(no subject)

[thecoolone]

He wakes up to an almost-forgotten longing, right in the pit of his stomach, at the sight of the head of silver-blonde hair falling in rivulets against his shoulder. There's a brief moment of Oh, fuck, what have I done? but he lets it go; the bed is warm and Fleur looks so peaceful, so contented.

Bill knows he loves her.

He also knows he doesn't.

He also knows he does; he leans over and kisses the top of her head so softly it's almost like butterfly wings caressing her.

Fleur, Fleur. You and I make so little sense.

Compare, contrast: at one point his skin was golden-brown from spending so much time in Egypt, but now it's pale and freckled, in contrast to the smooth unblemished peach-white of hers. In a way that's so symbolic: she's perfection and he's never been. She's smooth where he's rough; she's graceful where he's clumsy; she dances where he walks. He's older, but in some ways he feels so inadequate next to her.

But he loves her.

And he doesn't.

And he does.

Comments

[leplusbeau]

*into Bill's neck*

I am not good at being faith. Not good at any thing like that. I forget and I.


...I nevah wanted to hurt you.

[thecoolone]

"I know, Fleur. I know."

About all of it, love, every bit of it.

He plays with a curl of her hair: it's such a simple gesture, but so fulfilling.

"I'm not perfect. Most days I'm not even very good at life, especially not at this place. But you know me, Fleur, and you know I can't lie, it's not in my nature. I missed you and I didn't even know it. I missed you so much. I don't know if what we're doing here is right and I don't know if it's wrong. All I know is that it's something that's happened."

Enough talking: he holds her while he can, fearful that the opportunity will vanish in an instant.

[leplusbeau]

*Fleur whines and clings.*


I am not good with thinking!


*She thinks of Ophelia with her Blaise, and how she did miss Bill. Maybe maybe maybe.*


...do you love me? Still?

[thecoolone]

"I love you still."

His voice is nothing more than a shadow of sound, a whisper.

"I never stopped."

[leplusbeau]

Oh, minet!

*She throws her arms around Bill's neck and kisses him again and again.*



Je t'aime. Calme craintif, mais je t'aime. ...Je vais être désolé.


*She opens her eyes.*


Je t'aime.

[thecoolone]

Closing his eyes as she opens hers, he lets her words dance inside his thoughts.

Why does this hurt?

Let it go, let it go, let it go.

He feels her heart beating.

He loves her still, and always.

[leplusbeau]

*She snuggles closer, watching him. And traces a pattern across his chest with the tips of her fingers.*

[thecoolone]

Was it just last night that he told her to stop touching him? Tried to command her mentally to either let go or to keep holding his arm? He knows by feel where she is; her fingers are like feathers dragging across his skin and her memory is long; she knows he likes that.

"You can smoke in this bed all you want." With a laugh his eyes open and he studies her, feeling for all the world like his birthday and Christmas arrived early, wrapped together in a neat little package.

For the first time since he came to this place, he sees things clearly, stretched out before him in infinitely possibilities, infinite patterns. He sees the magic behind it all, and the brilliance of it all, and the potential in it all.

And he understands the symbolism in divesting himself of the gemstones he'd collected: the sapphire to Elaine, one emerald to Tom, the other to Charlie. He needed to shed the old.

He needed to do it to make room for this.

"Fleur, my heart and soul." He leans forward to kiss her.

[leplusbeau]

*Fleur puts a finger to his lips.*


Slow. Thiz will be slow. If you ask me to marry you next week, I will hide under your bed and tease you with a naked ankle for the rest of our livez.


*She shapes his mouth around the word and makes them both repeat it.*


Slow. Oui, oui, very good.


*And she giggles at the both of them as she kisses him again, twining her arms and legs about him.*