in which Emilia returns to school, 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝.
☾
L̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶e̶ ̶u̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶g̶e̶t̶h̶e̶r̶, ̶l̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶u̶s̶ ̶a̶p̶a̶r̶t̶.̶
☾
oc x valerio montesinos
elite season 2
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═════════ 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐬.
GUZMÁN'S HYSTERICAL SCREAMS upon their arrival convinced Emilia of two things. One of them, he had nothing against her at this point (definitely at this certain point, because he was drunk as a skunk), the second one, a lecture about dealing with grief in a healthy way was past its expiration date. Guzmán's expiration date, actually: had they come forty-five minutes earlier, maybe they would've managed to catch him sipping the determinant of his current mood, circa drink number fifteen.
Ander rubbed his friend's back and decided to investigate with Lucrecia, who was not drunk at all but extremely irritated instead, letting her anger out by making her way through an assortment of pastries one by one. Polo apprehensively took a sip of champagne and then turned to Emilia, already halfway through her flute.
This house and that new girl definitely had its perks - the pool was beautiful, they got alcohol a minute within their arrival, faster than service at a premium restaurant, and Cayetana herself wasn't bad, either. From their interactions at school, Emilia hadn't really formed an opinion. She seemed fine. Maybe overly enthusiastic and slightly fake, but overt cheer was hardly a tragic flaw; if anything, they all should probably learn from her. Anyway, she was an absolute sweetheart when wasted.
Lu was definitely the one between the two who needed more crucially to get drunk to mute her personality, palliate her stiffness and unpleasantness with rosé.
"I didn't know your mum died," Polo spoke.
Emilia almost spat out her champagne when he declared that simple reality right into her ear, completely insensitive of the fact that she was staring at the sky and lost in her thoughts that concerned Lucrecia (she had started feeling sorry for the girl - Guzmán was spiraling downhill unstoppably, she saw him do cocaine in the kitchen) and absolutely not her dead relatives.
"I'm sorry," Polo exclaimed.
She swallowed and took a look at his face; he was sorry. Genuinely, it seemed - not that she thought Polo was a bad person who would enjoy people's misery, she only ever thought of him as a pathetic pushover who had somehow managed to lower her opinion of him further by cheating on Carla.
She didn't know why his condolences surprised her so much. "Thanks."
"How long did this stage last for you?" he pointed at Guzmán, in the middle of an uncoordinated variation of the tango - a solo one.
"I was four, so I kinda skipped the drowning of my sorrow in drugs," Emilia muttered. "But the worst stage? Like a year, maybe. It's hard to structure it into before and after I got over it. You know, you never really get over it-"
