white magic | camren au

nobody like you (who are you?)

A/N: Fun fact. I'd originally planned chapter 1 as a oneshot, chapter 2 was based on a tumblr prompt and really short, and I only wrote chapters 3 and 4 it because I wanted some Camren AU with magic. And in the end I just...threw all the ideas/documents together because they kinda fit. (Also...happy endings and all that.)

Starting now, all the chapters are in Camila's POV.

*

The apartment is so familiar to her now. She remembers all the colors. The furniture. Knows every corner. Every surface. She could probably close her eyes and still manage not to knock anything over. (She hasn't tried. Maybe she should, though, just to prove her theory.)

That is how well she knows the apartment.

Yet, the thing is – she doesn't know anything about the apartment.

She did get here a few days ago – or maybe it's been weeks? Excuse her if her sense of time is a little screwed at the moment – but she can't remember ever having been here before that. Ever. And she might know where every chair, every table and every sink is, but that's about it.

Besides knowing exactly where everything is, she doesn't have any details. Nothing. The owner? She's got no idea who it is.

There's a girl living here. She has found out that much. So she knows the apartment belongs to someone. But who she is, Camila has absolutely no idea. She can't place her anywhere.

Had they met during her 25 years of being alive? Or had they not? Is Camila here by luck? Pure chance?

And if the latter is the case – why does she feel like– like this place is somehow important to her? To them? Why is everything so confusing?

Questions, and more questions, and Camila hasn't been able to find an answer to a single one of them.

Camila decided pretty early that she'd stay here during the nights. Somehow she knew – somehow she knew right away – that there's something to this apartment. And that something still keeps her from leaving. Even though, technically, she doesn't even need to sleep. Like, at all. She never feels tired, either. It just that she– she feels like she needs to keep the girl company. And, yeah, no, the girl can't see her, but she– she feels like it, anyway, okay? Don't judge her.

Most times, Camila sits down on the couch and waits for the sun to rise. Or she just stands in a corner, trying to remember something, anything, about the life she'd lived. Nothing has come to her, yet, though. The only things she knows are her name, how long she'd lived– and that's it. It's a little frustrating, really, but she's not giving up, Something's got to come back at some point, right? Right. It's what she keeps telling herself.

Sometimes, however, Camila notices that the door to the girl's bedroom isn't closed. During these nights, Camila sneaks into said room and watches the girl. Some people might consider that creepy of some sort but, well, Camila isn't actually there so– so she's not a stalker. She does feel like she's intruding every now and then except– she reminds herself that she can't be seen, and it calms her nerves.

Figuratively speaking.

Because she doesn't have any nerves. Anymore.

Anyway. Tonight's not any different from all the other nights, really. At least not so far. The girl is sitting on the edge of her (really big) bed (which– why does a single person need a bed this big?), and she looks like she's doing some– drinking.

Or– no, she's rather– trying to encourage herself. Trying to calm her nerves.

(By drinking. Not exactly healthy, but who is she – a dead girl – to judge people's lifestyles?)

She looks like she's trying to– to get ready for something. Closes her eyes, breathes in, opens her eyes, breathes out. Repeats this multiple times.

Shoulders down. Head low. This is what the girl usually looks like. Tonight is no exception. Her hair's covering her face and pajama top. If Camila gets any closer, she can tell that her green eyes are– glistening?

Camila's suspicion is confirmed when the girl starts crying not long afterwards. So maybe– maybe she wasn't encouraging herself to do something. She was trying to hold back. Trying not to cry. Huh. This is new.

You see, in the days – weeks – Camila's been here, she has never seen the girl cry like this.

But it doesn't worry her that much. Not as much as the fact that– it seems– the girl is plagued by nightmares more often than not. Judging from how she'd wake up screaming every other night...

Which– sort of, definitely, makes Camila feel sorry for her. She wishes she could help her get over her very obvious pain. She wishes– she wishes she knew more.

The girl then does something else that Camila has only seen her do once before. She opens a drawer next to her bed and– and freezes.

No more sobs, nothing. Just– silence.

It takes a few seconds for the girl to compose herself. To touch the fabric inside the drawer. It looks like – Camila can't see everything – yeah, now that the girl has pulled it out completely, Camila can definitely recognize it as someone's shirt.

Leaving the drawer open, the girl lies down on her bed, the shirt held tight in her hands, and closes her eyes. There's still the occasional sob coming from her mouth, but something about the shirt seems to calm her down. To comfort her. Its scent, maybe? Or– the thought of whoever had worn it? A loved one who'd left her? Moved to another country?

Camila likes to imagine that whoever the shirt belonged to still thinks about Lauren sometimes in the same way Lauren seems to think about them.

And as she sits on the couch later waiting for the new day, Camila cannot get herself to stop smiling because of this exact thought.