Toulouse Henri Bonfamille and Anita Beatrice Dearly - Louita Aesthetic
Because no one else was gonna do it. Look, I love Dearcliffe, I do. Hellooo--I named them dearcliffe. BUT BUT--Louita is one of those things that kind of came about on accident and I just loved how they complimented one another. They were both artists and Anita is rather shy, where as Lou is bold. But, Anita was feisty and put Lou in his place. Lou doesn’t do emotions very well, but Anita was so gentle guiding him through it and they were both so out of their depth but willing to preserver through it because they mutually respected and cared about one another and it was so BEAUTIFUL. RIP.
Who asks the other on dates: lou probably planned more of them, but anita did her fair shareWho is the bigger cuddler: lou was totally the biggest cuddlerWho initiates holding hands more often: anita but lou didn’t mindWho remembers anniversaries: both of themWho is more possessive: louWho gets more jealous: anitaWho is more protective: louWho is more likely to cheat: anita smhWho initiates sexy times the most: also anita but lou was here for itWho dislikes PDA the most: lou dislikes it more but he doesn’t mind itWho kills the spider: lou would take care of it, tho i feel like anita would also take care of itWho asks the the other to marry them: lol LOL i mean technically lou did askWho buys the other flowers or gifts: lou totally. i feel like anita was more of a here look i made this 4 u kind of gift giver whereas lou was like “look i bought u a puppY”Who would bring up possibly having kids: well canonically anita didWho is more nervous to meet the parents: i feel like lou tbh anita knows how to like be a Lady so she had that to fall back on and yah lou has his charm but he also is like “lol i am so not good w parents. parents are the worst”Who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: lou definitelyWho tries to make up first after arguments: lou he was a whipped lil bitchWho tells the other they love them more often: anita but it always made lou smile cry this still hurts me
“How do you make a round circle with a square knife? That’s your challenge for the day.” -- Bob Ross
Toulouse Bonfamille taught art every Thursday as part of Swynlake’s Primary School Art Initiative. It was a wonderful after school program (that Adelaide heavily sponsored, not to mention several other parents within the school system.) Both he and Berlioz taught different classes to a wide range of children, they came in and out.
There were the consistent students, whose parents worked late or whose parents couldn’t be bothered to deal with them until later (poor things) and then, there were the kids who only popped around every so often, parents running late or having late meetings.
Either way, he didn’t mind, as long as they behaved (they usually did) and were attentive to the lesson (they usually were.)
Today they would be working with clay. The children were very excited about this. And, since Valentine’s day was the following Tuesday, they would be making clay hearts for their parents. (Lou spared a thought to wonder where all the art presents he’d made his mother as a child had went, perhaps they were tucked away somewhere at their chateau in France still, lost and forgotten, not deemed good enough to be displayed and shown off proudly--which, Lou understood, they were probably terrible.)
Anyways, the kids were chattering away as Lou passed out place mats to each of the students, their little hands grabbing eagerly. One of the kids snatched it out of his hand rather greedily and Lou snatched it right back, just as quick, looking down at the little boy, whose bottom lip trembled. He was between 7 and 8, no reason to be acting that way.
“That was not very polite, Emmett,” Lou chided. He heard the door open as he said this, but did not look up for a moment, focused on the little boy. “Children who are not polite aught not to be trusted with clay. It is a privilege, not a given.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bonfamille,” the boy mumbled.
Lou handed his place mat back to him. “Apology accepted.”
Emmett smiled, and that is when Lou looked up again--
The Five Conversations to Have Before Getting Divorced || [Louita]
Anita and Toulouse, at the end of October, discuss their very strange predicament...
ANITA:
This morning, she was going to see her husband, Toulouse Bonfamille, to talk about a divorce. Wasn’t that just maddening to think about?
Anita had spent most of last night with her eyes wide open, that same sentence racing through her mind. She couldn’t seem to stop it. It just kept coming and coming, a great tsunami wave of a thought, really, that kept reshaping everything Anita had been before it. It was hard to grasp that once upon a time she thought she’d be married by now to a very different man. The girl who had loved Kes was a stranger to her. She didn’t even know if she’d ever loved him, in light of everything that had happened to her and everything that she had become.
Kes had been comfy, see. She’d had fluttery, silly, girly feelings for him when she was freshly 16 and he was the handsome boy in the country, who could almost keep up with her as they went riding through the hills of Kent. He’d courted her properly and treated her well and she’d grown used to him, like one grows used to the sun coming out in the morning. She’d begun to imagine they’d be married. It’s what her parents wanted (it’s why they had invited the Keswicks to their Kentish country home that summer) and so it was what she had wanted.
She’d been content. She’d been happy. Only not really, she saw now. She’d been fine, sure, but happiness—joy—wonder and excitement—these things had revisited her upon arriving in Swynlake, even among her tragedy. She saw those things in the fairies and in sketching by the lake and in new friends and in old friends and in the small-town adventures she got to have exploring Swynlake. She saw those things in the sunflowers on her wedding day and in Lou scrambling up to her window the night before and in his lips, gentle on hers, which had opened the door to passion and to new beginnings and to falling in love all over again. It was a whirlwind to think about, really, this summer and that love. They went hand-in-hand. As Anita grew into this new Anita, Lou had been there at every step. Maybe that’s why she was having such trouble letting him go. He felt like a very important part of her.
She already missed him though. Every day she missed him, missed his silence and missed looking across the room to see him squinting at his work. She missed knowing he was there, how easy it had been for them to just—be themselves around each other. And she missed the shape of his hands. (He had lovely hands you know; all artists did, because they knew how to use those hands for something).
So really—missing him, she had plenty of practice doing that. Divorcing him officially would not change anything.
And still, it ached in her heart. She tossed and turned all night, jolting awake in the end a half an hour before her alarm. Anita got up anyway, trying her best to ignore the clock and the ticking time bomb that was her marriage.
Her marriage—140 years short, in the end.
Her marriage—could she even call it that?
Maybe it was for the best to just write it off as a mistake, or a joke, or a prank. She steeled up all the softest parts of herself as she got dressed and tied up her hair and brewed tea for herself and her aunt. She couldn’t stomach her breakfast in the end and before she knew it, she was outside, the air dewy and smelling like rain, thinking about Lou as she walked toward the Bonfamille house. She thought of him fondly—nostalgically—as she tried to erase any fanciful ideas of a future with him and instead frame him as part of her past. She could hang his portrait next to Kes. She could love him in the abstract for the lessons that he taught her.
She could reserve her future for someone else. And wasn’t that nice, Anita told herself as she walked up his parkway. Wasn’t it nice to have a big, wide, blank future? To become anyone? To love anyone? That’s what her divorce would bring.
She knocked on the door and smiled politely when Nounou answered it. “Good morning,” she said, then bit down on her lip. “May I—I was supposed to, um, see Lou this morning, just to—to talk—“
“Oh, we know,” said Nounou—not at all cryptically.
Anita raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Oh?”
“Oui, oui, Mademoiselle. This way,” said Nounou. And the woman had a coy smile on her face as she turned, which was just a big suspicious, and made her even more nervous to see Lou again, but—nevermind that. Anita was here to get what she needed to done, and she was going to do it. No matter what.
She followed Nounou, and tried to ignore her flipping stomach.
TOULOUSE:
This morning, Toulouse Bonfamille was not going to be a coward.
Not that Toulouse was a coward usually. Lou actually prided himself on being quite brave if the situation called for it. Which was why it had burned so deeply when Berlioz had called him such. It had rankled him and wiggled down inside and the very next day he’d started his first draft of what he would say to Anita. It was all planned out in his head—from the speech (which he’d rewritten several times) to the flowers he would bring her when he went and stood on her doorstep like an idiot because apparently, that’s the kind of shit you do when you—care about someone or whatever.
Toulouse was not very good with the whole—caring about someone or whatever, thing. Which got itself a whole paragraph in the speech, towards the beginning but not too far because he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea.
“The speech” being the actual finished speech which Toulouse had stayed up all night completing, because it wasn’t done yet and he was a bit jittery about the fact that it may sound rushed or ingenuine because Anita had to jump the gun and find out they were actually married (and blimey what? Lou hadn’t spent a lot of time processing that particular point). He wasn’t upset with her though, actually, he felt quite bad because he wasn’t an idiot and even though she said she wasn’t freaking out the very fact she’d gone and looked in the first place meant she was.
And the fact that she had not talked to him about it first meant she still believed—for whatever reason, because he was certain that he’d made a fool of himself in the hospital—that he didn’t care for her and now it just seemed so, so silly that he had pretended he hadn’t in the first place because he did.
Of course.
These past few weeks, a little over a month or so, maybe two, Lou had not felt like himself. He was on edge and felt lonely. He missed her company, how bright and bubbly it was, and how her eyes twinkled in his direction, and her silly little posh accent that should grate but was just charming and delightful coming from her lips. In short, Lou was fucking gone for Anita and it had pissed him off. He’d never wanted something like this for himself, and he’d tried to fight it, and he’d done a terrible job—just making himself miserable instead.
Lou, y’know, had never planned on being happy in his life. Content, yes. He could handle content. He would paint, and live close to Berlioz and Marie, and if and when either of them got married and had families, he would dote on their children. Selling his paintings and living near his family would be his life and he would be…content.
Happy was dangerous.
That was what Anita made him and it was dangerous. Lou did not have any more control; if Anita did not care about him, Lou didn’t know what he would do, fall into some dramatic pit of deep despair probably from which he would never arise.
But, he was trying not to think about that, as he paced the length of his studio, stopping occasionally to straighten one of the sheets thrown over his easels. There wasn’t any painting showing, though the desk built along the wall on one side was riddled with sketches. Everything else was turned around or covered up. The big floor to ceiling windows that ran along one wall let in a perfectly grey kind of light, though still bright enough to catch the dust particles twirling in the air.
Lou heard the door click open and he stopped, tripping a little over a clump of dry paint on the floor (which was littered with such clumps making it very uneven to walk across). His hands went behind his back, one of them holding flowers, the other holding his speech; both hands sweating as his heart rate jumped and his ears burned before Anita’s fiery hair even crested the top of the stairwell.
But, then, there she was, across the room, looking nervous and confused—Lou understood both those emotions, even if they made him frown.
There was a beat of silence—Lou’s mouth felt very dry and suddenly all those carefully prepared words fell right out of his brain. Good thing he had the piece of paper, which he crinkled between his fingers anxiously, holding onto it like a lifeline.
With a jolt, he took a step forwards, and then another, until he was close enough to see the twinkle in her eye, which was there despite the uneven ground they were standing on—er, figuratively, though literally works as well.
He thrust the flowers out at her—sunflowers, of course—tied with a robin’s egg blue ribbon. They were not flourished out from behind him like he had planned on, no, the heads of the floors knocked against his armpit and several of the yellow petals twirled to the ground. Lou blushed harder, looking down, watching them for a moment before he raised his eyes and shifted to his other foot.
“Uhm, h-here, these are for—you. Obviously. I mean, who else would they be for? They’re your favourite are they not? I-I mean, I know—I know that they’re your favourite, which is why I got them, o-or well, asked Nounou to, since I’m still under house arrest, but uhm, anyways, yes, they’re for you and I—uhm, it’s nice to see you. You look lovely. I hope you had a good breakfast? How is your Aunt? I heard she’s running for Board? I’ve been following closely though of course I missed the first debate because house arrest, but I read the transcript in the news. I’ve been discussing it with my father, but I’m still undecided as of yet. Though! I do hope you know that doesn’t reflect poorly on your aunt at all, I merely am considering all the options first. I—I don’t like to…make such decisions without being absolutely sure.”
And here, his cheeks got even redder, and he glanced at her from between his lashes. He had been rambling, which was not in the plan at all. Talking politics of all things.
He took a deep breath, feeling his side twinge but simply grit his jaw and ignored it. Then, the corner of his lip twitched up in a bit of a meek smile as he held the flowers out to her again, properly this time since before he’d been using them to gesture during his impromptu nervous rant.
“Here,” he said, much more gently that time, “these are for you.”
ANITA:
When Anita walked up one flight of stairs, and then another, toward Lou’s art studio, she had no idea what to expect. But each step brought another surprise to her heel. She had expected, you see, to stop in his bedroom, to find Lou either in bed or at a desk, seated and relaxed. She still remembered the frightening pallor of his skin from the hospital and whenever she’d imagined him from then on she’d had to put him somewhere safe, wrap him up in blankets and try to paint the rosy hue back onto his freckled cheeks. It made sense that weeks later he’d be able to walk around of course, to stand and even to paint, but it wasn’t how she’d pictured all this last night. Part of her was happy and part of her felt dismayed as they passed all the bedrooms, toward the second staircase.
She’d been dependent, you see, on the idea that Lou would be trapped and unable to flee from her. Not that he would but-- well, there had been a lot of fleeing lately. They’d each done their fair share of turning heel and running. She’d liked the idea that he’d been stuck in a bed and she could just say her piece and let him say his and discuss the matter as frankly as possible.
But that didn’t seem to be the way it was going to happen.
And so she climbed the stair, her suspicions mounting, Nounou’s smirk growing. Nounou stopped at the door and gestured for her to enter. “I shall be downstairs if you need anything,” the woman said with a dip of her head and the glint in her eye. Anita nearly snatched her by the wrist, tempted to demand she explain what was going on.
But Nounou disappeared and Anita was left with the door. She glanced its way and hesitated, but not for long. She was Anita Dearly, was she not? She knew what her heart needed, did she not? She would not balk in the last hour. On the other side of this conversation was all that wide, open future, and a new Anita who would be smarter and less romantic than the last.
She took a big breath to summon all that bravery and opened the door.
Lou was there, looking skinnier than she remembered, which startled her heart. Another surprise. And it knocked the words she had prepared out of her mouth. It had been a careful script of pleasantries, appropriate for the opening of any social interaction, even if they were not strangers to each other. Even though she knew how he tasted and he had heard the way she could sigh and mumble in her sleep. She was still going to treat him nothing short of appropriately: Hello, Lou, it’s good to see you. How are you feeling? How is your mother, your father, your siblings?
But all that vanished. Instead she wanted to skitter across the room like an excited puppy and grasp at his arms, lead him somewhere and sit him down. The urge was powerful, the urge to take care of him, to touch his brow and gently rub his back and admonish him for standing at all.
And then he looked at her, and it was like being in the art room of the community centre. She’d caught his glances and he’d caught hers all summer long.
She wanted to smile at him. But she was there to get divorced, and she couldn’t smile at him, because then she’d find herself falling in love and clinging too tightly and goodness, she was a wreck wreck wreck today and she couldn’t move her feet at all in the end and she didn’t know why, but she was terrified, and the fear got bigger as Lou stepped toward her.
If she wasn’t frozen and confused and full of such tremendous longing, she would have stepped back in retreat. Instead, she stood still and then the flowers appeared to her in the whirl of bright, yellow colour, summer entering the room on their petals again. Her heart squeezed-- and then opened up its every petal, looking toward Lou like he was the sun, and it was a little sunflower too.
Flowers. He got her flowers.
Flowers, and he was-- small talking in her direction, his eyes averted and the blush, yes, on his cheek (she was so relieved to see it). He looked up at her and she was still so shocked she couldn’t move. Still didn’t know what to say. She wanted to look at the flowers, but couldn’t tear herself away from him, the boy, and the curtain of his lashes that he hid behind. It was not until he once again extended his arm to her that she released the breath she’d been holding inside her all along. And then she looked to the sunflowers, so beautifully, brightly yellow, just like the ones that had lined the pews of the church. Just like the ones in her bouquet. She wished she wore her ring.
She gently took the flowers from him, her fingers brushing over his for just a moment.
“Thank you,” she said quietly-- as shy and bashful as she had first been at 16, before she’d ever even been kissed.
TOULOUSE:
What the fuck are you doing?
That was Ber’s voice in his head, actually—an odd thing that threw him off momentarily, because Ber’s voice was never in his head judging him or telling him what to do. He liked to think that he was in Ber’s head, whenever Ber was doing something particularly idiotic. Toulouse was not the idiotic brother. Toulouse did not stumble over his words and make a fool of himself and blush in front of a pretty girl.
Except he was. And that was not how this interaction was supposed to go. Lou was supposed to be his charming, confident self, giving Anita flowers and wooing her, just like he had plenty of other girls in the past (even if the objectives were quite different, he wasn’t trying to get into Anita’s pants, but into her heart—or, at least, see if he still had a place there.)
And, perhaps, that was the problem: Anita was not other girls. She was his wife, for all intents and purposes. And, apparently, wives made him blushy and self-conscious.
He needed to snap out of it, which he did, as she took the flowers from his hand, ignoring the echoing beat of his heart as their fingers touched.
It helped that she was now blushing and fluttering her eyelashes, sweet and shy. Lou couldn’t be shy when Anita was being shy, because she needed him to be confident—to stand tall (which he did, despite the twinge in his gut) and take charge. So, that’s what he would do.
That felt good, to realign himself with a purpose—deliver his speech, don’t think about the aftermath. He had a goal, and he was going to carry it out.
Lou smiled at Anita then, a tempered smile, but a genuine one, and nodded at her a little. “You’re very welcome.”
And then, he took a step back, pulling the speech into view and running a hand through the front of his hair. “I-I’ve got, something I’d like to say, if you’d let me?” he asked, eyes on hers over the top of the wrinkled paper.
She nodded and he could still see the confusion in her eyes but he didn’t let it deter him this time, instead, he let it spur him forwards, hoping to erase it by the end of his monologue.
“Right, well, just—just to preface: I had to write this down, because I’m not—good, at this sort of thing, as I’m sure you’re well aware. It doesn’t make it any less true, mind you, or, less genuine. I just wanted to make sure that I got everything I needed to say…out. A-and, also, I don’t expect anything in return, from you, after it is all said and done, I know I have treated you unfairly these past months and you don’t deserve that. Don’t deserve anything less than perfection which is why I wrote this all down in the first place.”
For the record, he was reading this from the paper already, needing to have perfected even his disclaimer.
“To begin; an explanation of my rather poor behaviour over the past weeks.”
A pause, because it was very easy to say the beginning of this speech, the rest of it Lou knew he was going to have to pull from all those parts of himself that he hid so deep, and it would not be easy—words would catch in his esophagus and behind his teeth and tangle on his tongue, their shapes unfamiliar, their sentiments heavy inside of him, but, he would do it, because he was not a coward, and because he did care about Anita, very much.
“I realize now that your coming to me the morning after the spell broke was—not how I originally interpreted it…that is to say, you were not relieved to be no longer married to me, but that you merely wished to express delight in the fact that we had returned safely. I—overreacted, admittedly. I should have spoken my mind better, but, you see, Anita, you—terrify me.
Not necessarily in a bad way, in fact, Berlioz would have me believe in a very good way. In a way that pulls me from…my comfort—a comfort in the…average, in the contented.
That is to say: you—“ and he paused here, glancing up over the white edge of the page to Anita’s blue eyes and rosy cheeks “—make me…happy.” His eyes flicked right back down to the page.
“I’ve never quite been happy before, and I know that sounds very bad, but I was perfectly fine with that. I had my art and I had my family and that was all I wanted. I did not trust that anyone else was worth—opening up to, enfolding into my little familial unit. My…bon famille, if you will.” His lips twisted a little cheekily as he glanced up again.
“But, with the spell, you were forced into my life. And, you know I do not believe in the intervention of the divine, but, for some reason, it happened and you sewed yourself so seamlessly into my life, that when we returned I was afraid that it would all be torn away. So, I simply ripped the stitches myself, preemptively discarding my—affection for you as something that would only bring unhappiness later. I did not weigh how that may affect you and I certainly did not weigh just how unhappy it would make me regardless, not to have you in my life. That was a grave oversight, which I deeply regret.”
He chewed on his lip for a moment and sighed. “This is an apology for that; for all the pain I selfishly caused you, and to no good end either.” He breathed out a humorless chuckle at himself. “Seeing as I—do, still care for you, Anita. Quite deeply. It’s so engrained in me that I could not wish it away, though I did try. And I’ve missed you dreadfully every day that you’ve been gone. I’m sorry for any pain and confusion I may have caused you and assure you that it was tenfold felt in my own chest, and I am sorry that it took almost dying for me to realize that it wasn’t just going to go away. And…I am sorry for being afraid of it, because I was, and, truthfully, I still am.
I have no idea how to—do any of this and I loathe that uncertainty, but I’m willing to—try. For you. With you. If you give me the chance.”
Toulouse lowered the paper then, crinkling it even further in his sweaty palm. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, up in his throat, as he waited for a response—was planning on being still and collected as he waited for her reply, but words bubbled up instead:
“I-I know that—that was a lot, but I do—I do promise I meant every word, though, I understand if you need time, o-or what have you, but just—it was all true. I’ve never—never done anything like this before and, honestly, I feel like un sot mais je t’adore, Anita. C’est certain.”
ANITA:
It was a lot.
As soon as she saw the slip of paper, she knew it was going to be a lot. The light from above shown through it, made it a bit transparent so she could see all the scrawling words, line after line, an entire speech penned out and prepared. And she thought to herself, well this must be magic. The clocks had turned back time again. And she was in primary school, and so was Lou, and it was St. Valentine’s Day and they had snuck into the art room turning playtime, Lou probably leading the way, and here they were and there Lou was-- with his handmade valentine in hand. All her insides felt like they were about to flip over or do some kind of a dance. There was a trembling in her hands (not that Lou could see) and her toes were curling too, everything inside her body suddenly in motion. All because of one sheet of paper and one bouquet of flowers and one boy with too many freckles. Yes, this was the beginning of their lives. They were children, she and Lou. Everything was timeless. And no matter how many words were on that sheet of paper (looked like thousands), really it would just be the same as one boy asking one girl if she would be his valentine.
Unless she was getting ahead of herself.
But no. No. The doubt flickered weakly through her mind and then was gone, chased away by the light, wafting scent of the sunflowers she held. She had no idea where this was coming from, she had no idea why, but Anita knew that Lou liked her before he even began. He didn’t want to get divorced or--well, maybe he did but--but the divorce wouldn’t negate this, whatever this was, this...this that was them.
And she was so scared. Before he opened his mouth, she felt that fear grow large, sink its claws into her and breathe down her neck. Anita almost sprang away from him. It was her turn, apparently, to run -- I’ve spent all night, all--all these weeks!-- trying to forget you!
But she stayed very still. And she listened. And as soon as Lou began, all that fear left, along with the doubt, and Anita could only smell those flowers and feel bright colours--like they were shining out of her skin. Oh, she was so-- happy he’d written it down! Because she knew she’d want to fold that note up carefully and press it between the pages of her own journal. She’d like to read it again and again, go over each word.
That feeling only grow as the letter (speech?) went on. Her heart squeezed when he said he hadn’t thought he was going to be happy. She wanted to kiss him soft and touch their foreheads together. She wanted to run her hands down his arms before interlocking their fingers. And this part was an apology, but Anita didn’t really care. Because she forgave him. Perhaps too easily and too quickly, perhaps as soon as he’d smiled at her when she walked in, or perhaps when he was impaled on a pipe. But she did, because she loved him. She loved him. She loved him.
She felt tears prick at her eyes, as the feeling grew and grew.
And it was love that made her fearless, even if it made Lou scared. That was fine-- she could understand that because she’d felt it before, felt it just now, for a terrible, dark second. But she’d remind him that it didn’t have to be that way. They didn’t have to hurt each other. They could dance and laugh and drink champagne again. They could do whatever they wanted to do.
That big, open future of hers, the one she’d been dutifully teaching herself to be excited over? Now it could have Lou in it, too.
Her lips pressed together, cheeks dimpling, as she tried to bite back her smile, but it sprung from her anyway. She wished she could fling her arms around him then and there and movie-kiss him. That’s all she wanted to do: kiss him. It felt like the whole world was commanding her too.
So she took a step toward him.
And she reached out and she took his hand in her own. The tears were brimming faster now, even as she tried to blink them back, but she was so happy and it was so much harder to bury happy tears than sad ones.
“Je t’adore aussi, Toulouse,” she said it low, squeezed his hand. And then she was a step closer, quite close in fact, and her hand left his to gently stroke his cheek-- right before she tilted her head, pushed up on her tiptoes, and gently kissed his mouth.
TOULOUSE:
Lou did not have much time between the end of the speech and Anita approaching him to appropriately prepare.
Anita made him feel like he was constantly unprepared. Which was a feeling Lou was not at all used to. He was diligent and a quick study. He learned fast and he did things to perfection or he did not do them at all. He studied and practiced until his hands and head ached and ached but he did not give up until he had seen something through, until he learned a new technique, until he conquered a problem.
But, Anita, and this—this feeling inside of him, it was always changing, constantly developing and there were no instructions. There were no rules. It always left him scrambling, feeling incredibly unsteady. He remembered standing at the alter feeling lightheaded and remembered that fear and his brother’s calm—didn’t know how he’d been so calm.
It was these emotions more than anything—that fear mixed with elation as Anita stepped towards him—that made Lou weary of everything he’d just said, made him weary of Anita. He’d never let anyone from the outside in. There were the Bonfamilles, and then there was everyone else. That was how Lou had always viewed the world. Everyone disposable, no one worth his time. But, Anita was a Bonfamille too, was she not? She’d taken his name and earned herself a spot in his heart. A heart that was too small, perhaps, for so many people, but it had stretched, painfully, to include her—and now it was too big and ready to burst and Lou wasn’t sure if the beating of it was helping it accommodate the new volume or if it was going to make it explode all the sooner.
He didn’t know what to do when she took his hand, but his heart just started pounding harder—he could hear it in his ears. His cheeks were burning with blood, which had nowhere else to go seeing as how full his heart was.
And, it wasn’t as if he was worried about her saying anything negative, this was Anita, after all, good, kind, and sweet Anita. Sure, she could scratch someone’s eyes out if necessary; but she was a forgiving soul, more forgiving that Lou could ever be, or probably even deserved. No, he was not afraid she would berate him, he was afraid that she may love him.
Even as that thought ran through him, though, Lou wanted to reach his hand up and brush away the tears in her eyes before they even fell, and Lou thought, in that moment, that he would be very happy doing that for as long as she let him—stopping her tears before they even began.
Not that she did that now as she whispered to him and came even closer, closer than they had been since they’d fallen asleep together, breaths syncing, the last night in 1876.
She smelled the same, he noticed, as she stroked his cheek. His own hand went to her waist instinctively, as if to steady her (or steady himself.) And he was thinking about how she smelled the same and felt the same as she leaned in and pressed their lips together—
She tasted the same too. Slightly of lemon, good and familiar in a way no one he’d ever kissed had ever been.
His other hand came up and stroked his thumb against her hairline gently, his heart still feeling too full, too full that it was painful and he didn’t know how Berlioz did it or why Marie wanted it so badly—because all it felt like was tearing yourself open and not even knowing why.
The kiss didn’t last long, it was soft and fragile, as far as kisses went. Sweet, like a drop of honey in tea. When it broke, a little sound followed it, echoing in the big, empty space—
And then, there was a long moment of silence as it faded.
Lou blinked, dipped his head and then looked back up. What now? He wanted to ask, because truly, he had no idea.
Instead, he cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “Good,” he said with a little nod, like they’d just finished closing a business deal. “I—I assume you still wish to discuss the matter of our…marriage license? Why don’t you sit down? No point in standing in the middle of the studio.”
He took a few steps to the side, gesturing to one of the stools in front of the window—each on dotting the room paired with an easel. Lou perched on one next to her and folded his hands in his lap, finger idly rubbing at the knuckle of his ring finger.
“So,” he began. “We’re married. Fancy that.” And his lips quirked into a bit of a sardonic smile.
ANITA:
For Anita, the kiss ended too quickly.
She was ready to sink inside it, to let it sweep her away with it, back to the night of their wedding when everything, ironically enough considering the time frame, been so much simpler. That kiss had been drenched in the sweetest champagne. She’d been so heavy and cozy inside it. It had been easy to just...sink. And that’s what Anita wanted to do now. She just wanted to sink into Lou’s arms and feel as safe with him now as she had with him then. It made very little sense, really, missing the past. But she did. She missed feeling lost to it. She missed not knowing what to do and not having to know what to do. She missed knowing that her decisions were the best ones she could make under the circumstances, and that there was nothing to be done about them anyway.
None of this was prescribed to just the past, and objectively Anita knew that. Objectively, she was lost in this time too, and she didn’t necessarily have to know what was right and what was wrong but-- gosh, if she didn’t feel the most enormous pressure to do so. And ever since coming back, her compass was spinning out of control. The only clear, present, very real, obvious thing to Anita was this-- was Lou.
Her feelings for him were fluttery and petal-soft and bright inside her. She had tried to turn them off, but doing so had just made them bite at Anita’s heels. The kiss reignited them inside her, as she was reminded of the shape of his lips and the way they moved against her own. She remembered all those breathy, hot kisses tangled in sheets and quick morning kisses and kisses after tea-time. It reopened the book of them, drafting a brand new page on a new chapter. Anita wanted to keep that feeling as long as possible.
For the first time in a very long time, she was certain of something.
But he pulled away too soon and the world closed back in. Anita blinked her eyes back open just in time to catch Lou chuckling a little, his cheeks blemished with pink (as she was sure her own were as well). And then right, there was a purpose to all this, wasn’t there?
Their marriage!
Their divorce?
Anita no longer knew. They’d kissed, and changed everything again. Just like last time.
But she wasn’t too too nervous, even as Lou moved awkwardly to the side and she followed him, even though the room had gotten a bit quiet for a moment there and she knew her cheeks were still pinking, and that she had no idea what she was going to say. She just itched to put her hand in Lou’s again, honestly-- knowing it might keep her calm-- as she settled onto the stool. She was tucking her feet up against the leg when Lou said.
She darted her eyes up quick and her smile broke over her lips before she could stop it. Anita exhaled a small laugh, which turned quickly into a smile that spread across her face. Now she just felt-- amused about the whole thing.
It was such a mess.
“Yes--apparently we are,” Anita said and shook her head a little. She bit lightly at her lip as she looked at the ceiling, as if she was looking at God and sharing a quick word. Very funny, mister.
Then her eyes darted down again. “It’s--funny really, I--came here expecting you to ask me for a divorce and-- and now, well--” she peeked at him through her eyelashes. “I-- I don’t know. I don’t know anything, Lou. I just don’t want you to think that we-- have to stay married or anything just because you-- like me and I-- like you.”
Oh gosh. She was hot in face for sure, hot all over and feeling the fool. It took everything in her not to try to hide her face, the same way she had on the night of their wedding.
TOULOUSE:
Anita let out a little breathy laugh and Lou felt his shoulders relax a bit; it was like that laugh fluttered into the room and broke up all the tenseness, like a little butterfly—to pretty to think about anything but how pretty it was. And Lou was incredibly grateful for it as he sat with his hands in his lap, perfectly still, back as straight as he could get it. (Not very, since his stomach still felt tight and he didn’t want to strain.) Honestly, he wanted to get up and pace, but he knew that would put him out of breath rather quickly, so, instead, he let his uncomfortableness move under his skin.
He watched Anita with a thin smile, lips pressed together, his own cheeks pink.
The smile slipped though, when Anita said divorce.
Lou felt his heart cower in his chest, push towards the back of his ribcage, press up against his spine, like it was trying to get away from the very notion. It wanted to crawl its way up his throat. He hated the very idea of divorce. Of course, Lou was not a religious man; he did not think a god would punish him for a divorce, but, he had seen what it could do to a person.
Yes, logically, he knew that his divorce and his parents’ divorce would be two completely separate entities. Lou and Anita really owed nothing to each other; they didn’t have any assets, no children, not even a dog. But, he could not separate them in his head fully. All of his most vivid memories childhood were of screaming and slamming doors and tears.
The whole reason he hadn’t wanted marriage in the first place was because of divorce. It was actually an old French word, ironically enough, though originally Latin:
Divortium—separation.
His features couldn’t help but twist at the thought. He didn’t know much about their predicament either, but he knew how he felt about that word.
Lou’s eyes drifted out towards the window for a moment, thinking—the gears of his brain turning, but they were whirring and whirring around and around, with nothing to grind through them and straighten out. He had no concept; nothing to base this situation on. It left him feeling scrambled and hot under the collar.
Eventually, he looked back at Anita, though, he couldn’t exactly look her in the eye.
“Yes, w-well, I can…understand why you might think that.” Pause. Lou’s hand reached up unconsciously to touch against the scar on his side, right above his hip.
“But—that was…never my intention. I—well, I suppose we have three options:
One, we—get divorced. And w-we can—date, if you, still want. O-or not, I—understand.” Lou tried to keep the distaste out of his voice as he said it; he wanted Anita to be able to make a decision on what she wanted without his influence. He thought he did a rather good job too, biting on his emotions.
“Two, we…stay married and…are married. We can—figure out exactly what that means I suppose.
Three, we stay married but we ignore it and just—go about our lives as if it wasn’t…relevant. Until we decide what to do.”
ANITA:
She saw how he blanched, and at once felt guilty-- she should have known, she realized, that he would react strongly to such an option. She knew of the divorce. She knew, the way that Lou could tighten up about it, that it had been the nasty sort of history best left in the past. She knew from their short, blissful marriage he still had little scars from it, and she knew now, in light of such a letter, that they may be nearly invisible, but they were deep and aching.
And truthfully, Anita did not want to be divorced and 22 either. For religious and for personal reasons-- as it was, her parents were separated, plummeting toward divorce, and the thought of it made her want to burst into tears. She didn’t want to join them, no matter how different the two situations were from each other.
So what of the other options then?
Married and married, at 22, which Anita had been prepared for really since she was 18 years old and two years into her relationship with Hugh and they were going to Cambridge together and were Anita-and-Hugh.
Or married but not married...whatever that meant.
She could already feel her brain twist in confusion in its attempt to consolidate such a concept into its understanding of relationships. She had always thought she was an open-minded person for the most part. She knew some people didn’t want marriage and that was fine. She knew that men could marry men and women could marry women, and to Anita, that was between them and God and love was love. But the concept of “married but not married” didn’t exactly go down easy.
And married, really married, legitimately married, Anita knew what that looked like for her but what about Lou and-- goodness, they shouldn’t do that, should they? It was mad! They’d only just met (though she felt like she’d known Lou 140 years-- two whole lifetimes).
She bit at her lip, her brow scrunching down again. “Huh. Well.” She began, stopped, adjusted. “Well, I--I-- what would marriage look like then? Because I don’t want to get divorced either, Lou,” she confessed, catching his eye. “It seems like an awful way to start a relationship anyway and I-- I want to be with you. I do. But-- married? Really married?” Her cheeks pinked up. “It-- it feels like that would be an awful lot at once.”
TOULOUSE:
Lou was prepared for Anita to have questions—for her to come poking and prodding at his plan. He welcomed it, actually. Never say that Toulouse Bonfamille flinched from criticism. He was perfectly fine with it as long as it came from people that he respected (those were few and far between, but nonetheless, Anita was included in their number.)
It was funny, because instead of being annoyed as to her questions, her looking to him to have the answers—like he had that first day they’d come back, when he thought she was just doing it for convenience sake: Oh, Lou figured out the first mess, just let him handle it all. He felt proud again—having Anita’s trust. Knowing that she knew that she could depend on him. That was all he’d ever wanted in his life. To have people depend on him. To be good enough that people wanted to depend on him.
And, sure, maybe he didn’t have all the answers to her questions. Maybe he was just lost as her in all this tangled mess of nuptials and time travel, but—he had a straight line to walk now, a clear path that he could see.
Help Anita navigate this mess. He knew he could untangle all those thoughts in her head and straighten them out and make her figure out what she wanted.
What did Lou want? Well—he had what he wanted. That was Anita. It didn’t matter to him in what form that came.
“Alright, so, no divorce—merci dieu, honestly.” He chuckled a bit.
“And, you know—married-married does seem…quite extreme at least right now. I don’t see why we can’t go in with a scalpel and just take out what we want. Chip it off here or there. I say lots of our original conversation still stands: no cheating, of course. Obviously you’re allowed to do whatever you want to do. Living together…? Wedding rings?”
He raised his eyebrows slightly, smile turning a bit roguish. “Sex?” he asked, just to tease her and watch her get pinker.
ANITA:
Living together. Wedding rings. Sex.
Yes, Anita turned pink, and ducked her head at once too. Her hand flew up to touch her hair, fingers threading through quickly and nervously, a strand twirled over his index finger until she let it go. This was what Anita’s mother had called fidgeting. Ladies don’t fidget, Anita, she’d squabble over her little girl, which just made Anita fidget more.
“Ri-- right,” she uttered, the word mostly breath. She looked up at Lou after that second, partially through her eyelashes. She knew that she should not be shy around him. Goodness, they’d made love-- or, er, had sex-- several times, each one better than the last as Anita learned more about moving her hips or using her hands or…
And the thing is, the thing she had really only confessed to Lou and to the priest was-- she really, really liked sex.
She’d have it right now.
She heard her mother’s voice in her head. My word, Anita. And her grandmother’s horrified gasp, followed by: Sex is an unfortunate consequence of being a woman. Anita knew objectively that that was wrong, and also that she was a modern woman and she should enjoy sex if she’d like, but despite all that logic, those women still huffed and fussed in her head. If only she could be like Perdy-- then things would be simple. She’d just tell Lou that sex was definitely on the table. But the thought made her want to cross herself and recite Hail Marys. Maybe over time that would go away if she just did it enough, but what if that was the test all along and she was failing utterly, giving in to all her passions and desires instead of respecting the traditions she was raised with, the morals she was given, the religion that she believed in--
What did she believe in? Was this what a crisis of faith felt like?
Anita couldn’t think like this. She actually popped off the stool at that point and she began to pace, both speaking to Lou and speaking out loud. “Oh-- I--don’t know, Lou. You’re about to find me particularly mad, I know you will, but--I was always taught my entire life that, that marriage was a partnership, it was hard work, building a life together and a family, and sex was-- its reward-- and I know you don’t feel that way,” she began to ramble, looking at him briefly before her eyes hopped back to some indistinguishable point on the farthest wall. “But if we have sex without living together, it feels like cheating somehow, like I’ve, I’ve-- duped the whole system! And I would like to have sex, I admit it, but we shouldn’t live together, should we? I haven’t even met your father! I have… really annoying quirks that you haven’t even seen yet, and loads of bathroom products, I mean loads, and-- well, I couldn’t live here, and you couldn’t live with my aunt and-- I couldn’t afford to get an apartment in town, and I know--wait, would you even want to live together?” Anita stopped mid-sentence, realizing she’d just gone off without even asking this very simple question. Because if Lou didn’t, then, why, that was moot. Not the sex thing, that was a mess, but that was very much Anita’s mess, and maybe if she just confessed every time she did it--
No, that didn’t seem very logical to her.
TOULOUSE:
Lou tightened his eyes as Anita sprang up out of her seat.
It wasn’t annoyance that made him do so. No, he was a bit…jealous, to be honest. The way she was pacing around, turning on her heel, spinning tightly and weaving back and forth over the uneven floor; well, Lou wished he could be doing that. He felt extraordinarily restless in that moment as he watched her, but—well, he could not blame her either.
He knew that she was having a much bigger—crisis than him about this whole thing. Lou had not come into any of this with expectations. He did not know how to be a boyfriend or a husband. Yes, that bothered him to a certain extent—wished he had something to base it on, but, truth be told, he was not overly fond of Anita’s…slightly archaic, completely English, and maddingly prude ideals of relationships.
Not that he would ever push her one way or another about sex—Lou didn’t know a lot about it from the standpoint of what to do and what not to do (had never been taught) but he did know he didn’t want to be having sex with anyone who didn’t want to have sex with him. For whatever reason.
So, he let her talk and babble and pace about, a little jealous but mostly amused—and trying to sort out what was at the root of what she was trying to say.
He found her perhaps a smidge mad; but he’d never claim that he was perfectly sane. In fact, many would argue that Lou knew nothing of ‘normal’. Lou was just enjoying her little rant, taking it for what it was: her nerves and Anita trying to riddle out this ridiculous position that they had found themselves in.
When she spun around towards him abruptly, his eyebrows went up again in surprise.
Then, he leaned forwards a bit, wincing—just a little twitch in his cheek—and reached for Anita’s hand, grabbing it and tugging her a step towards him—bigger wince at that.
“For the record, I could easily afford an apartment—I wouldn’t mind affording an apartment for us. I know—you work hard, and that it is no fault of your own, so—I would not mind. But, I…don’t…know if I want to leave Marie and Berlioz alone…” He frowned and snorted. “And I know that is silly, seeing as they’re both practically grown.” He shrugged. “Anyway, so—moving into together for now is not on the table. We can always reevaluate later on. In a few weeks or months or something. But, are you saying—no sex if we’re not living together?”
“For the record, I was mostly teasing you. I—know this is all confusing. We can go slowly. There is no precedent for this kind of situation. Which, is why I’m saying it is up to us. And, I—don’t care. You know I don’t have very strong feelings about any of this—except, well, for you.”
ANITA:
At first the look on his face made her want to cover her face with her hands or her hair-- trip over herself as she bolted for the door. She didn’t know why she’d even opened her mouth really. She should have shoved it all very deep down, because she knew that she was mad. She could hear herself, all the rambling echoing loudly back to her, mocking her. Listen to you, Anita. You have no idea what you’re saying and he doesn’t respect what you’re saying because of it. Or maybe he wouldn’t even if you did.
She was just so used to the mocking, you see. Little prudish Anita, little Catholic Girl Anita, little plaid-skirt, pumpkin-haired, grandma Anita. She was prepared to bite back, or usually she was. Lately, actually, she just felt so tired.
If Lou did mock her, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength this go-round. Everyone else was right, weren’t they? Little prudish Anita, that was exactly who she was. She wasn’t any fun, she was a regular ol’ stick-in-the-mud, she was a coward and a bore and now that Lou say that, he’d leave her. Why would he stick around anyway? Anita could count off her flaws for him.
She braced herself, biting down into her lip a little. In the blues of her eyes sparked a glimmer of fear. Her heart was so freshly mended. It was like the new coat of paint had not even dried yet. It could rust again, easily, with just a sour word.
But Lou took her hand and drew her a step closer and at once she felt better.
Her shoulders slumped, and Anita let his words in, one by one, bit by one. She was definitely blushing still, biting her lip still-- embarrassed by herself. But Lou made it better. He’d made the wedding better and the reception better and the wedding night--
She felt her heart beat a little faster. No matter how confusing and strange it was, her wedding night-- that misplaced night, out of time and space-- would always feel perfect to her. The way it should have happened.
She finally smiled again when he stopped, looking down at their hands. “I-- I know,” she began, quietly. “I don’t mean to sound crazy-- and it is ridiculous. Because I-- I do want to have sex with you,” she said, quite red now, though she managed to look up and meet his eyes with her own. “I want to be with you and it… shouldn’t matter how that looks. I mean, all my life I’ve been told how it should look, but nothing had turned out the way i thought it would anyway so-- why not just throw out all the rules?”
And she was talking sort of to herself, but also to him too, and once again, she could hear her voice echoing back to her: but this time, it was stronger.
This time, she felt like those words were hers.
“You’re right. We can just take what we want and leave the rest. So-- yes to rings, and yes to commitment and yes to sex--” her smile twitched a little, her dimple winking for a second on her cheek, “-- and we’ll figure it out as we go along.”
Anita [deleted]: So i've been a smidge worried about you but also i need to tell you somethin
Anita [deleted]: what are the odds you forgot about my sneak attack surprise kiss
Anita [deleted]: knock knock who's there we're married !
Anita [deleted]: So I was out walking a little off the path the other day and the leaves in the forest are just starting to turn this beautiful cherry-red that I am sure you'd appreciate, and so I'm here on official leaf-business to let you know that you best rest up, sir, so you can come look at them yourse
Anita: Hello Lou, I just wanted to talk to you about a few things?
The last few days had been a flurry of restless activity, frantic calls and sporadic text messages, as Anita confirmed over and over that she was alright while reaching out to those who did not reach out to her. All the conversations blurred together in her mind-- as she popped back in and out of different ones, trying to keep up with the texts that flooded in-- and so it was three days after the storm, three days after his initial text, that Anita was able to properly conduct a conversation with one Simba Lyons that had gone past the initial Yes, I’m fine! How are you?
And it went something like this:
Have you been in to see Lou yet? Haven’t seen you.
In? What do you mean?
The hospital.
The hospital?
Didn’t you hear about Lou?
And the rest blurred into tears.
She’d snatched up her purse and slipped on her shoes and was out the door in moments, calling a cab even as she began to walk there (Anita couldn’t just stand and wait) and it picked her up two blocks from Cruella’s house. She stared at the rest of the texts as they zipped on to the Swynlake Hospital. He was impaled on a pipe and had to have surgery.
And then she flipped back to her conversation with Lou just-- god-- fifteen hours ago? All those words blurred for her too. Last night, she’d been so confused and furious at the same time, wondering why he would text her after nothing, hoping it meant he did care after all, then having those hopes dashed just as fast as she’d been foolish to think them. Her bitterness toward the entire affair had grown quiet, a steady throb in her heart akin to a bruise more than anything else, but last night he’d ripped it open fresh. How dare he? She’d thought, even as she had shed a few pathetic tears and fought back the urge to text him again in hopes of saying just the right thing to win his affection again.
Stupid. Stupid. She’d officially completed her transformation into that girl.
Or she’d thought that-- well, she still was that girl. But then Simba revealed that Lou breaking the silence was more than likely due to all the pain medication he was on and so she was able to toss away all the unfair anger she’d harbored. She was horrified at herself for it instead. And she needed to make amends, and she needed to see him, and so she pushed her way into the hospital with that goal in mind.
And when she could not wait any longer-- the panic growing in her stomach, a sickness she couldn’t shake-- she’d marched up to the counter and demanded.
“Your relation to--” the nurse began.
“I am his WIFE,” she snarled, because you know-- she was. Sort of. In another world. And Anita had even slipped on the ring again (which she hadn’t worn in weeks) so she might be convincing.
It worked. The nurse looked so startled, which just made Anita glare harder, and perhaps it was the anger, or Anita’s blotchy, tear-stained face, or the ring, but the nurse nodded quick and began to take her down the hallway to Lou’s room.
When Anita arrived, Lou was sleeping. She stalled by the door, all that anger at once wiped out of her. She shouldn’t disturb. She shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want her here. He hadn’t even told her.
But oh, he was so quiet and even from the door and under those sickly lights, she was reminded of the times she woke up before Lou and turned over to see his sleeping face, boyish and peaceful.
Anita entered the room quietly, pulled by some invisible force. Perhaps it was love. Perhaps it wasn’t. She didn’t think too much about it, just sat down at the chair by the bedside and looked at him, her heart hammering away. She shouldn’t touch him-- but she did anyway, reaching out and grasping at his hand with her own.
“You’re an idiot,” she warbled out a whisper, as two more tears slipped down her cheeks. She scooted her chair closer then and resisted the urge to start stroking his cheek and temple and hair, just squeezing his hand again to stop herself. “Oh, Lou.”
