Three days pass since the incident during the rehearsal. The issue is still not addressed, and all the participants seem to be fine with it. Which is definitely poppycock, since how can a bloke be OK with his future wife having a panic attack when walking down the aisle? She should be radiant and run faster than appropriate, her eyes bloody shining and full of ardent adoration, all happiness and unicorns and bloody rainbows. No luck in that area.
In the bath you did all possible to distract him from this topic. Pretty much you returned the favour of three orgasms, and then some. Worked out pretty well. If you forget that horrible moment when you remembered the similar moment with Phil and choked. Mouth full of bath water you coughed violently for a few seconds and then returned to your previous activity. Stuff your doubt as deep as possible, Wren. No pun intended.
Also, John is not Phil. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he let you. What does it tell us, Wren? No fucking clue. Is he trying to avoid the issue? Is he testing you? Oh bollocks, you don’t know anymore…
The day of his stag night comes, and in the early hours of the morning his hardly breathing body is brought home by Lan and Killian, the two of them giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. In the morning you leave him and a glass of water along with two pills of NSAIDs on his bed table in his posh flat, and since you left early you slowly walk to the research center where they moved your project last month.
That’s another issue that the two of you never ever address, while you definitely should. Once your engagement got settled, newspapers informed, all his pansy toff friends spent some time with you and drove you up the wall, the Yamazaki project suddenly received additional financing, and you and a few other lab rats, Maya being a not so surprising exception, were moved to a fancy research centre near his flat. Feel free to quote Bernie Kropp in here.
The centre is indeed fancy, and since you are done with your classes, you really don’t need to go to uni anymore. You feel sad though. It was your home for so many years, and it was really the only one you ever had. Plus Thea is still there. She switched her degree again. Technically you still are roomies, but you hardly go to your flat. Maybe you should hide there tonight. Maybe you two need some time away from each other. Maybe you need to clear your bloody thoughts. You feel very confused, and it never ends well. You start running around like a chicken that got its head chopped off but the legs are still jerking. In this condition you tend to make spasmodic decisions… Something like fleeing to Argentina…
You are walking through a small park, breathing in the smell of lilacs in the crisp morning air, when your mobile announces in the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch that you’ve got a text. To your own surprise you see it is from Killian Durinson, and he demands – and you really can’t interpret all this CapsLock in any other way – that you called him right this moment.
“Killian, love, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Wren, I honestly didn’t know whom else to call…” You giggle. You are in a weird mood this morning.
“Did you wake up in a stranger’s bed, your undies nowhere to be seen, and you have no money for a cab?” Your barmy joke is met with dead silence. “Bollocks, Killian, I am not that off, am I?!”
“I am not in a stranger’s bed… I am in Lan’s bed…”
You squeak and pump the air with your fist. “Finally, love, I thought you’ll never succumb to the temptation!”
“What?!” he hisses, obviously trying to keep his voice down. “You knew?”
You laugh. “Did I know what? That you are gay, or that he has been drooling over you for the last two years?” He’s silent there, and you hope he isn’t hyperventilating. You giggle again. The tone of his next question is priceless.
“Two years?” He is hopeful and definitely pleased. Oh young love! There is nothing sweeter! You sigh, and it takes all your will power to hold your ‘awwww’ back.
“So, where is Lan?”
“He is in the shower…” You bite your bottom lip. And he’s immediately panicked. “It is not what you think… We didn’t… He didn’t… I just woke up, and we talked…” Awwww, bloody adorable! You imagine his puppy eyed look that he is no doubt wearing at the moment.
“We are taking it slow.” There’s some shuffling at the other end of the line, and then a yelp. “Bloody hell, I bumped my head. He has this bloody Japanese futon, and it’s so low…” There is more shuffling, and then you hear the second voice at the background. Lan is offering Killian a towel, Killian is mumbling in return. You are perched up on a bench in the park, enjoying it more than you should.
Killian’s voice is back into your ear in a second. “OK, I’m hiding in the bathroom like a spotty teenager.” You guffaw. “Shut it, Wren. I need advice.”
“I honestly don’t know what to tell you, darling. A lot of lube and…”
“Wren!” He’s hissing again. “Be serious, would you?” You are really trying, but he is just way too cute.
“Am I being mental? I mean, you have seen him, he’s a bloody prince… And since I am starting this, should I even?..” He sharply exhales, collecting his thoughts, and in his next question you recognise the Durinson backbone. “Am I in danger of having my heart broken? He is my first, and if it is not the same for him, and I am going to fall really hard for him, it will be devastating.”
You smile and suddenly feel teary. What is wrong with you today? The day feels strange…
“Killian, I think we are always in danger of someone breaking our heart, but don’t you want to try? I mean, I am the last to judge… Even my trust issues have trust issues, but Lan is a decent person… And damn, you look hot together!” He chuckles warmly, and you are suddenly flooded with affection for him. As weird as it is, you realize that recently he has become one of your closest friends. You spend a lot of time together, the wedding and shite, and you are family now, in the most mental of ways, and you so want him to be happy.
“What are you going to do, love?”
“I am going to take this bloody shower, and then we are going to get some breakfast and I am getting myself some of that famous Thrandon quality brand.” You laugh, and he joins in.
“Go get him, tiger!” He hangs up, and you spend a few moments sitting on the bench, some strange emotions brewing in your blood. They are elusive, you feel like you are missing something, and you have hard time remembering where you are going. After a while you push yourself up and start walking. There is no point in wallowing in the confusion and heart searching. You are fine, your life is fine, you are marrying John Thorington, everything is fine… Bugger…
You scuff slowly into the lab, looking anywhere but where you are going, and of course the moment you are trying to get through the door, there is a person leaving.
You bump into a hard body, your nose squishes into a definitely male sternum, and you stumble. A strong arm wraps around you, stopping you from falling, your senses suddenly assaulted by an expensive masculine perfume, slightly bitter and fresh, and you are pretty much pressed into, as you realized in a mo, a six feet four gorgeous bloke. You lift your eyes and meet a pair of the most beautiful brown eyes you have seen in your bloody life.
“Wren Leary, I presume? August Anderson at your service.”
Well, hello you! And damn…