my sea

1x1 blog, written by strud

[fallingwatcr]

ofwaterships​.

“Have you heard of a front door camera? Fancy new invention, I think you’d quite like it,” he tosses back, but frowns with a tight lip at her comment on his stealthiness. Sadly for his ego, he doesn’t have much of a comeback to deny it. Instead, he takes it in stride with a long sigh, already have resigned himself to enduring Eva’s quips as a part of their… friendship. Or whatever this is, however strange to think it. “Well, as it so happens, you are finally starting to know better,” Cole smiles back at her, mostly trying to match her sarcasm, but it’s partly a form of armor to cover up the actual worry. “Deal,” he says, one hand smoothing over the surface of the top of his cane as he waits for Eva to return from the kitchen. When she does, a touch of the casual air has faded, his demeanor returning slightly to the calculated realist, finding it easy to do with someone as like-minded as Eva, at least when it comes to his ex-profession. “Have you heard from any of the others recently?” Their former Caledonia teammates, he means. “I’ve been meeting with them, trying to keep tabs, making sure their lives are as trouble-free as they can be from our former employers. Has anyone been in contact with you? Friend or otherwise?” His eyes read hers, and it’s not that he’d feel particularly betrayed if he sensed Eva was keeping anything from him, but he does hope she knows anything he’d ask of her now would be for her own benefit.

– “CAMERAS OR NOT, I WILL ALWAYS GREET YOU WITH A WEAPON,” she remarks. what she feels for cole now is more complicated than it ever was. after all, they worked together to take down the organization that used to delight in pitting them against each other, to kill the man that used to stoke the fires of envy that eva always harbored for cole. without caledonia, what do they have left ? each other ? she’s not so sentimental. brows knit together as cole speaks. it’s not just that she needs more from him to offer up whatever leverage she may or may not have, but she also knows him. she watched his every move for years, deeply familiar with the way the lines on his forehead pucker when he’s worried about something, the irritated twitch of his lip when she fires back with something that actually cuts through the cool demeanor. cole’s not one to pay her a casual, friendly house call, to show up so they can shoot the shit about old friends and old times. there’s a suspicious stirring in the pit of her stomach. something feels very wrong. ( or maybe cole conner is just someone who will always make her feel unsettled. ) “ what’s this about ? ” she asks, grabbing a glass from the cabinet so she can fill it with a hefty pour of whatever bottle of red she has open. eva’s feeling like she needs it. “ you just showed up to chat about old pals ? friendly little house call ? i don’t think so. if you wanted to keep tabs, you could do it without showing up at my door for small talk – you’re a better spy than that, cole. ” she eyes him, holding up another wine glass indicatively, wordlessly asking if he wants one. “ tell me what you’re so fucking worried about. ” 

[ofwaterships]

“Seems a little formal, but I suppose I do have to appreciate the caution,” Cole hums, tilting his head with a touch of annoyance. It’ll be troublesome to always have to shoo away whatever gun or knife Eva wants to draw on him, but maybe he would rather her be safe than sorry. What if one day someone develops a passable enough Cole Conner disguise to do god knows what? Then again, as terrifying at is it to acknowledge, Eva might know him well enough to spot an imposter a mile away. She’s his shadow, after all— or was, and in the time since their last year at Gallagher, and they’d watched Caledonia crumble, Cole had seen themselves realized as reflections. They probably always were. He wrings his free hand while she nags on about getting straight to the point. It wouldn’t have been his ideal game plan, but he had seen this coming as well. “Well, I do believe I’ve asked you a question, which has yet to go answered, but you’re as stubborn as ever, I see.” She’s right, anyway, he doesn’t need to pop into her home unannounced just to keep tabs, but he does need to if he wants to read any tells on her face and know for sure that she’s alright. He sighs, then shakes his head once at the wine glass, taking a sip of tea and leveling precise blue eyes at her above the rim of his cup. If she won’t let him ease into it and gather any context along the way, he’ll have to trust his own judgement of Eva Astor. Cole sets the cup down, ever the proper Englishman with his finger cushioning the ceramic against the wood of the table as he purses his lips and begins to divulge. “I’ve been attempting to live rather honestly in London for some time, as you might remember. The last couple years have gone… not without incident.” He fights a wince, certainly not about to get into the nitty gritty of his personal life with Eva. “However, recently, I’ve been contacted by an agency thanks to my connection to our old institution. It seems they believe there are some loyalists remaining after the wake of Caledonia’s demise.” Cole lets the sentence hang in the air between them, holding her gaze to read any implications in her features. “I, of course, have denied any affiliation. They don’t have access to the mission records of that day in Oxford— of what I did— so it’s been hard to prove. You can imagine I’ve taken a special interest in seeking out the real loyalists, should they exist.”

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

She’ll never get used to seeing his face pink, frost-kissed (softer than frostbitten, in her humble opinion!) and beautiful. Martina clasps his cheeks in her mittened hands, scrunching up her nose as warmth travels up her fingers and wrists and arms and shoulders. “Me too,” she hums happily, her eyes fluttering shut in utter contentment. When she opens them again, his voice filters through the rose-colored haze coloring her view. The world is brighter when they’re in agreement. It isn’t often that they aren’t, so Martina considers this new abundance of light her new normal. There’s an anxious moment in her story that she thinks Sam might scold her for breaking the rules, and, like, he wouldn’t be wrong, but how could Martina bear to blemish how Sam thought of her? He wasn’t just the greatest person in the world — he was a talented spy, guided by tradition and rules that Martina struggled to memorize. As much as their personalities overlapped, Martina owned her faults and insecurities as solely her burden. Sam would have never gone somewhere, accidentally or purposefully, without a clearance. But she can’t say that she regrets giving the rules a teensy-weensy bend. Without doing so she wouldn’t have Samuel Song’s hands on her cheeks, she wouldn’t be close enough to count the folds between his brow that are slowly smoothing, and she wouldn’t feel the tickle of him breathing a laugh. The sun reappears, and she feels like they’re in a snowglobe turned right-side up, snow quieting. “Remember, don’t tell anyone, I could get in huge trouble,” Martina says in her best stern voice, but it melts in the shrinking, shrinking space between them. Nature holds her breath in anticipation. “Thanks for waiting.” Tracing her gaze down, then back up, she holds his gaze as their lips touch, the kiss warming her entire body between the bursts of lingering snow flurries.

“Anytime, ang—” When she kisses him, he feels the snow melt away, the whole world even. It wasn’t their first kiss, and it won’t be their last, but only she has this incredible ability to make him feel like he’s standing in the light of her sun for the first time all over again. Sam reaches over with clumsy, gloved hands to wrap around her waist, tugging her as close as they can get with layers of sweaters and scarves between them, and it feels as soft as the plush snow. He kisses her back, because he can, because she’s everything he’s ever wanted to hold, because kissing her feels like the greatest reward for all his days. She is Martina Washington, the angel he knows on earth, and she chose him, Samuel Song. He’s sure he’s chosen her every single day since their first meeting, and he’ll continue to do so for the rest of them. A toothy, bright grin spreads in the middle of the kiss, and when he leans back for air all he can do is smile. “Martina, you can’t just spring that on me out of nowhere,” he teases, still holding her close, the condensation of their breath in front of them. “We’re in the middle of the snow and I don’t know if it’s ok for my face to get this hot.” And, yet, he dips down to her lips again. Oh, well.

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

“Isn’t that an awful nice thing to say about yourself, boyfriend?” Martina teases, hoping with equal might that its true — that he’s as kind to himself as he is to her. That’s her boyfriend. Boyfriend. Sam tries to reel her in, but Martina is already shifting her weight to bounce her shoulder off of his. “You? Please. You’ve never been selfish a day in your life, like, ever. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known in my entire life,” Martina says confidently, angling her head to meet his eyes so he knows that she’s being so serious right now. “And no one thinks my boyfriend is an idiot.” Her nose wrinkles at the thought, like she’d fight them if they did, though she’s doubtful she can throw a solid punch. Already looking at him, Martina reads Sam’s mind — she’s a Pisces, that’s her thing — and her body immediately awakens without thinking about it, lips pursing to catch his. But he stops, and so does she, despite how badly she wants to close the gap between them. “I didn’t have clearance to go to the meadow,” Martina whispers. Her stillness is intentional as Sam fills her field of vision, dotted with falling crisp snowflakes. “When we met again? I got lost on my way to yoga. And then I…found you where I shouldn’t have been looking.” A smile plays the corners of her lips, and one hand grips Sam’s jacket to keep it on her shoulders while the other reaches to cup one of his shoulders for purchase, brushing her nose against his. “Worth it.”

There’s absolutely no shame in the way his cheeks start to turn rosy at the word boyfriend. God, Martina Washington called him her boyfriend. What had normal ever felt like to him before these days? Sam raises his brows just slightly at her analysis, surprised he’d rank so high in her list of good people when he has to assume that she’s become the way she is by being surrounded by only the best the world had to offer her, watching and learning like an eternal student until she formed and fitted herself into the kind and bright person she is today. A corner of his lip turns up suddenly, grateful for the thought that he was a part of that circle now, knowing that in return he was studying from her too, how to better himself, how to take this one life of his and make it count for the people around him. “I learn from the best,” he tells her simply, bringing her head close and placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll be kinder, promise.” He’s hung on her every word, waiting with childlike excitement to share in whatever secret she’s about to let him in on, and when she finally does speak, his brow creases for a moment as he tries to understand. She’s so close he wonders if maybe he’s missing the fuller picture— an elaborate hand gesture or broad expression that would really seal the deal— but then Martina explains further and suddenly the pieces fit together and realization with a touch of laughter washes over him, his breath condensing in the space between them when a small chuckle escapes. Of course they had only managed to find each other where they shouldn’t have been, where they weren’t looking. Martina’s nose is cold but her touch is warm against his skin and Sam thinks this is exactly what happiness is supposed to feel like. “You were exactly where you were supposed to be,” he smiles, cupping her face. “Thanks for finding me.”

[ofwaterships]

olivexwrites​:

Owen can barely feel the water that’ is falling onto him now, as if it were merely a part of him Maybe it always had been. It is the same way that he can barely feel Cole when he reaches out to try and push him back inside the house. What a sight the two of them must be, standing there in the pouring rain having everything to say to each other yet speaking nothing. He breathes in, attempting to think of what he’s going to say. Something that will get Cole to realize there’s no reason for him to be standing here at his porch. Mostly, Owen thinks, because he’s a coward who doesn’t want to have whatever type of conversation they’ll eventually get to. “We’re friends.” Is what he finally manages to say, which feels like more of something he has to confirm to himself than to the boy standing in front of him. 

Of course he knows that he had to come. Cole still seems as sure of himself as when Owen had first met him. It was something that had immediately attracted him, that whatever he talked about or studied, he seemed to already be knowledgeable about. There was no day that passed since he’d left Gallagher, that he hadn’t imagined this exact scenario. That he hadn’t wanted him to show up and tell him…well, Owen didn’t know what he wanted to hear. There was no scenario where Cole reciprocated the feelings that Owen had for him, even in all of his dreams, he didn’t dare to imagine such a thing. He’d been hurt enough and trying to play up a scenario where the two of them were together in that way was impossible. He had also thought very hard, however, about their friendship. 

There was a reason that Owen had defended Cole in the first place and that reason wasn’t so that Cole would fall in love with him. It was because he cared about him and wanted him to be safe. Nothing more and nothing less. So, who was he to deny the boy that was here now? That had come all the way here in order for the two of them to talk or at least to see each other? For a moment, Owen looks down at his hands, noticing for the first time the droplets that are collecting there. The small particles that are doing to disappear as soon as he makes a movement that’s too brisk or attempts to touch them. For a second instead of feeling powerless, he feels as if he wields far too much responsibility. Cole is still somehow his responsibility. Sometimes you have to love someone from far away for your own good and sometimes you’re not ready to accept the pain that comes with that quite yet.

For that exact reason, without giving it a second thought, he reaches out and wraps his arms around Cole. He feels as if he doesn’t have much in life anymore and he’s not quite sure he still has this friendship but he has this moment. Beneath the pouring sky of his favorite place in the world with the person who still wears the same title. His favorite person. His favorite boy. When he pictured this moment, there were more tears and more words spoken, but nothing felt as important as this. There might possibly never be anything as important to Owen Musa as holding Cole Conner in his arms, he’d never let him sink. Not alone. 

It feels so suffocating to feel like you’re only allowed to be fine. No pitiful remorse, no merciful relief. Just fine, be fine. Feel guilty, regret your mistakes for the rest of your life, but don’t show it, no one wants to see it, no one wants to accept an apology. You can find joy in your life, but only if you dare to claim you’re still human, and you can’t show that either or it’s a slap in the face to everyone you’ve ever hurt. Just be fine. Your hands committed the crime, It’s your price to pay. Feel grateful you’re still breathing. Sometimes Cole wonders if he is in fact still breathing, or if this is all just playing in his head while he continues to drown, lost under the water.

Owen’s arms around him are a lifeline again, as shocking to his system as they were that last night in the dorm. Cole takes in breath, but it’s rough and choked out, and it’s like this touch, this act of grace from his old friend, is a hand extended out to him telling him it’s okay to be anything other than fine. At least for now, at least today, hidden under the cover of London rain. An unfamiliar, quiet sob escapes him, muffled in the wet fabric of Owen’s sweater, and he can’t hold back the tears that follow. “Owen, I’m sorry,” he mutters into his shoulder, tears and rainwater mixing together. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cole whispers, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say it enough. There are too many things to apologize for, but right now, one comes to the surface, more important than the rest, and he can’t stop himself from saying it after coming all this way. “I’m sorry I’m here. I know it’s not fair, I know it. I know you deserve to be rid of all of this, but I can’t just end it like that. I’m sorry, but I can’t lose you. Not without trying.”

Cole comes away from the embrace, and they still hold each other’s arms as he looks at him, barren as ever, the open book he’d wished to be since the day he first met Owen. “I don’t want to keep hurting you,” he whispers. “Tell me to go and you won’t have to see me again. I promise.” It would break him, Cole thinks, but he’d do it for Owen. The other had sacrificed so much for him, and he just wishes he understood Cole would try to the same. It isn’t fair that Owen had to keep suffering, and while he’s all too familiar with the feeling as well, Cole would do what he could to make it so he became the only one. Owen has endured enough.

“But if there’s a part of you... that can forgive me...” Cole shakes his head, almost too guilty to even try, but he can’t keep hanging his head in shame like this. It feels like walking into the fire again just to beg for scraps of humanity from the people who once loved him, but he loved them too. He still does. So he’ll walk and run and fight, no matter how unfamiliar and terrifying the fire is. “If there’s time... for both of us to heal, to get to a point where you feel safe enough to consider us friends again, I... I would really like that, Owen,” Cole finishes, getting the words out through the chokehold of grief and hope wrapping around his throat and allowing him the pain of feeling again. “I would really love my friend back.”

[ofwaterships]

gensrps​:

          valeria  and  him  are  on  talking  terms,  she’s  been  told.  and  mary’s  worried.  she  doesn’t  want her  best  friend  to  get  hurt  again.  this  is  both  an  excuse  to  get  answers  to  questions  that  have  plagued  her  for  months  since  the  reveal,  and  to  make  sure  the  other  girl  is  safe.  that’s  how  she  hyped  herself  up  on  the  way  there,  anyway.  avoiding  him  had  become  part  of  the  routine,  though  never  an  unconscious  effort.  it  takes  every  bit  of  her  training  to  make  it  look  like  she  doesn’t  care.  every  tricks  in  her  book  to  avert  her  gaze  or  be  as  far  as  possible.  she  often  wonders  if  it’ll  get  any  easier,  she’s  scared  of  both  outcomes.   so  it  aches,  to  undo  what  she’s  been  doing  for  excruciating  weeks.  it  hurts  to  see  how  easy  it  is  to  recognize  him  from  any  angle,  no  matter  the  distance.  walking  closer  and  closer,  to  see  him  at  arms  length  and  refusing  to  indulge  in  a  much  craved  hug.  

          she  can’t  pick  at  her  nails  either  —  chipped  polish  would  indicate  the  anxious  weight  this  conversation  has  on  her  psych.  and  she  can’t  bite  down  on  her  tongue  —  doesn’t  want  to  also  associate  him  with  copper  in  her  mouth.  a  lot  of  cant's  where  everything  once  was  without  limits.  or  was  it  ever  ?  you  can  call  her  a  fool,  but  through  the  lies,  she  still  clings  onto  those  moments  with  a  grip  that’ll  never  waver.  and  if  there’s  something  that  hurts  more  than  his  absence,  it’s  the  uncertainty  of  every  memory  they’d  made  together  being  one - sided.  in  a  battle  of  hopes  against  doubts,  the  most  effective  thing  to  do  would’ve  been  to  clear  things  up.  to  sit  down  with  him  after  the  final  blow  and  ask,  without  masquerade  now,  which  words  had  been  the  truth  :  ‘ you’re  my  best  friend ’  or  ‘ there’s  nothing  left  of  the  boy  you  knew. ’   but  that’s  selfish,  and  she’s  not.  she  wouldn’t  put  her  cloudy  questions  over  valeria’s  feelings.  she  wouldn’t  sit  with  someone  that  hurt  her  best  friend.  he  could  hurt  her,  she  can  deal  with  it,  but  valeria  was  a  line  no  one  should  cross.  but  the  situation’s  changed,  again.    ❛    thank  you,  for  doing  this  out  of  school.    ❜    awkward  first  words,  but  on  neutral  grounds,  roseville  townsfolk’s  gazes  meaning  a  whole  other  thing  than  gallagher’s  students,  and  she  does  appreciate  it.

Cole doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite this type of anxious dread in his bones for any other occasion in his life. This is a very specific kind of grief, he notes, to think that he might be sitting in the last memory he’ll share with the one person he thinks would have known him better than anyone. Mary is his best friend— was. There were days back in Gallagher where he’d imagined getting to experience every stage of their lives together, to feel like some type of real family where he had none. These days, Cole feels so unbearably alone. He has Val in his corner at least, but there’s a part of him that fears that her re-association with him puts her in a bad position with the rest of the people in her life, people like Mary. It must hurt her or frustrate her or worry her to see them back in each other’s lives, to fear that it’s the wrong decision, that he can only ever betray her again. There’s not a lot of room for grace allowed to people like him anymore, and no room to mourn it, only to continue to walk on glass. Everything feels so fragile and vulnerable, even now as Mary approaches him again and he has to work hard to keep all of his feelings in check, a shell of the person he one was, though that boy lived both in reality and in fiction. “Of course,” he gets out, quiet and hoarse. God, it feels so fucking miserable to talk to her like this now, when they’d shared laughs and tears and everything in between. “I... Thank you,” he finally says. “For meeting me.”

[ofwaterships]

hqgalpal​:

LOCATION && WITH WHOM : : WHEREVER COLE IS W / @ofwaterships​

“You know, it’s rough at Gallagher.” Fingers tugged and pulled on his straw paper. “Without you guys there. Everyone still looks at me as if I’m the bad guy.” To be fair, he was the bad guy not that long ago.” 

He couldn’t shake the concerned frown he wore, or the guilt sitting in his chest still, like he could be doing anything from here in London to help out Carmichael’s situation. “Have you... considered transferring?” 

[ofwaterships]

gallagherisms​:

CECILIA’S ENJOYING A CAPPUCCINO ALONE when the ghost of caledonia’s past saunters into the cafe, as if this is something he does every wednesday afternoon. it’s not often the youngest casiraghi is stunned into silence, but for a few seconds all she can do is freeze, coffee mid-air. she hasn’t seen cole conner or any of the other caledonia agents since parting ways at the end of the semester in may. she didn’t expect to see any of them again, either, much less them turning up at her place of work. it’s by some miracle she’s on break right now, grateful she had taken off the apron before coming to sit with the other patrons. after a few seconds that feel like far longer, her coffee cup finds its plate, and cecilia leans back in her seat. she doesn’t bother answering his question, seeing as he’s already helped himself.   “ cole, ”   she greets dryly, not sure if she should be annoyed or pleased. she’s a little of both.   “ that is still your name, isn’t it ? ”   cecilia doesn’t bother asking why he’s there—the question should be implied.

“It is,” he answers with a slight sigh after taking a sip of the coffee. “This is good,” Cole interjects with a look of being genuinely impressed, before turning back to the conversation at hand. “I thought about changing it, but it’s... Well, any other name is just as phony, isn’t it? Is Cecilia still yours?” he asks, the thought only just occurring to him, a soft earnestness in his voice. He can’t quite recall very many instances where Cecilia wasn’t prickly with him, but he’s long since felt affected by it, instead finding comfort in the familiarity. If Cecilia wasn’t meeting him with some type of irritation, then he’d have reason to be concerned. Cole sets the cup down on the table, taking in the atmosphere around them once again, amazed at how different it is to anything he’s known. “You know, it’s really quite lovely here,” he tells her. “How are you?”

[ofwaterships]

fallingwatcr​:

– SHE DID NOT KNOW IT WAS HIM. still, even upon realization, she doesn’t drop her gun, just tucks it back into her waistband and rolls her eyes, “ right, like i was just going to call out, ‘helloo, who’s there?’ like a victim in a horror film ? ” she says, tilting her head with sarcasm, “ be serious, cole. you don’t exactly creep quietly any more. ” even as he hobbles through the door, she’d still never be stupid enough to underestimate him as no threat, she’s studied him for far too long, and whatever cole conner lacks in skill, he always seems to make up for in luck – infuriatingly so. still, a smirk curves at the edge of her lips, “ if i didn’t know you better, i’d think you actually sound worried about me, ” she teases quickly to avoid feeling frozen under his intense gaze. “ i can take care of myself. i don’t owe you an explanation on all the ways in which i’m prepared for visitors. ” though she actually is a bit annoyed that he’s found her, and can only hope that it took him a fair amount of trouble. she’s been bouncing from place to place for a while now, and hasn’t used her real name in quite some time. she’s even more annoyed he’s asking her to play hostess. “ i was just about to put the kettle on, ” she says, “ and then you can tell me what the hell it is you’re doing here. ” 

“Have you heard of a front door camera? Fancy new invention, I think you’d quite like it,” he tosses back, but frowns with a tight lip at her comment on his stealthiness. Sadly for his ego, he doesn’t have much of a comeback to deny it. Instead, he takes it in stride with a long sigh, already have resigned himself to enduring Eva’s quips as a part of their... friendship. Or whatever this is, however strange to think it. “Well, as it so happens, you are finally starting to know better,” Cole smiles back at her, mostly trying to match her sarcasm, but it’s partly a form of armor to cover up the actual worry. “Deal,” he says, one hand smoothing over the surface of the top of his cane as he waits for Eva to return from the kitchen. When she does, a touch of the casual air has faded, his demeanor returning slightly to the calculated realist, finding it easy to do with someone as like-minded as Eva, at least when it comes to his ex-profession. “Have you heard from any of the others recently?” Their former Caledonia teammates, he means. “I’ve been meeting with them, trying to keep tabs, making sure their lives are as trouble-free as they can be from our former employers. Has anyone been in contact with you? Friend or otherwise?” His eyes read hers, and it’s not that he’d feel particularly betrayed if he sensed Eva was keeping anything from him, but he does hope she knows anything he’d ask of her now would be for her own benefit.

[ofwaterships]

hqgalpal​:

He shrugged. “Decided to retire the name Ruben for you.” He called her Ruben because he was childish and a jerk, Rubes was a new start since the two of them were friends. Genuine friends. “Nah, can’t say that I missed you,” Shuo said. “Kinda forgot all about you while I was away.” He didn’t, or better yet he couldn’t. Not when Ruby was someone who messaged him on the regular ( and one of the few people he messaged back ). “It’s not like anything exciting happened. It’s not like Gallagher with a bunch of extravagant parties or weird classes. It’s like a normal university.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” she teased, fake wonder in her voice to match the fake glittering lights of the holiday decorations in the ballroom around them. She rolled her eyes at his lie, but it held some truth in the way that he couldn’t miss her when she kept bothering him every other day through text. “That’s what I want to hear about, dummy,” Ruby smiled, nudging the arm that wasn’t carrying a flute of champagne. “Tell me about the normal, the mundane, all your boring classes and regular classmates. You’re making friends, right? They’re not icing you out for being a huge know-it-all narcissist?” she asks, humor clear in her tone.

[ofwaterships]

hqgalpal​:

He was already in bed, phone in one hand and the other hand petting a sleeping Bart. Just like their cat, Emmett was at peace with the entire scenario. “My grandparents will be free,” he answered. “I’m not sure about the others.” His mom, dad, and uncle. Ever since his grandfather retired, the other three adults had to take up jobs that were usually given to him. Which was a lot, mind you. “Do you want to spend it with my grandparents? I’m sure that they’ll love to see you.” 

“Your mom and dad will be working too?” she asked, turned in her chair and letting silk soft hair fall against her shoulders. Vida wasn’t sure exactly how the schedule worked for a long line of assassins whose head patriarch had retired, but she imagined it was pretty spontaneous. “You think so?” Vida asked innocently, a color in her voice she usually didn’t d use but allowed Emmett to see. She was usually far too confident for that, but when it came to Emmett family, she couldn’t deny to herself that she wanted their approval.

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

“Yeah, I know,” Martina agrees breezily. “It just means a lot to me. That she likes you.” Mamma’s made some choice comments in the past about Martina’s taste in friends, all of which she tries to brush aside. But she doesn’t feel she’ll have to worry about that with Sam, and the proof is in him gleaming on her doorstep. “Almost as much as I do,” she adds with a widening grin, her eyes crinkling. She’s exaggerating — no one else could come close to size of Martina’s like for Sam. “Mm, does that work?” Martina asks with a lilt of tease, her thumb softly brushing along his hand. “Telling someone who’s already worrying not to worry? Did you eat at all? I have a lavender-scented pillow that I like to squeeze after a long flight, and you’re totally welcome to it.” After pulling him into the archway, Martina pauses to let him admire her home. Pride swells in her chest, and Martina glances around herself, as if she hasn’t lived out some of her fondest childhood memories in this home, as if she’s trying to see it through his eyes. “Watch your step,” she warns as she steps down the single stair in the archway. “You really think so? I helped with some of the redecorating. It’s not blue —” she campaigned hard for it, though! “—but I tried my best.” Having Sam in her home feels surreal, like a wish on a shooting star or blown out candles came true. Martina doesn’t want to let go of his hand, because what if he slips away? But he’s tired, probably, and hungry, so she squeezes his hand before slowly loosening her grip. “Shoes totally optional.” The illuminated expression draws a giggle out of her, pleased by that answer. “You remembered!” Martina cheers. “She’s upstairs, being all shy, but she’s excited to finally meet you. I told her – Wait, how long are you staying? Am I talking too much?”

It’s hard not to latch onto the words ‘It just means a lot to me’ and start to overthink about just why that might be. Sam can’t help start to smile at that, trying not to show it too hard, but if he thinks about it, he can’t really recall ever wanting to hide his happiness from her, especially when she is so often the cause of it. He does, however, hope he can hide the small flush of rosiness starting to warm his face— he could probably blame it on the summer sun and heat. His smile grows anyway, unable to keep it together at her next comment, and Sam is determined to do all he can to show her just how much he cares for her in turn. His gaze flits for just a second to her hand on his, then comes back to her, but all he can think about is her thumb grazing his skin even as he answers her. “I suppose not, and far be it from me to tell you what to do. Think of it as more a suggestion?” he offers, grinning and once again deferring to her a he walks in after her. He’s still admiring everything, making notes and mental comparisons about which pieces of the home look like they’ve been touched by her specific brand of loveliness, and almost doesn’t heed her warning when he nearly trips after his sight lands on her instead. “Blue would have been a good touch— though don’t tell your Mom I disagreed,” he adds in quickly, hoping not to lose the head-start he has already. The entire time, he’s been fully aware that she hadn’t yet let go of his hand and had rejoiced in every second he’d had it, and notices of course when she gives one more squeeze before letting go. Small disappointment, but it was alright, he was confident he’d find his hand in hers soon anyway. “How could I forget a woman’s best friend?” Sam calls after her, then lets out another gentle laugh at her questions, shaking his head in response. “I came all this way to see you, Martina, please. All I wanna do is hear your voice— in person, and not through a speaker this time.”

[ofwaterships]

olivexwrites​:

Despite the utter surprise that seeing Cole standing at his door was,  he couldn’t deny that a part of him had also always hoped for this moment. Whenever Owen had mustered up the courage to allow himself to imagine a reunion between the two of them, however, it involved less rain and more laughter. It involved less of Cole’s usual hesitation and more of, well, whenever Owen thought about it it involved Cole choosing him. Then he’d have to reel his feelings back in to remind himself that there was no competition and if there ever had been, he had never been in the running. Unlike the other boy’s ability to conjure up warmer memories, all Owen can think about is the fact that Cole is soaking and he still doesn’t want to come inside. The world could be flooding and he would still be questioning everything that involved Owen. 

For a moment, he wants to make a joke because the boy looks almost comical standing there without his shoes on but still not stepping inside. “Now your socks are all wet.” The entire interaction makes them seem more like school-aged children than the supposed adults that they are. He wants to laugh, he wants to playfully nudge Cole and tell him that he looks like an idiot. There’s an ache in his chest at yet another reminder that all of that is gone for good. Even if by some miracle they were able to talk things through and form a friendship once again, it wouldn’t be in the same way. There had been too much that the two of them had lived together to return to simpler times. The wounds were irreparable.

 "Right.“ He hadn’t thought much about the way that Cole might ruin anything inside of his home, he’d already left permanent stains in other ways, it hadn’t crossed his mind. Owen looked away as if he’d magically find the answer or a solution to getting him out of the rain and also also not get yelled at by his mother later on. Without giving it much thought and without allowing Cole to completely finish his ramble, he steps out into the water with him. "Now we’re just two fools standing here.” His tone is still serious, somewhat dry. There was a way that this felt familiar, as if the two of them had always been meant to stand under this stream. “You shouldn’t have come.” Is all that Owen can offer after what feels like the world’s longest pause.

“Well, I didn’t really think this through, did I?” Cole responds, staring down at his feet, uncomfortable and awkward but a dry laugh escapes him. The question feels loaded, because of course he just means the rain and his bumbling choices leading him to stand here with rain-soaked socks, but as the words leave his mouth he knows what they’re both thinking of now. There are a lot of sides Cole had showed Owen, and more too that were ripped from the depths of his ribs and put on display for everyone to see before he ever got a chance to explain himself. But even the worst sides, in the worst ways, one could argue always had thought. The double agent, the traitor, the runaway, even as terrible as they were, it was apparent those versions of the boy had to have thought things through, had to have had a plan. But this Cole now feels lost, and maybe he’s admitting to his friend now that he doesn’t knows exactly what he’s doing now on his doorstep. He has hopes and desires, but no plan.

He’s still sort of just letting words fall out of his mouth, praying he finds the right ones, when Owen simply steps outside next to him, and that snaps Cole out of it. “What are you doing?” he blurts, one hand anxiously trying to usher him back in his house, as if he’s ever succeeding in making Owen do anything. “Owen, you’re getting rain— Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no reason the both of us have to get wet,” he huffs, but there’s no use and it’s entirely too late and Owen is right; now they’re just two fools standing here.

Reflexively, he wants to respond, I know, because he’s eager to agree or to apologize. But he hadn’t really known. Cole had wanted to give him time, give him space, but it had always been in his plan to end up here someday soon, to find him again and ask for forgiveness, to salvage what he could of one of the most precious relationships in his life. So maybe it hurts to hear him say it was the wrong choice, just as he’d feared it might be. But if it’s the wrong one, he might as well follow through with it now, so instead of agreeing, Cole offers his own truth. “I had to.” It feels strange, to talk to him steps apart again, to be in his presence again under their hometown’s rain holding them in place. “I’m sorry, Owen, but I had to. Maybe I’m the last person to assume it, considering how many friendships I’ve ruined, but I think it’s what friends do,” he says quietly. “I had to come. I think you know that. Or, I hope you do.”

[ofwaterships]

@fallingwatcr​ , eva ; location: wherever it is she lives now

“Were you even going to ask who it was before you opened the door or did you know it was me?” Cole asks curtly as he waltzes in once Eva Astor opens the door, hoping for her sake of being spared a lecture that it’s the latter. Waltz is an overstatement; he has to limp slowly through the threshold, always a little bit annoyed at uneven doorsteps now as his cane finds purchase on the floors of Eva’s new home. “It was hard to find you, but not that hard,” he comments, taking a seat at her table without being invited. “The next person who wants to find you won’t have the break in schooling I’ve had, but you can hope at least that they’re still not as good as me. What kind of locks are those?” Cole asks, pointing with the butt of his cane to the hardware on her door, sitting at her dining room table like the annoyance she has probably always known him to be. But instead of looking past Eva entirely the way Cole used to for years, the full focus of his blue eyes are on her now, concerned with her and only her. “Do you have tea?” And tea.

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

A new feeling emerges when she effortlessly falls into Sam. One that’s airy and golden like a breeze threaded with sunlight blowing the door leading to her heart open. He immediately latches onto her and she laughs as they squeeze each other, Martina gently trailing her palms along the space between his shoulder blades. “Hi,” she breathes, and she wonders if he can feel her smile plump her cheeks. There is no room inside her body for self-consciousness, all of the space occupied by the shape of Sam and the wave of good feelings that he brought with him. He didn’t have to be by her side to fill her up, but Martina decided that it’s, like, way better when she can drink in his physical presence, inhale the boyish citrus scent that mists the outline of his skin.

“How even…” Martina begins, the question shaping her features before she utters a word. As if he catches it, Sam explains why he’s an arm’s length away, why her hands are able to trail down to rest on top of his aforementioned arms. The story blooms slowly, each sentence bonding with the next, as Martina stares with her mouth slightly agape. He’s actually here. He actually flew here, to Florida. To see her. “You have Mamma’s seal of approval?” she laughs, more endeared than nervous. It doesn’t surprise her in the slightest that Sam won Mamma over, though Mamma never let her have any boys over before. Still didn’t, she guessed, since Sam wasn’t just any boy.  “Lucky you, my mamma can be…well, you met her. She’s the amazing person on the planet but, very…particular,” Martina says, almost apologetic, before she perks again. “It’s her je ne sais quoi.” Oh boy, fingers crossed that Mamma didn’t tell Sam anything embarrassing about her. “Wow, you really thought of everything. Can you believe that you’re here? Like, this is the best surprise ever!” The feel of him under her fingers eclipsed any surprises of the past that could have competed with this moment. “How long was the flight, you must be so tired — come in.” Her hands finally find both of his, lifting them off of her shoulders so she can lace their fingers together, walking backwards to pull him across the threshold while her phone watches forlornly from a patch of grass. “You have to meet the lady of the house.”

Every bit of anxious planning and impatient nerves are worth this reaction, he thinks, drinking up the feeling he gets at her wondrous eyes, that look so full of amazement and awe that he thinks he might do anything in the world to keep her smiling like that. It’s a dangerous thought when he remembers that he’s not by her side the way he really wants to be, but friends can also do a lot for each other, can’t they? Besides, part of the reason he’s here is to make it clear to the both of them that he does want to be by her side. Her voice in his ear makes his chest tighten and then melt again, and it reminds Sam that no matter what, a friend like Martina is already such a blessing. He just can’t help it if this friend also takes up so many of his thoughts day in and day out. “Hi,” he repeats quietly back, even though he’s already greeted her, maybe because he’s not sure how else to keep going, or he also just can’t believe that they’re really here.

Sam tries to stay grounded to her doorstep, even as her touch trails from his back to his arms, but he just nods along to keep explaining his presence here. “I sure hope so,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head because it really sounds like something he should have earned for being more important in her life, but it had been necessary and he’s endlessly grateful to be on Martina’s mother’s good side anyway. “She can be... intimidating, but most moms are, right? Besides, it’s really obvious she just cares a lot about you,” Sam smiles. Is it weird he’s talking about her mom so much? It’s suddenly entirely too easy to start overthinking this, remembering how crazy all of this is, but he’ll have to endure it. For her. As if on cue, Martina exclaims again the insanity of his being here. “I honestly can’t believe it myself,” he responds, a breathy laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t even that long, don’t worry, really, I’m fine,” he insists. It’s hard to explain to her out loud that it’s nearly impossible to feel tired in her company when being around her is like being woken by pure morning sunlight. Bright, effervescent, energetic. Her hands find his, linking in between his fingers, and Sam feels his nerves heighten in that moment, only to vanish again, heart laid at ease to feel the warmth of her palms, guiding him into her home with a welcoming smile, and it’s like everything makes sense again. Sam’s smile is wide, breath easy again and eyes soft as he follows in, taking it all in like a museum. “God, your house is... gorgeous,” he mutters as he glances around, and it makes sense that someone as lovely as Martina grew up in a palace, and then his face lights up again as he expectantly asks, “Alice?”

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

The date is ideal because it’s theirs. Martina can’t imagine a place where things wouldn’t be okay as long as her gaze can reach his. “Sam,” Martina laughs shyly, because what he says mirrors how she feels around him. Warm and comfortable, like cupping a steaming mug of hot chocolate by a fireplace. She must be doing something right if she has the same effect on him. “I guess I was born to keep you warm.” Martina matches his cheesy sentiment with one of her own; she believes that she was meant to be a golden light for the right person to bathe in. And that person is the one who stayed. "Hey, wanna know a secret?” she asks. Are they still walking? Martina isn’t completely sure. She hasn’t felt the ground underneath her feet since Sam wrapped his arm around her. Lifting her head, she searches Sam’s face for an if or a but, some condition between his sweet words. But she only sees his gentle eyes, pure intentions shining through. “Okay,” she responds simply. “Okay,” she repeats. “You and me. We can do everything.”

“You were born to keep the world warm,” Sam responds, an assured smile on his face like what he’s saying is simple fact, and he definitely believes that to be true. “I’m just the extremely lucky and mildly selfish idiot who gets to keep you next to me most days,” he finishes, and squeezes her for good measure, relishing in their proximity, beyond grateful that they’ve gotten to spend some of the holiday together. It’s crazy, he thinks, how their relationship had only started this semester, but already they feel such a glaring loss when not around each other. He’s already closer now from the squeeze, but grins wider and leans his face even closer to hers as if prompting her to whisper it, “Tell me.” In the closeness, he has the perfect vantage point to catch her gaze turn even gentler, more earnest, and his goofy smile softens, instantly melting even as perfect flakes of snow fall against her inky black hair, sitting there like stars in her galaxy, Martina the sun. Her words make his own heart squeeze, and god it’s insane to think he can continue to fall more in love with her as he nods in return. “Anything and everything. Together.”

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

“Oh, yeah?” Martina giggles. Of course her concerns linger but she can’t help it. Her defenses melt under his embrace, and Martina leans some of her weight into his side, glancing up at him. “You’d be an adorable Rudolph,” she comments. “But I’m warmer already. I don’t want you to be cold.” A pout pushes out from her lips slightly. They started retracing their path away from the frozen falls, but Martina hasn’t noted her surroundings, mind preoccupied with other more important things. Like the tiny dimple appearing in Sam’s cheek. “You want to come back with me?”

Sam looks down to her, at her rosy cheeks and doe eyes, and even though these surroundings aren’t their ideal date, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s perfectly fine. “Yeah,” he responds softly, still wearing that grin, squeezing her tight one more time. “How can I be cold when I’m with you, Martina?” he chuckles, and it sounds like a cheesy sentiment, but he’s telling the truth when he goes on, “You know, sometimes I look at you, and I can’t believe that you’re here and then I get so nervous— like we’re standing in the forest all over again, and before I know it, I think I’m blushing like an idiot.” The chill in the air helps hide it this time, both to cool his cheeks and to hide the rosiness, but there’s no hiding just how smitten he is with her. “I wanna do everything with you. If you’ll let me.”

[ofwaterships]

saintswrite​:

“Mother nature wanted to surprise us,” Martina responds sagely, immediately turning to the only person more gorgeous than this breathtaking view. “We’re trapped in her little snow globe.” His jacket envelopes her shoulders, and she tugs it on more snuggly. “Are you sure you won’t be cold?” She squeezes his hand, relishing in the warmth. She doesn’t even feel the snowflakes drifting along the curve of her cheek, the tip of her nose. “I am a Swede.” A bad one — Martina also wasn’t made for the winter, but braving the chill was the least of the things she’d do for him.

He wants to make some stupid quip about how it’d be a better surprise if she’d given them a bit more sun, but the talk of a snow globe quickly makes him smile instead, endeared by Martina’s effortless way of seeing the best in things. Sam’s smile grows, and he wraps his arm around her shoulder without letting go of her hand so that her own arm is wrapped around her chest, too, hopefully keeping her even warmer. “M’fine— if my nose gets red it’s just me getting in the Christmas spirit,” he jokes, eyes crinkling with his grin, glad he’d been wearing a hoodie underneath his jacket, “Maybe one day when we visit, I still think we should do the summer. It’s pretty then, right?”