Amour et Glace

Phileas Hears a Simple Song Everywhere

Estella had a saying she was fond of, whenever she talked of Paris.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est censé être d'autre ?"

Or, for those not fluent, "What else is it supposed to be?"

The real irony of that saying is she never said one thing about her life as such, at least not while shewas engaged Phileas.

Heck, she never even mentioned Paris until they'd started their plans to marry right in the middle of university, then honeymoon there.

You could say Phileas never really knew her at all.

Which, one would suppose, is actually true.

But let's start where all the best stories do, at the beginning, only not really.

When Phileas had gotten word that Estella had not only passed away, but he'd been put in charge of putting together her funeral.

As bad as it could've been, she only had a few demands.

One, no one was allowed to cry.

Two, the color black was expressly forbidden. All attendees were to wear a variety of rosy pink.

As Phileas stands in front of the coffin being lowered, he can't help but roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the whole thing.

God, I'd give anything to argue with her about it. He thinks, even as his friend Crowley stands next to him for moral support.

And lastly, she wanted a magician to perform.

As luck would have it, Crowley knew someone who did do close up magic in his free time.

Unfortunately, what he'd failed to mention was that just because he did do it, doesn't mean the blond haired man was good at it.

Phileas shakes his head at this too, "God, what was she thinking?"

As Phileas lets himself be led away by his doppelganger friend, Crowley notes, "I think he's cute."

Phileas scoffs, "Crowley!"

Crowley backpedals, "Right, sorry. Funeral. Sad."

The fourth and final demand Estella made was that Phileas was to still go on the route of their planned honeymoon to Paris.

Apparently she made a life for herself there all those years ago, when Phileas had gotten cold feet and backed out, so she wanted him to have a front row seat to everything he'd given up.

He'd asked if it was possible to bring his friend Crowley along, but the will had stipulated that Phileas had to go on his own.

Which, Phileas thinks, is a pretty accurate description of how he feels about this whole thing.

"You alright, Phil?" Crowley asks as they walk back to Phileas' house. "Besides the obvious, I mean."

Then he pulls out his phone, as a distraction, and asks, "What do you think I should post?" he holds up a picture of him in this skin tight leather deal. "This?" He swipes it again, this time showing off a sundress with longer hair, "Or should I switch it up?"

Phileas doesn't answer, says, "Crowley, please. You know I don't do that whole social media thing."

"Oh I'm sorry, was I talking to you? When was the last time you went out and just had fun?"

When Phileas opens his mouth to reply, Crowley stops him, "Not for the Reform Club, that doesn't count. When did you last do something just because you wanted to? And in Paris..."

The red-haired man swoons. "Phileas, I'm going to just straight up tell you: If you don't haul your ass on that plane and come back with someone on your arm, you can call our friendship as good as over."

"What a shame." Phileas says good-naturedly as they approach his house's front door. "I was just starting to like you."

"I mean it, Phileas!" Crowley protests. "You refused to so much as look at anyone else after you and Estella broke up."

"And where was I supposed to meet someone? In the Reform Club? In a lecture hall?"

"Fine, fine."

In Phileas' room, as Phileas starts packing, he tells Crowley, "Why do I have to leave tomorrow?"

"Why do you have to go by yourself?" Crowley follows up.

"My parents passed away years ago. Grayson's all I have left." Phileas explains.

"And Estella never mentioned if she ever...met someone else?" Crowley broaches carefully.

"Please be serious." Phileas blows him off. "If I'm ever unlucky enough to find out who, I'm going to break his nose."

"Sounds like her." Crowley muses, while watching Phileas try to close the suitcase. "Phil, come on, you don't need all those books!"

"Yes I do!" Phileas says indignantly. "If I'm going to be an engineer, I need to get ahead on every possible thing related to it!"

Finally, the zipper shuts, so Phileas relaxes for a second, then asks, "Why do I even have to go at all? She left and had a whole life without me. Her last wishes aren't my responsibility."

"Phileas..."

"I mean I know we've made so many technological advances to transportation, but planes aren't as safe as they look!" Phileas tries to talk himself out of it.

"Alright, that's it. Phileas, you have to calm the fuck down. You're going to Paris, fucking Paris, and you're acting like you've just been sent to Guantanamo Bay. You're going to have the best time."

He points right at Phileas, "Repeat after me: 'I am going to make the most out of every second I spend in Paris.'"

Phileas says nothing, but Crowley's not having it, "I can't hear you."

Rolling his eyes, he says it with his friend, "'I am going to make the best of every second I spend in Paris.'"

Crowley grins, "See? Not so hard."

Phileas smiles back, "I still hate that I can't bring you with me."

They hug briefly, and fine, it does make the sting less painful.