WHEN: Saturday, 20 February, 1980, hella late at night WHERE: No. 7 Low Street WHO: Amelia Bones ( @ameliasbones ) & Fabian Prewett
It had begun when he had arrived with Hollie and Gideon, when he had realized with a ferocious blush that he had just walked into a wedding. It had grown through the vows, through the food, through the dancing, until Fabian had taken refuge at an unoccupied table across the way. As he watched the dwindling crowd at Fritwell Farm from his isolated seat, Fabian could not help but finally acknowledge the loud buzz of static that occupied his brain. He was almost happy to be there. He was almost content in the celebrations. But in spite of it all, one thread had snagged, and as the night had gone on, Fabian had become unraveled.
Number 7 was the last place Fabian could remember truly feeling at rest. Not almost anything, but purely gleeful and hopeful. And so, once he was sure his brother and his wife would be getting home safely, Fabian left Fritwell Farm for what sounded like an old sanctuary. He walked leisurely up the street, hands shoved deep into his pockets, until it came time to knock on the front door.
