𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳ ᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²

04

04 . 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗴𝗶𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲
𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗲𝘀 .

     𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 familiar feeling of the wooden floorboards, that coated the ground of the Chateau.

It was late, the sun had gone down over the marsh and they'd watched it disappear over the horizon from the hammocks in the backyard. The sky was made of small clouds now that covered some of the stars, and there was a breeze that kissed the forehead of anyone that turned toward it. She didn't know how much time had passed since daylight slipped away— but it didn't matter.

After standing in front of the big oak tree for what seemed like an hour, hand in hand with one another and under the fading sun, the four Pogues lied on the two hammocks for a while. They didn't really talk, they didn't really need to— and even though Charlotte had just gotten back, after a few minutes it felt like she never left, and they didn't need to dwell on her absence for much longer. She was with them now, she wasn't going to leave for a while, and they were finally together again. What was important, was that they were with one another, that night, thinking of their lost friend through silent communication as the waves calmed in the marsh and the crickets began to chirp.

Now that the darkness was getting to her, Charlotte had hugged everyone goodnight— Pope got a fist bump because his tolerance for sentimental actions was far over by then. They didn't ask where she was going, because they knew she was heading for the house and not biking home, it was too late. So, she hopped off the hammock, glanced to the big oak tree, and walked through the grass in the dark, towards the back porch.

Her eyes were tired and heavy when she looked around the porch. She told herself she would look at everything and reminisce the next day, when she could sit and feel it in a better light. Something close to nostalgia was clattering in her chest and making her throat dry as she stepped over the threshold of the front entrance, with a wide view of the living room and kitchen before her. In the dark she couldn't quite see it all, but the outlines and contours of familiar furniture was enough. There was no need for lanterns anymore because the power was back, but she still imagined the house being lit up by lanterns like she always remembered it'd been.

Slowly, she walked around the corner and a few steps into the hall— but she didn't have to walk much to reach his closed bedroom door. Her heart tightened and she stopped in front of it.

"Are you sure," JJ's voice was calm as it entered her ears from behind. He was standing in the living room, his eyes pinned on Charlotte who stood in front of the closed door. "I could give you my spot on the hammock," he said, his voice quiet.

The Pogues must've been concerned, as much time had actually passed.

She swallowed. "It's okay," she said, quietly, looking over at him. There was a heavy look in her eyes, and she tried to put on a small smile. Their voices were like thunder in the silent home.

He stood for a second, looking at her. She lifted her eyes up to make eye contact, and sent him a silent message through her gaze, and his lips twitched into a tiny smile.

"The door hasn't been open since we checked for things to send away." JJ said, taking slow steps. He was holding his baseball cap in his hands. "Not much is gone."

She stared at the ground for a moment. "I'll be alright," she said. She didn't know why she said it, but it just felt necessary.

He nodded, a grave look on his face. "I know," he said, meaning it. "I'll be on the hammock, okay? Pope'll probably come in an' sleep on the couch."