Something Borrowed - Camren

I

My A/N: Another day, another year without "A Sum of Small Things" update. In the meantime, enjoy Camren being irrevocably, irrefutably in love.

atermoiements (french) - distractions or hesitations leading to procrastination

hiraeth (welsh) - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

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Part I

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"What are you thinking about?"

"That there are galaxies in your eyes."

"You can't say things like that, Lauren."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Lauren does know. The wedding dress Camila is still wearing should be reason enough, but it's the sadness in her favourite pair of brown that speak universes of 'what-if' and 'too-late'. It's the quiet way her ex-girlfriend had bit her bottom lip, eyes on the floor, waiting for Lauren's reaction after she stepped out of the dressing room. It's the way Lauren couldn't hold in a gasp upon locking gaze on the most breathtaking image and how her heart stuttered at the knowledge that it wouldn't be her waiting down the aisle to lay eyes upon it. It's the way she ran out of the shop and Camila chased after her, tulle and all, and how they ended up on a park bench, silent and hurting, sitting in ruminating quiet until the stars came out. Together but worlds apart.

"I've always loved them. A place to get lost in interminable atermoiements."

There were endless hours staring into deep brown irises, procrastinating chores and deadlines in favour of watching the world contract and expand with every kiss and touch and, just ten more minutes, love. She lived lifetimes in the space between blinks and blushes.

"After-moments?"

"Close enough."

"Your French has gotten better."

"Yeah."

"Paris looks good on you."

There's no malice or bitterness behind Camila's observation, only an undeserved kindness, nonetheless Lauren feels the knot in her stomach tighten that pursuing her dream meant gaining a cute Parisian lilt and a haircut de rigueur but losing the raison d'être for painting in the first place.

"Not as good as Polis ever did."

"Lauren."

"I'm sorry. It's the jet lag talking."

"I'm surprised you came straight from the airport."

"Of course. You're my best friend. You said you needed to tell me something important. And I had something to tell you too. Guess your news beat mine."

"I'm sorry. With all this wedding planning craziness, I got my dates and venues muddled. It's not how I wanted you to find out."

"It's fine, Camila. Coffee shop, bridal shop, easy to mix up," she teases though the tightness in her throat says nothing is easy about this. "I'm happy for you."

"Are you?"

Lauren has to look away. The galaxies threaten to subsume her, if not the fatigue of a twelve hour flight and the emotional exhaustion of rehearsing a speech that now will never leave her tongue.

"Really, I'm happy for you and Hailee," is about as honest as she can be, her hireath for Camila carried across the ocean is too heavy to let out other truths. Mainly, it's a gut punch that her happiness sits two feet away yet is now meant for another.