"It's always been that way, it seems

One love begins, one comes undone"

✦

I could see my reflection in the glass pane of the front door; the door to a house that was no longer a home and compromised of a man that used to make it just that. Home.

A house had a way of speaking in a dialect specific to its inhabitants. The creek of wood as I stepped up the porch stairs whispered, "you're back." It sounded kind of like a question. It knew it's organs were failing.

The distorted reflection of my face on the frosted glass of the door said, "silver." It was a statement, plain and simple and frozen over as the style of opaque glass would insinuate.

I went inside, not finding Matthew downstairs so I checked upstairs. Snores slithering through the threshold of the bedroom exposed his position.

He was wrapped in the comforter on the bed, laid in fetal position with heavy breaths blowing through his mouth. My pillow was suffocated in his arms, maybe in a fruitless attempt to ring out my scent.

His snores absorbed into the bedroom walls. The toxins made the wallpaper begin to mold and as it peeled, it cried, "the end."

Confirming his unconsciousness, I went back downstairs. There was a prominent whistle of wind tonight, it's strength so intense you could hear it whip against the sides of the house, warning the unstable. "Don't fall," it bellowed.

The puzzle pieces were screeching so loudly from the living room, it was impossible to fully heed another sound. "Fix me! Finish me! Help me!"

I didn't know how—I didn't know how to fix it. And my ears were ringing so badly I thought they'd bleed because of the incessant scream, and still I couldn't find a single match to pacify it's bawls. "Fix me! Finish me! Help me!"

The box was no where to be seen either for a map of the final depiction. As another pained grunt left my mouth, I could hear the patter of feet hit the steps and the house went silent.

"Ev?" Matthew asked groggily as he neared, spotting me hunched over the coffee table. His face was drowsy, his eyes crinkling close as they adjusted to the light.

I didn't answer and he took my silence as an invitation to sink into the cushions beside me.

"What are you doing down here? It's got to be, what, three—four am?"

Harry and I had only gone home at acknowledging the late hour, but I wish we'd have stayed at my studio and not fought the wind storm to get to our houses.

Ignoring him, I looked from him to the puzzle and from the puzzle to him. Is this the image it was doomed to create?

"Do you love Melly?" Gold, gold, gold. I needed a clue.

His blinking slowed. "I told you already, no."

I could've sworn the house shook and the lights flickered as he said this.

I gazed out the window in an attempt to find Harry and I's stars, Newland Archer and Ellen Olenska. "It's okay if you do."

He leaned over and fiddled with a puzzle piece. "What?"

Biting my lip, I exhaled, "it's okay if you want her. If you love her. You both deserve to be happy, however unconventional the means."

My jaw was tightly clenched along with my fingers. I meant it but it didn't ease the discomfort of adjusting to a role you'd never auditioned for. May, the first chosen, forgotten star.

Matthew's finger curled around the side of my face, bringing it towards him. "You're my love. No one else."

My shoulders tensed before my body racked with a chill. "No," I wheezed, "and that's okay. Don't settle and conform and do what seems right on the surface because it's really not, Matthew. It's not." Archer and Olenska. Matt and Melly.

Before I could ramble out more, his lips were pressed flat against my own. His eyes were closed as he tried to initiate a spontaneous kiss but my own eyes were unable to shut from the vision of Melly's face in this very place with her fire and heat and gold. I was room temperature and she was fire and I'd never amount to her intensity.

It made me question my love for first kisses. This kiss—the first with Matthew, was all but satiating. He was just cold and I was lukewarm despite the friction of his strive to resuscitate me. It was all cold and lukewarm flesh smooshing against each other rather than the burn of fire and ice he had with Melly.

And he was trying. Desperately trying to kiss i love you's into my skin like a stamp. But the words were kind of spelt like Melly and the ink wasn't permanent, smearing even at the imperceptible force of the air.

The toxic, residual ink penetrated the cracks of my chapped lips and slipped into my bloodstream with a rising chant of "the end, the end, the end." As it buzzed in my veins, it was louder than the peeling wallpaper and louder than that torrential Monday rain and just louder, so much louder. Tick, tock.

Until Matthew replaced his hand on my cheek, I hadn't realized he had removed himself from contact at all. And in that moment we both knew. We knew that lukewarm and cold didn't compliment one another and there was no passion and there was no love. Because there was no fire and ice and passion and gold.

I sighed, looking to my lap. "Why'd you do that?"

"To show you I love you." Is that how he had shown Melly? Maybe only I knew.

I tilted my head so my cheek separated from his hand and glanced to the left at the puzzle. Turning to my other side, I could spot the doorway of the sunroom, a clip of the landscape of dead plants visible. "We wilted, Matthew," I croaked.

Once Matthew and I were life. We were raw, vulnerable, gushing blood love and we were so alive. But we wilted. We separately sought refuge in the dark, ignorant to the fact that without proper care, without water and light we would die.

"I know, Ev, I know," he whimpered, his composure crumpling as he finally gave in to the end.

"You don't love me," I stated, "admit it, please."

He sniffled, looking me as if unsure if I really wanted to here it. Did I? I nodded to reassure him of my request.

Groaning, he said, "I don't not love you, Ev. That's not how it works. Love... isn't a like light switch."

The lights flickered again.

"That's how you treat it," I rebutted quickly. His face flashed with hurt making me murmur an ashamed, "sorry." He's trying, right?

"Let's fall in love," he said hurriedly, his voice hoarse. "Again—fall in love with me and I with you. Again. Please." Second chances, second chances, second chances.

Fall in love again? Become Matt and Ev again? Isn't this what I've been wanting?

"Um... okay." I tried to match his smile but mine was meek at best. It wasn't a shabby idea, but this didn't feel right. This felt as if it was beyond a second chance. This felt like second place.

"I quit my job, so you don't have anything to worry about," he revealed, visibly enthused.

What? I scrunched my face up. "You quit?"

"Yes." His eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed my hands, squeezing them too tightly. "For us—for you. You believe me, right?"

I sighed, unsure of how to feel about his decision. "There's no way to be rehired?"

"No, why would you even ask that?"

"I just... I don't understand." Why would he be so confident in our relationship's revival? "It's a, um, lot of pressure."

His hands squeezed mine tighter to where he could definitely feel the mounds of bones and joints. "You're my priority, Ev. You come first." Silver. Dull. Second place.

Prying my hands from his fists, I bit my lip. "When did you quit?"

"The day you came back from the motel. I couldn't be there anymore." That was days ago, why didn't he tell me then?

I nodded in response, moving over so we weren't as close on the couch. Burying my face in my hands, I rubbed my eyes. "I need to sleep."

"C'mon we can sleep in our bed," he offered, standing up and holding his hand out to me.

"No, uh, not tonight. I'll sleep in the guest bedroom."

Mere weeks ago I would've been overjoyed at the idea of being in Matthew's embrace in the bed we shared but not anymore. And I couldn't figure out exactly why.

Disheartened, he frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I need more time to think," I explained wearily.

With a whispered, "okay," he returned up the stairs and to bed. After hearing the door shut, I made my way up as well and into the guest bedroom to sleep.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

I woke up in the afternoon and Matthew wasn't home, having taken the car to wherever he had gone. I didn't mind his absence, to be honest I preferred it for now.

After freshening up I took a seat on the porch, needing to get out of the chatty house. It was still windy today, the breeze causing me to shiver and my teeth to clatter. The cold gave me something to focus on at least, for deciphering between the ins and outs of Matthew and I's new venture was impossible.

I was back into a state of not knowing. Of waiting. Would we be Matt and Ev again?

Standing up, I crossed the yard into Harry's, knocking upon the door. Within a minute the door had opened and revealed Rose, clad in a white dress with a turtle neck beneath her soft, round jaw.

My cheeks flushed at the knowledge of our first and last meeting. Her's did the same.

"Hi," I said, tucking a wild strand behind my ear. "I'm sorry about how we originally met, I was quite, um, frantic that day to say the least. And quite impolite."

Her thin, plush lips curved upwards a little, but her eyes were creased. Reluctance—diffidence. "That's alright."

I held out my hand to shake her's and I anticipated her hand to radiate a certain warmth her natural grace and ethereal beauty implied. But she was at the cusp of lukewarm, slightly more chill. It felt as if I had been shaking my own hand if I had been stood outside in the cold.

Upon her hand's retraction, I had noticed the necklace resting on her chest. It was a heart shaped locket. And it was bronze.

I smiled tightly, racking my brain for something to say.

She beat me to the chase. "So, you and Harry have become good friends. That's nice."

I couldn't figure out if her words had any hidden insinuations. "Yeah, he's very lovely," I playfully chuckled to ease the tension that creeped upon us.

Her thumb and pointer finger pinched the locket. "That he is," she laughed forcefully.

"Speaking of Harry, where is he?"' I inquired, seeking my mode of clarification.

She looked down to her feet before swiftly tossing her head over her shoulder to glance into her home. "He's inside getting ready, I believe. I'll let him know you stopped by," she said softly, quickly maneuvering around the door and closing it.

Spinning around, I began walking to the apartment building where the no-name lady lived. I texted Matthew on the way. Meet me at our old apartment.

This loft whilst being an old home of mine had forgotten the language specific to the Miller's. Matt and Ev. It had housed other people and crafted the vernacular of its new inhabitants.

That was the thing about homes, they're not bilingual. They may share similar characteristics to when you had accompanied them, but they've grown new features and undergone cosmetic surgery to please the present dwellers. Additional ghosts and an expanded tongue abide in an old home.

Homes learn the lingo of their first residents and as new ones reside there, it's vocabulary evolves and surpasses the past ones. All you have left to share with an old home is broken language and incomprehension.

So, you can communicate with them slightly, but not to the extent at which you once could. No proper conversations can be exchanged. It's as if your tourist in a foreign land.

I knew this as I waited for Matthew to meet me at the apartment which was still vacant. It was quiet and tepid and a reunion with an old friend, the relationship of with was only maintained by close proximity.

It was almost awkward, making small talk with counters you cooked on and floorboards you tripped up on and balconies you day dreamed on hundreds and hundreds of times until you just stopped. It's an abrupt end to a relationship despite the lack of malice.

A knock on the door disrupted the uncomfortable silence. I crossed the loft and opened the door, Matthew meeting me on the other side with a bag hanging off his shoulder.

"Hey," he bubbled.

"Hi," I exhaled, my face expressing nothing but solemn.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck and he peered behind me. "Who lives here now?"

"No one. It's vacant."

He quirked his eyebrows. "Oh. How'd you find that out?"

I shrugged and backed up so he could come inside. Immediately, he took the cue and passed me to look around.

He paused in the middle of the space, placing his foot on the loose floorboard and sliding it back and forth to check if it had been fixed. "Whoopsie-daisy," he mumbled under his breath.

Dropping his bag on the kitchen counters, which were in the back left corner, he opened the balcony door and stood outside. I followed him, standing by his side.

I cleared my throat. "Weird, right?"

"Yeah. It feels like we were just living here." I didn't miss the shift of hoarseness in his voice mid-sentence.

We gazed into the afternoon sky. It was cloudy but not overcast. The wind permeated our clothes and slapped our bare skin. It felt like a fresh burn.

"I miss it." I miss being happy. The phrase was picked up by a gust and carried away, fading like a strained melody.

"Things were somehow easier even though we were struggling to meet rent," he chuckled sardonically.

I placed my left hand on the rail, palm side up. Understanding my signal, he put his right hand in mine, interlocking our fingers. It didn't warm my palm as I had hoped, if anything it accelerated the frostbite.

"Matthew—"

"Let's go inside," he interrupted, "you're shaking like a leaf."

Our entanglement required me to follow him indoors. He brought us to the center of the room beneath the light fixture with no lightbulbs. After establishing our position, nothing was said.

"I asked you to come here on a whim—I myself came here on a whim. I don't really know what we're doing here. Thought you might want to see it, I guess," I confessed to dissipate the quiet.

"Do you want to leave?"

"And go where? It doesn't matter where we go, it'll still be stiff between us."

Matthew was like this apartment. An old home of which I could no longer communicate with. It doesn't matter how many memories we shared because there were no foreseeable ones to come. What was there to discuss with an expired lease?

"Because you haven't forgiven me," he claimed.

"That's why you think everything's off?" I scoffed.

"Yes. You can barley look at me, let alone carry a conversation."

"Maybe I can't forgive you because you haven't even owned up to what you did."

"How have I not? I apologized multiple times." He argued, his voice rising.

"What you apologized for was hurting my feelings, not for having sex with your secretary," I yelped, suddenly overcome with frustration.

"I'm sorry I fucked my secretary! Are you happy?!"

He had said it before but only because I baited it. Asking for a reminder is contradictory and I wasn't sure how classify this one.

I took another step back from him, my face downcast. With my eyelids squeezed closed, I tried to cool down before this escalated further.

"No," I said calmly. "I'm not happy."

He sighed, his anger draining as well. "Neither am I."

"...I wish you would've told me. But I had to witness it. I had to be there to hear and see your affair before we could even talk about it."

"Ev—"

"And I already knew. I knew for weeks that you were sleeping with Melly," I admitted in defeat. In regret.

"You had to have known that though. You can't say you really tried to hide it," I continued, glancing up to see him looking at the door.

He didn't deny it.

I clicked my tongue. "You should go."

He did as recommended and when the door shut, I went out and sat down on the floor of the balcony, slouching over as to not lean on the building. The wind had waned to a zephyr but the sky had grown overcast.

I called Harry on my phone and he picked up quickly.

"Harry?"

"Evdoxia? Are you okay?" He implored, worried by my previous tone.

I inhaled a big breath of air. "Yeah, um, did Rose tell you I stopped by?"

"When did you stop by?"

"A few hours ago. She had told me you were getting ready."

"Oh. She didn't mention it."

"She probably forgot," I pointed out, not fretting over the topic. "But, I, uh... I don't know."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. I'm okay," I reassured. "How about you?"

"A bit confused but other than that I'm good—glad to hear from you."

I let out a breathy laugh. "We were together just last night."

"And who was the one knockin' on my door this morning?" He teased.

"Whatever..." I mumbled.

"Can't get enough of me can you?" His smile and his dimples were audible through his tone.

I made an inconceivable sound of detest.

"It's fine, I can't get enough of you either."

My lips bloomed into a full fledged grin. "Then we're equal."

"Meh."

We were silent for a brief period of time but it was nice. I didn't know what to say but I knew I didn't want to hang up.

"Where are you?" I decided to question.

"At my shop doin' some finishing touches."

"I didn't mean to interrupt, sorry."

"Don't say sorry, you did nothing wrong," he reaffirmed. "And I'm more than pleased that you called. You've just made my day."

"Well thanks for answering. You've made mine too," I cheesed.

"Can you come over right now?"

"To the thrift store?"

"Yes."

I got up on my feet. "I'm on my way."

Ending the phone call, I began the walk over to where I longed to be the most. With Harry.

It's been awhile :(

I've been so so busy lately! I'm sorry!

hopefully some new arrangements

will give me more time to work on

this story though :/

anywhoozy, I'm really excited for the and I really love it!

peace out ☺