The Past Perfect [Through His Eyes Oneshot]

The Past Perfect

Fate is a versatile thing.

Skeptics find the notion ridiculous, but for the people who believe, it is anything but. It is solemn and fragile, pleasantly and dangerously unpredictable all at the same time—one moment your dearest friend, and the next, your saboteur.

Scientists have built an entire theory about the workings of fate on the hypothesis that something so minuscule—like one too many flaps of a delicate little insect's wings—could ripple through time like a domino, changing past, present, and future.

They called it the butterfly effect.

I. THE PAST

It was all wrong.

A hummingbird a mile away had beat its wings a second too soon, a tenth of a degree too extreme, and everything unraveled. Time shifted, giving way to new possibilities and rescinding old rules.

"I need to go," Rhea said in Caleb's direction without making eye contact. As she scrambled out of the booth, she swiped the scarf she'd discarded on the seat and made a beeline for the exit.

Rhea burst through the doors of Last Call, a mess of thoughts and emotions. It wasn't right—the twinge in her heart told her as much. It was a terrible night, and she was mentally berating herself, so preoccupied in her own misery that she'd barely noticed the guy with the familiar dark hair, sitting hunched on the curb next to her bike.

"Xander?"

He looked up, a gloved hand held flush against his cheek. "Rhea."

"It's freezing," she said, wrapping the scarf around her neck and her coat tighter around her body. "What are you doing out here?"

He lifted a shoulder helplessly in response, and Rhea noticed suddenly what she hadn't at first glance. His expression was somber, humor unusually absent. Under the dim light of the lamp, she could see the glint of hurt in his eyes.

Slowly, she settled down on the curb beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Xander, what happened?"

He chuckled bitterly. "I kissed Alice."

"And?"

"And she slapped me."

He took his hand away gingerly, revealing a stroke of red across his left cheek, just a tender hue darker than his right. If Rhea hadn't known any better, she would have just thought it was because of the cold weather.

When Rhea stayed silent, Xander returned her question. "What happened to you?"

She hesitated. Would he judge her? Hate her? Could she tell him? He nodded at her reassuringly, as if reading her mind. His eyes relayed so deep an empathy that she couldn't help herself. Her heart was gripped with guilt, stomach flipping as the words came out like vomit.

"Caleb and I kissed."

For a moment, everything was still. And then Xander sighed heavily, his breath fanning like tendrils across his face.

"Shit," he breathed. After a beat of silence, he cracked a sad tentative smile. "Well, at least I'm not the only one having a crappy night."

Rhea was momentarily distracted by a strange feeling of familiarity, as if she'd heard that phrase from a dream before. Déjà vu? Close, but no, it wasn't that. This felt as if it were a different memory, like a past perfect hidden in a present tense.

Or maybe she'd just watched one too many science fiction movies lately. Damn it, Willa and her movie collection.

Lost in her thoughts, Rhea hadn't realized Xander had gotten up until he was putting a hand on her shoulder. "Wanna get out of here?" He crouched to stare her straight in the eyes. His were a deep warm brown, like a mug of hot cocoa at the end of a long day. Kind, inviting, forgiving—everything Rhea needed right now.