Book Two : Aveline. | Slash Fanfiction

chapter thirty-three

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THIRTY-THREE - 1992, Paris.
Epilogue.

         HIS HANDS WERE slightly numb, crawling with the bitter breeze of the French weather, the sky littering with shaded hues of grey clouding. Though he tucked his fingers within his jeans, just bellow the band - practically cupping his balls - he couldn't seem to heat up, curt in a short-sleeved shirt and ratty blue denim pants, his boots still remaining upon his feet from yesterday's fiasco.

He wasn't entirely sure of the time, as he wandered down the familiar street, a nervous sweat coaxing his complexion, but seeing as his flight boarded at roughly seven am, the very same morning, he presumed it was no more than five in the afternoon. If that.

Tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, he anxiously nibbled upon the dry flesh, hiding behind his curls as his skin crawled, the feeling of the neighbors intensely raking their eyes over his guilty self driving him wild. Of course, they weren't actually staring, though his anxiously decisive mind told him other wise, sweaty at the upper lip.

As he rounded the corner, his stomach dropped between his curled toes, a large breath of wind knocking him backward a step or two; there it was. There she was. The sweet family house rounded into his view, trembling legs carrying him closer to the upcoming building, throat dry and fearful. Fearful of rejection, of further heartbreak, of her absence. What if she wasn't even there?

Before he knew it, there he was, paused in the road, just before her door. He gulped. The sound of an AC/DC's muffled album racketing through a three-quarter-closed window caught his attention, tracing a few steps back to glace through the visible window pane. A slight blur of Ginger caught his eye as they widened a noticeable amount, quickly glaring down to scan the are around his feet.

Two things lay just bellow, an energy drink can, or a bottle of beer. He went with the can, throwing it up to the glass with a slight grunt, before he wandered over to the car just beside him, resting his weight upon the bonnet of the vehicle. He awaited the appearance of her face as the window slid all the way up, her frowning features glancing down.

Aveline's heart sank at the sight. A soft wave was sent in her direction from the curly haired guitarist, her eyebrow raising as she took in the sight of the can that crashed back into the ground, bouncing once or twice.

"Oh, how romantic." She grunted, rolling her eyes. "Just like Romeo and Juli-fucking-et." Saul smirked amusedly at her reference to his 'pebble' throwing, shaking his head as he scratched the top of his curls gently.

"Only the best for you, M'Lady." He grinned. Though upon her solemn expression, the glee upon his lips dropped, throat clearing uncomfortably. "Sorry." He muttered, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting that they were going through a rough time, and smirking and joking around wasn't a perfect idiom for the situation at hand.

Aveline simply rolled her eyes, reaching up to grasp hold of the window pane, beginning to drag it down pretty quickly.  "We need to talk!" He yelled, shivering bitterly with a twinkle of hopelessness withering within his eyes.

She frowned and leaned further out of Curtis' window, "That's not our car." She mentioned, tone grumbled and slightly upset as her eyes caught sight of the beauty within his curls and caramel skin. She motioned toward the vehicle he leaned upon with his brows drawn together, nodding subtly. He jumped away from the car and glanced around sheepishly, riddled with embarrassment, as she rolled her eyes and resorted to the warmth bellow the windowsill, submerged beneath the breeze.

She felt her throat clog slightly, the familiarity of salty tears layering upon her waterline as she gritted her jaw and gulped them away. Aveline didn't want to cry - especially not over a fucking boy.