Perekoo One-shots

let you break my heart again 2

This is part two to RosielleJackson 's let you break my heart again  [Mphfpc One-shots] because perekoo deserves a happy ending! I recommend that you read part one cause otherwise, you won't know what's happening. And while you're at it read the rest of their one-shots too because they're amazing!

Tw: mentions of homophobia, slight internalized homophobia

Before I managed to say anything else Alma changed into a peregrine falcon and flew away. I did not try to run after her. I just stood there; cold; confused; alone. What happened? What could I have said or done that upset her? Things have been so good between us. I've been soon approached by Francis.

"What happened?!" He sounded out of breath. "I don't know," I answered, "I mean, things have been going well, have they not? Did I miss something? Did you notice something?" I closed my eyes and ran over our entire conversation, but I couldn't find a single moment where things could have taken the wrong turn. Though I did notice Alma stayed mostly silent during our conversation, but I presumed that it was due to her reserved and shy personality.

"She seemed rather intimidated, I'd say. She didn't like me very much," said Francis with a huff.

"What? Nonsense. What makes you say that?" It took him a moment to answer.

"Wow, you really are oblivious. Did you not notice the way she looked at us?" He said and reached into his coat to pull out a cigarette. As always he offered me one too. "You know I never smoke, Francis." He smiled and shook his head. "Thought you changed your mind," he said walking over to the lamppost. For a moment I stood still looking into the dark night where the peregrine falcon disappeared. Then I walked over to the dark alley where Alma changed and I took her clothes with me. The fine material of her dress seemed comforting and bizarre to me as I missed its wearer. Oh, Alma.

"Ymbryne, this friend of yours," he asked as he gestured to the dress. It was a rhetorical question, but I noticed the way he put weight on the word friend. We had this conversation a million times. He didn't understand how could he. I didn't understand myself. I used to think that these feelings I occasionally get were normal. That every woman experienced it, this feeling of attachment and adoration towards their close friends. That perhaps it was normal to sometimes look at your girl friend and just want to lean in and kiss them out of sheer happiness of seeing them. It was until much later that I could finally name my experience. Queer. Homosexual. Different. The day I understood is also the day I dreaded the most. The day that I realized that there are people who'd think me alien and wrong, evil even. People, who'd go out of their way to cause harm to the likes of me, the people that loved outside of the socially acceptable. I hated myself. I felt disgusting and wicked. For years I thought I was alone, just the occasional mistake the universe has to make to keep its balance. Over the years I learned to accept myself and I met others that spoke of similar or variations of my experience. I eventually found a place I belong. But the fact that I grew to love myself for myself didn't change those around me. I learned to not care about other people's opinions of me. I didn't care anymore what they say when I left the room or when they thought I couldn't hear them.

It wasn't until I passed the mark of 30 that people started to ask me if I had a man. Even as an ymbryne; even though our system forbids any kind of romantic long-lasting attachment, I got asked if I have a special someone. A man of course. Officially, the peculiar law allowed us no marriage, but only a very few of us actually followed it. My sister ymbrynes would ask quietly; under the breath or at a safe distance from all ymbryne elders, with cheeky smirks on their faces or a cold mask to appear disinterested.

"No, no one,'' I'd always say," it's not really my thing." They'd look at me like I just tried to convince them that I'm a blood-sucking vampire who came for my next victim.

"Not your thing? Do you not get lonely in your loop, Isabel?" They'd ask. Yes. "No, of course not. I have my kids," I'd say and smile.

The truth is that I did get lonely and when that happened I'd sneak into the city and walk around. Sometimes I'd stop for a drink or a dance. As I've come to realise, it's not exactly hard for me to attract people. There'd usually be one or two guys who'd invite me for a drink. Normally I'd apologise and leave, rarely would I say yes. The majority of them were self-absorbed, or they felt entitled to my never-ending undivided attention, but some were kind and intelligent, handsome. These men would make me question if I ever could have been with a man. That lasted about two seconds until a good-looking waitress or witty wife of a nobleman came to the bar to get a drink. That was it. I was stuck with being attracted to women. One of these dashing men who took a liking to me was Francis. He was a book publisher from Yorkshire, who came to France in search of research material for his new book about the fashion and textile industry. Not poor but not wealthy, bright and confident. We instantly became good friends. My affections for him were purely platonic, sibling-like. He, however, was 'charmed by me from the first moment we met' as he puts it. Francis knew about my situation, yet he'd often tell me how much he loves me and how much he'd love to marry me someday.

It turned into a game of ours. He'd ask me and I'd say no. I loved him too much and frequently rejecting him over and over again hurt me. It hurt him too, I knew that, but I couldn't make myself say yes, no matter the ymbryne law, no matter how much I tried, I didn't love him like that, no matter how he'd time and time again explain how well he'd take care of me. I couldn't do that to him.

"Friend, yes,'' I said and smiled still facing away from him.

"Why her, Isabel, why?" I was always here for you. He didn't need to say this, I could hear it in the long pause he made.

"I don't know."

"You know how easy your life would have been with me? I would do anything for you, love...'' There was no anger in his voice only endless sadness. "I know, I know." I sadly smiled. He extinguished his cigarette and walked over to me. 
"I love you, Isabel." His voice was just above whisper. Poor man. "You have to let go, Francis."

"I know," he said and shot me a sad smile, "I hope I will." He put his hat on and straightened his coat. "I hope we meet again, Isabel Cuckoo. It was a great pleasure knowing you." He turned to leave, but I pulled him for a long hug and cried. Cried because I hated myself for making him sad; cried because I did love him; because I love someone else; because I hurt Alma; I cried because it felt unfair. All of it.

When I pulled away I kissed his cheek while smiling. "I'm glad to have known you, Francis Fillon. And hey, let me know when you finish that book of yours! The initial chapters were incredible." And like that he left.

After he left I kept standing still. It was late for me and Francis. It's been always late. But maybe it's not too late for me and Alma. I smiled at the thought of her smile and emerald eyes. Where could she possibly be now? Then it hit me and suddenly I couldn't wait any longer. I ran. Ran to my flat.

Spoiler alert! They did get together after that night! But as I previously realised I'm not good at writing confession scenes. BELIEVE ME, I tried to write Isabel confessing her feelings for Alma and it DID NOT go well. I just spared you a few brain cells by not including that part. Anyways, hope you enjoy this part two, a big thank you to anyone who comments and likes my one-shots, it's keeping me motivated to write more! So thanks again! <3 -Sam

Ps. In part one Alma says that Francis is a man Isabel met in the bar while waiting for her, but (for the sake of this one-shot) that was only her assumption (that was explained in the confession part)