[bordeaux] snowfall left splinters; some winters never end { montse }

“Hm,” she noted but didn’t really look in the direction of the server, instead, her eyes focused on him and wondered what it was that she was missing. He was talking, of course, but seemed to have barely scratched the surface on the depths of whatever glimpse of feelings she had observed earlier. Brief touches might have offered her initial insight on what was there but it hardly gave her the proper perspective on how much he was hurting. At one point in time, she had felt so connected to him but that felt so long ago now.

Under different circumstances, she might have gone into details about her apartment considering it represented much of her life outside of work which kept her unusually busy. Or, she might have told him more about how much she had grown to like her work even though it kept her away from Paris. But none of that seemed to matter, not now at least, and as she gauged his response for what topic of conversation might interest him (as to not focus on the one hurting him the most) she came up with nothing.

Instead, she watched as the glass made a neat arch across the courtyard and into the vines, but instead of chastising him again or attempting to retrieve the glass from its most unusual location, Montserrat relaxed her shoulders and smiled a bit. “Don’t apologize,” she said instead, looking over at him and smiling a little deeper, enough for her dimples to appear, “Things are difficult right now, it’s not your job to be good company,” she continued, bringing a hand up to tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s nice to see you again, that’s all,” she added.

And she was perfectly content to sit in silence if she needed to, even if that hadn’t really been what their relationship was like before. His comment made her laugh a little, the disbelief obvious in the way she did it but she appreciated that he knew that wasn’t the case at all. There was absolutely nothing messy about Prosper, maybe that was the problem, to begin with. So when he held his hands out, she hesitated, almost as if she had forgotten that he was one of the very few people that knew about her secret and hadn’t been unnerved by it.

“This doesn’t seem like a good idea,” she said with a short sigh but moved in his direction anyway as if her mind and body couldn’t seem to agree on the best course of action. She reached out slowly, sliding her hands along his as she held them.

The pain was immediate, a sharp sensation that she could almost feel in the pit of her stomach as what she soon identified as guilt came over her, taking a shaky breath as she could feel the darkness, feelings of despair. Was that disappointment or worry? She couldn’t quite make them out. She closed her eyes to concentrate further, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to dig a little deeper, ignoring the sharp pain that soon transformed into a duller, throbbing in her chest.

Heartache, perhaps? Frustration was obvious, too, though there were many layers to that emotion, the sexual parts she was familiar with, everyone’s manifested differently, but some of these emotions were newer to her, or least much more intense than they had been before and maybe that was what eventually made her pull away, taking another shaky breath as she tried to center herself, the experience making her feel considerably more exhausted and a little dizzy as she took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” she said because it seemed like the easiest, most sympathetic to say at the time. “…the despair, the anxiousness,” she started cautiously, “what are you worried about? Your direction?”

That doesn’t seem like a good idea. Prosper didn’t really care; it was up to her.

And she didn’t really seem to care either.

Montse leaned over, her actions betraying her words, and Prosper felt tense with anticipation. Her fingertips touched his, then slid forward until her hands were neatly placed atop his palms. He kept his eyes on her face.

It had been a long time since he’d let her have a look into his… Well, it wasn’t quite his head, was it? It wasn’t legilimency. She’d always described it as more of a physical-empathy thing, but one’s physical state was tied into other things, so perhaps it was more like a kind of physical-emotional read. That was how Prosper imagined it, anyway. Regardless, it had been a long time since they’d touched in any kind of sustained way, like this. She’d been the only person he’d ever met who could do what she did, and naturally, his heartbeat sped up a little as he placed himself in an open and rather vulnerable position. He was sure that she could tell, and he wondered what she thought of it.

Her breathing was shaky. He watched several unreadable things flicker through her expression. A gentle breeze blew and Prosper shivered lightly, but he couldn't quite tell if it was from the wind or more like the frission of a thrill; there was a little danger here, and he knew she'd be able to sense the excitement he felt at that. He wondered what she'd think of that, too. It was several moments before she finally pulled away and he was eager to hear her thoughts. A little nervous at what they might be.

Not nervous enough to have been the one to pull away first, though.

“You okay?” he asked her, ignoring the apology. Clearly it was still a rather intimate, intense experience for her. Prosper slid his blazer from his shoulder, then lay it out before him on the stone wall he was sitting on. “Sit down,” he ordered gently. Despair sounded a little dramatic to him, and he nearly said so, but she wasn’t wrong, exactly. Besides, Prosper was a dramatic person; she was probably just speaking his language. He reached down to collect her drink from where she'd placed it on the floor. He helped himself to a sip before passing it to her.

“Yeah, I guess,” he answered quietly, giving a brief, shaky laugh. She looked quite affected; he put his hand on her back gently, careful to do it over her clothes. Absentmindedly, and without Ari in his head (not at all!), he stroked her reassuringly with his thumb. Maybe it was reassuring for them both. “You know we were together more than two years, right? I don’t know what to do." He glanced out at the valley again, not wanting to miss the tail-end of the sunset. "I’m back home for now, feel like I'm fifteen again.”

This gift, or rather, this curse granted her the ability to see things hidden from others but at what price? While it was easy to pretend that she had become overwhelmed due to the intensity of his emotions, a more accurate explanation had more to do with nostalgia. It wasn’t something she could put so easily into words, but she supposed that everyone had their signature mark, felt differently, and she had always found it to feel more intimate with people she knew, it was as if her empathy grew two-fold with familiar faces. And though that wasn’t a bad thing, it felt like a violation of privacy or the self, but she wasn’t sure if she felt that way because of what she experienced or if she assumed she’d feel that way if she were on the receiving end.

“I’m fine,” she said, visibly shaken as she took a moment to regain her bearings, finding it easiest to remind herself that she was okay, that it was over now, and somehow, she was a better person for it. “You don’t have to—” she started as she watched him take off his blazer, her face a bit warm and the pounding in her chest vibrating in her ears as it resisted her will to slow it down. Montserrat did not want to take his kindness for granted so she did as she was told, sitting on the stonewall, her eyes focusing on her hands for a moment, they had grown warm as well, before looking back at him.

His answer wasn’t an entire explanation, not initially, but Montserrat figured that it wasn’t her place to ask for an explanation, especially not when her concern was not entirely selfless. Why her? was still a thought that circled around her head on occasion, a little voice of callousness that she had a difficult time silencing around Prosper. Even though she would never say it out loud, the thought itself made her feel guilty. “Two years…” she started; it was meant as a question but her voice hadn’t quite risen at the end like it was supposed to. Had it really been that long? Comparing it to their own non-relationship suddenly felt like a grave exaggeration.

But Montserrat didn’t have any answers and felt useless because of it. “There’s nothing wrong with living at home,” she offered. “I suppose you just learn to navigate the world again, once you’re ready,” she continued with a light shrug. It wasn’t the end of the world, she figured, but she had certainly felt that before. She felt his hand at her back, just barely, but it felt intimate, maybe much more intimate than she would have liked. And yet, she said nothing. “For example,” she started, turning to him with a smile, “is there anything you’ve been wanting to do that you weren’t able to do before? This is your chance.”

Prosper felt a little too drunk for all of this, but he’d always been a showman, and he’d never stopped knowing how to put on a show. He stroked her back absentmindedly.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, aloof, “It’s just my Dad, you know? Wish my mum’s had a bit more space.” Prosper forgot, sometimes, that other people’s worlds didn’t revolve around his; he said it like he assumed she knew all of the details of his parents marriage, forgetting that they hadn’t talked properly in months.

“Feels a bit regressive being back in my old room, and just… Empty.” he added with a small shrug. The room itself was still furnished like it had been when he was sixteen; he hadn’t bothered to change anything yet. Doing so felt like acceptance that he’d be there longer than he wanted to. And the house was quiet. Of course, Prosper hadn’t been spending much time there in these past couple of weeks; he’d been out distracting himself from having feelings, but the last time he’d lived at home had been when he’d been seventeen; his two kid brothers and his mum had all been there, then. Now it was just him and Roland and stilted conversation when he was home.

Anything you’ve been wanting to do... He considered making another bridesmaid joke here, just because those seemed to get under her skin, but he sighed instead. “I don’t know,” he said. His hand at her back stilled a moment before he started stroking small circles there absentmindedly. “It’s so recent I feel like I haven’t had much time to think about it.” Not like he’d thought much about it in the lead-up to breaking up with her, either. Prosper wasn’t one to sit on his feelings; as soon as he’d known, he’d talked to her. He felt another wave of guilt and pushed that right now.

“Stupid thing is, I miss her?” he admitted. He shook his head. “Really stupid because I left, you know? Like, it’s my fault. Wish I could just get her out of my head.” He felt guilty for saying it, too, but wasn’t that the whole point? Break up with someone because you don’t want them around? Speaking of not wanting people around, though, Prosper had spotted Zoé a few rows ahead of him earlier; he’d been avoiding her, too. He’d had too much to drink to be at a wedding with all of these old flames, he thought, his gaze drifting down Monte’s cheek, neck, lingering around her collarbone.

Montserrat could feel his hand along her back but against her better judgment, did little to stop it—her justification was simple, if she made a big deal out of it then she’d convince herself it meant something, if she said nothing on the matter, then maybe somehow it wouldn’t mean anything at all. It was a rather confusing thought.

She nodded sympathetically, never having such a relationship with her own parents she wasn’t sure how she might have reacted personally but when their hands had touched she had gained considerable insight, enough for her to feel for him. “Last time you mentioned that your parents were…” she started though she couldn’t quite remember if he had said they were separating or divorcing, what she did remember was that his brother had been devastated by it. But she wouldn’t probe further unless it was information that he wished to volunteer.

“Of course,” she nodded in agreement, realizing that maybe because a small part of her had been so eager for him to move on, partly because she had been jealous before but also because she couldn’t stand how hurt he looked, she had been quick to suggest movement when it seemed like all he needed were for things to stand still. Maybe in that way, everything would become clearer.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she muttered softly, missing people after they had hurt you or you had hurt them, she was familiar with that on many levels, “There must have been a reason why you left, even if it doesn’t make sense to her or to me or anyone else, what matters is that you took your happiness into your own hands and did what needed to be done,” she said gently, absentmindedly leaning a little bit closer to him as she spoke. “That doesn’t mean that she wasn’t a very important part of your life for a very long time, missing her is natural—give it some time, I’m sure things will become clearer and less painful with it,” she added, giving him a dimpled smile.

She looked down at her lap for a few moments, unsure if asking what she truly wanted to know was too soon or inappropriate, but she needed to know, and so, turning to him again she spoke, “What was it?” she said finally, “The reason why you left, I mean,” she looked at him curiously.

“They’re properly divorced now,” Prosper said, nodding. “Mum has this new place in Lyon, Dad’s in the family home. I think he’s gonna sell it after Léon moves out, but I dunno, it’ll probably break his heart, you know? Léon, that is,” he clarified quickly, scratching the side of his neck with his free hand. He slowed down a little, realising that the alcohol was really making him talk.

“Roland definitely needs to live somewhere else,” he added, his voice more even now. Somewhere that didn’t have all of his ex’s stuff scattered all around it. Somewhere that wasn’t full of memories. Whatever. Prosper still felt very weird thinking about his Mum and Dad as fully formed people, with their whole individual worlds happening in their heads. Well, his Dad, mostly. Prosper couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a proper conversation, and he’d been staying there one on one with him. More guilt there, he supposed.

He nodded, because everything she was saying was right. It was sappy, and probably could have been said in half as many words, but that was never something he’d disliked about her. His gaze lingered on her collarbone a moment before he glanced up to meet her eyes. His own were a touch glassy — he’d had a lot to drink. Prosper straightened up, reluctantly pulling his hand back from where he was touching her back.

“Oh, god,” Prosper said, squeezing his eyes shut, and ducking his head a touch of bitterness creeping into his expression. Clearly, he didn’t want to go into details here. “I feel like such an asshole,” he told her, opening his eyes again to look out over the valley. It was too dark to see much, now.

“I dunno, I’ve felt… Restless?” His energy picked up as he spoke, and he used his hands while he talked. “I don’t know how to describe it. Just this sense that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be? Sounds like total bullshit, doesn’t it,” he asked rhetorically, glancing at her and nodding preemptively. Being bored felt like such a contemptible excuse in a relationship that had started over two years ago. It had just happened so suddenly, and once he’d known, he’d known.