Chapter Text
A framed portrait of Henry VIII clothed in velvet silk and dappled, white fur that stretches over his shoulders is secured onto the cream wall that's abundant in Tudor monarchy paintings. Fixed onto his copper-tinged head is a gilded bonnet, tilted to the right, so the auric tassels don't veil his pretentious face, and saxe blue eyes somehow stare at Rowan as if daring her to observe the illustration any longer. She shivers, diverting her gaze to the museum caption. Carved in silver are a few sentences that she jots onto her worksheet, notes frowzy but legible. As in any other museum, buzzes of light chatter float in the room, the sun filtering through the windows glisten the distributed artefacts while students from schools rove in pairs, impassive towards their work.
Tucking a loose strand behind her ear, though the curl pops out of the hold, Rowan shifts to Aubrey, a grin on her face. "I've got another one! Kiss, marry, kill-"
"Kill all three of them," Aubrey pipes, leaning against the gap between the images of two of Henry VIII's wives and ogling the windows in the ceiling, "reckon we'll get ice cream after this?"
Rowan smirks, bearing her clipboard to her chest, "You just wanna see Milo, don't you?"
She purses her lips, shrugging, leaving the question unanswered as she peers over Rowan's hair, and something grabs her attention. Rowan turns, noticing Elizabeth-her laugh sonorous-and James near the entrance of the Tudor Room. Their ebon blazers are duskier amid the speckles of dust particles, but when Elizabeth catches sight of her friends, she drags James towards them, footsteps brisker. Upon arrival, she releases his hand to yank pieces of paper from her clipboard and thrusts it into Aubrey's hands with a triumphant smile, saying, "we finished the worksheet. Y'can copy if you want."
"All of it?" Rowan queries, "the three pages are double-sided." She's met with James' jocund grin.
"How the hell did you do this so quickly?" Aubrey flips the sheets over to unearth that the other side is also full of harried notes. Each section is brimming with words; scrupulous annotations align the pictures; Elizabeth's familiar doodles of wings and feathers sprinkle the corners as though the pair had idle time.
"We didn't," he counters, checking the leather watch on his wrist, the other hand shoved into his pocket, "Meliodas did it for us."
"What? Why? How'd he finish his work?"
"We're not sure," Elizabeth shrugs, inclining towards James, who slings an arm around her shoulder. "We found him and Tyrone somewhere, a while ago now, they'd already finished their work, and he let us a copy...so we did."
"He's so kind!" Rowan sighs, shoulders slumping and eyes glazed with admiration. James shakes his head in a flash of awkward silence.
"Bu-but these notes are so fricking detailed," Aubrey scrutinises a box bursting with minuscular, penned sentences, snatching the paper to the tip of her nose. "This information isn't even in the museum!"
"It's not?" A line developing between her brows, Elizabeth tilts her head to the left. "Maybe he's researched it before."
"I've never found stuff like this on the internet, not even when we did that Vikings project," she voices, hand surfacing to jab away the hair bowing onto her face. "Google's not this clever. It's like he's-I dunno- lived through history or something."
"That's dumb."
"Nah, look!" She pinpoints her finger on half a page of scrawled writing. "Describe an average day of a family living in medieval times- the information's sprinkled all over the museum, he couldn't have found the answers this so quickly."
"Get over it," Elizabeth laughs, plucking her worksheets from Aubrey's hands. "Sooner you copy this, the sooner we get food."
*
Jasmine's eyes flutter between the passage of writing regarding the Roman Empire and her crabbed letters, pen flying over the page, blotches of ink flecking the sides. Her partner gallivanted elsewhere, having decided to ditch her in favour of his friends. Because of how much work she'd achieved, she found the excuse of having no company far more favourable than a nagging voice in her ear.
As her pen ends the paragraph, the pattern of footsteps against the marble floor alerts her to swivel around, and she rolls her eyes. "I'll give you guys answers once I'm finished."
"We're already done! You can copy if you want," Elizabeth tosses three pieces of paper onto Jasmine's clipboard, then leans against the glass cabinet of artefacts. "We can get food after."
"Finally. I haven't had breakfast, literally starving," Rowan says, hands splayed on the display case to peer at the roman spears and shields.
"Why?"
"Didn't have time," she utters, angling her neck to view the battle equipment. "D'you really think they wore those helmets on their heads? They look super heavy; what if their skulls broke?"
Aubrey snorts, "Their heads weren't as airy as yours."
"Oh, shut up."
"Alright, who actually did the work?" questions Jasmine, brows knitting into a line. "Doesn't sound like anything you guys would write."
"Meliodas let me and James copy, so I let Aubrey and Rowan copy it and then we found you so you could copy it!" Elizabeth lists, grinning at her friend's stumped face.
"Meliodas finished the work first?"
"Yep."
"That's a surprise," Jasmine mutters, contemplating. "Ok, gimme a few minutes to copy this down." She moves next to Rowan to balance her clipboard on the surface, chewing on her pen lid in her mouth. "Oh, Aubrey-" she says, twisting towards the brunette scrolling through her phone, "Milo came past not too long ago. He was looking for you."
"Oooh! Seriously?" Rowan squeals, spinning, hands cupping her cheeks, hair flying in crimson waves. A few nearby people deliver peculiar glimpses. "Is he gonna ask you out on a date?"
"I dunno, do I?" Aubrey grumbles in response, gripping her phone tighter. "Probably something minor."
"I mean, you're next to him on the coach on the way back to school, so I guess he can talk to you then." She remarks, twirling a curl of hair in her fingers. A taut hush washes over, the only noise being Jasmine's pen scrawls, and Elizabeth raises a brow at Aubrey's abrupt, pale complexion. She intends to nudge her shoulder when Rowan yelps, "Milo! Aubrey's over here!"
Neck cracking as she whips her head and, unquestionably, Milo is positioned on the opposite end of the stained-glass window, bathed by the shimmer of prismatic light rays in rainbow shades. He waves. Elizabeth smiles in return as she twirls to notify Aubrey who-
"Where's Aubrey gone?" Jasmine queries, frowning, eyes darting over the expanse, searching for a familiar hazel skull. "Did she... disappear?"
*
"I know you wanna sit next to James, and I'm really, really sorry-I'll make it up to you one day- but please pretend that I've fallen asleep and you don't have the heart to wake me up."
"What? Get off my shoulder!"
Aubrey's head remains resolute on Elizabeth's shoulder, soft tresses tickling her left cheek. She elbows her side, accruing no answer, just a deep feign inhale. Glancing around the aisle in the middle of the coach, of people roaming to uncover stark seats, then grumbling, she whispers under her breath, "you owe me big time, idiot."
"Aubrey-there you are!"
Elizabeth shrieks, hand clasping over her heart, the other clutching the armrest in a vice-like grip, eyes nearly bulging out her skull. From the slight rustle of the weight next to her and the sparse intake of air, she knows, in an alternate situation, her friend would've laughed her arse off. Heartbeat almost reverting to normal, breathing earnestly, she glares at the smug male in front, arms stretched either side, gripping the back of her seat and the one in front, balancing his weight. His lips quirk into a smirk, as though he's trying his hardest not to burst towards laughter. "Sorry," he says, stifling a snort as he gestures to Aubrey. "Milo couldn't find her, so I offered to help. But she's asleep so... I'll go away."
"Uh-yeah. Thanks." She gulps.
Meliodas grins, patting her head, to which she playfully scowls. Instead of departing, he lingers, inspecting Aubrey with a raised brow and squinting eyes. After a few moments, where Elizabeth fidgets using the hem of her skirt, her feet tapping an unrhythmic tune, he decisively says, snickering, "she's not asleep, is she?" Though it doesn't come out as a question.
"Ye-uh, no; she's asleep."
"You sure?"
"Yep."
"Maybe you could swap with Milo?" He suggests, still focussing on Aubrey. "He was planning to sit next to her, so..."
There's an imperceptible pinch on her arm.
"Tell Milo to bog off. I'm staying here." She states, lifting her chin in what she hopes is a defiant manner. Meliodas' eyes travel to her face, and something flickers like a kindling flame.
He nods but tips forward, and Elizabeth can now discern the smell of his hair from whatever shampoo he'd used in the morning, his nose inches away from hers. "And tell Aubrey that if she wants to fake sleeping, her breathing needs to be even." Meliodas grins, straightens and meanders off.
Students swarm into the coach, their bickering invading what little serenity there was before, along with the clap of teachers briefing a rough estimate on when they'd arrive home. The sun penetrates the windows, attacking Aubrey's blinking eyes.
"Dickhead," she groans, nestling into Elizabeth's shoulder. "I'm gonna sleep now. Night-night."
*
When Elizabeth disappears down the road, past the flourishing shrubbery and out of sight, Rowan seizes her key from her pocket and presses it through the door, twisting it once. Once a click is heeded, she yanks the entrance, plunging into her home. It only takes a second for her to scan the wooden shoe rack and realise, with a sigh, that her mum's work shoes are not there again. Kicking her footwear off, she traipses to the kitchen.
Silver pots and pans are dumped haphazardly on the sable counters; plates tossed in the sink; milk rooted on the table; a faint redolence of breakfast persists in the air-exactly how it appeared in the morning. Surveying the kitten calendar on the grey wall, Rowan ascertains that she's at her dad's next week or, what she labels it, dad's turn to have me as a burden.
It's not as if either house is better; it's not as if either planned her birth. And she wonders, dreams, pines, that her life will be different, that she'll discover love.
*
Elizabeth heaves herself onto a fracture of the sycamore tree, the abrasive bark scratching her onyx tights. After hiking up another rift in the trunk and gaining impetus, she hoists onto the lowest, vast branch, pivoting to perch on the bough. "I thought you'd be here," she voices, beaming. Meliodas chuckles, peeking past the foliage of the rich leaves at the field, which gleams beside snowy daisies and baby dandelions that are splashed throughout. "Thanks for basically doing my work today."
"No problem!" he comments, swinging his legs like a child.
"Be honest, how did you finish it so quickly?"
"Found the answer sheet in Mrs Breish's folder."
"What?" Elizabeth demands, mouth opening then closing like a fish. "when? How? Did you actually find the answers?"
"Nope!"
"...oh." She pauses. "So you..."
"I guess I like history." He shrugs, grinning. "It's just one of the many subjects I'm amazing at."
"Cocky brat." Meliodas laughs, eyes sparkling, and he ruffles his blonde mane. Elizabeth ponders whether his hair is purposely chaotic or if it can't be fixed. "What's the deal with your hair? Why's it so messy?"
"There's nothing wrong with my hair," he proclaims, scoffing. But he brings a hand to his head, petting it. "...it won't ever stay down. There's this person I've known for ages who always used to buy me a brush...she knew it wouldn't do anything, knows better than anyone else really, but she tried..." He sighs, looking to his left, eyes somewhat drooping. "Anyway, is Aubrey avoiding Milo?"
"Seems like it. I have no idea why."
"Are you gonna talk to her?"
"Yeah," she nods, "but I won't force her to tell me." He hums in agreement, snagging a stray leaf and gingerly ripping it across the lines.
"Y'know, I'd prefer to be underneath this tree and looking up."
"...why?"
"It'd be a great view," he muses, staring at her and insinuating something she doesn't-
her pants.
Elizabeth huffs, crossing her arms as he smirks cheekily. A welcome stillness sweeps over, and though he'd made a lewd comment of some sort, it's calm.
"Meliodas," she unexpectedly says. His neck snaps to meet her gaze, sporting a small smile. "Good luck with the upcoming match!"
"WE BLOODY WON- WE BLOODY WON- WE BLOODY WON! OH MY-"
Whoops, roars, hollows and Tyrone's piercing wolf-whistles pulsate in the football field; students scramble from the stands to bombard the pitch like waves of a plummeting ocean, their cries escalating until Jasmine's sure the entire neighbourhood can hear them. It's a whirlwind, a hurricane, a tornado of screams alongside tears from the sugary taste of victory from weeks of enervating training. She smiles softly as Elizabeth jumps at James, howling congratulations at him and planting a smacking kiss on his face. Some players flopped onto the dewy grass following the concluding whistle, and she sweeps her eyes over them, grinning at their euphoria.
Near the goal, Jasmine spots a familiar mop of hair, and she's on the verge of howling his name, but halts. Instead, her jaw slacks, heart skipping a beat as she freezes in her place and the world lulls.
Because if she keeks at a particular slant and strains her vision, the jade orbs she's accustomed to are not there.
They're obsidian, the most aphotic balls she's seen in her life. A chill slithers down her spine, arms quivering, and she notices he's leering at something. She gingerly follows his gaze to the centre of the pitch where James is swinging Elizabeth in circles, her laugh blending with the hollers of students. Jasmine snaps to the face, and, to her utmost surprise, the inkiness has drained out, reverting to radiant emeralds.
The world gushes back into clarity, the clamour of reality pooling into her ears, and she gulps.
Meliodas.