rosie | griezmann

9

Antoine's emotions were constantly a wreck and he felt as though he was dragging himself along, trying not to let his own inexplicable sadness engulf and drown him.

He was trying his best to stay afloat, but he was constantly swaying between high and low points in the waves. He felt like garbage, being tossed aimlessly through a large and vast ocean; He felt like he had no value and no control.

There was no lifeguard to haul him out, only waves allowing him to rest briefly on the surface; until they ripped him back into the deep, dark waters again.

It hurt Rosie to see Antoine so troubled. That was, ultimately, why she had to quit her job. With the other patients, it was pity; the want to help them. But at the end of the day, she wasn't eating dinner alone and finding herself so troubled by the many patients and all that they'd shared with her.

It was different with Antoine. Certainly, it was the romantic factor between them, their undeniable attraction to one another; but it didn't stop there. Antoine's troubles plagued Rosie's mind so much that they were practically her own. And she didn't want to work with other people, for the time being, because she wanted to devote all of herself to Antoine.

It hurt her to see the change in Antoine from night to day. Sometimes—it was rare, but occasional—they spent nights together, nights in which his blue eyes would be soft, and they would soak in all of Rosie's beauty with such content at the fact that she actually wanted to be with him in this way. But by morning, they were a stoic blue, though it wasn't that way for long. His feelings would come pouring out, like the water rushing out of a broken dam, and Rosie could somehow swim in the water like she'd been living in a drought her whole life.

That was why, Antoine realized, he couldn't live without her. Rosie was like the rays of sunshine in Antoine's clouded life, and he had fallen for her so easily. Anybody would, he figured. Rosie knew all of his flaws, and there were no secrets between the two.

"I miss it," Antoine whispered, motioning to the field. He, Rosie, and Angel were attending Atletico vs. Real Madrid, and Antoine was proud (and, admittedly, surprised) that his team was winning.

Rosie placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get you back out there soon, Antoine."

Antoine just shook his head slowly, a motion that Rosie didn't see. She was too entrapped in the game, along with Angel, who was more interested in Rosie's curly hair than she was football.

Antoine turned to Rosie and kissed her cheek. Rosie smiled and reached a hand up to ruffle his hair, watching him boyishly grin as he bit his lip and released it from the hold of his white teeth, allowing Rosie to lean forward and press her lips to his. "I wish I could predict the future for you, Antoine."

Antoine wrapped an arm around her shoulders and used his other hand to poke his daughter's cheek, watching her immediately bat her thick lashes before smiling and reaching out for his hand. "The future doesn't matter too much." He spoke, with a small grin. He hadn't felt like this in ages, and it was all thanks to Rosie. The people he was with—Rosie, Angel—and the rest of his family, he supposed, was all he needed in this life of his.

"Of course it does." Rosie responded, with an eyebrow raise. "Unless you're an existentialist." 

Antoine chuckled slightly. "No, I'm not. It's just how I'm feeling. Living in the moment, you know?"

Rosie blinked. "Oh."

"The future doesn't matter," he repeated, his voice slightly more meek. "And it won't, as long as you're in it."