92 Rue de Sasse - Sparks | Rossian Snaps

Saturday, January 28, 1922
3:30 PM
<3

Since arriving in Allonnes, life had hit the the girl square in the face.

Gone were the carefree days she and Cassian had enjoyed while they wandered from place to place, trying to remain under the radar and doing odd jobs here and there to keep them afloat. They'd seen more small villages and larger towns than she'd anticipated, trying to find a place to lay down roots. She wasn't sure what had made them choose the tiny suburbs of Le Mans, other than needing to be more conservative with their 'savings' and it had just been their most recent stop.

The flat they'd found was perfect. One bedroom with a tight layout and a kitchen a bit too small for her liking. But it had its own designated back garden with a mini makeshift greenhouse in the corner where her plants were already flourishing with a little help from her magic.

She didn't anticipate them leaving anytime soon. Cassian had found a decent-paying job at the local glass factory and she spent her days at the local market, selling her garden produce and the small potions she brewed from them. They were successful, much to her delight, the townspeople already praising her for how nice her flowers smelled and how well her 'holistic medicines' worked for their various ailments.

Still, it didn't bring in much money, and so she had found a waitressing job to supplement the weight she wanted to pull. The Maison des Patenôtres was a cafe that had once been a rosary factory in the late 1800s, and still had Catholic imagery around the place. It was a blue-collar establishment, mostly catering to the men who worked in nearby factories and agriculture. Rosalie had secured a night shift, beginning around four each afternoon and ending around midnight. While the cafe was less than a mile from their flat, closing duties usually kept her there later and she often wasn't home until one in the morning.

It had been...difficult. With Cassian's work schedule clashing against her own, the two rarely saw each other, getting a measly two hours to sleep next to one another before he was up and gone for his day. Sundays were their one day to spend together, often spent rehashing their weeks to one another and trying to reconnect before it all started over on Monday.

They were both trying, but Rosalie missed him horribly. This - the separation and distance between them - wasn't what she had envisioned for the first year of their marriage, but she told herself it was only temporary until they found their footing.

A month into the routine, she still hadn't gotten used to it, and had decided to take Saturday off to surprise him.

She hummed to the radio, her light blue apron covered in flour while a soft breeze carried in through the open kitchen window. Her hands worked diligently at the pasta dough on the counter, kneading and folding the egg yolks into the flour until she had a solid pale yellow ball. Toddles had taught her last term how to make pasta from scratch - certainly cheaper than buying it at the store - and she was happy to put her skills to the test to make her husband a special meal.

After the meal, she had plans to take him to the theatre to see one of the new films that had just been released. Blood and Sand was popular and featured an actor named Rudolph Valentino - certainly someone Cass probably knew - and she was excited to have a fun night out with him.

She checked the clock. He'd be getting off in thirty minutes. Just enough time to finish up the pasta and take the fresh bread out of the oven.

---

6:30 PM

Well...maybe they could make the late showing of the film. It was Saturday night, and the muggle village they lived in certainly liked to make the most of their nights off. She didn't know what was keeping Cassian - other than maybe he'd had to work late.

She should have told him she was taking the night off.

She picked at the bread on the table, taking a small bite, but finding she had lost her appetite.

It was her own fault.

---

8:15 PM

Dinner had long gone cold.

A simple flick of her wrist had seen all the food put away into the icebox, and she had spent the last thirty minutes or so cleaning up. Dishes washed, counters wiped down, floor swept. She could have had her wand do all the work, but she had nothing else to keep her busy.

The radio remained on to give her the illusion of company, the window now shut and curtains drawn. Her apron was hung up near the back door, and she straightened the vase of flowers on the table wondering if adding some white sprigs of baby breath wouldn't make it look a little more full.

In the quiet, she thought about her mother. In the end she and Gretchen had clashed horribly, but for a long time, they had been close-knit. She wondered, if her mother could see the little home she'd created for her and Cassian, if she'd be proud? Or would she be like her father, critical and hateful about it all, stating it wasn't good enough?

She pushed the thought out of her head, glancing towards the clock again. Where could he be? Was it like him to stay out this late now? She knew he had a group of mates he was spending time with, but she didn't know if that's what he was doing tonight, or if something had happened.

She could go looking for him, and another hour without him arriving would see her putting on her coat and heading out. For now, she would just -

The front door lock clicked, and she glanced up, her face soft and neutral as he walked in. The surprise on his face was one she had hoped earlier in the evening to see, but now she supposed it didn't really matter. Dinner wouldn't be as good, and she wasn't hungry anyway. By the time they would have finished it would be too late for the film.

"Hey," she said quietly, straightening the vase and moving back to the kitchen so she could warm up his food.

"Where were you?"

He was, in a word, exhausted.

Maddy and her friends knew how to have a good time. Cassian found himself wondering where they found the energy after a full day of work, but he supposed they weren't on even footing. Madeleine worked in a cool office, sitting most of the day, sipping tea and gossiping with other women between filing. Her friends – a great bunch – were equally fortunate in their employment. None of them spent their days locked away in a boiling factory, finding for themselves instead clerical work, diner jobs, odd jobs, daytime farm work, and things that gave them ample time and space to slack if they desired it.

Left up to them, he'd have been out for hours more. He'd learned that the hard way not two weeks back. After leaving one place, there was always somewhere else that he just 'had' to see. It took him out of the town often, to the neighbouring city with all its flashing lights and dazzling attractions. There was a little something for everyone and a whole lot to keep you out until the sun rose. It was the sort of revelry that could only come from a generation disillusioned by the war. They partied hard, reasoning that the next day was promised to no one.

He couldn't party on with them, not after the gruelling day he'd had.

Maddy had done everything she could to try to convince him, but his body was already giving in to the fatigue. It was a miracle he'd managed to apparate himself home once he'd gotten away from the crowds.

Approaching the door, the boy paused. Rosie wouldn't have left the lights on before she left; she never did. Neither being home that often was a boon to their power bill. She knew that as well as he did.

Huh.

He opened the door, and his body froze immediately. "Rosie?" Holy shit. "Rosie!" The door slammed shut behind him as he quickly crossed the room to pull her into a hug. He wasn't expecting to see her until he woke in the morning. It had become his new normal, one he didn't ever want to get used to and one he hoped wouldn't be life forever, but for the moment, it was. Outside of Sundays, they weren't likely to lay eyes on each other, not unless his wife returned home with the sort of need that couldn't wait for Sunday.

It was funny. They thought they'd be free to live as they wanted when they left. Now they'd settled into real life, away from their parents and support and the protection of still being children.

It was miserable, if he were honest. Seeing her once a week? Always feeling like there weren't enough hours in that one day but a million in every other one? The way his heart leapt at the sight of her confirmed something he'd been silently mulling over since the second week at the factory.

"Where were you?"

Hm?

For the first time since he'd entered, all boyish enthusiasm and glee, he noticed her disposition. Cass eased away to look at her, searching her expression for any answers he might find.

"...Out with the others...what're you doing home? I walked by the diner on the way home; they're still open. Is everything alright?" Evidently not if she was looking like that.

"Did something happen? Talk to me."

Rosie melted into his hug, a small smile playing on her lips despite the disappointment that the evening had become. At the end of it all, this was what she had really wanted. Extra time with him that didn't feel like a countdown until life took over again.

She nestled her face into his neck, letting the warmth and scent of him loosen her limbs. She missed him, so much that it hurt. At least at Hogwarts they were able to see each other every day, but this? It was hard, and she wouldn't pretend it wasn't. Reality was a cold splash of water, and for a girl who had sacrificed everything to be with the boy she loved, it felt like it had all been for naught.

"...Out with the others...what're you doing home? I walked by the cafe on the way home; they're still open. Is everything alright?"

Out with the others, whoever they were. Rosalie hadn't met the new friends that he spent time with. She'd been excited for him when he told her he'd found a group to hang out with after work, glad that Cassian wasn't lonely every single night. But she still didn't know them or anything about them. According to Cass they didn't hang out on Sundays, which of course negated her ever being a part of his new social circle.

"I um," she felt stupid. She didn't know he'd go out tonight, but probably should have surmised considering it was a Saturday. All that work into the dinner, a night of lost wages and tips, for nothing. "I wanted to surprise you," she said with a small shrug. "I stayed home and made some dinner. I was just going to warm it up for you." She pulled away from him, deciding there was no reason to talk about the theatre. It would only make him feel bad, and there was no going at this hour anyway.

Rosalie opened the icebox, retrieving the untouched dinner she'd made and set it on the counter. A few minutes on the stove and it would be ready. Not as good as it would have been fresh, but it was fine.

A quick flick of her hand, "Incendio," and the stove lit, warming the kitchen that had grown cold.

"Do you stay out this late with them often?" She was realizing she knew very little about what he did during the week outside of the little tidbits he shared now and then. But if he was staying out until late in the evening, that would have been news to her. Was he partying with them? Drinking? They were only seventeen. It wasn't unrealistic that he'd want to do the same things others their age were doing.

Being married didn't change the fact that they were still teenagers.

It was probably a little silly to think, but Christmas felt like it had come early. From the moment they'd fallen into their 'new normal', it was always the same. He'd come home, the flat would be empty, there would be dinner in the oven, an empty bed, a couple of hours or so of studying, then...sleep and the inevitable 3 AM waking. Outside of that, he'd learned not to expect deviation. There was never a day he came home, and Rosie was there waiting, never an afternoon he walked home with a pep in his step, knowing the girl who held the sun was waiting to warm him after his frigid half-hour walk.

He should've known when he'd seen the lights on, but nothing in his brain would've led him to believe after such a prolonged pattern that they could veer so far off course.

A part of him was worried that something really had happened, some problem at the diner that forced her home. Even then, there was a part of him that was glad for such a possibility. If something happened, they'd handle it together, and she wouldn't have to work there anymore. It could only be good news in the end.

"I um, I wanted to surprise you. I stayed home and made some dinner. I was just going to warm it up for you."

She pulled away, and his heart sank.

"...shit, I'm sorry." He reached for her, but she was already off to get something from the ice box. "I didn't...I didn't know. I'd have been home the moment work was over...I..." Her wanting it to be a surprise negated the option of telling him beforehand, but even without knowing, he felt wretched for having allowed himself to be pulled away from something Rosie had obviously put a lot of thought into.

It hadn't even been worth it.

Maddy and her friends were fine. They were certainly...lively and knew all the spots people their age tended to be, but it felt like a lot of old patterns creeping back in. Donning a mask, all charm and easy smiles, another performance that, while exhilarating in the moment, was ultimately exhausting and hollow. It went without saying he'd have had a better night at home with his wife, where he didn't have to be anyone but himself.

"No, don't trouble yourself," he said, catching her by the arm and pulling her away before she could put the food back over the flames. A flick of his own wand saw the fire die, snuffing out the new warmth that had begun to fill the space.

"Like I said...I didn't know you'd be doing all this," he'd have opted out of eating otherwise, "so...we all had something at Maddy's. She had some leftovers from the lunch she made me."

Not quite leftovers. It seemed the girl had made the meal for the meet-up and then had set some aside for his lunch.

"Do you stay out this late with them often?"

He shrugged lightly, taking the food and replacing it in the icebox before tugging her over to the couch. "Not too often, I guess. Twice a week, maybe. I'm too tired most evenings." He pulled her down into his lap. "Did you at least get some rest while you were home?" It was one of many things they were sorely lacking between them.

"...shit, I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't know. I'd have been home the moment work was over...I..."

"It's not your fault," she said simply. He couldn't have known, and while she was sad and disappointed, none of it was directed at him. The situation just sucked, and she was letdown that she hadn't been able to pull off the surprise she'd worked so hard on. It was supposed to be a fun, romantic night and she didn't want to do this. The apologies and feeling bad and...

"No, don't trouble yourself."

He grabbed her arm, tugging her away from the stove and putting the light out before she could even start. "Don't be silly, it's no trouble."

"Like I said...I didn't know you'd be doing all this, so...we all had something at Maddy's. She had some leftovers from the lunch she made me."

"Oh."

Oh. Wait, what? The girl went silent as her brain suddenly came to an abrupt halt, unsure if she had heard what she thought she had. Having dinner with his friends was no big deal, and she guess she should have expected that considering the time, but...what did he mean this Maddy girl made him lunch?

Made who lunch? Her husband, who was perfectly capable of making his own lunch, and if he wasn't should have said something to her, and she'd have made it? Hell she worked at a diner. She could have been bringing him things to take for lunch the next day if he'd just said something.

Why was some girl at his work making him lunch?

Before she could figure out what was happening, she was being tugged to sit on his lap. Her gaze dropped down to his clothes. Clean, fresh. Not work clothes. Likewise, he was spotless. There wasn't a sign of soot or ash on him. Not the slightest scent of sweat. He hadn't come home at all after work. She'd been home all day, so if he had been at work, he hadn't cleaned up at their home.

If he hadn't been at work, then where had he been?

"Did you at least get some rest while you were home?"

"Where's your work clothes?" the question came softly as she suddenly bolted out of his lap, backing away towards the kitchen again. There wasn't much space in the tiny flat, and it was the only direction besides their bedroom. "Why are you so clean? You didn't...I've been home..." she was stuttering, trying not to panic or jump to conclusions.

Who the fuck was this Maddy girl?!

"What do you mean she made you lunch?" Her eyes widened with the hurt that suddenly pooled in them. "I thought you said she was just your friend."

She said it wasn't his fault, and it probably wasn't, but that didn't prevent the pit that formed in his stomach. Cassian still remembered the promise he'd made on their wedding night. Happiness she didn't even know what to do with. He wasn't doing that now. In ways he couldn't control, the boy was struggling to make his wife happy and had found himself in circumstances that made it difficult to fix it even if he wanted to.

"Still," he pressed. "I know it's not as romantic, but...let me know next time. No matter what I'm doing, no matter what plans were already made, I'll make sure I'm here."

He couldn't fix the night. There was no going back in time to make sure he'd never gone out with the others, but he could fix the future to ensure Rosie never found herself sitting in their empty flat waiting for him again. Something had to give. They couldn't continue down this road uninterrupted and expect to find happiness at the end, not when they were both already so miserable and missing each other.

"Where's your work clothes?"

"Oh, I—"

"Why are you so clean? You didn't...I've been home..."

Where was she going? Cassian rose to follow her, having little trouble with the small size of their flat. "In my bag, back at the door," he said, pointing to the bag he'd dropped when he walked in and saw her. "We...it's kind of a long trip into the city, and there was a cabaret show we wanted to catch, so we all got cleaned up at Maddy's, then headed out." It had been the more practical option, rather than them all heading to their homes at varying distances and then meeting up after.

Why...was she looking at him like that?

His brows knitted, both confused by her question and the hurt that suddenly appeared in her expression. Was it about the show? They could go to another. There weren't as many options on a Sunday, but they could find something.

"What do you mean she made you lunch? I thought you said she was just your friend."

...What?

"She is just my friend," he said, not sure where the sudden uncertainty sprang from. He'd told Rosie about Maddy – as he told her about all the others. Cass shrugged lightly, not sure how they'd made this leap. "She makes me lunch. I told her she didn't have to, but she insisted, said it was no problem and that she'd rather I have something during the lunch break. That's it."

He took a careful step closer. "Rosie, there's nothing going on. You can't possibly think..."

Maddy was a cool girl, but he wasn't in the market to replace his wife.

He’d showered at her house.

Her lips parted slightly, feeling her mouth go dry despite the barrage of words rushing through her mind. She tried to catch one of them, any of them to try and make sense of what she was feeling, but it was all too fast, too confusing.

Was he serious? In what universe did he think that showering at some other girl’s home was appropriate or something she’d be fine with? Did he not think of Rosalie at all? Not even a fleeting thought as to what she would think or how she would feel? Would he have even told her if she hadn’t asked?

Why was he so comfortable with this girl?

"She makes me lunch. I told her she didn't have to, but she insisted, said it was no problem and that she'd rather I have something during the lunch break. That's it."

“That’s not her job!” She suddenly found her voice, her eyebrows lowering over her blue eyes. “I’m your wife. That’s my job! I didn’t know you weren’t eating. You never told me or I -“ She clenched her jaw as he moved towards her again, while she continued backing away. She didn’t want him near her.

"Rosie, there's nothing going on. You can't possibly think..."

“What am I supposed to think?” she asked, her voice cracking while she tried to keep her composure. “She’s cooking for you and you’re showering at her house. What would you think if I was doing that with another guy?”

He would be livid. Cassian would be beside himself with jealousy if she told him that she was spending so much intimate time with someone else. He would demand she stop seeing him. Cassian would likely confront the bloke and ask him what he thought he was playing at.

“You’re closer with her than you told me.” She turned from him, and moved into the kitchen throwing open the icebox so the door thudded lightly against the wall next to it.

She grabbed the food she’d prepared without another word and unceremoniously dumped it into the garbage.

If he was hungry, he could go eat at Maddy’s house.

“That’s not her job! I’m your wife. That’s my job! I didn’t know you weren’t eating. You never told me or I—"

"It's not—that's not—you weren't doing it—" Flustered as he was, his brain quickly hit the brake, reversing him to the last line at breakneck speeds that nearly gave him whiplash. Cass sucked in a deep breath. "Not like that. I didn't mean it that way. It's no one's job, that's why I didn't ask anyone to do it. You've been...you're always so busy. You come home so late. I can't ask you to stay up making me lunch. It wouldn't feel right. I didn't ask her to either. I was handling it, but the lunch was there. She'd already made it. What's the point being rude about it after?"

Unlike Maddy, who'd never passed up an opportunity to remind him that Rosie was meant to be feeding and 'caring' for him, Cassian didn't harbour such sentiments. He hadn't spirited her away from her home to lock her in a kitchen and have her at his beck and call. She said she wanted to work – both her jobs, both equally important to her – and he'd let her be. It meant he was on his own with some things, but even then, he wouldn't make it an obligation.

"She said she likes cooking and likes making lunches. It's not like I went moaning on an empty stomach; she just wanted to."

And there had been no reason to say no while his stomach was twisting itself into knots.

“What am I supposed to think? She’s cooking for you and you’re showering at her house. What would you think if I was doing that with another guy?"

"Everyone showered at her house. It was a quick in and out, girls and guys. You're acting like I went home with her and we shared a tub." It hadn't been intimate; there hadn't been some stolen moment. It hadn't been any different than his Hogwarts days, with people in and out of the showers and getting on with their day.

He ignored her latter question, the one that gave him pause.

He...supposed...he wouldn't have been...very thrilled but that wasn't the po—

“You’re closer with her than you told me.”

"I'm as close as I told you," he insisted. "We hang out sometimes – always with her other friends, never just the two of us. We have lunch together. There's [i]nothing more to—"

What...what was she doing?

Cassian's eyes widened as Rosie tossed the dinner she'd made for him into the garbage. That pit he felt earlier deepened as he realised just how firmly Rosie had planted herself in her beliefs. His wife was many things; petty was not among them. There was raw venom in her action, and all he could do was watch as the lid of the garbage closed.

"Rosie..."

Where did he even begin? His expression fell and his shoulders sagged as he searched for her gaze. "It's really not like you're thinking..."

"It's not—that's not—you weren't doing it—"

He was unbelievable. She didn’t say anything, even as he backtracked and tried to correct himself. So it was her fault. She worked too late, she was too tired and all the other reasons that made her feel worse and worse about herself.

Rosie knew she wasn’t being the ideal housewife, but she was trying. She was working as hard as she could to bring in extra money for them, and still found the time between the market and starting her shift at the cafe to make him dinner every night. She hadn’t known he wasn’t eating, and it had caught the notice of some other girl, who thought to take on what should be her job. It was her job to take care of him, and with every word he said, she pulled inward.

"She said she likes cooking and likes making lunches. It's not like I went moaning on an empty stomach; she just wanted to."

“Sure and there’s men at the cafe who love to walk girls home after their shift, but you don’t see me taking them up on the offer.” Why wasn’t he understanding how not-okay this was? Her suspicions were growing by the second over this girl. What girl went out of her way to make lunches for a married man?

"Everyone showered at her house. It was a quick in and out, girls and guys. You're acting like I went home with her and we shared a tub."

“I don’t care if everyone else did it, Cassian! You’re married. You have no business taking your clothes off at some other girl’s house.” It was something she would never do, and never allow another man to do unless he lived with them or it was a close visiting friend.

The hurt swelled as he dismissed her concerns, one after the other. It didn’t escape her notice that he conveniently ignored her question about how he’d react in her shoes. He had an explanation for everything. He didn’t see that he was wrong in this.

He insisted he wasn’t as close with Maddy as it seemed, but she discarded it. It didn’t add up. You didn’t shower at someone’s house who was just a coworker. A casual friend wouldn’t go out of their way to prepare his midday meals for him.

“Rosie…It's really not like you're thinking..."

The garbage can closed abruptly and she set the serving dish in the sink to be washed later.

“Then tell me why it feels like it is?” She moved to the radio to turn it off with a quick click and double-checked that the back door was locked.

She felt sick. She needed to lay down.

“Sure and there’s men at the cafe who love to walk girls home after their shift, but you don’t see me taking them up on the offer.”

His jaw tightened as he listened. It didn't feel like the same thing, sharing food versus having some random creep from the diner follow her home, learn where she lived, and probably show up later with his creepy friends when he wasn't around to protect her. No, they didn't feel like the same thing at all. One posed a far greater risk. The other was...food.

Just. Food.

But Rosie wasn't done. She was only getting started.

“I don’t care if everyone else did it, Cassian! You’re married. You have no business taking your clothes off at some other girl’s house.”

The breath he sucked in this time was deeper, more laboured, laced with all the frustration he knew better than to unload. Fatigued from his day at work, then his night out, the boy was running on fumes, but the last of his common sense reminded him that things, once said, could not be taken back. It was especially true when it came to Rosie. The hurt would last long after he started being sorry, and the list of grievances committed against her needed no help rising.

"You're making everything sound so much worse than any of it is! You're acting like I went to her house and—" Breathe. Breathe, Cassian. "Nevermind. I'm telling you, it was to save some time; no one was trying to think of it in some weird way like you keep circling back to." Why Rosie seemed so determined to believe something was happening was beyond him and beyond his capabilities to handle under his current mental load.

“Then tell me why it feels like it is?”

Tell her?

"I—how..." There was no real way of knowing, was there? They'd been fine one minute, and the next she was trashing his dinner. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't. I don't get why it's all suddenly a big deal when you know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Nothing on purpose anyway.

Cassian leaned against the counter, watching her for a moment.

"I think..." The boy sighed heavily, sure this would go over about as well as everything he'd said that night. "I don't think you should keep the diner work – not the night shift anyway. We hardly see each other, and it can't be helping you feel better about the other people I hang around when you can never be there. Between the market and the diner, you're out all day and..."

This...would probably land even less gracefully...

"Maybe...it's got you starting to get the wrong ideas about things...that...usually wouldn't matter, like friends sharing lunch and friends heading to a friend's house to get ready for a show..."

He knew how her mind worked. In their earlier years, Rosie had always found a way to convince herself of things, and it was never easy changing her mind after. "I...I dunno. Maybe if you're there with us more, you'll see that it's really all no big deal."

And he'd get his wife back outside of Sundays. Couldn't very well be mad about that.

"You're making everything sound so much worse than any of it is! You're acting like I went to her house and—"

“And what?!” she prompted him, her voice elevating in its pitch, reflecting the composure she was quickly losing. She wanted him to say it, so that he’d have to hear it for himself.

"Nevermind. I'm telling you, it was to save some time; no one was trying to think of it in some weird way like you keep circling back to."

Like she kept circling back to. She was the problem. She was the crazy one, while everyone else was perfectly reasonable in this scenario. She didn’t want to think that Cassian would hurt her. She didn’t want to believe he would fool around on her.

But…what was she supposed to think? Was she supposed to just ignore every red flag that was going up and believe that it had all been completely benevolent? That this girl had only good intentions - for both of them? Because any true friend of Cassian’s would never want to hurt her either. A true friend would never let him - even accidentally - cross lines that could be misconstrued.

Roles reversed, Rosie would have told her male friend to talk to his wife if he needed her help with something. She would never take it upon herself to overstep a line as special as a wife doing something to take care of her husband. Even if Cassian was still just her boyfriend - it would be wrong and make her uncomfortable at the very least.

"I don't. I don't get why it's all suddenly a big deal when you know I'd never do anything to hurt you."

It was like the air was sucked out of the room. A big deal.

He’d said it before. When Jessica sought him out as a shoulder to cry on and he’d decided to be the pillar of chivalry. Cassian had always had a way with girls; it had worked on Rosie, hadn’t it? And for a boy that had had so much experience with others, he loved to play oblivious when one was obviously making moves on him.

He’d thought she was overreacting the too.

"I don't think you should keep the diner work – not the night shift anyway. We hardly see each other, and it can't be helping you feel better about the other people I hang around when you can never be there. Between the market and the diner, you're out all day and..."

And?

"Maybe...it's got you starting to get the wrong ideas about things...that...usually wouldn't matter, like friends sharing lunch and friends heading to a friend's house to get ready for a show..."

She scoffed. A small puff of air that left her lips as she let his words settle upon her. “So you messed up,” she said, shaking her head and pointing to herself, “and now I have to quit my job?” She clenched her jaw. They’d never fought. Not like this, but Rosie felt it coming now. They’d always taken the path of love and trying to understand one another, but in the moment all Rosie saw and felt was red. “My job, and us being apart isn’t the thing that’s putting the ‘wrong idea’ in my head. It’s your behavior!”

Her voice was rising now as tears filled her eyes. He didn’t want to understand. He didn’t see it from her side. All he wanted to do was give excuses and lay the blame at her feet.

“We’ve been apart before. And the only things that have ever put the wrong ideas in my head is your behavior when I’m not there! Like when you snogged Eira when I was gone for a week! Or when you comforted Jessica and let her cry on your shoulder during that summer. You have a problem with boundaries, Cassian, and you always make me feel like it’s my fault for not liking it.”

"I...I dunno. Maybe if you're there with us more, you'll see that it's really all no big deal."

There it went again. Not a big deal. Her feelings were never a big deal.

She wasn’t thinking. She reached for the loaf of bread sitting on top of the stove and flung it at him. “Don’t you dare come in this bedroom. You sleep on the couch.”

The tears broke the dam of her eyelids, flooding her cheeks as she pushed past him and headed for the bedroom.

The conversation was quickly going to hell in a basket, and Cassian was starting to see that nothing he said would make it better. Reason wouldn't work. Rationality was for the birds.

“And what?!”

He would be a fool to respond. Cassian kept his lips pressed firmly shut, not sure there was anything he could say to salvage what had been a happy surprise when he'd first walked through the door. Seeing Rosie had made him happier than any cabaret or reckless car ride could, but there was nothing happy about this. Rosie wasn't a little hurt. Something had devastated her, something he'd done, and no matter how he tried to explain that he would never, all she heard was...well...he didn't know what she'd heard, but it was clear they were no longer speaking the same language.

When did everything become so hard? They'd been fine, floating from place to place, living free and picking up little odd jobs. They had each other; they had their laughter, their sanity. The moment they settled – the very moment he tried to put a roof over her head and provide for her – it felt like everything was burning. It wasn't even his roof. The money they'd stolen from her father the night they'd run away was responsible for their rent. What he did, as hard as he worked, wouldn't have been enough otherwise.

It felt like nothing was enough, no part of him.

Now, he had to stand and watch his wife pour her sorrow out in a form he'd never seen before, sharp and cutting.

“So you messed up.”

He...but...he hadn't...

“And now I have to quit my job? My job, and us being apart isn’t the thing that’s putting the ‘wrong idea’ in my head. It’s your behavior!”

"That's not—Rosie, I'm only trying to say—" he missed her. So much.

"We’ve been apart before. And the only things that have ever put the wrong ideas in my head is your behavior when I’m not there! Like when you snogged Eira when I was gone for a week! Or when you comforted Jessica and let her cry on your shoulder during that summer. You have a problem with boundaries, Cassian, and you always make me feel like it’s my fault for not liking it.”

His face blazed with heat from the blood that rushed there, creeping outward to his neck and ears. Those were things he'd done. Neither had seemed like a problem at the time. He wasn't dating Rosie when he'd kissed Eira. Cassian didn't think it would've hurt her as much as it did. Jessica...Jessica was...sigh, it didn't matter. Rosie didn't care that he'd only been trying to help.

"No, no, I wasn't trying to say it's your fault. Rosie – I'm not trying to blame you for any of this. I'm...I'm saying that this...that shift...you can't..."

Would he stand there and order her around now?

Boundaries were his problem. Right. The boy wanted to be mad about the accusation, but he'd already begun his descent into shame. This was what he'd taken her from her father's house for. This. To make her sad. To leave her wanting. This was the best he could do.

The bread came at him before he could react, hitting him square in the face. A freight train would've hurt less. In a split second, she was moving, pushing by him and making for their bedroom.

"Wai--"

“Don’t you dare come in this bedroom. You sleep on the couch.”

He reached for her arm, but she snatched it away forcefully before entering and shutting the door behind her. Cass tried the knob, but it was locked. Nothing a quick 'alohomora' couldn't fix, but...there was that word again. Boundaries. She'd drawn a line in the sand, demanding space, and all he could do was stare at the door that separated them while the only person who held his heart sobbed on the other side.

He couldn't have felt worse if someone cut him open and yanked his heart out.

The boy sank to the floor, at a loss of what to do or where to go from there. He ran his hand through his curls, trying to steady himself against his whirling thoughts but all he could think about was how badly he'd messed up this time.

---

Monday, January 30, 1922
3:23 AM

Monday couldn't have come soon enough. For the first time since they'd fallen into their routine, Cassian found himself eager for Sunday to end.

The day that once filled him with warmth and ease had been replaced by suffocating tension and the constant reminder of every broken promise now shattered at his feet. Rosie hadn't shut him out in a sudden fit that she got over afterwards. She'd dug in, ensuring he knew he still wasn't allowed back in their bedroom. On the occasions she came out, her answers were curt. At some point, she'd left the flat entirely, off to somewhere she'd never bothered to tell him.

They had one day together, and they'd spent most of it apart.

He'd stayed home, not in the mood for anyone else's company if he couldn't have hers. Cass had lain listless on the couch for most of his afternoon, plagued by the earlier sounds of Rosie's crying before she'd chosen to spirit herself elsewhere. Barely a month into their new lives, and this was all he had to show for it. An unhappy wife, one who'd take the only time they had to be far from him. When night came, she silently handed him his work clothes so he'd have them for morning, then closed the door again.

At least at work, he'd feel useful. It was hard to let anyone down when all he did was haul buckets and sweep broken shards of glass. Cassian didn't mean it in any sort of melodramatic moping but in a practical sense. Back at work, he'd be worked to the bone, and it would allow him no time to think about the way everything else in his life was unravelling. It wasn't dread that followed him toward the front door, fastening the last of his buttons. There was an eagerness to get back to the roaring machines and the heat that sometimes made him dizzy.

Something at the corner of his eyes caught his attention: a paper bag sitting on the counter with a note that simply read "lunch".

The corners of his lips curled upward in the faintest smile as his gaze shifted to their closed bedroom door. Rosie was undeniably still not on good terms with him, but she'd made him lunch. The gesture was small, but it filled him with a kind of hope that maybe things weren't broken beyond repair. He was quick, knowing he'd have to jog to work if he didn't hurry. The boy found a loose piece of parchment and scribbled a thank you note in the place the bag once sat.

Maybe...maybe they were alright. The thought warmed him as he set out onto the dark street in the frigid cold. Just maybe, he'd sleep in his own bed when he got home.

Her fingers locked the door, and before she could stop herself, a sob broke through her lips, the emotion and hurt spilling out of her in uncontrollable audible waves.

Cassian had hurt her before, but this felt bigger than all of them. In her right mind, the girl probably knew it was the combination of being so young, out on their own for the first time and having more stress on their shoulders than they'd ever had before.

But in the moment, as she stripped herself of the dress she'd chosen for the night and climbed beneath the sheets, all she could feel was the way her heart crushed in on itself.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. All she had wanted was a nice night with the boy she loved.

Her tears soaked into the pillow, silence falling over the small flat save for the sounds of her crying.

---

Monday, January 30, 1922
6:30 PM
Maison des Patenôtres

"Rosalie, la treize est prête!"

The young woman tucked her ordering pad into her apron pocket and her pen behind her ear. In the noise and controlled chaos of the cafe - the calls from the kitchen, the boisterous laughs and shouts from the men at various tables and the clatter of dishes - Rosie was able to lose herself in the routine of it all.

It had already been a busy day. She'd gotten up around one in the morning and silently moved through their home, careful not to wake him as he slept. She's quietly fixed a lunch for him, determined that even if they weren't speaking to each other, she wouldn't have some girl swooping in with food and a shoulder for him to cry on.

When she'd woken again at her normal time of six, she'd wandered about the empty flat, fixing her tea and forcing a couple of hours of studying to take her mind off things. After, it was a slow day at the market, having only sold six potions and an herbal pouch. She'd spent most of that time staring off in the direction of the glass factory, thinking of how their weekend had ended.

Sunday had been hard. When she hadn't locked herself in their bedroom, she'd left the home altogether, choosing to go for a long walk and spend some time in the park rather than give him the opportunity to further dismiss her feelings and make her feel crazy.

Over the years, Rosalie had tolerated what most girls would have ended a relationship over, choosing to forgive Cassian when he'd hurt her and see past it for his intentions, or for the person she knew he was. She loved him, so much, that even in some of the hardest moments she chose to cling to him and what they had than hold him accountable for his mistakes.

She wasn't perfect either. There were plenty of things Rosie had done to hurt him. But this felt different. She had laid it all out on the table for him - what bothered her, why it bothered her, and what it all looked like. And instead of apologizing and acknowledging that what he'd done wasn't okay, he'd made excuses and left her with her hurt like she was the problem.

Rosalie knew Cassian loved her, but she also recognized how young they were. It still felt like games were being played rather than talking about the pain they had both experienced over the past month. It felt like while she was working nights to make as much money as she could to keep him from having to take on overtime shifts, he was out galivanting with a new shiny girl and her friends.

A girl that he wasn't strapped to and didn't have any obligations to. A girl that probably fawned over him and told him how charming and funny he was. A girl that went out of her way to notice him and his habits and started making food for him. A girl that took him into the city and showed him the bright lights and took him to cabarets?

How could she compete? When she came home when he was already asleep, smelling like the cafe and so tired that circles deepened under her eyes? She couldn't take him out on Friday or Saturday nights. She didn't have a huge group of friends for him to get lost in. She was the same girl he'd been with since he was fourteen.

There was nothing new or exciting about her.

A tray full of various dishes in her hands, she smiled brightly at the table of burly men. "Alors, qui a faim?" They all eagerly shouted in response as she dealt out their meals, the practiced smile playing on her lips, even as she wanted to fall apart.

Tuesday, January 31, 1922
3:18 AM

The paper bag sat unassuming on the counter, as the other had done the day before. The note sat prominent, explaining without fanfare that the contents were 'Lunch'. His stomach churned at the sight of it. Sure as he was that Rosie had packed him something delicious, the hope that had sat high in his chest the day before had fled, taking his appetite with it.

The lunch was made, but nothing else had changed.

Cassian had gotten home to the bedroom door being locked despite her absence, the surest sign she still intended for him to keep out. When he woke from a second uncomfortable night on the couch, there was a blanket thrown over him and his work clothes laid out across the back of the couch. The gesture, distant as it was, should've brought him some measure of warmth. Intellectually, Cass knew he was meant to see it as his wife still caring about him – like the lunch that sat on the counter – but that had never been him.

He'd never really been one to melt at the things someone did for him. He was touch-starved, uncertain and aching for the kind of connection that usually assured him on the darkest days that they were still them and that everything was still alright.

Were they?

Cass looked back at the closed door as his fingers nimbly fastened the last of his buttons. He...didn't know. He thought they were, but it was starting to feel like a new pattern was forming, one he didn't think he'd like any more than the last.

The boy walked by the paper bag and headed for the door. It had been a labour of...something, but it rang hollow. What good were her lunches and her warm blankets when a large chasm sat between them? The strain was already exacerbated by their work schedules; the deliberateness of her distance only drove the nails in deeper. He left a note, as he'd done the morning before, another thank you without taking what she had to offer. He couldn't take it. It...didn't feel right.

None of it felt right.

Cassian set out onto the cold street, a few other early risers leaving their flats as well. He greeted them quietly, each moving along, a slave to their own routines. He wondered if they were miserable, too. Was there someone they loved in their flat who'd turned them away? Were they fucking up so monumentally that they deserved to be shoved out into the biting chill of winter? Did everyone secretly feel like this?

He buried his hands in his pockets as he walked, listening to the soft crunching sound of the snow beneath his feet. His mind drifted back to the previous day of work. Maddy hadn't taken the news well. She couldn't understand why Rosie's discomfort meant they could no longer be friends – rather, he suspected she understood just fine but didn't like the answer. There were reflections of Jessica in the girl, enough for him to notice the pattern over time. Cassian hadn't felt more sure about his decision than in the moment when she leaned in to kiss him.

It was better the 'friendship' ended, and he'd been sure to firmly remind her of his marital status before informing her he'd no longer be interested in her lunches.

One problem solved, a million more still hanging over his head.

In the distance, he could see the looming shadow of the glass factory. Smoke hadn't yet begun to rise, and there were no lights to be seen, only a black shadow that sat in stark contrast to the horizon.

Another day, another 12 hours, another empty flat and silence.

Tuesday, January 31, 1922
6:00 AM

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

It was a rhythmic pounding between her ears, low and static to match the sensation of her heart fighting to claw its way out of her chest. Her body revolted against the stillness, wanting to move, to take action to do something - anything - but stand in that kitchen.

Blue ice clouded the irises that usually shone so brightly. They dulled into something colder, and unfocused, unmoving from the note he'd left behind.

Thank you.

Simple. Impersonal.

The silence in the flat grew louder against the soft pounding behind her sternum. Her fingers tightened against the counter, knuckles paling as a slow, sinking ache spread through her head.

The paper bag hadn't moved.

She swallowed, throat tight, her breath shallow and uneven. For a long moment, she didn’t move at all. Didn’t reach for it. Rosie just stood there, frozen in the quiet, the early light barely creeping through the lace of the window curtains.

She'd stayed up this time, instead of going directly to bed, taking the time to decide what she could make, what would travel well, what he would probably like. It wasn’t meant to fix anything. It wasn’t an apology. It was just…something solid she could still give when everything else felt fragile.

It meant nothing. He'd left it behind with a simple note of gratitude, which felt more mocking in the moment as the rejected bag stared her right in the face.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

She inhaled as she stood up straight, snatching the bag and the note all at once before dropping them into the rubbish bin.

A lit stove, and the kettle went on. The windows were opened a crack to let in the fresh January air. With a flick of her hand, her books and notes floated from the bedroom and settled themselves onto the dining room table, opening to the place she'd saved the morning before. A light tap on the radio and soft jazz music began filtering through the quiet room.

They weren't okay. It didn't feel like they would be anytime soon.

As she sat down at the table, listening for the soft whistle of the kettle, Rosalie waited.

For what, she didn't know anymore.

Tuesday, February 14, 1922
Verrerie de Montreval Glass Factory
4:08 PM

Cassian followed the other men out into the refreshingly cool air of the factory yard. His muscles were sore from the extra lifting he'd been made to do. Louis had injured himself a few days back. It was a nasty burn that was sure to leave the guy in the hospital for at least a week, but the work had to go on. The boss wasn't looking to hire someone for such a short period. Of course not. It would be impractical. Instead, he redistributed the work.

Surprise, surprise, it was Cassian who was selected to remain down in the hottest part of the building, continuously hauling buckets of shattered glass back into the furnace. It was work he already did, but usually, there were breaks where he was rotated out to go sweep away the fallen, splintered glass. He supposed he should've been grateful to be headed home with much fewer cuts, but he hardly thought the trade-off was worth it.

His eyebrows felt singed from the constant heat, and he'd nearly passed out sometime back before lunch when his internal temperature rose so high he may as well have been boiling.

Four more days, just four more, and then the man was expected to be back at work, and Cassian would be back to a more lenient shift.

The small crowd of factory workers dispersed as they headed through the large, iron-wrought gate. Some headed up the street, toward the heart of the town, to find themselves some after-work merriment. Some, like himself, headed in the opposite direction, toward the residential area with all its flats and apartments.

He dragged his feet behind him, still burning too much to put on his uniform shirt and coat. Beads of sweat streamed down his face, but he wiped them away with his shirt. The conversations flowed before him, hearty laughter filling the streets from shared camaraderie that he could only stand parallel to. There was some improvement. Cassian was starting to follow entire sentence strings now so long as they weren't too complicated and nuanced. The men talked about their plans for the evening and the meals they knew would be waiting for them. They laughed about the foreman's unpalatable demeanour and made crass jokes about the women in the office.

Cassian listened, not particularly inclined to chime in.

"Tu veux une rose?"

The vendor had come out of nowhere, sidling up to him with a small bouquet of roses in hand.

"Une rose?" the woman repeated, not fazed by the confusion that laced his expression. One of the man turned, quickly noticing the exchange. He gave a loud exclamation before hurriedly fishing into his pockets for some coins. The others laughed at the misfortune of the man having forgotten...Valentine's Day.

...

Shit.

---

Tuesday, February 14, 1922
92 Rue de Sasse
9:23 PM

He was an idiot, a tired idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

For the first time since Cassian had met his wife, Cassian had entirely blanked on a day that would typically bring out the dramatic and overly romantic in him. Grand gestures had always been the order of the day. Bold proclamations that bordered on the nonsensical and unnecessarily convoluted gifts that often tipped into excess just to see her laugh and watch the light shine in her eyes. It was a day of whimsy, where love was meant to win and where anyone who believed enough could reap Cupid's sweet rewards.

He didn't even know it was the 14th until nearly the whole day had already passed. It shouldn't have mattered with them both being so steeped in their routines and unlikely to see each other, but forgetting was a symptom of a bigger, more terrifying problem.

February 14.

The days were bleeding imperceptibly into each other, entire chunks disappearing at a time, and he hadn't noticed. A quick check of the calendar had seen his stomach drop when he realised...it had been a fortnight. Two weeks. Two weeks...and he was still on the couch. Rosie was still hurt. Nothing had been resolved. How had he allowed all that time to pass? Where had it gone? The boy felt like he'd closed his eyes that first miserable Sunday night, and suddenly they'd arrived at the most romantic day of the year, without so much as a warm kiss or a fleeting touch of affection.

Things couldn't be allowed to continue like that. It couldn't...they couldn't...

Something had to give.

Cassian did buy a rose; two, actually. When he got home, he duplicated them many times, laying them across the flat in decorative patterns. He stripped the petals of a few of the copies, sprinkling them along the kitchen counter, the couch, the floor by the entrance and the ground before their bedroom door. At the risk of incurring his wife's further annoyance, he unlocked the door he'd been dutifully ignoring for far too long.

Entering staggered him. The room...smelled so much like her. Soft scents of cherry blossoms saturating the air. A hint of the perfume he'd gotten for her while they were still down south. It was everything he missed, everything he'd continued to do without while time marched forth.

Cassian remained at the door for the moment, his reverence for what felt like sacred space holding him by the door.

They couldn't go on like this.

He was quick, sprinkling the petals all over the bed. There was no expectation he'd be allowed to use it. He just thought it might make a nice surprise. He wanted to show her that he hadn't forgotten – though he had – and that he was still thinking about her.

---

Tuesday, February 14, 1922
92 Rue de Sasse
1:03 AM

The romantic songs ended at the stroke of 12, with radio hosts returning to their regular schedules and late-night jams. Cassian never noticed the transition. Try as he did to wait up for her, the boy had finally succumbed to the day's fatigue sometime around 11:30 PM.

The flat remained in wait, candles burning low, the air filled with the scent of fresh roses, and a nasal-sounding Frenchman filling his listeners in on his thoughts of the recent change in music that had swept the country. He droned on about his preferences and his condemnation of the way the youth had become too 'loose' while his generation clung firmly to standards.

Cassian did himself the only favour he could when he realised he couldn't hold out much longer. He planted himself just by the door, wanting to ensure he could be awakened the moment she walked through. It would've been all for nothing had he planted himself on the couch and drifted too deeply into sleep.

The rattling doorknob roused him, the boy lingering in a groggy state of half sleep. His limbs felt heavy, and his mind was filled with a sloshiness that made it difficult at first to recognise that the door was being opened at all. He heard it swing open on its hinges, vaguely, far away, while his mind tried to pull him back into sleep, but he pushed back as the door slammed shut. Cass forced his uncooperative limbs to rise, struggling to get his eyes open but determined to not have his plans fall to the wayside. Cassian rubbed at his eyes with purpose, doing everything he could to remove the sleep.

"Welcome home," he muttered, slouching onto the wall by the door. Had she already walked by? He tapped himself on the cheeks, slowly pulling himself out of the fog.

Tuesday, February 14, 1922
Allones Town Market
11:00 AM

"Bonjour."

Rosalie stood up straight at the voice, having been rummaging in the boxes she kept at the back of her stand. She turned, meeting the green eyes and dark complexion of a young man a year or two older. She smiled brightly, taking the few steps to meet him at her front table. "Bonjour," she answered sweetly, "Vous cherchez quelque chose?"

His lips parted, and he blinked, as though he were surprised at the sight of the girl who ran the little medicine stall, and for a moment, the two just stared at one another. Rosie, amused and waiting for him to say something, the young man stunned and at a loss.

"Tu peux prendre ton temps." She could wait, however long he needed to figure out why he had stopped. Rosalie was never one to turn away a sale, and if he was just uncertain about what he wanted, why hurry him along? Let him take his time.

"Uh, sorry," the boy said, his face flushing slightly and he found his smile, never tearing his eyes from the girl. "You are English, yes?" Rosie tilted her head a bit, unsure why he was asking. He indicated to her, as though he was clarifying. "Your accent, I can hear it."

"Oh," she answered, her eyebrows raising slightly but she nodded and leaned against the stall pillar. "Yeah. It's that thick, is it?" The boy laughed and shrugged his shoulders, "I like it. C’est joli."

Rosie smiled politely and waved her hand towards the displays of potions, labeled as 'holistic remedies'. "Anything specific you're looking for?" she asked again, trying to pull the conversation back towards a sale. She didn't make any money off her 'pretty accent'.

The boys eyes remained on her for a moment, before following her hand towards the displays. "Ma maman, she loves your bottles. Says they help with her stress and arthritis better than any doctor. I wanted to buy a few for her for Valentine's Day."

Valentine's Day. Rosie didn't freeze, but she felt something clench in her stomach at the reminder of what day it was. She hadn't realized until that moment, and for the briefest moment, Cassian flashed through her mind. He hadn't remembered either - or if he had, he hadn't bothered to show it. For the first time since they'd met, the two hadn't acknowledged the day at all.

The quiet pulled her attention back to the dark-haired boy watching her curiously. "Of course," Rosie said, pushing the thought away and reached for a couple to show him. A star grass salve and a calming draught. "These are the two she's probably bought before, but next week I'll have something a little stronger for pain that doesn't leave you as drowsy." The boy turned them over in his hand a few times, "How much?"

"Six francs each. I also have a special today on flowers, if you wanted something for your girlfriend. I grow them myself." She indicated to the bouquets of flowers she was arranging behind her. "Oh," he laughed a little and shook his head, "No girlfriend. I'll take these and maybe flowers for ma maman." Her smile widened with excitement as she turned to fetch him her best-looking bouquet, and took the potions back to wrap them in brown paper for him.

"Merci," he said, dropping the francs on the table for her. "My name is René," he offered with a charming smile, his deep dimples accentuating the spark in his green eyes. "Rosalie," she offered in return, "Thank you for stopping by. I hope your mother likes them." The boy nodded and turned to leave, before stopping abruptly.

"Actually, Rosalie," he said, as she looked at him expectantly, "If you don't have any plans for tonight, I could take you out?" The surprise that crossed the girl's face was palpable, taken aback at the forwardness. "Oh!" she said, shifting uncomfortably on her heels as a sudden shyness took her. She hadn't been asked out or approached by anyone romantically since she and Cassian had started dating, and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Actually, I'm married," she said, watching as René's face deflated instantly. She didn't apologize or offer anything beyond that except a tight, awkward smile. "Okay," René said with a slight shrug. He looked her up and down briefly, before shifting the flowers to his other arm. "I hope he knows how lucky he is."

Rosie dropped her gaze from the young man's, her fingers busying themselves to collect the coins he'd left on her table.

"Joyeuse Saint-Valentin, Rosalie."

---

Wednesday Februay 15, 1922
92 Rue de Sasse
1:03 AM

She was exhausted, but moreso she was hurting.

Her shift at the diner had been slower than usual, the men that usually stopped in for dinner opting to stay home or take their wives and girlfriends out to nicer places. Those that had come in were mostly elderly, widowed men without children to spend the evening with. There was a palpable quiet amongst all of them, feeling the hollowness of being without someone on a day designated to love.

They came in quietly, ordered quietly, a few attempted jokes with her, and then they ate in silence, before paying their bill and taking their leave. A few had invited Rosie to sit with them to fill the void left by their absent wives. She'd humored a few, taking pity on what had to be a difficult thing. Watching happy couples and love everywhere they looked and missing the person that meant the most to them.

One man in particular reminded her of her sweet granddad. He smiled gently at her, but there was a sadness behind his dulling blue eyes. As she sat down with him while he ate, he told her about the woman that had been the love of his life. A farmer's daughter with dark auburn hair and a smile that lit up every one of his days. Together, they'd raised two strapping boys who were the image of her, both of whom were killed in the war.

His wife had passed shortly after getting the news that their second son had died. The poor man had endured the last five years of grief alone, keeping their house exactly the wife his had left it and waiting for the day he'd get to join her again.

"La vie est trop courte, et tout change trop vite," he'd said, as though he could sense the ache coursing through Rosie's chest. Maybe he could. Maybe pain recognized pain, "pour ne pas chérir chaque instant passé avec ceux qu’on aime."

Those words, spoken by a man who had lost everything, settled on her like a heavy weight. As she walked home in the dark, biting cold, tucking her coat tighter around her, Rosalie wondered if she and Cassian would ever be okay again.

It didn't feel like it. It had been two weeks since they'd talked, since they'd touched, since they behaved like two people who loved each other. The girl recognized that she was a walking shell of herself, going through the motions of each day and not really living. What did it matter, when the person she loved didn't want her anymore? When the husband she'd vowed her life to didn't want to take the steps to try and make this right?

She hadn't tried to reach him - not after he'd rejected the lunch she'd made him - and maybe that was the problem. Cassian was used to her being the soft place to land. He was used to her softening the blows and being the peacemaker. Without her doing those things, maybe he didn't know how to make things right.

She shook her head as she turned the corner to their block. She had to stop blaming herself and taking everything on her shoulders. This was not solely her burden to wear.

As she came upon the house, she steeled herself for another night alone. He'd be asleep on the couch. Maybe she'd need to tuck a blanket around the husband who barely acknowledged her existence anymore, and then she'd head for a shower and bed. Another day down. For what, she didn't know. She wasn't working towards anything. They certainly weren't.

They were simply orbiting one another in the two hours they shared in the same flat. Roommates, and nothing more.

The scent of roses met her as the door opened, along with soft warm light from the candles strewn about the flat. Her breath caught in her throat as she blinked, closing the door gently behind her, and she dropped her bag to the floor. There were roses laid out everywhere, along with loose petals strewn about, leading to their bedroom. Her lip wobbled slightly, realizing he hadn't forgotten.

Valentine's Day. Her. Them.

"Welcome home."

She glanced to the right, seeing him slumped with exhaustion against the wall. Her lips parted slightly as she blinked back tears. Her fingers fiddled with the buttons on her coat, as she choked on the words she wanted to say. Apologies. So many. How much she missed him. How much she loved him. How scared she was that she was losing him.

She swallowed, shrugging out of her coat and tossing it toward the couch. She'd hang it up in a moment. "What is all this?" Her soft voice shook, as did she, her body now trembling with the stress that she had been holding in for weeks, aching to finally be released.

"What is all this?"

"Only a fraction of what you deserve."

Cassian eased himself off the wall, realising it wasn't doing him any favours. If he remained propped up against it, the boy ran the real risk of falling asleep again. Better to stand on his own two feet, where he would at least be forced to balance or risk toppling over.

Finally, his eyes focused, landing on the tears that brimmed in hers.

...Shit.

He hadn't meant for tears. Suddenly, he worried the gesture hadn't hit the way he'd hoped. Two weeks of not talking, and he started out with another of his 'grand' – albeit unimpressive – gestures instead of words she was probably waiting for him to say. Shit. He'd got the order wrong. He should've stayed up the night before to say everything he needed to so she wouldn't have to think twice about what he offered up now. Cassian had only meant to show her that he still thought of her, that she still mattered to him, but with all the noise that existed between them, he wasn't sure if she'd have heard it any other way.

Rosie didn't want to talk to him and hadn't wanted him touching her, but the moment he caught sight of those liquid blue eyes and the way she trembled, all caution for her firmly set boundaries disappeared.

If she shoved him away, he'd accept it, but he couldn't nothold her when she looked as ready to collapse as he did.

"It's...It's still Valentine's Day somewhere," he said, resting his chin atop her head as he held her close. "Happy Valentine's Day, gorgeous. I'm sorry I couldn't have made it more special." It was worse because he knew he genuinely could've. Without a doubt, had it crossed his mind sooner – had he been paying attention instead of allowing life to swallow him whole – Cassian could've made it spectacular for her.

He could've made her happy.

His sleepiness was vanishing quickly as his adrenaline began to rise. He wasn't half done making up for the way he'd allowed them to fall apart.

"You're tired, I know." Her days were as long as his. "But...I was hoping we could talk—I'll talk. You don't have to say anything, just...all I need's five minutes, then I'll leave you alone again if you really want."

But he couldn't let things continue the way they were. He had to at least try.

She couldn't help it. The moment Cassian pulled Rosie into him, she fell apart.

The girl whose entire love language was touch, had been deprived of the sanctuary of it for far too long, and the restraint she'd been living on snapped clean in his arms. Her hands curled into the fabric of his shirt and she nestled the side of her face into his chest, unworried about soaking it through with her tears.

The scent of cinnamon clung to Cassian and wrapped around her with such familiarity, it reminded her how easy it was to be held by him.

The past two weeks had been agony. There were moments when she had been able to compartmentalize or put the pain out of her mind. She chased it with work, studying, cooking or brewing, but in the moments when her hands remained idle, it was all she knew.

"It's...It's still Valentine's Day somewhere. Happy Valentine's Day, gorgeous. I'm sorry I couldn't have made it more special."

It wouldn't have mattered if Cassian had arrested the moon itself for her. It wouldn't have felt any bigger. It wouldn't have made a different impact. This, the softness of his gesture, reminding her of who he was, who they were was the spark of light she needed to know this wasn't the end of the road. Her hands released his shirt, trailing around him until they rested against his back and she held him tightly, afraid that if she let go, she'd wake up and find it wasn't real.

"You're tired, I know."

She was exhausted. In every way a person could be. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. There wasn't a single aspect of Rosalie that didn't feel completely worn down and frayed at the edges. Life had taken its toll on the teenager, in ways she hadn't anticipated. The chasm that had opened up between them saw her teetering on its edge, watching him from the opposite side and feeling herself about to plummet down into the great unknown.

"But...I was hoping we could talk—I'll talk. You don't have to say anything, just...all I need's five minutes, then I'll leave you alone again if you really want."

This wouldn't be enough. Rosie knew that while the physical proximity, the touches, the outward expression of their love was something they both clung to, it wasn't enough to fix what they had broken. Not this time. If they didn't talk, things would fester, resentment would grow, and the misunderstandings would compound.

She pulled away gently, wiping at her eyes. "I'm okay," she said with a slight nod. "We can talk." She took his hand and pulled him with her to the sofa. She wouldn't sit on his lap, but next to him, where they could really face what was laid out in front of them.

She didn't want to fight again. She didn't want this to dissolve into more tears and cold shoulders.

She curled up on the couch, tucked her legs beneath her and leaned her head on the backrest.

"I miss you."

She didn't pull away.

Cassian released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding as his muscles melted against her. For the first time since she walked in, he felt himself relaxing, but he didn't let himself slip too far. Younger Cassian may have naively allowed his heart to leap, clinging to the idea that if they hugged, it meant the chasm had been bridged and they could move on. He knew this wasn't so easy, and as much as he'd have loved to let himself fall into the false security of such a comforting belief, Cass knew that this time...this time things were heavier and harder than anything else that had cracked them open.

This time, he couldn't kiss her until she felt better – until he felt better. It had been so long since he felt her soft skin beneath him, but he'd gotten to the point where he couldn't tell if his carnal need for comfort had him by the throat or if it was the other way around. Was he desperate to make up with her because the distance had become unbearable or because...he'd been burning for her and the way he knew she could always make him feel better about his failings?

It bothered him for a long time that he couldn't be sure, but he was beginning to suspect it was a bit of both. Two truths could occupy equal space within him at the same time.

He missed his best friend and the easy way they used to laugh. He missed sharing space – not just a fleeting day once a week – with the girl who brought warmth to his world. He missed the unfettered access he used to have to her life, the small blunders, the large triumphs, and the random people who flitted in and out. But he missed her warmth, too. He missed those sweet kisses that used to drown him in their goodness. He missed her body against his and the relief of feeling like the world was still tilted at the correct degree on its axis.

The latter couldn't overshadow the former, though, and Cassian wasn't trying to be led by his aching need but by his sense of responsibility and what he knew he owed her as her husband.

He hadn't been doing a very good job of keeping them together. Without ever meaning to, he'd stepped into the shadow of his father. Cassian thought he could understand better now the man's excessive need for work. He could see it more as a necessity than a desire to be away from his family, as he used to believe...but he also knew that it had cost him his wife. The thought of coming home to find all her things missing and Rosie gone with the wind terrified him more than he could put into words.

It wasn't a fear borne of idle thoughts and too much time on his hands. His mother had faked her death, preferring to have her children think she was dead rather than remain at home with her husband for a day more.

"I'm okay. We can talk."

She led him to the couch, but where she sat, he remained standing. It was better for them both if he did. It was his own way of maintaining the necessary discipline to get them through it. He couldn't let himself reach for her, not yet.

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too, I do, but just...just listen for a minute," he said, lifting his hands in plea for her to let him get it out. It felt good to know she missed him and that the distance was affecting her in some way, but he needed to maintain the urgency of the situation. He needed to keep the desperation that warned him his window for fixing things was quickly closing, not opening up.

"I fucked up." And had been for a long time. "What happened...I wasn't trying to hurt you – but that doesn't mean I didn't. I know that." He also knew that it didn't matter what he'd meant to do if the result was her tears on a Sunday morning and obligatory lunches while she kept her distance.

Cassian knew he hadn't cheated. Maddy was a pretty girl with a vibrant spirit and an infectious laugh, but she wasn't Rosie, and he never wanted her to be. He wasn't looking for another wife; he'd only been happy for some company to fill his days. She and her friends had been easy, if not a little exhausting. They were a good time in short doses, not where he was trying to centre his world. In his heart, he knew he'd never strayed, but none of that mattered. What good was the truth and being right when she still hurt so bad?

It wasn't worth fighting for his innocence when it was becoming clear the problem ran much deeper.

"I don't take her lunches anymore. Me and her friends...we don't hang out anymore either. I'm trying to fix this, Rosie, I am, I just...don't know what else I can do. I'm sorry it got this way. I'm sorry everything sucks. This wasn't what I promised you when we ran away that night or when we stood in that registrar's office." He withdrew to the kitchen counter, leaning against it while he ran his hands through his hair. "Everything's just been ...so hard, but I'm gonna figure it out, I promise. I don't know how yet, but I promise."