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“What the fuck is this even supposed to be? Why are you even writing this out, was it really necessary?”
So, @outlandishchridhe and I were talking and we realized something… There was one thing in chapter 8 we really wanted to do (and were super duper excited about) and COMPLETELY forgot. SO y’all get a wee little ficlet today. Don’t worry everyone, we’re both multitasking. I’m still reading my books for school and doing my schoolwork, plotting oddly is helpful with that. Hope y’all like this little tidbit you’re getting!
That was the last of it. They’d made arrangements for the furniture she wouldn’t need and had found places for all of her things. The closet and dresser were a little cramped now, but it somehow felt right. Uncle Lamb’s Viking sword hung back in it’s place, looking like it was finally home. Claire seemed happy too, to be back.
The only photographs she had of her parents sat beside the photos of his own family, though he’d moved hers to the forefront. Looking around, he was pleased to see how well her things fit in with his own. Hearing her soft voice drifting in from his - their - bedroom, he went to see what she was up to.
“That’s just about right, I think. I’m glad to see you survived being packed and unpacked and repacked.”
Delicately, her fingers drifted over a glass case as she stared lovingly at the rose inside. It was the same rose he’d given her when she’d come to see his show, the one she’d hung in his closet to dry.
“I was hoping ye’d like it,” he said quietly. She didn’t seem surprised that he was there. “When I left it there, I wasna sure if ye’d keep it as a memory of us together, or throw it against the wall. But I kent that ye had wanted to save it.”
“I thought I might faint the first time I saw it, lying on my bed. It clicked with everything else.”
She turned to face him, standing and putting her arms around his neck.
“That you loved me. And that you loved me enough to let me go, even though it broke your heart. I didn’t see it before, that I loved you too. Or, I did, but I was afraid to admit it to myself. But then it all made sense and seeing what you did for that silly little flower, well… I knew I had to come home then.”
He kissed her, long and slow, feeling the emotion swirl through him at her words.
“I’m glad ye did, and that ye feel that here. If ye wished, we could find a different apartment. One we pick together.”
Shaking her head, she smiled softly.
“Home isn’t this apartment, you silly Scot. Home is you.”
One of my students looking to change her major just came to my office for advice. I started to ask her, “are you familiar with…” and she cut me off with “the so called x-files?” And now it’s awkward because I have to marry her.