𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

A Shift

A few days had passed since the night they talked, a conversation from which Tewkesbury had gathered that Florence did not want to speak to him on his terms. He'd respected her wishes, not actively avoiding her per se, but no longer pursuing her at every opportunity. He new that she would come find him once she was ready, and he was right.

Florence looked up at the treehouse from below. The soft and luminous glow of candle light radiating through cracks and gaps in the boarded floor. It was odd, seeing him up there. He had been gone for so long, and she had spent months being met with only his disappointing absence. But now he was here, and that disappointment had turned to dread. It would be a difficult conversation, that was a given, but it had to be done. She was desperate. It pained her to admit it, but she really wanted Tewkesbury back, she missed him dearly. He was first and foremost her friend, and she was the one who screwed things up in the first place. Him leaving didn't help of course, but it was unfair for her to place all of the blame on his shoulders. She was the one who lit the candle, holding out a struck match to its tip which, in response, caught flame, ignorant to its finite wick and inevitably mortal life.

She rose up onto the wood floor panels and caught his attention with a sigh. Her whole body going electric under his eyes. She could tell that he was relieved to see her, as he pushed off of the trunk he was leaning against and made his way over to her in the center of the space.

Summer was at its end, and the light autumn breeze welcomed itself upon Basilwether, chilling its residents and lifting up its burning leaves to billow and twist in the air. The sight seemed awfully familiar to him. Just her, standing there. Not the wind, nor the circumstance but the way in which she simply 'was'. Lowering his eyes from her face, he realized that she was wearing her nightgown. The very same one she had worn that night he remembered so well. The night burned into his memory, flashing through his mind on occasion, sending him into a swirl of desperation and longing. He was much less subtle than he had been that Christmas Eve, and Florence caught onto that very easily.

Crossing her arms over and around her chest, placing her delicate hands on her shoulders, she spoke, dragging the boy away from his thoughts and back into the moment.

"Stop staring T, I want to talk to you- about everything."

"Right- yeah." He stumbled over his words, still caught up in the deja vu of her image.

"That night, I- it was my fault. I'm the one who started it a- and it never should have happened - but it did - and I'm sorry." She gushed, the confession spilling out of her uncontrollably, unable to get a hold of her frantic tone. "After that, I understand why you- why you had to leave, I mean I would hav-"

"Thats not why I left." His eyes pierced through hers, trying to read her and figure out just how she had managed to come up such a ridiculous conclusion. "You thought I left because of what happened? -Because of you?" He couldn't believe it. No wonder she had acted so coldly towards him.

Dear god, he could only imagine what she must've thought of him during his months away. Those months she had spent mourning their relationship, a perfect and thriving flower that she had killed with a single step, stomping away any life it held.

"Then why'd you leave me here?" Her eyes began to tear, the liquid glazing over her eyes and causing them to gleam, Tewkesbury's reflection become clear in her irises, his own distressed character coming into view. She suddenly noticed the thin leather string tied around his right pinky finger. The texture, creased and crinkled from many shifts and washes, caused her heart to fall further down in her gut. Such a small item, a worthless and damaged object, and yet it held so much value to him, as he had chosen to wear it ever since.

His hand raised up towards her cheeks, gently rubbing away the tears slowly raining down from her eyes. He cupped her face and brought her to look at him, her own hands unraveling from her chest and grabbing his wrists.

"I had to go, it had nothing to do with us, I promise you Flo. I wasn't ready to sign my life away to the land, there was so much I wanted to do, so much I still want to do." Her pulled her into a tight hug, squeezing her to him as though she would slip away if his hold faltered for the slightest of seconds.

"I missed you T." She breathed into his chest, her tears drying on his white shirt. They stood there for as long as they needed. Enveloped in the adrenaline of restoring what had been, and salvaging who they were together.

"What happened to your band?" He mumbled into her hair, unwilling to release her from the long awaited hug. "The band? What band?" Confused, she tensed her forehead, straining her momentarily relaxed expression. "The one on your finger, from last year. Remember?" He tried to jog her memory, bring back a piece of their past and remind her of the time they spent together, alone.

"I um- I had to take it off." She spoke calmly, unsure of how he would handle the information she had been keeping from him for far too long.

"What? Why?" He chuckled. Florence could feel the vibrations of his laughter against her skin, making what she had to confess next, that much more difficult.

"T I- I've been promised."