Chapter Text
Violet, blue, green, red, to keep me at arm’s length don’t work. —Cinnamon Girl
October 29th, 1996
Lily pressed her palm against the window, feeling the glass beneath her fingertips. There were thousands of nerve endings in her fingertips, yet she felt numb to the cold as she stared at the drifting snowflakes. November in Cambridge had brought along a sudden winter, an early snow leaving the university a frozen wasteland as students retreated indoors.
“Ta-da!” Ava’s expression was triumphant as she held up a sketch of Lily staring out the gilded glass. “I think I’ve captured your facial expressions this time. What do you think?”
Personally, Lily thought the sketch was painfully realistic. The tightness of her features, the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath fogged the glass in the crystallisation of a sigh—Ava’s skills translated her exhaustion onto paper.
Ava must’ve seen something in her expression because her smile quickly fell. “You don’t like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
Lily turned away from the window. The snow had started to fall heavier now, blanketing the courtyard in white. There was a dull throb in the back of her head, tell-tale symptoms of an incoming headache. It hurt to look at so much white.
“I just didn’t think I looked so lost.”
Ava’s expression flickered between pity and sadness as she reached over, tugging Lily into her warm embrace. “It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. You don’t have to carry the burden all by yourself.” There was a soft huff as Lily relaxed, releasing the tension that strung her nerves. “So, did you manage to find the Holmes boy?” Ava continued innocently, oblivious to the way Lily’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
Ava raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at Lily’s tone. “I’m simply curious whether you’re going to end up doing the entire project yourself in lieu of working with your assigned partner. You’re already exhausted as is.”
“That’s what I’m here to talk about.”
Lily registered the scent of bergamot and oakmoss a moment before she heard his voice. Upon meeting William’s eyes, there was a sheepishness she did not recognise, along with the faint crinkle of a smile. Attired in a crisp button-down and tailored coat, he looked nothing like the dishevelled, tortured man whom she’d rescued from the depths of a drug den.
“You must be William.” There was a teasing lilt in Ava’s voice as she held out her hand for William to shake. “Ava Barclay. It’s nice to meet you.”
For once, William seemed obliged to obey societal norms as he shook Ava’s hand, a charming smile on his face. This time, there was no hiding the surprise on Lily’s face as she watched him converse with an easy grace that quickly left her best friend at ease. It felt odd to see him at his best when he usually projected his worst around her.
With his attention successfully diverted, Lily took the chance to study him. There was a fullness in his cheeks—he’d recovered some of the weight he’d lost, filling in the hollows of his cheeks with a healthy flush, perhaps exacerbated by the fact that he was blushing? Lily blinked, unable to believe her eyes. Before her, he was surly, rude and borderline hateful, yet he chose to become the perfect aristocratic gentleman before Ava. At the rate he was changing personalities, he was sure to give her whiplash. Lily couldn’t hide the scoff that escaped.
William’s attention shifted back to her immediately.
“Yes?”
He was smiling at her, his expression warm for once, yet Lily couldn’t muster the energy for even a small reciprocating smile. Suddenly nervous, she looked away, shaking her head. She didn’t know how to face this polished, perfect version of him. “It’s nothing,” Lily muttered, “I have to go, I have class in an hour and I haven’t had lunch,” pulling on her coat and giving Ava a brief hug before heading for the stairwell.
One, two, three, Lily counts under her breath. Instinctively, she knows William will follow, and he does, his hand a warm weight on her shoulder as he pulls her to a stop.
“I haven’t had lunch either,” he stated in a way that implied she was supposed to care.
“How unfortunate.”
“Quite,” he replied as he opened the door for her, waiting for Lily to step out into the courtyard.
Immediately, the cold air deeps through her jacket and into her bones as she sneezes. There was a quiet huff behind her, then the sudden weight of wool draped around her neck—a scarf, warm and faintly scented with bergamot. William’s scarf. Lily looks up to see a crooked smile on his face. She blinked as he adjusted it with careful hands, not quite meeting her eyes. Cautious, she thought.
“What is it with you and braving the cold in barely anything?” His voice was scolding, yet the effect was dampened by the fact that he was tying the scarf into a bow.
Lily was firmly convinced the world had gone mad.
William led her into a quiet café, seating them by the window before signalling for a waiter with an arrogant raise of his hand. Lily’s stomach felt tight with nerves as she randomly pointed at a dish on the menu before turning to stare out the frosted glass so she wouldn’t accidentally meet his eyes.
For a while, they ate in silence. Lily focused on her soup. It tasted like ash on her tongue. William tore pieces of bread with unnecessary care, like it gave his hands something to do.
“I heard you met my brother.”
Lily didn’t answer immediately. She lifted her spoon again, let it hover over the bowl for a moment, then set it down with a soft clink.
“I did,” she said finally, her voice neutral. “He was very insistent that I know the risks pertaining to becoming friends with you.” Lily paused, watching William’s expression. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he flinched at her words. “Ironic considering we barely know each other.”
William gave a soft, dry laugh before his expression settled into something more bitter. “That sounds like him. Always cleaning up my messes.”
She turned to face him, her expression carefully blank. “Is this what you’re doing? Cleaning up a mess? Tying up some loose ends?”
“Lily.” Lily startled at the sound of her name on his tongue. She could recount numerous times she’d called him by name, yet this was the first time he’d ever said hers in a way that wasn’t mocking. “Lily,” he repeated, like he didn’t know what else to say. He seemed lost as he looked out the window, jaw tightening for a second before exhaling through his nose, slow and deliberate.
“You’re not a mess.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on her as she glanced sideways at him. He wasn’t looking at her. Just at the glass. He stared with such intensity that it might offer him a correct answer.
“I don’t think you’re a loose end,” he continued, quiet but certain.
“How very reassuring,” Lily murmured. “So why are you here?” After a long moment of silence, she sighed, her fingers tightening around the edge of her bowl. “If you’re here to thank me, don’t bother. It was simply the right thing to do.”
“That’s not—” William stopped, running a hand through his hair as he mussed up his perfectly styled curls. He seemed agitated as he snapped his gaze back to hers. “That’s not why I came.”
“Then what do you want from me?” The words came out sharper than she intended. She could feel her composure cracking as its edges as she forced herself to calm down, focusing on the steady thrum of her heartbeat instead. “Why are you here, William?”
She heard the scrape of his chair shift as he leaned forward, arms on the table. “I don’t want anything from you.” He looked frustrated, as if words couldn’t properly express the storm of emotions within him. “I just don’t want your impression of me to be an addict who can’t even take care of himself.”
“Is that why you showed up all prim and proper today?” Lily straightened her spine, meeting him eye-for-eye. “Do you believe that one lunch will disguise the truth within? You kissed me on our second meeting! Then you proceed to throw yourself into a drug den and have a withdrawal so intense it caused a fucking seizure.”
The unravelling of his composure came soon after hers.
“Oh, shut up.” The venom in his voice was unmistakable, although not as obviously as the hurt in his eyes. “You act like I forced you to follow me into the drug den, much more drag me out there. I had it all under control.”
“Yes, like the way you nearly killed us both because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut,” Lily retorted. There was the William she knew, all barbs and edges, self-destructive to an extent that the aftershocks rattled those around him. For a second, she almost pitied him. Almost. “You know,” she said quietly, “for someone who claims not to want anything, you’re very good at demanding reactions.”
His jaw clenched. “And you’re very good at pretending not to care.”
“Pretending?” Her voice wavered ever so slightly. “I’m not pretending. I never wanted you around,” she said, eyes cold, even though her hands trembled in her lap. “I just didn’t want to watch you die.”
“And there you go again,” he murmured, eyes bleak and distant. “You’re pretending again.”
The silence that ensued stretched taut between them, fragile as spun glass.
When the waiter came to clear their half-eaten plates, Lily pushed hers away wordlessly and stood.
“I need to go,” she said.
“Of course,” he murmured.
She paused before turning, her gaze brushing his face one last time. “Next time, if you’re going to show up, figure out why first.”
Then she walked out, leaving the scarf on their table, braving the cold winter alone, as she always did.