderness or his worry. She doesn't know what to do with it. Something about how he comforts her, brushing her hair away from her face, holding her like she is something fragile, and apologizing for something out of his control makes her lightheaded and she is inwardly glad for her head resting on his soft pillow. “Hey,” she tries to interject. She hates that she is the cause of his alarm and doesn’t know how to help him feel better. On another night she could laugh about it, but the last of her sense of humor has seeped out onto the sleeve of his shirt. "Emmett, Emmett, I'm fine. Really. I'm okay. See?" She offers a small smile, but ends up wincing through it. Dammit. "It's not your fault. I promise."

She does laugh a little, despite how mortified she is and takes the glass from his hand. The water is a cool relief, but she almost chokes on it as he strips off his shirt. He had done it so quickly, so casually, she doesn’t have time to process how crazed she feels. Tillie eyes him intently. “Well, i'm not complaining,” she says plainly. There was no use being coy about it. The situation they'd found themselves in was much too ridiculous to be shy about something like this now. And she really did enjoy looking, even though she was trying her hardest to resist making it too obvious that she keeps sneaking glances at the warm light carving out the hilly contours of the muscles on his arms and his chest. She tries to look away before he notices, though is certain she's likely already been found out. "But thank you. I am sorry about your shirt, though. I can get you a new one, if you like." The recent memory flashes back to her mind of him racing to her and offering up his arm without hesitation. No one had ever risked anything to protect her like that before. She shakes the thought away, afraid of lingering on the sentiment too long and summoning tears. “Thank you.” She says again soberly.

The nosebleeds hadn’t concerned her much until now. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a nosebleed before all of this, but her strongest guess would be some distant instance in her childhood. She had always been exceptionally healthy, never suffering from any unexpected malady and she had attributed it to fastidiously managing her wellness. But in the deeper reaches of her mind is the truth that she had never wanted to be burdensome. Even now she is fighting herself to be cared for and cared about. "Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know. Only recently. But I'm sure the air is just drying out as winter rears its head." He isn’t convinced, so she shrugs to further prove her nonchalance. "I'm fine. This is just really embarrassing.” She says the last part with a bit more conviction and it isn’t a lie. The first time she was in his bed and she is a frazzled mess, covered in her own blood. She couldn’t quite think of anything worse. “Maybe I should take my shirt off too and make things less awkward.” She says, putting the glass down on his nightstand. She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but the air of surprise and the bit of silence that hung between them brought instant regret. Her cheeks flush deep red and the heat of them pull her back down to Earth. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” She says bashfully, blurting out anything before he has the chance to. "But I - I did get blood on mine and - well, if you don't mind maybe I could borrow one of yours for the night." She hadn’t fully considered what spending the night might look like until now. What was appropriate and what was too much, she couldn’t say. But the thought of laying on his bare chest and sleeping soundly in one of his worn in pajama shirts makes her heart pound in her ears. Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

[olive-1x1]

Emmett has utilized facial expressions as a compass for as long as he can remember, guiding him towards unspoken answers. Growing up around such grandiose performances of stoicism had forced him to refine his observational skills at an unusual speed for his age. Emmett’s parents had been rather proficient in obscuring their true emotions with their words, but they could never hide the twitches and trembles of their face muscles from his watchful eye - his only indication of truth. Even now, Emmett continues to fall back on this strategy as a safety net, as a way to maintain a basis of fact. Charlotte’s expression morphs and washes between uncertainty and ease, as if she cannot quite make up her mind on what exactly she feels about Emmett’s proposition. Sharp stabs of regret poke into his skin like thorns - had he come across too casual? Like he didn’t take his desire for her seriously? A ball of nerves tightens in the pit of his stomach at the thought. Emmett resists the urge to dash forward with frantic revisions, a desperate attempt to remedy any confusion. He cautions himself against making assumptions about what she may say, yet it becomes increasingly more difficult as the seconds drag on, his anguish growing. Charlotte’s brow smooths, her shoulders sink down. Perhaps it’s a sigh of relief that passes through her lips or perhaps it’s one of resignation, but either way, Emmett finds solace in the hopefulness of her words. “I don’t mean for this to be something that blows whichever way with the wind either.” he speaks to her with a level of tenderness that feels unfamiliar, but solidifying all at once. As reassuring as Charlotte’s words are, Emmett still catches the doubt that dances across her face in short bursts. “I like you very much. The way I feel for you is anything but casual.” His cheeks flush bright red, he looks down in an attempt to hide his foolish smile, but it’s painfully futile. It falters ever so slightly before his next sentence. “and I never want to hurt you and I -“ Emmett cannot muster the courage to explain himself any further than that - a cavernous feeling opening up inside of him. The rest of his words sit at the tip of his tongue and eventually roll back down to his throat. “Anyways, I really do appreciate the understanding.”

“O-Oh.” he stammers, finally shaking himself out of a state of shock after a few beats of silence. “Tillie….” Emmett lets the name drift past his lips softly, affectionately. “Oh your friends call you that, do they?” a bit of a playful smirk appearing on his lips. “Wow. Finally made it to the inner circle after all of this time.” he allows himself to laugh, but worries that such a thing might make her feel self-conscious. Clearing his throat, Emmett regains his composure. “Well, I suppose we meet all over again. It’s a pleasure, Tillie.” he raises her hand to his lips, kissing a spot just below her knuckles, just as he’d done that night in Dom’s office when she had first revealed her name to be Charlotte. His thoughts drift back to that dark room, the swift swipe of her thumb catching the whiskey from dripping down his chin. His body hums with electricity as the memory replays on a loop in his head.

Emmett can admit that his intense interest in the subject matter at hand was maybe a bit short-sighted, but to deny what they had seen? He can tell that Tillie is approaching this in a reasonably cautious way and that she is, in many ways, hesitant to walk into a smoke and mirrors situation. He sympathizes with that, but the memory is too vivid. The blood. The way the frogs body twitched around the tip of the dagger. Emmett sense that she is simply trying to offer herself some comfort in her denial, but he shakes his head, unable to affirm it. “I’m sorry to be so frank, but the sooner we accept the fact that it happened, the better. You and I both know he couldn't have possibly faked that. I have a feeling that we are going to witness stranger things than that if we keep going to french class.” Emmett bites the inside of his cheek, realizing that he is failing miserably at handling this with sensitivity instead of the brutality of logic. He takes a deep breath and places his hand on top of hers. “You don’t have to do it alone.” their eyes meet again and he implores her with his gaze not to shut down. “and it doesn’t have to happen overnight. Let’s take it slow. Little bits of reading here and there.” 

Emmett had not spoken aloud about his dreams to anyone. It felt discomforting in a way to have them out in the open, suddenly making them feel all the more daunting. He hadn’t quite begun to decipher and process what they may mean. Emmett’s head is spinning, his thoughts becoming an internal tornado. Emmett isn’t sure how to answer, but the words are conjured out of him anyways, unable to keep it to himself any longer. “The archer I -……I feel like they were trying to warn me of something. Of danger approaching. I guess I feel like all along it’s been a message to watch my back. I wasn’t understanding - I didn’t - Fuck.“ his head falls into his hands, groaning. ”I don’t know. I kept ignoring the message and the archer kept getting closer and closer. Until -“ he swallows hard, his throat feeling tight. “until she came.” Emmett’s voice is hardly above a whisper now. “That’s what it was……the danger. It’s her.” He shakes his head slowly, in disbelief. The lightbulb in his lamp flickers - his eyes dart to it. “The flame I - I don’t - somehow I drew her in. Guided her to me, I -“ Emmett risks a glance at Tillie only to see her watching him with concern. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“The radio…” Emmett shuns himself for letting that come out. He should have known it would freak her out. Emmett stares at her, wide-eyed. “I-“ he prepares to make an attempt at an explanation, but is silent the moment she begins to share her recollections of what happened. He clings onto every word she says, sitting on the edge of his bed now. He has to bite his lip against the laughter that creeps up as he imagines Tillie chucking the radio and how it must have busted open the moment it made contact with the tree. When she says the name “Lenny” he can see the tattered, loved stuffed animal clear as day in his mind, but he knew that wasn’t who she was referencing. Emmett’s body is overcome with a gut-wrenching grief when Tillie mentions that at first, she’d thought the voice was her mother’s. Emmett’s mind is filled with a million questions, but he loses them all when Tillie asks him how he’d known about the radio. Emmett anxiously considers brushing it off, but he is certain she’d heard his utterance. There was no hiding from it and he felt sick with the realization that he could no longer run. ‘I don’t know.” He blurts out, sounding hopeless and afraid. “I heard the static in my head and then I just knew. I promise I’m not fucking around. It’s not a joke. Trust me, I wish it was.”  tears well up, burning the corners of his eyes “I don’t know how I just knew, but I did. It’s like I’ve started hearing things, seeing things….I don’t know, like - like visions of some kind. God, I know I sound insane, but I know for a fact that the same woman from my dream was the one speaking to you that night." Emmett can almost see his own breath as he talks, the air around them now frigid.

[charbroussard]

It brought her comfort to know that he was as serious and as nervous about this as she was. She listens carefully to everything he says. Her resistance to all of this was rooted so deeply in the fear of the unknown. With nothing more than a kiss between them, so much was left up in the air. She'd heard about the ways other people treated relationships. There was so much indifference she wondered why bother at all? And she knew, deep down, she wasn't prepared for something like that with Emmett. She knew it would break her heart entirely. But now, as she listens to him search for clarity, and stumble through his feelings, she is overcome with a swelling feeling of gratitude - that he cares for enough to console her, and chiefly, that he felt the same way she did. The fog of doubt dissipates right before her eyes. “Hey-" she whispers. Now it was her turn to affirm him. “Thank you. For saying that. I actually really needed to hear you say this, I think. And for the record I do feel the same way. I want to be - I mean I think I could be good. To you.” Her cheeks grow warm at this, and she bashfully leans her forehead on his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “I just mean that I would like to be. And I’m um - if we’re taking it one day at a time, I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

She loves the way her name sounds on his lips - Like it was something new that he had made up for her on the spot. Like she had never been called that in her life. Like it was something special. Tillie rolls her eyes and wrestles a smile off of her face at his words. “Sure, I guess I don’t kiss my friends.” Her heart skips as he plants a kiss on her hand - the same way he had on the night of their first kiss. She reflects on how far they have come since then. How she felt the urge to hide in the security of the darkness, afraid of what he would think of her or what she thought of herself. Now she wants him to see all of the parts of her she had spent so long working to conceal. Now she wants him to know her, to tell him everything. She looks at him for a few moments, smiling but not speaking. If asked, she would say that in this moment she felt content, but really she feels astonishingly lucky. She hums, a crooked grin splitting her face as she leans forward conspiratorially. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re exceptionally charming?” She asks, and means it.

She almost laughs, but she is too anxious to fully commit. Her hands lift and fall back down in her lap dramatically. “Then maybe I drop out of French class!” She doesn’t mean that. She knows that Emmett knows she doesn’t mean it either. But the idea had come to mind before, just a flicker of an plan. If she wasn’t in the class anymore, she could ignore this forever. Out of sight and far out mind. The notion had flashed in her brain, but her resolve is much stronger than she anticipates. She supposes she has to see it through. Or at least find a few answers to her growing list of questions. Tillie sighs, exasperated. “We can read until the cows come home, Emmett. It’s just - What are you hoping to learn? How to bring things back from the dead? I want no part in that. Dead is dead.” This she knew all too well. If it was as easy as saying a few words and waving your hands around, she wouldn’t have wasted so much of her youth praying to a God she didn’t believe in to bring her mother back to her. But then, how could she deny what she had seen with her own eyes? “Or it used to be. I don’t know...” He gaze falls downward, cast to a scuffed spot on the hardwood floor. She is only brought back to herself by the feeling of his hand atop hers. Instantly comforted, but not completely convinced, she decides to trust that whatever there was to figure out, it would be better to do it with Emmett than alone or not at all. She nods and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. She’s happy that she can, because it was something people do, or because she can finally do it with Emmett whenever she wanted. A smirk lifts the corner of her mouth before a groan tumbles out. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll do this with you. But know that I’m only guided by the fear of everyone’s intentions with this stuff. And, well, a desire to know more than everyone else, if I’m being completely honest.”

She considers what he is telling her, but still finds it difficult to comprehend. Who had sent him a warning? And why on Earth would he be targeted in the first place? “But why you? And what would she want? Or why would she want to harm you?” She chews on the inside of her lip, ruminating. “This doesn’t make any sense."

She believes him, for some reason beyond her comprehension. With everything they had seen and experienced recently, a prophetic dream was honestly the most plausible occurrence. But the questions still bounce around in her head. What did she want with him? Or with Tillie, if she believed that it was the same person? "But if she - Then what - And why...What could possible connect us to be visited by the same entity?" Her hand flies to her temples, rubbing them with an incensed sense of urgency. She feels a small throbbing behind her skull, the bud of a headache. She couldn't handle much more of this conversation, but she pushes herself, hoping there is some semblance of an explanation at the end of it. However, the more she realizes how much was still cloaked in mystery, the more her frustration blooms. "This is too much, this can't be happening..." She groans loudly, hands lifting in the air. “And what if she comes back?! What the hell are we supposed to do?!” Suddenly, a strong wind barges into the room, shaking the papers on the wall and lifting the loose papers on the floor. It is arctic around them, raising goosebumps on her flesh and startling her so much that a shrill shriek forces its way out of her throat. Quick to act, Tillie rushes to the window and slams it closed. The papers float gently back down, settling in various spots around the room. She looks back at Emmett, wide-eyed and frantic. She opens her mouth to speak, but a small, pulsing throb just behind the bridge of her nose grabs her attention. She realizes then that it is the same she had felt on the night she heard the voice. “Oh-" she starts, hand lifting to her nose and thankfully catching the steady stream of blood that has just begun to flow from it. 

[olive-1x1]

Emmett is slightly taken aback by the question for reasons that are not immediately discernible to him, momentarily unable to formulate a coherent response. His brain begins to short-circuit. As the seconds pass, he is steadily coming to understand that he has never been here with someone before. Even with him and Sasha, the feelings hadn’t been out on the table in the way that they were right now, at least not mutually. Emmett no longer has a grasp on any shred of logic that could provide him solace, further solidifying a reality in which he is venturing into uncharted territory without a map, no idea what lays beyond this point for either of them. Though, has he not been the one foolishly leading them here? He ponders what normally comes next for him in situations like these. Pain, denial and regret - always lurking right around the corner, sniffing out his vulnerability like dogs, and stomping it out. He didn’t know what life looked like without defeat. Without suffering. And yet, Charlotte stood before him, a small window into that possibility, seeking him out for guidance. Emmett is thankful in some small way that she is avoiding meeting his eyes, as he is certain that he appears shaken up. Despite the unrelenting surge of fear promising to grab hold of him, Emmett can’t bear to leave Charlotte alone, in a place of uncertainty. Emmett reaches up, brushing a loose curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Emmett gingerly kisses her temple. He finally feels brave enough to address her. “I guess....what’s next is right in front of us. What’s next is…we fall asleep next to each other tonight and then we see where the days take us. I mean - what if we didn’t put any pressure on this and just….took things day by day? I know we both like to have things squared away as quickly as possible but-“ his words are interrupted by an involuntary laugh, reflecting on the similarities in their neurotic tendencies. “Look, all I know for certain is that I want you close to me. I want it to be okay for me to want you. I want the chance to get to know you. Can that be okay for now?” Emmett isn’t sure he can articulate anything more without descending into a deep hole of anxiety.

“Until yesterday it was also hard to believe that a man could kill a frog and bring it back to life.” Emmett utters softly, almost to himself. “I have no idea what could be possible with herbs after seeing something like that with my own eyes.” Charlotte’s presence next to him is Emmett’s only center of gravity and he clings to the sense of normalcy that it grants him for dear life. It dawns on him , though, that his tone is soaking with doom, likely not helping either of them feel any better. “Sorry I  - I just…..it’s just like - who knows what we could be capable of? Everything I thought I knew about the world is so different now.” Emmett is relieved to hear Charlotte say that she thinks the research is good - it could have just as easily been the case that she was horrified with him, so he's pleased with the latter. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Emmett offers her a warm smile, bumping his shoulder against hers. “It’s a good start, at least. Maybe you and I can expand on it together..” He can tell that Charlotte is still dubious and rightfully so, but he hopes to nudge her towards curiosity if he can manage it. “But only if you want to, of course.” 

The soft touch on his cheek helps to soothe the growing sense of paranoia budding in Emmett’s brain. He leans into it, craving the way her physical touch brings him tumbling back down to earth. Their eyes meet, searching each other’s faces feverishly and the hairs on Emmett’s arms stand straight up as Charlotte tries to get her words out. Her touch disappears as she springs up from the bed, something inside of her activated  and frenzied by his story. She paces in front of him and Emmett’s body is overcome with the knowledge that she, too, had been visited by this woman. Distantly, somewhere in his consciousness, Emmett can hear radio static. He wonders what that could mean. Emmett stammers, tripping all over his words as he spills the rest of the details. “I’ve been having inescapable bad dreams for weeks now. Sometimes they’re about us - like you’re lost somewhere and I can’t find you. For awhile, it was a reoccurring dream where I was being stalked and hunted by an archer, but one night I - well, fuck it - it wasn’t the archer standing there anymore it was this - this woman and she - she wasn’t a woman at all, but a corpse and she grabbed me with her cold hands and demanded that I take her to someone.” Emmett’s heart rate picks up - he swears he can feel the air around them becoming colder. He lowers his voice when he speaks again. “She called me her flame. Said she’d finally found me. I woke up screaming after that.” Emmett studies Charlotte, his eyes scanning from head to toe. There is a slight tremble in her hands. Her breathing is picking up, coming a bit more rapid. Her eyes are wide with disbelief. “Charlotte….what is it?” Emmett leans forward ever so slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. He asks the question despite the heavy gut feeling sitting in his body like a rock. “She came to you too, somehow. Didn’t she? The radio….” His voice quiets with the last two words, hearing the static again. His gaze locks onto her, eyes crackling with intensity. “What happened?” 

[charbroussard]

Silence stretches on between them, and as the seconds pass she can feel it wrapping around her and squeezing her throat. Her pulse quickens at the thought that she has said the wrong thing or asked too much of him too soon. She watches a discomfort come over him and it almost brings tears to her eyes. Had she ruined it all before it even began? Her lips part to tell him “Nevermind”, but an immediate ease washes over her at his words and at his kiss. She can envision the difficulty in barreling along without a plan, and it is frightening to think about them mucking about with something as important as this. But she could try for him. It was the least she could do. And then again, maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as she believed. Not with Emmett. "Yeah. Yes. That's more than okay with me. I want that too." He liked her. He wanted to know her. She can handle that, she thinks. She knows where to start. "I think you should know that no one really calls me Charlotte. All of my friends call me Tillie.." It's a small piece of information, but it feels monumental in this moment, another leap in the right direction.

The truth was a clear and glittering thing, so she doesn’t understand why she is so resistant to its appeal. She had seen it too, after all. Had been haunted by it for days. But admitting its veracity out loud was something she cannot manage right now. "But, well - Isn't there a possibility that it wasn't real?" She asks, but even she is not convinced by her question. Her world view had been changed too, kicked in its middle and left hunched permanently to the side. Nothing felt right or true or real anymore. Nothing about this felt good. And anyway, she doesn't want to know what she was capable of. It can't possibly be any good, either. "I'm not excited about this, but I think it bothers me more to anticipate what everyone else may find.” Or, rather, what may find them. “That’s not to say it isn’t a worthy pursuit. I’d like to - figure things out together. Frankly I may be too... ” she handles the word in her mouth for a moment, tasting the bitterness of it on her tongue. “Frightened to do this alone.”

She blushes a little at the thought that Emmett would see her in his dreams, regardless of how haunting they were. But as he goes on about what he had seen, the color flushes from her face entirely. "That is..." She drawls, quickly finding the seat of his desk to lean on for support of her slightly buckling knees. "That must have been so scary for you.." She's whispering now and staring absently at a blank spot on the wall. Her mind conjures up the images of what he describes almost too easily - A corpse, a flame, an archer, a ghost, the woman. "What do you think it all…means?" She asks, still not meeting his gaze from his spot on the bed. Her mind is racing, calculating, considering every scenario and possibility. He is talking to her but she can hardly hear him. The pounding of her own blood in her ears is all she can make out. "Did she sound like-"

Then, one word snaps her attention back to him, a switch flipping on. For a moment all of the air is sucked out of the room. If she was scared before now she is petrified, frozen to the marrow with terror. Something feral dances behind her eyes - primal. The most basic urge to protect herself from harm by studying a threat. "H-How do you-" She starts, but all at once she forgets how to breathe. All alarms are blaring in her head. She takes a step away from him, away from the wall and the papers and the mess. “Emmett, that's-" An exhale. Her head begs her to leave, but something deeper begs her to tell him everything. "I mean, fuck. Yeah, okay, I - It was just before break. I needed some air or to be alone, so I went out on the lawn for some peace and I had my radio that Lenny got me. I was listening to music but it cut out and I thought... I thought it died, but then I heard that voice. A-And she said my name..." Tillie hears her again, swarming her eardrum as close and as real as though she was in the room with them now. She looks over her shoulder for good measure, but finds nothing. "I thought that she was my mother trying to reach me at first, but -" Tillie doesn’t finish that thought. The image of her mother summons tears so quickly she has to take a moment to will them away. Her hand waves away the statement in an attempt to move on. "Anyway, it freaked me out, so I cut the radio off, but it happened again so I just - I don't know, threw the fucking thing at a tree." She recounts this part as though it were normal or obvious. As if it were something anyone would do. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she looks at Emmett. The air feels colder than before, suddenly the middle of February on their November evening. She shivers and it only adds to her budding agitation. "But how did you know that? Are you playing some kind of joke on me?"

[olive-1x1]

Charlotte's face immediately drops as those last words leave his mouth and he draws his brows together in slight confusion, studying the way her expression is suddenly overcome with an intense mix of guilt and shame. Emmett heart sinks and he wants to ask her what’s wrong, but he can tell by the way her mouth opens and closes that she’s still figuring out how to speak to him. Emmett waits patiently and when she finally lets it come out, her voice is shaky and self-conscious. Something inside of him breaks at the sound. In this moment, Charlotte seems so small, so fragile. Yet, Emmett cannot help but to feel a swell of pride rising in his chest. Vulnerability was risky for her. Terrifying, even, Emmett figured. And here she was, letting her walls crumble in front of him anyways. The corner of his mouth lifts in a small, swift smile. “Charlotte, hey...." he reaches out to place his hand on the side of her arm, squeezing it gently. His voice is low and soft. He fervently wishes to be a steady anchor for her - something stable to hold onto. “Listen, I'm going to be right here next to you. You're not alone, alright? I've got as much patience for you as you need." Emmett can only hope that his reassurances will offer her some comfort as he watches relief and anxiety battle for dominance on her face. "Really, Charlotte. It's okay. You haven't done anything wrong."

In the midst of cleaning up his mess of papers, Emmett takes a moment to flip his journal closed, stashing it away in the top drawer of his nightstand, on top of Summer's letter. A twinge of embarrassment nips at him at the idea that Charlotte could have accidentally noticed the many crossed out iterations of scribbles and ramblings pertaining to her. He almost laughs at himself and his melodramatic nature, but as his thoughts return to the matter at hand, the warmth that had enveloped him earlier was beginning to drain from his body. What fills him next is a slow-building sense of panic. Up until now, Emmett had not spoken to anyone about his research or his findings. He had been living in his head for the last few days and didn't quite know which thread to tug at first. Emmett takes a deep breath, recollecting his scattered brain. His gaze lands on his collection of pictures on the wall. "Okay. I know this all looks very.....well, gruesome. And it is, don't get me wrong, but like everything, witchcraft has a light side and a dark side. It's really up to the witch to decide what calls to them, I suppose." He points at an image of a small lamb with a dagger protruding from its body. "A cautionary tale to some. An undeniable power to others." A grimace twists his face at the idea of killing a small animal. "Personally, I can't say that any of this appeals to me, but it's a part of the picture, y'know?" His fingertip drags along the wall to another picture. "Altar tools - chalices, daggers, pentacles, wands... It seems that these are rather sacred items- integral to the devotion to the craft."

Emmett pivots - beings to dig through the stack of papers in his hands, eventually locating the notes he's looking for. "And there isn't only one way to be a witch either, I mean, the possibilities are endless." He scans through the mess of his own handwriting to find a small, bullet-pointed list. He reads a few of them the items aloud: "Green witches, kitchen witches, hedge witches....it goes on and on." Emmett takes a pause, sensing that Charlotte may be a little bit overwhelmed by the way she shifts in her seat. Emmett walks over to sit down next to her, "I guess I've just been trying to map it out the best I can. I know it's a bit of a mess." Emmett is itching to speak to her about his dreams. About the woman who had come to visit him. Though many nights had passed, he still shivered at the thought of her burnt, rotting flesh appearing before his eyes. The way he could almost smell it. He swallows hard, risking the possibility that Charlotte might not believe him, but the secret is burning a hole in his chest at this point. Emmett speaks quietly, as if the ghost of that woman was watching him even now. "And apparently, witches can have various different abilities. Some can manipulate time, some can heals wounds, some can have visions of the future or omens of danger in their dreams...." his voice trails off at the end of his sentence. Emmett hesitates to continue, feeling a cold sweat breaking out all over his body, but the confession involuntarily lurches from him anyways, like vomit. "I've been having a lot of strange dreams lately. Dreams that I can't quite explain, Charlotte. That woman-" his voice is almost a whisper now as he grips the edges of the papers in his hands. Emmett cannot bring himself to meet Charlotte's gaze, anxious to find that she may be looking at him in horror. "Ever since I dreamt about her, I can't shake the feeling that something....something in me drew her in. Something I'm not sure that I understand quite yet."

[charbroussard]

She clutches to his reassurance like a raft, knocked around senseless by the crashing waves of her own self-doubt. His faith in her erects something solid, something that had never felt before: a certainty that she could be good to someone else. That it was worth trying to be good to someone else. She had guarded herself for so long with a mess of spikes and alarms. No one had ever traversed the course before or had never really tried. Now, as Emmett looks at her like she was precious, like she was capable, like they had all of the time in the world to figure things out, she finally understood what this could be for her. She had exhausted herself from keeping her hand in a fist all of these years. Perhaps she could finally let go of the trepidation she was gripping onto. She shakes her head - not fully convinced she is without fault. If not now, then she would mess up at some point. But she lets it go. "Okay, ” she starts, not meeting his gaze yet. This was the hard part, she thinks. When was too soon to make things clear? "But what - What do we - What comes next?"

A sense of dread looms over her head as she listens to him speak, but she follows along as best as she can. As he gestures to the pictures on the wall, for the first time all day she finally allows herself to really study them. They hold a certain Kracht - some inexplicable power draws her focus to them. Most disturbed and disgusted her. Others she could stomach better, but she couldn't handle thinking about anyone in the group using any of the objects or making an altar of any kind. She wants to turn away, but it isn't so easy. She doesn’t understand why her gaze lingers on the dagger for a few beats too long. “He gave me a book about hedge witches, but -“ She trails off, considering what she had read. "It's hard to believe that a few herbs and some wax could cause serious harm." She smiles when he sits next to her, but it falters a bit as she senses that he was losing a bit of steam and confidence. "No, no, this is really good, Emmett." She says letting just enough warmth into her voice to let him think she isn't entirely frightened.

Tillie places a soft hand on his cheek, some sense of safety as he went on about something so troubling to him. All of his words were coming out so quickly, she has a difficult time processing their meaning. “Woah, woah. Hey, rewind. What woman? What dreams? Wait -” She watches him closely, watches the anxiety knead his expression like clay. Even though she hadn't seen the woman he was talking about, she recognizes the look of fear on Emmett's face. Memories of the night on the lawn flood back to her in an instant, filling the room with a sinister energy that makes her physically ill. She shivers, instinctively moving nearer to him for some semblance of protection. Surely it couldn’t be the same woman she’d heard on the radio, but it couldn't be a coincidence either. She can hear the haunting voice now, whispering "Hello, Charlotte," in her ear. The memory plunges ice into her bones.

“I also - but I thought…” She thought she had completely lost her mind. She thought she had hallucinated everything that night. She never would have thought that anyone else had felt or seen something eerie too. "But how could that be?" She doesn't expect him to have an answer. That's not why she's saying it. It's more of a thought aloud, a verbal tether to keep herself grounded in logic instead of the gut-deep unease that's been curling in her chest since they started this conversation. “I think we experienced - fuck. Hold on.” Tillie jumps to her feet, pacing the spot in the middle of the room, chewing on the nail of her thumb. The same uneasiness she'd felt in her chest lurches her stomach, and there is nothing but the constant motion that is stopping her from throwing up. None of this made any sense, but then had she really come here in search of logic? She knew, or has understood that they were all looking for trouble. But then maybe trouble had found them instead. She nods at him slowly first, without saying anything, gearing up the courage to speak. “Emmett I need you to tell me everything. Seriously, everything.”

[olive-1x1]

Charlotte's crush on him had been painfully obvious to Emmett all along - even more so when she had fiercely denied it to his face. When she claimed to regret kissing him and letting him get so close, it was like catching sight of a past version of himself in the mirror. The fear and instability was palpable in the air between them as they fought and Emmett remembers that after he'd cooled off, he'd sunken into a pit of empathy for her behavior, despite how it had burned him. He had been her before - screaming in Sasha's face, telling the boy to leave him alone for good. To forget everything because it wasn't real to him anyways. It was then that he had resigned himself to the fact that she might never be able to admit her feelings for him and if that was the case, he deserved that pain more than anyone. Standing here with her now was like a fever dream - the goofy, giddy looks on both of their faces. Both of them blushing and unable to hide their elation. "Who, you? Obvious? No way. You were, like, so nonchalant about it." Emmett winks at her, the sarcasm evident in his tone. "I definitely didn't notice the constant sneaky glances or anything." he smirks to himself, recalling all of the times during class that his eyes would flit to hers, only to realize she'd just been staring at him. Emmett finds it rather amusing watching Charlotte attempt to maintain her composure. Suppressing the laughter bubbling up in his throat as best he can, Emmett nods in agreement. "I'm glad you think so too."

"I'm here too." Emmett's eyes drift closed for a moment, savoring the way that those words wash over him - he is comforted to know that he is no longer fumbling through the dark alone. They had finally found their way back to each other. What the two of them felt for one another was illuminated now, the warm light pushing its way in through the cracks. "Finally." he whispers back, chuckling. "I've been waiting, y'know." his tone is light and spirited, a sense of calm blooming throughout his body.

The gentle tug at his hair nearly makes Emmett go limp, his entire body tingling. The feeling of her fingernails lightly scratching his scalp causes his arms to erupt with goosebumps and a small moan travels out from between his lips. He wants her to encourage that roughness further. Heat climbs the back of his neck. Charlotte's touch was like a drug to him, intoxicating him and wrapping him in a blissed out haze. Emmett daydreams about the day that maybe she'll push him up against a wall, pulling on his hair much harder than before. He craves being made hers in a way that is borderline disgustingly pathetic, but he doesn't care anymore. The way he feels, standing there with Charlotte after their lips separate, is unlike anything he's ever known. They stay there for awhile, soaking it all in, a lustful shine to both of their eyes.

Emmett thinks his heart might explode out of his chest as their fingers interlock - the braveness of that gesture catches him slightly off guard. He squeezes her hand briefly in affirmation, running his thumb along the ridge of her knuckle. "I could stay tonight." Emmett vision clouds with tears yet again, but he blinks them again before they have the chance to fall. "I'd really like that." When Charlotte brings the attention back to the disastrous state of his bedroom, Emmett releases the stress of his body with a deep sigh, finally ready to return to their original conversation. "Okay. Yeah I - I agree. So....where do you wanna start?" he begins gathering the papers up from off of the floor. "Insanity exhibit number one?" Emmett holds them up slightly. "Or insanity exhibit number two?" he makes a wide gesture towards the wall full of pictures.

[charbroussard]

Her cheeks grow hot at the recollection of her silliness. In all of her life she never cared about what anyone thought of her, but with Emmett it's all she can focus on. She had a deep desire to understand the magnetic pull that kept her in his orbit, and why it seemed impossible to shake. When she had convinced herself that she didn't care, or could go on as normal without him, one look would bring it all rushing back. She was foolish to ever think he wouldn't notice. It just slightly bruised her pride that it happened during a period of great hostility between the two of them. Now, in this moment of levity, she allows herself to laugh about it. "I literally have no idea what you're talking about, Clermont." A playful pause. "I would never do that."

Tillie can sense his contentment and she wants to match it but she cannot shake the sadness that triggers her need to atone. "I know. I'm really sorry it took so long." Concern and regret stitch her brows together. "I - um. Please, just -" The words are coming out of her before she can truly solve the puzzle of what she means to say to him. She only knows that she is terrified of hurting him, of losing his trust, of retreating into herself. It feels juvenile. She doesn't know what comes next for them or in general. She had never gotten this far. The disquiet she'd felt a few weeks ago is bubbling back to the surface. Her instinct is to pull away, and cloak herself in the fear like it might protect her from the shame. Now, though, she understands how she must endure it if she wanted this to work. She chooses to trust that he will understand her. A soft sigh leaves her lips then her voice dips lower, quieter. "Please be patient with me. I'm not really sure - I've never really - I'm still figuring out how to do this."

"I'd really like that too." She says, though her heartbeat flits at the thought of sharing a bed with him. She had dreamt of it so many times, fantasized about being in his arms while dozing off, smiles on both of their faces. She thought about their last encounter on her bed, his grip on her wrist guiding her hand to his neck. Ever since that night she has wanted to beg him to finish what they started - she almost begs now. A chill zips down her spine. She needed to get it together.

Tillie claps her hands together in mock delight at his proposition. Truthfully she was terrified of what he had discovered, not entirely sure if she was ready to see it. But she had come this far, and he had suffered so much alone. She figures it is probably best to keep things lighthearted, and tries her hardest not to make him feel self-conscious. "Insanity," she repeats, the words rolling off her tongue with something close to amusement, "Oh, I love this game. Hm- " Her smile falters slightly, gaze skimming the mounds of papers in his hands. There was so much he had found. Clearly Emmett had spent many hours delving into - well, whatever this was. "You know, tough call. Both look equally as insane as the other. Dealer's choice, really." And when he picks, she instantly feels lightheaded. "Can I?" She asks, pointing to the bed and not waiting for a response before she sits on the edge of it. She does her best to brace herself for what he says next, hiding her discomfort with an unsteady smile.

[olive-1x1]

Emmett is grateful to see the small twitches of a smile on Charlotte's face - grateful for this moment of reprieve, of humor. He felt slightly shy in front of her, his cheeks flushing at the quietly pleased look on her face. He very much wanted to welcome the side of him that Charlotte brought out in these delicate moments. It was soft and vulnerable - something he was terrified that he had lost. Something that had been out of his grasp for so many years now. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for Emmett to deny the tender desires burgeoning in his soul - it had been since their lips had touched for the first time. The thought of pulling back instead of leaning in was getting further and further from his mind. He didn't know if he could live in a reality where he never gave them a fair chance - where they didn't give themselves a fair chance. He laughs breathlessly at Charlotte's comment, feeling flustered by the playful glint in her eyes. "Don't be. I guess my crush on you has always been more obvious than I thought." he shrugs, "and anyways, it's for the best. She deserves to be with someone who isn't constantly thinking about someone else." his heart is racing, but he forces himself to stand tall within the rawness of his feelings.

The gentle kiss that she places into his palm makes his head spin, ears ringing. The way she is leaning into his touch, relinquishing herself to the warmth that exists between them is different than all of those times before. This time, he felt like the hesitation had completely dissolved. Emmett continues to brush her away her stray tears. The rest of the world had completely fallen away - it was just the quiet sounds of their breathing and the softness of her skin. Outside, he can hear the crickets starting their song. He relishes the way that time slows down, the seconds crawling by. He can’t bring himself to lower his hands and break the physical contact between them, terrified it may shatter this sense of contentment.

“But would it be good?” his blood runs cold at the thought and he cannot help but wonder this himself. Would he let her down like he let Sasha down? Was he really worthy of the opportunity to hold someone so closely again? Could he be trusted? Emmett desperately wants to believe that he can - that he’s learned his lesson. Doubts swirl in his mind, but he can’t run. Not now. Not after everything. This closeness could be his salvation, a soft resting place after all these years. He wanted that so badly. For the first time, he lets his gaze drop to the floor, suddenly feeling shaken and unsteady. However, Charlotte’s confession helps him find his equilibrium again and a feeling of hope rises in his chest, lifting him back up again. “I’m sorry, too.” Emmett nearly whispers. “I’m sorry things have been so hard. They don’t have to be. I’m here now.” his gaze is full of longing and sincerity. Emmett thinks he must be hallucinating when she professes her desire to kiss him again and he involuntarily laughs, overjoyed to hear those words pass through her lips. “I thought you’d never ask.” He gently lifts her chin up towards him with his finger and their lips meet.After first, it's slow and timid - they'd been apart for so long. Bridging this gap felt like leaping off the edge of a cliff, into something completely unknown, but he flings himself off the edge anyways. As the two of them find their rhythm again, the kiss deepens, becoming a bit desperate. Emmett pulls Charlotte in closer to him, hands on her hips now. Every anxious assumption in his mind shrivels up and disappears.

Eventually, they have to pull back and catch their breath - Emmett's cheeks feel flushed, every nerve in his body alight. The taste of Charlotte's chapstick lingers on his lips, causing a shy smile to break out across his face. The wetness on Charlotte's cheeks shimmers in the fading daylight. He wipes the last bits of it away with the soft sleeve of his shirt. "I wish you could stay with me tonight." Emmett lets out a faint sigh. "Will you stay for a bit longer?"

[charbroussard]

Surprisingly it hadn't been obvious to her, but then maybe it should have been all along. He never made any attempts to hide how he felt and had always been honest with her. She knew, because he told her as much, that he thought of her, yet for some reason it hadn't clicked. For how intelligent she was, romance made her feel entirely inadequate. "Was mine obvious too?" She actually hadn't meant to say this out loud, though now that she has she is not ashamed. Could he see, despite all of her resistance, the space that he occupied in her head? She doesn't know how to respond to him without sounding completely naive. You've been thinking about me this whole time? Just me? Have you been thinking about me in the ways I've been thinking about you? Instead she smiles at him, closed lipped but wide, a futile attempt to safeguard a ferocious giggle that is erupting out of her chest. For a moment she is twelve again, as giddy and nervous as she had been when Francis Dee had smiled at her in 6th grade. She couldn't play it cool in this moment even if she tried. She does try, though, promptly clearing her throat and straightening her spine. "Yes. I'm sure that is probably for the best." She says plainly. Pithily.

She watches the muscles in his face oscillate from one expression to the next, concern and relief battling for dominance, and she is saddened that she has caused it. "Hey," The blame was not all his to carry. And none of that mattered now, anyway. "I'm here too." She whispers. Finally, this thing between them feels real. Finally she feels stable ground.

Her breath is lost in anticipation, impatient for their lips to connect. And for all of her fervor, she starts the kiss timidly, carefully. There are a few seconds that pass where she is afraid that one wrong move will ruin this otherwise perfect moment. But she cannot hide her desire for him any longer. Her heart thrums beneath her ribs, and she knows that if they were any closer he would feel it knocking in her chest. She smiles a bit as she deepens the kiss, knowing at last that there was no fear and nothing to hold her back, not even herself. She follows where he leads her, sure that she would do anything he wanted in this moment, and relishes in the way their chests are firm against each other. Feeling his burning touch on her waist, her hand snakes up and around Emmett's cheek, settling on the side of his head. Guided by the heat of the moment, she grabs a fistful of his hair, giving it a gentle tug. A few minutes feel like stretching hours. She swears when she opens her eyes it will read midnight on his alarm clock. But when they eventually slow down and separate the sun has only just begun its descent.

She felt new, reborn - baptized in the wave of adoration she has for him, that she had always had for him. She feels desperate for more contact. Reaching out to the hand he has just used to wipe her tears, she catches it before it falls to his side completely, gently interlocking her fingers in his. Tillie feels an anxious hum from head to toe, suddenly electric with longing. She wants to kiss him over and over, she wants their bodies pressed together always. And though she had been thinking it too, Emmett's admission slightly stuns her. Her gaze falls to her feet in an attempt to mask the burgeoning rouge of her cheeks. The question hangs between them, crystalized in the air. She looks up at him through her eyelashes and considers the weight of what she is about to say. "I could stay tonight." Oddly, it is saying this that brings her down from her cloud and back to reality. She is suddenly acutely aware of the state of his room and why she had come here in the first place. Her eyes flicker to the left then right. "Though, I think we should address the uh - rather large elephant in the room." She conjures playfulness back up with ease, overcompensating for the ripple of true concern rising in her chest. 

[olive-1x1]

Emmett’s body floods with instant regret as Charlotte recoils from the harsh sound of his voice. He realizes then that he has taken things too far. He’s let all of his pent-up frustration come spewing out and now it was all being replaced with a heavy, sick feeling in his stomach. “Charlotte, I-“ words begin to tumble out of his mouth before he even knows what he’s going to say, but he has to say something. Before he can, tears are rushing down Charlotte’s cheeks, collecting at her chin. Emmett’s heart burns like the tip of a knife is pressing into it. “Hey-I’m-“ he reaches out to gently touch her arm, but she’s turning to leave and his touch doesn't make it to her in time. Emmett chides himself for being so immature. She had come to him for comfort and was leaving in even worse shape than before. The silence between them has never been louder than it is in this moment, her hand on the doorknob. Emmett panics, scrambling for the right words to say, knowing that the chance for repair is slipping out of his fingers. She likely wouldn’t speak to him after this and he opens his mouth to call out to her, unsure if he's even worthy at this point. Yet, she speaks before he can. Emmett blinks slowly a few times at what she had chosen to say next. He was frozen.

The words that were coming out of Charlotte's mouth felt surreal to him - he had given up on getting an apology from her. He's almost unsure how to receive it now that it's in his hands. He listens intently, hanging on to every admission of emotion that she would give him, feeling like he was finally getting a chance to understand her. To know her. Emmett's gaze does not stray from her face - studying the small details of her emotion, committing everything to memory. Emmett had never seen her like this before - beside herself. Quiet. Insecure. He wants to go to her and wrap her up in his arms and the simple existence of that tender urge makes his own eyes well with tears. When she tells him that he was her first kiss, his resolve completely breaks. The tears swim down his face and his chest feels tight. Emmett pull his shirt sleeve down around his hand, blotting his wet cheeks with it. "I-" his small interjection too small to hear. He decides it's not worth it to interrupt, but the rawness at the center of his chest aches as she speaks.

Emmett isn't sure what she means at first when Charlottes mentions that she knows he's moved on, but the pieces swiftly fall into place as Emily's face is conjured up in his mind. "Oh, Emily? You think - we...? Me and her? Yeah. No chance. After that night at Joe's, she hasn't spoken to me. Says there's clearly something unresolved going on in between us and she doesn't want any part of it." Emmett wrestles the small smirk off of his face - he knows it's not supposed to be funny, but in this instance, the irony is not lost of him.

Charlotte steps closer to him, begging him to let it go, to stop fighting with her. Emmett swallows hard, raising his trembling hands to her face. He gently presses them to either side, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her cheekbone. He feels as though he might collapse. Emmett catches a stray tear as it rolls down her cheek, brushing it away. "Hey-" his voice breaks slightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself get so upset." he shakes his head in disappointment at himself. "I just couldn't make sense of why you were still coming around and seeking me out, but the truth is, I'm glad you came here. I've been locked away in my room for days, going insane. It's really good to see you." he laughs a little bit to himself, remembering how he had said those exact same words in the diner. "I don't want to be your enemy. I don't want to fight with you. I know you're just scared. I'm scared too, Charlotte. I've -" he pauses, taking a deep breath. "I've never met someone who makes me feel the way that you do." Emmett presses a kiss into her forehead. He reflects on Charlotte's professions from earlier - one of them sticking out in the forefront of his memory. "And what if I do like you, even after everything? What if it could be more than something? What if we want it to be more than something? Would that be...so bad?"

[charbroussard]

Her heart stops at hearing the other girl’s name. Somehow knowing who she was made the pit in in her stomach widen. She remembers the way their arms slotted together with ease and the way she had looked at him with such tenderness. The image brings back the pricking in her skin, but they leave as quickly as they come as she listens to him speak, dissuading her fears. "Oh - I thought-" She starts, but a small laugh, coated in disbelief, swallows the rest of her words. How silly she had been and for so long. The weight of jealousy lifts off of her entirely, and the relief is sweet. A part of her pities Emily, though. Anyone could see that she had liked Emmett very much. "Right. Well, I'm... sorry about....that?" She doesn't try to hide the way the corners of her mouth tick upward. She laughs seeing that Emmett doesn't either.

She is liquid at his touch, muscles instinctively relaxing and melting into him. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she concentrates on the warmth of his palms and the gentle hum of his voice. She hadn’t expected to be reassured in this way. And God, how easy it all could have been all along. She would be embarrassed, but the intensity of that feeling has shrunken inside of her, maybe altogether, and maybe forever. Her body had yearned to be close to him for weeks now, and here they finally were. There was nothing to be ashamed of anymore. Nothing to run from. She settles well into his softness - it is a comfort she has not known for so long now. But it is not without blemish. A trace of worry like smoke in the air creeps into the space around them. Tillie's brow furrows a bit at his words. Locked in his room for days? Going insane - well, that was more or less obvious. But to what degree? She was eager to find out. But selfishly, the moment is too nice. She sits in it like a warm bath, anxious to stay for just a bit longer. So she tucks her concern away for later, making a mental note to check in with him in a moment. She swiftly kisses the inside of his palm as a comfort.

Tillie grapples with her instinct, wanting in her core to resist the sensation of being perceived by someone else. Unfortunately for her, he did see her, whether she liked it or not. He saw her better and clearer than most. This revelation brings more tears that silently fall, but not too far as Emmett’s thumbs are quickly reacting and wiping them away. Her heart swells the more he says. She feels like it might beat straight out of her chest, and then he kisses her. She is so lost in overwhelm she almost cries again, suddenly worried that this was all a dream and she would wake up any minute all alone in the dark. But he is real. He is here. And he did like her, even after everything.

She reflects on his question. She had always wanted to hear him say these words, and still can't quite understand how or why he feels this way, but also does not want to push her luck. She considers the future, much more clearly than before. Would that be so bad? She doesn’t know. The answer lies in a realm yet to be explored or experienced. "Maybe not. But would it be good?" This was the question that had plagued her in the first place. Could they handle the storm of the other? Could they be good to each other? Was it worth it to try? Would it be so bad? If he got to know her, to really know her, would he think she was as rotten and hopeless as she'd felt on the inside? Well, he was still here, after-all. He had seen a terrible side of her, and he was still here. Still holding her. She reassess her answer. “No... it wouldn't be bad. I've spent so much time believing that it would be, but I don't think - I don't think that I can hide in the fear of uncertainty anymore. And I'm sorry that I did.” In this moment, meeting his tender, forgiving eyes, still unsure what something is or could be, she knows that wanting it with Emmett would be okay. It could be good. "What I am sure of is that I would really like to kiss you again."

[olive-1x1]

Emmett cannot deny Charlotte the evidence that is right in front of her face. His obsession with the subject was plastered all over the room - quite literally. Aware of the fact that it might come across as disturbing, he doesn't try to fight back. There was no hiding now and he regrets not being quick enough to stop her from entering into the room. Emmett catches himself sinking into a feeling of embarrassment and despair, but swiftly jerks himself out of its' grasp. He didn't need to explain himself to her. He knew the research was going a little bit too far, but how else was he meant to cope? Digging through the literature and falling into the history were the only places he could hope to find answers - make everything that they had witnessed seem less insane. Was he searching in vain? Maybe, but that wasn't Charlotte's business.

"You are the one who forced their way into my space. If you're upset by what you see, then leave." Emmett's words are dripping with venom and he feels horrible about it, but he is so.....mad at her. Every time he had successfully managed to numb out the memory of her hands running down the length of his torso, their lips pressed together, here she was again.

His interest piques slightly at her unfinished sentence. Not just the frog? Goosebumps slowly rise, peppering his skin. A gut feeling gnaws at him relentlessly - she's seen the ghost too. Emmett grows cold at the thought and at the fact that he knew it so quickly, without a doubt. Emmett wants to pick her brain about it, but he won't let himself give in to anything but anger in this moment. "Look, I don't know what to make of this either, alright? I'm trying to figure it out in my own way and I don't need you to - I-" he stumbles over his words and eventually gives up entirely, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is all so pointless. Charlotte just needed to leave. "Yeah. No. You shouldn't have." he bites back, finally looking back up at her. "If you need to tell yourself I'm some kind of freak to feel better about your own moral purity, go ahead. You're so strong and resilient and I'm not. Is that what you want to hear?"

[charbroussard]

His words sting so much that it startles her. He held so much contempt for her, and while perhaps she deserved it, she couldn't help but feel surprised by it. She pushes through her distress to speak, but her voice snags on the growing lump in her throat. "Is that what you think of me? What you think i'd ever think.. of you?" Hot, eager tears bead the base of her eyes and swiftly fall down her cheeks. She doesn't stop them this time. There was no shame left in her to feel. What had she expected from him? Of course it would end this way. "You know what, fine. I'll go."

She hangs her head low, finally admitting defeat. With a deep, trembling breath, she turns away from him and heads for the door. This would be the end of her attempts to connect with him, she was sure of that now. It was a waste of time for both of them and clearly too painful. It was obvious the way it was effecting him and she decides that she doesn't want to be the cause of his suffering any longer. She had finally come to terms with the fact that she had ruined any potential for what they were or who they could be.

Her hand is hovering over the doorknob when she hears him sigh from his spot in the room. Against every voice telling her "no", and perhaps her better judgement, she turns around one last time to face him. She holds his gaze for a beat longer than comfortable, caught between the instinct to retreat into cynicism and the unexpected pull of something that feels dangerously like hope. "Actually, you know what? No. I'm not leaving. I'm tired of this. I can't do this anymore. It's - It's too hard."

Maybe she had owed it to him now to be completely honest. He'd done it with her plenty of times, always making the leap into the void of her feelings and hoping there would be some net to catch him somewhere. She had been reluctant to give it to him, but now she is tired of standing in the dark all alone, rubbing her hands raw from withholding. “Look, I know I've been - I don't even know what I've been to you. Terrible?" A wry laugh leaves her chest. And she nods in confirmation to herself. "I’m sorry. Okay? I am so, so sorry I treated you the way I did. You didn’t deserve that. I’ve done some things in my life, but I’m certain what happened that day was the meanest. The worst part was that it wasn't even true." She pauses, wondering if he cared or still wanted her to leave. She takes his silence as a sign to continue.

"It's hard to - I want to just - I've wedged myself here in this place where saying how I feel may kill me, but lying to you hurts us both. But I don't want things to be this way anymore, I can't bear it."

She begins to pace around his room, mostly in the areas where the floor is devoid of papers. "Most of the girls at this school are actively searching for husbands. I mean Sarah Baker is dropping out next month because she got engaged! It's a new decade, but women know that their place is not in the classroom. I've gotten so much pushback and I have worked so hard to be here. And I figured it was because I didn't allow myself to get distracted all these years. I figured it was because I didn't allow myself to be like the other girls here, and I resented them all for choosing romance over everything they'd worked for. I didn't allow myself so much as a crush and then we - well." Tillie’s cheeks grow warm as she remembers the first kiss.. and then she second. She wades through her embarrassment, determined to finish. "And so it felt like suddenly these feelings I had been pushing down my entire life finally caught up to me. And it was for you of all people! Not that - Not, like - Like, you weren't the problem. I was the problem."

"I have always been proud that I had so much control over myself and my life, but then suddenly it felt like you had so much power over me and my emotions, and it felt like I had.. none. And I guess that's really because I’ve never - felt like this before. With anyone. Ever. I've also - never kissed anyone. Ever." Her voice reduces to a whisper at the confession. She never thought she would ever tell anyone this, let alone someone she liked, but it was all out on the table now. If he thought less of her, then so be it.

“And so, I can't pretend that it means nothing, and I can't ask you for it to be more than something. But I don't know if I even wanted it to be something, either. I didn't know if you would like me if you got to know me. And that might be worse than making a fool of myself and stumbling through my feelings in the first place." Suddenly she remembers the diner - his kindness, the gentleness between him, the girl. Fuck, the girl. How could she forget? He had someone new to like, and to kiss, and to care. None of this mattered anyway. Tillie starts again, recalibrating. "But, whatever! I know - I know you’ve moved on so I’m telling you all of this for nothing but I -" A sigh. She had spoken for so long she didn't know what else there was to say. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should just go. She walks up to him, the closest they've been in a very long time, wiping away a few stray tears she hadn't noticed had fallen. Her eyes are sad and resolute at the same time. She searches his for understanding, or even forgiveness. Even pity would do. She bites her lip as she carefully considers what to say next.

“But I wanted to tell you that I never regretted what we did. And I know we aren't friends - Hell, we were never really friends - But if you won’t be my friend, then just please don’t be my enemy. I don't have it in me anymore.”

[olive-1x1]

Emmett bites the inside of his cheek, fighting against the urge to retort as Charlotte mocks his deadpan, irritated tone of voice. He quietly comes to the conclusion that he does not have the energy to volley insults back and forth with her today. The lack of sleep and constant absorption of information was giving him a headache he was still trying to kick and his body was heavy with exhaustion. As Emmett opens his mouth to let her know that now was not a good time, Charlotte swiftly and expertly slinks past him into the room. He stands in the doorframe a moment dumbfounded. Emmett releases a deep sigh, putting his head in his hands. He drags them down his face dramatically before preparing himself to face her.

After managing a deep breath or two, he turns, his eyes landing on the back of Charlotte's head. Her gaze floated around his space, studying the mess. Emmett reluctantly lets himself join her, taking in the current state of his bedroom. It had become a chaotic heap of books and loose papers, his own personal journal at the center of it all, laying open on the bed. Emmett glances at it anxiously and briefly considers crossing the room to flip it closed, but figures that would look more suspicious than anything. He is suddenly self-conscious as he registers how disturbed Charlotte seems to be by what she sees. Emmett casts his gaze down to the floor, distracting himself by studying the imperfections in the hardwood. Until this moment, he had not been able to see just how deep the rabbit hole had gotten. Emmett often threw himself into his studies, but this was on a different level. He couldn't deny how the reamination had excited him even if it was often followed by an intense wave of disgust and fear.

The idea that they could learn to do something like that. The idea that their teacher could help them do something like that. Shaking the thrill of that idea had been nearly impossible for Emmett. Yet, something darker was lurking below the surface, not quite legible. The awareness of that fact was bringing him a great deal of hesitancy. In spite of himself, he wonders what's on Charlotte's mind. Her facial expressions elude to a rather complicated mix of emotions and as their eyes meet again, he can sense the mutual distress between them. Emmett almost softens, but his body fights it. His muscles tense against the instinct to relax in her presence. Emmett wasn't sure he could handle the fall-out that would inevitably follow that decision. He needs fresh air more than he ever has, walking over to the window and opening it a crack. A welcome cool breeze kisses his skin. Emmett shakes his head, scoffing. "Why does it matter, Charlotte? Since when have you needed my input? Of course I'm freaked out. Anything else you wanna know or can we wrap this up?"

[charbroussard]

Tillie's jaw tightens. They had never been friends, so she doesn't know why she expected him to be open to this conversation. But the obstination that they both held onto was beginning to exhaust her. She was mostly responsible, she knew this of course, but it didn't frustrate her any less. "I mean are you?" She makes a frantic, sweeping gesture around the room. Her stomach twists as she catches a glimpse of an image on his wall - of a group of women encircling the decapitated head of a goat. She swallows hard. "Because this looks like keen interest to me. Has he really gotten to you so quickly?" It is a genuine question, one she means to ask with an implied level of concern, but hostility paints the spaces in-between her words. Desperation claws away her empathy, and she has to know if Emmett is already too far gone to talk to about any of this. It was terrifying to her that everyone could be so blithely delve into this without thinking of the repercussions. She couldn't allow herself to do that. She would fight for the shred of sanity that remained in her. She would resist.

"And it's not just the frog I mean -" She starts and then stops, weighing in the balance the risk of seeming like a psychopath at the mention of what she'd heard on the radio. Tillie stands there, nervous and feeling somewhat foolish. Maybe this was pointless. Maybe they were all lost causes. Her shoulders slump in resignation. "Fucking hell, I shouldn't have come here.." She is looking at him as she whispers this, but also past him, to the open window where a branch trembles under the weight of a breeze.

[olive-1x1]

Over the last few weeks, Emmett had found himself deep inside of a period of solitude. His reclusive nature had re-emerged, it's claws buried in his soft skin, pulling him back into the shadows. Emmett hadn't been speaking much to anyone, preoccupied with his frenzied thoughts instead. Between what had happened at the diner with Charlotte, his insanely disturbing dreams and their last French class, Emmett wanted nothing more than to be left alone in his dorm room with his pile of books. And so that's where he stayed.

However, even reading proved to be a challenge - his focus constantly drifting away from the words on the page as his mind replayed that moment - the sharp tip of the dagger piercing through the frogs' rubbery skin. The blood spilling out. Emmett would squeeze his eyes shut, trying to force the imagery out of his head, but it was futile. He could not stop remembering Dom's face as he let his eyes drift close, hands hovering over the lifeless body of the animal as he whispered something none of them could understand. The electric feeling in the air around them was still vivid in his memory. Emmett could still picture the way the frogs' limbs began twitching - the choking, sputtering sound of the creature coming back to life. Emmett had been wide-eyed, unable to look away, sickly fascinated. He was in awe of their professor and yet, terrified of him, just the same.

Additionally, memories of the dream would burst into his mind whenever he thought of Dom. Somewhere deep inside of him, Emmett had a nagging suspicion that the ghost of that woman was searching for their professor, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything about it to anyone.

A notebook lay open in his lap as he furiously jotted down notes from the book next to him - "Witchcraft: The Sixth Sense" by Justine Glass -the book that Dom had assigned to him, no less, which made reading it feel that much more urgent. Emmett had to admit it was nice having something to throw himself into, even if it was daunting and anxiety-ridden. He couldn't bare to think about Charlotte anymore and the look on her face seeing Emmett and Emily together. He constantly bounced around between feelings of guilt and righteous justification. What had she expected would happen? What did she even want from him? Emmett was exhausted and annoyed, desperate to remain entrenched in his studies.

When Emmett heard a knock at his door, he grimaced. "Emmett?" a voice called, muffled by the wood between them. He recognized who it was immediately and began grumbling and swearing to himself as he pushed his work aside. Emmett stood, staring at the door for a long while. He considered staying silent. Pretending he wasn't there. However, the timid, shaky way Charlotte had said his name raised up a feeling of concern in his body. Was she okay? His curiosity now peaked, Emmett went to the door and swung it open. Charlotte turned back around, clearly on her way to leave. Emmett was silently thankful that he had caught her at the last moment, but the way he greets her communicates anything but that. With an irritated huff, and a roll of his eyes, he looks at her dead in the eyes: "About what?"

[charbroussard]

His irritation radiates off of him and seeps into her skin, and almost immediately she is rolling her eyes back at him. If it wasn't so frustrating it might be laughable, the ways in which they affected each other so much and so quickly. "About what? What else?!" No point easing into the conversation like she had initially hoped. Not when the everything felt like it would unravel at any moment.

The space between Emmett's body and the door frame is just enough for her to slip through, and so she does before he can protest. And, though she had intentionally marched over here, sought him out, and now forced her way in, she hadn't fully considered that she would be in his room. It's not quite how she would've imagined it either. Her brows pinch together as she looks around. God, he was worse than Eve somehow. Papers are strewn across the floor, some in messy but purposeful piles. Photographs and ripped out pages are tacked on his wall and she is too nervous to study them properly. A few books are open on various surfaces to various pages. Copious notes are written on scraps and notebooks in frantic ink. The air was stuffy and slightly stale, like the boy had not left much in days. It seemed Emmett had lost himself completely in a research project that Tillie can't quite decipher. But then something catches her eye. A cover of The Morning of the Magicians lay next to the spot by her feet and everything clicks for her. So he had been thinking about it too.

She can't tell if this is the mark of obsession or anxiety. It scared her to think she may have made a mistake in coming over here to him. She watched carefully that day the faces of her classmates. When the frog's body jerked back to life, she looked around expecting to see fear and was met with twitching smiles, glimmering eyes, and impressed laughter. She could tell then that they wouldn't understand her unease. She hopes Emmett will understand, but the clear evidence of the fixation he was having was shattering any optimism she was holding onto.

She makes a passing glance over to the bed and a fierce, fleeting vision ploughs into her consciousness. She can picture him laying down with that girl she had seen at the diner, his hand on her cheek as he whispers "What is my punishment?". A familiar feeling pricks at her, one she thought she'd snuffed out. She can sense the longing and jealousy under her skin like an itch. A lightheadedness comes over her suddenly, and she must dart her eyes somewhere else to ground her. They land back on Emmett, and he isn't exactly a stable harbor. Now that he was properly in front of her, she can really see him. Though the room is a bit dim, the dark bags under his eyes are evident, exhaustion and worry written all over his face. It tugs at something inside of her. All of this was clearly troubling him, and she wanted to help, but was it the same thing she was feeling?

Tillie frowns, though she masks the little tinge of genuine concern with an empty chuckle. "It's just - I mean you were there. You're a mostly reasonable person, aren't you a bit disturbed? Or freaked out?"

[holohedral]

i am not well understood. which is also my fault

[charbroussard]

Closed | Emmett & Tillie

After their run-in at the diner it seemed Tillie and Emmett had fallen right back into the routine of ignoring each other - Not that it hurt so much anymore. She would be kidding herself if she said it hadn’t bothered her before. Much time was spent considering where things had gone so wrong. But her well of tears had finally run dry, and the pathetic feeling or yearning had finally reached a point that sobered her entirely. Where there was a soft sting before was now replaced with a dull numbness - at least, that is what she convinced herself. Days stretched on and she finally felt like this was a place she could settle into. A new normal perhaps. But as soon as one sense of normalcy returns to her, another leaves, and just like that her world is of kilter again in the aftermath of French class.

It was strange just how much she felt like she had lost control. Reality was becoming untethered to her, and if she wasn’t careful she might spin out of orbit completely. She finally decides she can no longer bear any of this alone anymore. But then - who could she talk to about it? Worse, who would understand how she felt? The radio, the frog, the chill in her spine, the sense that someone was watching her - following her. It was terrifying. She reckons if she was on the other side of it, she would surely think that person was crazy. But, she could be crazy so long as she was right, too. Before she can talk herself out of it, Tillie is walking to St. Jude's and asking the first boy she comes across where she can find Emmett's dorm room. She has to withstand a particularly puzzled look in exchange for her answer, but it is worth the trouble. She finds it quickly. Her knuckles rapp hastily on the wooden door. A beat and then - "Emmett?" No answer. Of course there was no answer. Colored with a shade of embarrassment at this dramatic escapade, Tillie gears up to turn on her heels and leave, but she exhales a sigh of relief when he finally opens the door. “I need to talk to you.”

[charbroussard]

Starter | OPEN

Tillie had assumed that she would leave class with answers, but all that has filled her mind since that day are troubling, wild questions. She supposes she had been foolish to be excited about any of this. and perhaps even naïve. They had all gone looking for some proof, and now they had surely found it. But the weight of the situation had finally settled over her and any feelings she'd had before of interest or excitement had been replaced by fear and horror. There was still a part of her that was convinced it was all a sham - a trick of the light. Maybe Dom had fooled them well. Maybe they had all experienced some collective folie à deux. Anything would be better than to admit the implications of what they had seen. She has tried for days to forget it all, but this electric poke or recollection persists and she is shocked at her center, wound up in the spot like a toy and unable to settle down.

She had dreamt of the frog for two nights now, its limp body suddenly becoming animated in Dom's confident hand. Mostly, she thought of the gasping croak it made. She could've sworn that just before it jumped away that it gave her a confused look...

After another sleepless night she begins an aimless stroll around the campus. Her body moves automatically forward, searching for some place that might allow for respite. Her room was a no - she had spent far too much time inside of it and somehow the space had started to feel like an amphitheater for her thoughts. Baker Hall was busier and louder, but there were too many eyes around to witness her anxious demeanor. Her feet bring her to the library, seemingly the only space that ever brought her any sense of peace. She doubts she will find peace today, but it is worth trying. She paces the empty aisles, fingers lazily grazing the book spines as she recounts under her breath everything that she saw in French class. It was an attempt to prevent her from forgetting it. Mostly, she hoped that if she repeated it enough times it would sound so ridiculous that she could convince herself that it never truly happened in the first place. She is deep in her mantra when she spots another member of her French class. Briskly and quietly she walks over to them, grabbing their arm and pulling them into an empty section. "So are we just going to pretend like that wasn't completely insane?" She whispers harshly, peeking over her shoulder and theirs to make sure no one was listening.

[olive-1x1]

Emmett realizes he doesn't quite know how to act in this moment, now that things feel so casual between them - neutral, more or less. Realistically, he could admit that he should still be maintaining his distance, but he's been thinking about her - worrying about her. The two of them were fumbling in the dark with their emotions and he couldn't imagine he was the only one terrified at that prospect. Emmett allows himself to make awkward small talk with her just to selfishly cling to the fact that they were even talking at all. At least now he knew she was okay. Charlotte's question slightly stuns him. "Uh - France." he finally stammers out. "Paris, specifically. What about you?"

There's a long silence after Charlotte's "oh - yeah?" and a sour regret blossoms in his chest. He shouldn't have said that. It didn't make sense for him to be saying that now. Was it really good to see her? Yes. God, yes. Emmett figures she's likely confused and he kicks himself for professing such a thing impulsively. Before he can attempt to brush it off, Charlotte quietly relinquishes the words he hadn’t expected to hear. “It’s really, really good to see you too, Emmett.” He’s convinced his heart stops beating for a few seconds as her words hang in the air between them. Emmett tries to conceal a surprised smile. Who was he kidding? He’s been desperate for this - this confirmation that things weren’t beyond repair. Emmett is unsteady, unsure what to say next. He had not expected for Charlotte to meet him in his foolish softness. The two of them study each other - the silence speaking a million words. He can see the same yearning that he feels reflected on Charlottes face and they both grapple for something meaningful to say. Emmett wants nothing more than to tell her he understands. That he knows she’s in pain too - scared. He wants to reassure her that he’s a soft place to land, but before he can, Charlotte begins to say what sounds to him like the beginnings of an apology. Emmett stands there, frozen in anticipation. Maybe things were going to be okay.

The sound of the bell dinging above the diner door shatters the delicate moment before she can say much more. Emmett’s heart sinks - that same lump from before situating itself in his throat. He can hear Emily’s footsteps getting closer to him. His gaze does not break from Charlottes - he tries to communicate an apology with his eyes. Emmett feels Emily’s arm link with his and he glances down at his feet, slightly embarrassed. He should’ve seen this coming. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, clearly sensing the intensity between the two. Her eyes flicker back and forth. “No uh - no. We were just…..catching up.” Emmett forces himself to look at Emily, give her a reassuring smile. Inside, he is sinking, drowning in his desire to finish his conversation with Charlotte alone. “It’s all good. We…..we were just wrapping up.”

[charbroussard]

Tillie snorts at his answer, hand lifting instinctively to her mouth to cover the sound. She feels like an idiot for not knowing that or not even being able to have guessed it. The revelation feels so big that it was almost silly. It was truly surprising how little they knew about the other. Sensing his confusion at her reaction, she rushes to explain herself. "Oh it's just kind of shocking. Or, er, just that your accent is so good I guess I never noticed you weren't American. And also that ... you're taking an advanced French class?" She chuckles again at that last part, despite herself. Tillie tenses up a bit at his question, never quite knowing how to answer it. She wasn't exactly form New Orleans, but she wasn't exactly from Montana either, despite having been born there and partly raised with Ruby. As time passed she always felt like part of her heart was on the reservation, but she never expressed this sentiment to anyone before. Truthfully even thinking about it all brings a swell in her chest. She doesn't know how she'd ever be able to talk about her past without breaking down completely. And why would she tell Emmett any of this anyway? He was only being nice. She gives him a timid “Oh, it’s kind of complicated. Mostly boring," to avoid getting into it further and hopes that he won't pry. That conversation was too private for the moment they were having and the place they were in with their relationship. Maybe one day she would be able to share.

Emmett's look is clear, but it doesn't make the moment any easier. Her brow twitches at the sight of them together. Tillie had never been jealous of anyone before, but the ease in which they touched - and publicly - created a storm in her stomach. It wasn't so crazy that he has moved on from her and she knows that he has the right. But there was still that part of her that had hoped differently. This is how it worked in the real world, though. No one was going to put up with with her indecision, her cruelty. You don’t get a second chance. Someone else will always be there to take your spot. Am I interrupting something?

“No!” She and Emmett tell her at the same time. “I was just leaving. You should have the booth!” Tillie moves quickly to collect her small drawstring purse at her side, not wanting to be around them any longer and not wanting to be assuaged to stay. While they are looking at one another Tillie swiftly removes the candle from the untouched pie, leaving a small hole in a maraschino cherry. No evidence of her birthday could remain. Standing up and inching away from the table she looks at them with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes in the slightest. “Sorry about the mess. Split the rest of this, if you like.”

[olive-1x1]

Seeing her now was like compulsively picking at the raw edges of a scab - the disgustingly potent relief as the skin lifts, blood pooling underneath. As the time had stretched on, carrying him further away from the memory of their fight, Emmett had nearly convinced himself he was over it - or, rather, he had stuffed the pain down so deeply inside of himself that he could hardly reach it. Charlotte's presence brings it all boiling to the surface, however. Until now, he had been dedicated to ignoring her entirely, selfishly hoping it would bother her, but mostly so he could at least try to return to some semblance of stability and normalcy. Though, really, all he felt was a cold numbness - his true north, he supposed.

Emmett cannot manage to uphold his stony exterior in this moment. Everything is too quiet, too tender in between them. He lets his gaze travel across the table, stupidly curious as to what kind of milkshake she likes best. Emmett almost smiles - Strawberry. Of course. He tucks that information away somewhere safe, along with the cherry pie, in spite of himself. Emmett wants to surrender to the magnetic pull he can almost touch in between them - wants more than anything to squeeze in next to her on her side of the booth. Emmett drifts off, imagining their hands brushing against each others as he reaches for something - maybe a napkin? Emmett comes down from his cloud as Charlotte's soft voice reaches his ears. "I wanted it to feel like a true break, anyways. Traveling and all that.....it's hectic, y' know? Figured I'd get some actual rest if I stayed behind." Allowing this moment in between them feels wrong, but Emmett would be lying if he said he hadn't been fiending for it. He locks up temporarily at Charlotte's question, forgetting until now that Emily was on her way to meet him. Emmett hesitates, then nods his head. "Yeah. Didn't feel like cooking for myself, really." He wants to say more, ask her about the pie and the candle, but instead, Emmett lets something else a bit more dangerous fall from his lips. "It's....um. It's really good to see you."

[charbroussard]

She nods, though she doesn't quite relate. Aside from her time at Rocky Boy - which she does not remember - Tillie had never left Louisiana. Every trip she ever made was an easy ride on the bus or in Lenny's car. No fuss at all, really. She wonders how far Emmett travelled to be here, realizing she doesn't know the things about him that she should - or wanted to. Where was he born? What was his middle name? Did he like Ray Charles or Roy Orbison? "Sure, sure. And where is home for you?" What she did understand completely was needing time to rest. With their rankings, Tillie had always felt like one wrong move and she would sink under the pressure. She wonders how Emmett holds up. "I know what you mean. Well, that and I think they've fully given up trying to make the food in Baker Hall edible. "

Tillie almost doesn't register what he is saying to her. It is so unexpected, so kind, she almost doesn't believe that he is talking to her. But of course he is, his soft gaze, though slightly shy, reassures her. "Oh - yeah?" She wants to say more, but there is a disconnected cable between her brain and her mouth. How could he mean that? Especially when she had been so awful to him. For the life of her she could not understand why he insisted on being kind to her when it was clear she didn't deserve it. It stuns her, but it also makes her sad. She has to bite her bottom lip so the dam of tears she is holding won't flood over. She nods down on the table, not sure if she could look him in the eye. But for some reason, being honest in this moment feels like the easiest thing in the wold. "Yeah. It's - really, really good to see you too, Emmett." She tells him earnestly, her voice wavering. Perhaps, finally, she was ready to talk about it all. And, maybe now he would be ready to receive it. This chapter could finally be closed for both of them and they could move on or move forward. Secretly she would like that. She doesn't quite know if this is a fresh start or merely a nicety, but her heart takes it and runs with it before her brain has the chance to overanalyze. Maybe they could pick back up where they left off. Maybe, after all of this time, they could just enjoy a milkshake together and sneak another kiss, and afterward hold hands on the way back to campus. Maybe this was the chance to fix everything and give themselves a fair shot. Emmett, she was learning, was brave. He gave her the courage to be brave too. For that single moment Tillie feels like she is floating. Her head lifts to look at him, his face illuminated by the pendant light above her booth. She smiles, the softest and most earnest smile she has mustered in a long time. "You know, I wanted to tell you that I'm really s-" She starts, but just as she does, and seemingly out of thin air, appears a girl. A perky blonde with a ponytail that swung when she moved, soft pink cheeks, and warm, doting eyes locked on Emmett saunters next to him. "There you are!" She says to the boy, linking her arm with his. She hadn't noticed Tillie there yet, and the other girl is too shaken to speak.

[acaciamay]

"I went to a dance with my ex-boyfriend because I didn't want to deal with any other male option on this campus for way too many reasons to count and was in a dress that was a touch too tight," Acacia recounted, still feeling the press of the zipper on her back. "Looking around for you was the highlight of my evening because it meant I didn't have to be present."

As much as it felt like it was the female population of this school on the desperate hunt for a husband, at the same time, there was a handful of men that seemed to be on the hunt for Acacia's time and attention. And as flattering as it was, off-handed and misplaced comments ran rampant amongst those few and it took all of her being to let them slide – for whatever idea of peace that was meant to be kept and placated. Especially considering a lot of said men where her classmates and possible group project partners. It's why Acacia often sought refuge with her French group. With most of them younger, the pressure of post-academic life wasn't pressing on to them as much as her and she sought the respite often. Even if it came with the flair for the dramatics and drunken antics.

She sat there, taking sips of her drink, listening to everything Tillie was saying and somehow catching so much more in between the lines than she expected for this early in the morning. The last thing Acacia wanted to do was infer more of the situation at hand but at the same time, it all felt so dramatic. "I mean this in the gentlest of ways possible because I adore you," Acacia started, making sure she was going to find the right words to respond with. "Kissing Emmett is a bad thing because...? Or rather him kissing you? Was it consensual? Did you want him to kiss you and did you want to kiss him? There's nothing wrong with wanting or am I missing so much more to this whole thing."

[charbroussard]

“But it’s Dae,” Tillie countered. “I’d say there are worse punishments but being around him is hardly punishment at all. Though I do understand your meaning. The rest of these fellas are..." She makes a gesture with her hands, searching for the right words. In truth the girl had never paid much attention to the men on campus before, but she’d seen glimpses of who they could be. "Less than ideal. How long were you looking? I wasn’t very far.”

Tilie pouts and it almost can’t be helped. “Yes - well, yes of course - ugh, yes but-“ Bien sûr she wanted it. She’d wanted it more than anything. She closes her eyes for a moment and her mind drifts back to that dark room. The image of Emmett’s beautiful face leaning closer to her makes her heart sink. She hears his tired voice in her head say “I can’t stop thinking about you”, and it brings a coat of goosebumps on her arms. She sighs, remembering the events of the morning. “It’s bad because - Well, then we kissed again. And things got weird and everything is different now! We are different now. We don’t know how to fight we don’t know how to talk we don’t know how to be around each other. It’s awful. ” Her forehead falls to the heels of her hands.

“There are so many feelings involved and none of them are clear. It’s distracting. It’s - it’s driving me crazy. He drives me crazy. And It’s not like me to be frazzled in general let alone over some boy. What do I care? I was never here for any of that. My rank isn’t second in the school because I let myself get distracted for three years. And yet-“ And yet Emmett wasn’t just some boy, that much was very clear now. But what could she say? How could she explain how she felt without sounding like a sulking child? She respects Acacia too much to take up her time with a conversation as silly as this one, but she feels she has no choice. Someone has to understand her feelings in this. Someone ought to try.

She bites the knuckle of her ring finger. “Acacia if I tell you something else, will you promise not to laugh? I mean really promise?”

[olive-1x1]

Emmett runs his thumb along the slightly raised letters on the front of the red envelope in his hands. The ink is jet black, the penmanship impeccable and immediately identifiable as Summer's. "Summer Jane Clermont" - her cursive was sweeping and dramatic. She had promised him that she would write and Emmett is glad to see that she has. Seeing her handwriting tugs at something in him that he's been feverishly trying to bury. Despite their complexities and shortcomings, Emmett often finds himself missing his family, or rather, the idea of his family. He was quite familiar with the tricks of nostalgia, how it always wormed its way into his brain, convincing him that things were different. Yet, whenever Emmett reaches out to Luca or Eloise, he is proven to be sorely mistaken. He ignortantly fishes for their affection, telling them how well he's doing in his studies. Emmett presses the phone hard against his ear, waiting in vain for their love or their sweetness. Yet, it never comes. Their tones are always distracted and flat. He wonders if they would even bat an eye if he never called again.

Shoving thoughts of his parents into the far recesses of his mind, he clings onto the excitement he feels to be holding a letter from his sister. She doesn't know it, but it has lifted his spirits considerably to hear from her, especially since Emmett was not going home over the break. He had rolled the idea back and forth for awhile, but ultimately decided that he could really use the alone time. Plus, visiting home always came with the risk that Emmett could run into....him. A risk he wasn't willing to take. One that sent chills down his spine. He meanders back to his dorm so he can read the letter in private.

--

Emmett sits down on the edge of his bed, ripping the envelope open impatiently, digging out the folded up pieces of paper from inside. It is only then that he notices the slight shake of his hands, nerves tangling up into a ball in his stomach. Summer was never one with much to say and the bulk of the letter tells him that for some reason, she did now.

"Emmett,

J'espère que tu vas bien. Tu me manques et je pense souvent à toi."

Emmett grips onto the paper as if that could bring him closer to her.

”Je t'écris pour te dire que maman et papa divorcent."

He freezes. Blinking. Emmett brings the letter closer to his face, reading the last word again to make sure he isn’t seeing things. His eyes move rapidly from left to right as he reads, intense curiosity taking hold of him. An affair? Luca was already seeing someone else? Emmett’s heart skips a beat and his cheeks flush with anger.

“Ma mère est inconsolable. Je ne l'ai pas quittée depuis des nuits.”

“What?” he whispers sharply to himself, in complete disbelief. Before has time to read much more, theres a knock on his door. Emmett jumps, startled by the sudden noise, stuffing the letter underneath his pillow. He promises to himself to return to it later. Emmett crosses the room and opens the door to see Emily standing there. "Oh! Hey! You're here! I - I didn't know if you would be. I decided to stay back too." Emmett and Emily had only met a few times in botany class, but he would always catch her staring at him a little bit too long, averting her gaze the moment his eyes would accidentally meet hers. Nowadays, the two of them were a bit closer than that, to say the least. After everything with Charlotte, it felt good to have someone around who was unapologetically interested in him, who wanted him. "I was thinking that maybe, you and I could get some food together tonight?" Emmett regrets to see the look of yearning in her eyes, knowing that she was more into him than he'd maybe like her to be. However, he can't bring himself to say no. What else did he have going on besides ruminating on his sister's letter? "Okay. yeah, sure. Meet you at 8?"

--

When Emmett arrives at Joe's, he isn't shocked to find that the diner is mostly empty. In fact, it's a rather welcome sight. His head is still spinning from all of the newfound information about his parents and Emmett had purposely shown up fifteen minutes early to give himself some time to decompress, maybe read on his own for a bit. As Emmett makes his way to a booth towards the back, he suddenly catches a glimpse of someone familiar from his peripherals. Emmett stops dead in his tracks as it registers to him that that someone is Charlotte. She is sitting all alone with a slice of pie in front of her. A candle sits on top, melted down. He feels paralyzed - unable to move even a single muscle. His body screams at him to make any other decision besides just standing there, but his brain is fizzling, arrested by the delicacy of the scene in front of him. Was it.....her birthday? The thought of that causes a lump to rise in his throat. Emmett glances around, wondering if anyone else was present to celebrate, but they are nearly alone. Charlotte's gaze flickers up and their eyes meet. Whatever peace of mind she had before had melted away from her face now. The two of them stared at each other a moment. Blinking. "I - yeah. I guess I figured you would've too."

[charbroussard]

Tillie’s mouth is suddenly the driest it’s ever been. Needing some relief, and honestly something to do with her hands, she slides her milkshake over to her mouth and takes a long sip. The pair hadn't spoken since their fight. As much as she had hoped things would go back to normal after that, she realized that she didn't know what their normal really was anymore. She does know that If the roles were reversed, she would choose to hate him. Rightfully so, It felt like Emmett had chosen to hate her over the last few days too. Every attempt she’d made at small talk or even eye contact was met with a severe, stony silence. In class she attempted to lure him into debates but he never engaged, instead keeping his back to her and ignoring her existence. The bad news was that now, with most of the school away, it was no surprise that they would run into each other like this. The good news was that he must not hate her if he was still standing here. She almost smiles, feeling a twinge of relief. She had gone so long without hearing his voice she realizes, and it surprises her that she missed it all. "No," she makes a small, sweeping gesture to the empty diner booths around them. “Didn't want to miss out on the quiet." Maybe it was good that he could see her today - Well rested, even tempered, and in control. More like herself.

It is surprising that the boy is here alone. From what she had observed about him, not that she was watching Emmett had a lot of friends. Moreover it seemed he was someone that everyone wanted to be around. Were they having the same kind of evening? "It's kind of nice. No roommate, no class, hardly anyone is around so the best spots on the quad and in the library are free. Even the sisters are being lax with all of us at St. Joan's. I guess they needed the break too.." She doesn't quite know why she is divulging all of this so freely. She knows he doesn't really care. Perhaps she was truly that desperate to keep a conversation going. Or maybe subconsciously she was attempting to distract him from looking too hard and guessing that it was her birthday. She really doesn't know what would be worse right now - If he mentioned it or if he walked away from her entirely. Was Emmett as prideful as she was? As insecure? As naive? Would he take the opportunity to embarrass her as she had embarrassed him? She hopes he will stay. Tillie considers for a moment asking him to join her in the booth, but very quickly concludes that would be a terribly stupid idea. "Are you just grabbing dinner? Or enjoying the quiet too?"