❝ I can't save us ❞
in which the Foxling and the Codfather exchange
trades, looks, and blue orchids in a world of war,
death, and political alliances.
❝ my Atlantis ❞
( male!oc x solidarity )
( empires smp...
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FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS | CHAPTER NINETEEN
THREE WEEKS PASSED, BUT THE memories stayed.
Atticus had spent most of the days in his bedroom, drafting paperwork and pretending to otherwise be busy. The panic attack replayed in his mind at all hours of the day when he didn't distract himself, rendering him too embarrassed to think about anything else.
The Codfather had seen him vulnerable.
Looking weak was already something Atticus despised; to be so powerless in front of someone that he had begun to consider a friend terrified him. Though he logically knew that the Codfather would never use the scene against him, Atticus couldn't help but worry that one day his relationship with the Codfather would see the results of the vulnerability.
The Codfather hadn't visited since Atticus had left him alone without a goodbye. Atticus knew it wasn't fair to blame him, since he hadn't gone to visit the Codfather either. It wasn't fair to present the Codfather in a bad light when Atticus himself was hiding in the shadows.
Though she didn't say so, Atticus knew Jane felt the same.
"You could write to him," she suggested one afternoon after having brought Atticus the date for the next Council meeting.
Atticus hummed non-committedly, sparing a glance out the window in the direction of the Cod Empire. "I don't have to visit for another week," he pointed out.
Jane frowned at him. "He's your friend, Foxling. You should start acting like it."
He met her eyes for only a moment before he had to look away, knowing she was right. He had never been a good friend to anyone as he grew up; he didn't want to mess up the one time he might be able to be. "I'll write to him," he agreed, absentmindedly picking up a quill.
Jane nodded in satisfaction. "I'll see you for dinner then." With that, she took her leave.
Atticus looked down at the paper on his desk, blank. He couldn't think of what to write—what apologies to make. He only knew that the letter had to be perfect or he wouldn't send it. He was already doubting sending anything to the Codfather; he didn't need to give himself any more reason to hide.
He stood, abandoning the paper and quill at his desk as he wandered outside. His garden was still in full bloom, though with the winter approaching he knew the flowers would soon wilt. Most of them, anyway—some could survive even the harshest of weather. Some would freeze until spring, when time would catch up with the petals. And some would have to be replanted every month, such as the blue orchids. A reason for going to the Cod Empire.
A reason for seeing the Codfather.
Atticus let out a quiet groan, walking back inside. He sat down at his desk once again and picked up his quill, beginning to write without much thought put into the words.
