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Elain's heart is so full from the smiling kindergarteners and the paint splotches covering her jeans —it was art day at the school— that it takes her a second to realize just how cold and desolate her apartment feels. She shivers as she tosses her keys on the counter and switches the kitchen light on.Despite the warm yellow glow the rest of the house is still dark and foreboding. The floor to ceiling windows high above the city seem to make the shadows of buildings crawl across her space.
Inheriting this place from her late father was both a gift and a curse. She wasn't used to this life of grand and tall, having grown up in a quiet cottage on the outskirts of the Vanserra Forest with her sisters and their mother. But her father, in his passing, had asked her to have this place, and when she had gotten a job in the city it seemed to all fall into place. A little too nicely she sometimes thought but it immediately came with a flood of regret for being so ungrateful. So she sucks it up and lives in this big loud place with its large concrete slabs and the glass that refracts the light instead of letting it melt.
She should visit home.
Instead she moves through the apartment, switching on lights and talking softly to the plants scattered like jewels around her home.
Hello little Thea, glad to see the burns are clearing up.
And buttercup, oh you are sprouting the prettiest flowers
Ah and Nicolas you look a little down? She frowns at that, making a note to give him some water after she showers. I know how you feel buddy, she strokes a leaf.
Then she's at her room and she's pulling off the button down and unclipping the bra and sighing at the freedom as each item comes off. Her shower is steaming, enveloping her like the morning fog when she used to skip to school. By the time she steps out, the floor is slick with the dampness of the steam, and her stomach is rumbling loudly. Guess it's takeout tonight; she can't be bothered to cook for one today. Friday evenings were for snuggling up in her giant knitted blanket, switching the TV to some horror/mystery and gauging on popcorn and chocolate.
Her plans certainly start out the right way. The popcorn is popped, the milk duds box pulled apart so she didn't have to shove her hand all the way inside and the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. But just as she puts her choice of movie on there's a ringing at her door.
Her eyes immediately dart to the clock in the kitchen, the crease between her brows deepening as she sees the hand strike nine. The doorbell rings again and she reasonably argues with herself that a murderer would not be so polite as to buzz. Nonetheless she makes sure the baseball bat is sitting in the unnecessarily tall vase near the front door.
With slow, nervous movements she unlocks the door, poking her head around. And laughs herself silly when she sees Chaol, her next door neighbor and fast friend in this strange city, standing in the other side.
He looks confused as he stares at her, doubled over, tears pooling in her eyes, laughing at her own jumping mind and absurd theories.
"You alright, love?" It's the first words he ever said to her. The day she moved in, boxes stacked past her head, wobbling down the corridor like a newborn deer.
"Hello Chaol," She sighs the last of her laughter away, "Glad you're not a murderer."
"Glad I'm meeting the bare minimum." He raises an eyebrow. "Can I come in?"
"Did you bring me chocolate?" She demands.
"Something better." He winks.
Apparently in the four months they'd known each other he had her pinned down, because she falls for it hook, line and sinker.
"What?" She squeals, "Tell me!"
“You have to let me in first."
She steps aside, practically bouncing as he walks in but just as she's closing the door she spots her dinner walking up the hallway.
Moments later, pizza boxes in hand, she settles back on the couch, her leg pressing against the warmth of Chaol's
She offers him a box and digs into the three cheeses, an expectant look on her face.
Chaol isn't even looking at her, transfixed on the pizza in front of him, eyes shaped like hearts as he stares at the cheesy, pepperoni goodness.
"Can you stop looking at the pizza like that and tell me the exciting thing!" She scolds, jabbing him in the side.
"I am having a moment." He pouts, and it reminds her of her toddlers at the kindergarten.
With an eye roll she shoves another slice into her mouth and pinches his side.
He glares, already reaching to retaliate. Her brown eyes narrow in what she hopes is a menacing glare. Instead she finds he's fighting a smirk.
"Tell me before I put on a horror movie and make you watch it!" The threat works because his own eyes, a bronze to her hazel, widen in fear.
"Okay, okay," He turns to face her, "I got two tickets to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show on Broadway."
Her scream is enough to deafen the country, and if this fancy apartment wasn't soundproof it might have. Unfortunately for Chaol he was in the blast zone. The scream reverberates through his skull. And then Elain is throwing herself at him, pizza boxes crashing to the floor, and her arms wrapped around his neck.
There are definitely tears in her eyes but later when they recount the story she'll deny every drop.
For now she squeezes his neck, muttering unintelligible excitement against his skin. Her heart is beating to the speed of a race car and her lungs feel like they've taken flight without her.
The one good thing about living in this massive city is that she can watch the productions she's only ever seen on a scratchy VHS when the signal in the cottage was good enough. It's been her one true burning need since arriving, and something she quickly spilled to Chaol. In fact it was the very first night she came, after they had carried all the boxes in and he'd sat on the floor with her eating chow-mein and showing her how to use chopsticks.
His arms are warm around her back, fingers brushing her waist as he hugs her to him, just as fiercely. She pulls back a little, only enough so she can see his face. Their lips are a breath away from brushing against each other. She doesn't think about it.
"Thank you," There's definitely tears in her eyes.
"It is your favourite one yes?"
She just nods, too choked up to respond verbally.
"Want to know when it is?" He grins, and she thinks it rivals the morning sun. "Next week Friday."
Her gasp is soft, sharp with surprise. "You didn't—"
"Oh I absolutely did," His grin widens, and it glows like stars. His hand, large and slightly calloused, comes up to brush strands of hair out her face. He looks at her so gently. They are still so close
"On my birthday?"
"The very day," He taps her nose. "And guess what?"
"Oh gods," She groans, burying her face into his neck. He smells like the forest, and the faintest hints of soap. "I can't take anymore things. I'm going to be a pile of mush soon."
He pokes her side, smiling delightedly, "You get to meet the cast."
She bursts into tears. "I hate you." He kisses the top of her head. "You're the worst person in the world." He strokes her hand across her back. "How dare you make me cry!" He laughs softly; she feels the sound in her stomach.
"Can you quit being sappy for five seconds?" She glares, tear-stained cheeks nullifying her doe eyes, "So I can be mad at you for making me blubber."
"I figured you deserved something special, this being your first birthday away from home in a big city you don't know."
She kisses his cheek, ignoring the blush that covers their cheeks. "Thank you."
"Anything for you little flower." He swipes a thumb across her cheek, cradling her jaw in his hand.
"Anything," She grins.
He groans, knowing what's coming. "Almost anything. I'm not watching horror with you."
She pouts her lower lip, making her brown eyes huge with plead. "I'll give you all the milk duds for it."
He smirks, turning his head to see the box which had been scattered in her little meltdown. "How about something sweeter?"
"Than milk duds?" She frowned, "I'm not sure you should even be eating candy that's sweeter than milk duds. I feel like that's the fast track to—"
His laughter cuts her off, and she frowns at him, feeling his ribs shudder with amusement underneath her.
"What's so funny?" She demands.
"Not candy Elain," He swipes more strands from her face. He always wants to see her. The freckles across her cheeks from far too much time in the sun. And the slight dip in the bridge of her nose where she fell onto a step when she was little and managed to chip off her skin. And the slight rose tint, brushing right down her neck that makes her look like she was permanently blushing. He especially liked to see her eyes, as he had drunkenly confessed one evening, because they reminded him of the warmth he felt on his back when he was at the beach or going on a run or simply standing in the street. A comforting weight, that wrapped its honeyed heat around you.
"A kiss," He stares at her lips, back into her very soul, down to the beating pulse at her neck. "Can I have a kiss?"
"Yes," She doesn't even have to think about it. She doesn't want to. "Kiss me Chaol Westfall."
And unbeknownst to them, when their lips meet, the garden growing inside her New York flat comes to life. They are the sun. They are light itself. They are—
"Dammit Chaol!" She gasps, breaking them apart, "I forgot to water Nicolas."