troubled waters (FierroChase AU)

fifteen

Alex woke up with the sun rising and rays entering her room through little slots between the curtains. She yawned excessively, turned around and buried her head in the big, soft pillow. She was drowning in it, humming silently following some indistinct melody, barely breathing. When she had first opened her eyes and regained consciousness, she was not able to think, she only lied there, breathing, looking at the curtains, slightly smiling because of the sun rays, that had woken her up. Then, slowly, the memories came back. Her smile grew broader, she turned to one side, as if she wanted to hide her smile, hide the emotions that made her happy and vulnerable at the same time. Like this, she stayed in bed, smiling, humming, remembering. An unusual morning routine for Alex, to be honest, one that could show even better than her smile that something was not in order.

When she had encountered Magnus in downtown, sitting on that bench, ignoring everything around him, eyes closed, absolutely calm, she had at first not been certain how to react. Did she really want to derange him after the way she had treated him before? Even more so, she was anxious, almost afraid to talk to him, although she did know that speaking was exactly what she wanted, what she needed right now. And after all, was it not a funny coincidence to meet in a city as large and as full of students as Boston? She had decided, more or less subconsciously, to wait a bit, maybe he was waiting for someone else, and she did not want to impose herself, she did not want to act in a wrong way again.

Thinking back, this was a very odd behaviour from her side. Normally, she would storm onto people, talking, smiling and full of confidence. Why was this different with Magnus? It was not that he intimidated her in any way, this was not true. Magnus was insecure and anxious, downright shy when she was around, she did notice this much. It had to be something else, that made her hesitate, something about him, nonetheless. Was it really the fear to say something wrong, to frighten him away, as if he was some bashful bird or something? Or the fear to be judged by him, that had haunted her all night after she had turned him away?

She was not sure, but she did act accordingly. Observing him, looking at his hair, his lips, his ears, his nose, his closed eyelids trembling from time to time, his hands calmly crossed in front of him, his head leant back a bit, a source of serenity in a loud, wild, quickly changing city and world. She was near enough to view the contours of his face, single blond wisps falling over it, his chest heaving and sinking slowly, underlining this impression of tranquillity and seclusion right in the centre of a storm.

She had felt as if she could hear his heartbeat, a slow, regular, strong and deep rhythm, contrasting everything else, a bastion of calm amongst the waves of life, so different, so fulfilling. She would never admit, that the way she looked at him was way beyond friendship, or admiration or being impressed. It had never occurred to her that it could be weird to stand on the street immobile, looking at a boy on a bank for several minutes before coming closer and talking. Nor was it special to permanently think about this boy, at college, while eating or working out or whatever; even early in the morning, the head buried in the pillow, wishing to hear his heartbeat now, to be just calm and happy.

Once she had come closer, and he realised who she was and they started talking, she surprised herself. There was no need for overcoming, for concentrating, for forgetting her fears or anything similar – she had just started talking and continued and continued. Why was this? She could not tell. It had not been her plan to go back home already, she had wanted to go to this art gallery some streets further that she had read about in the morning. Well, apparently talking to Magnus had proved more interesting than the exhibition of modern Japanese art from Fukuoka. Odd.

They had waited for the bus, her (him at that time), joining Magnus on the bank, enjoying the sun falling through a gap between two buildings. And talking. Taking in the atmosphere, the Boston sounds and smells, the sun, and then the sound of Magnus' voice and the smell of his perfume. It was perfect. They talked about literally everything and nothing at the same time, the conversation just floating, from one subject to another, spending more time with the one, than quickly jumping from one to another. Fellow students they had both met, the food on campus, this year's theatre program, that old second-hand shop on Beacon Hill, their study courses, their landlady, Hamilton, Falafel, god. Everything that mattered really.

It turned out Alex had read "For whom the bell tolls" a year ago, and now Magnus flooded her with a bunch of others of Hemingway's works. Magnus on the other side did not think he really cared about superficial aesthetics or something, but talking about fashion a little bit, Alex found out that he did have some confused sense of what he liked and what he wore, and starting from there, asking, asking, asking, thinking, developed a sort of pattern, one could always call Magnus' individual style. He had seemed very surprised, but also happy when she nearly ordered him to go shopping with her soon, which he quickly agreed to do. Alex chuckled when she thought about this topic, his reactions and his clumsy answers. Like this, the ride on the bus down to Jamaica quickly went over, they walked a few minutes to the house they shared, said good night and parted their ways, each one to their apartment. Alex, during this walk, talking and observing the trees in the park or the houses on their other side, some of them very creatively and individually decorated, could hardly stop her smile from breaking the chains of discipline and interhuman codes of decency.

She was too happy for this to be normal, too high on sunshine, and talking and Magnus' perfume. She had to stop herself from kissing his cheek at his apartment's door, walked to her own, entered put on some music, and just laid down. Her main activity remained smiling, listening and diving in reminiscences of the evening until she started feeling the need to eat. She did not understand what was happening to her, but she did like the feeling and wanted it to go on. It was also something she had never experienced before. Adrien was different, and after that, her father had never let her really come close to someone of her age again. Deep and intense social interaction, some would call it dating, romancing, at a further stage even love, was something her father despised.

Naturally, as it was a waste of time, which was much better employed in being criminal and making money. However, Loki Fierro was not ignorant or naïve. He understood love and sexual attraction and he knew how to employ them for his own purposes. This was something he had transmitted to his son, who had gained, during long periods of his life, a negative perspective on everything that was affection, attraction, proximity between humans. This had changed. And a change that had carried out in silent, in thoughts rather than in deeds, had now finished by bearing fruit. Alex did feel attraction, maybe even some sort of affection towards what parts of Magnus' personality she had learnt about, and she was on the way to being honest with herself, to articulating consciously, what had subconsciously invaded her heart, her mind, her life.