Chapter 65 Hurt 2
SONG RECOMMENDATION: HENRY, COME ON BY LANA DEL REY
Allan didn't follow Elaine outside the house, instead, he walked calmly down the corridor and apparated directly to the front porch. There she was, squatting on the worn wooden steps, her head bowed, streaks of tears marring her cheeks. The bright afternoon light did nothing to soften the sorrow radiating from her small frame.
He stood a few steps behind her, giving her space but remaining close enough to sense her pain. He could hear the quiet sobs at first, and then the sounds turned into pained hiccups that shook her delicate shoulders. For a long moment, he simply watched and listened, letting her release what she had been holding inside.
Finally, she lifted her head, still unaware of his presence.
"Just classmates…" she whispered, her voice trembling, repeating his words as though saying them aloud would make them less painful. Her cheeks quivered, and her hands fisted in her lap. "If I'd known… I would have told everyone we were just classmates," she added, her voice cracking with a bittersweet mixture of anger and heartache, as though it were the end of something she had cherished quietly for herself.
"Are you alright?" came his voice from behind, low and calm.
Elaine yelped, jumping slightly from where she sat, her heart skipping beats. She turned, her red, tear-stained eyes meeting his steady, passive gaze. He watched her silently, unblinking, as though he were trying to read her entirely. She looked away first, her face burning.
"N…nothing," she stammered, knowing he had seen her crying.
"That's not the answer to my question," he said softly, taking a few careful steps closer.
"I'm fine," she said, trying to make her voice steady and detached.
Allan noticed the effort in her tone, the way she tried to push the sadness away, and he couldn't help but allow a slight smile to appear on his face. She frowned, confused by his reaction.
Without a word, he moved to sit where she had been, the wooden steps creaking softly beneath him. He motioned for her to sit next to him, but she shook her head stubbornly.
"I'm going inside," she said, brushing past him, trying to regain control of herself.
He reached out, taking her wrist gently, and guided her to sit beside him. The simple gesture made her chest skip another beat, but she refused to show it. She was upset—upset at him, upset at herself, upset at the world that had made something so simple feel so heavy.
Moments of silence stretched between them, only filled by the soft rustle of the wind through the leaves. Finally, Allan spoke, his voice calm but firm.
"What made you cry?"
It wasn't that he didn't know. He knew perfectly well. He simply wanted to hear it from her.
Elaine stiffened, facing forward. His grey eyes, so often distant and unreadable, softened just slightly as he reached to touch her wrist, where the phantom's mark had left a scar. The wound had healed on the outside, but the mark lingered internally, a permanent reminder.
"W…what?" she stammered, confused by the sudden touch, the closeness, and the intensity in his gaze.
"Did it mean that much to you?" he asked, looking up at her directly, the usual detachment in his eyes replaced by a rare, quiet sincerity.
"W…what?" she asked again, almost the hundredth time in as many minutes, utterly perplexed by him.
"Being friends," he answered simply, sincerity threading through his calm voice.
Elaine exhaled slowly, a shaky breath escaping her lips. "Yes…" she whispered, almost more to herself than to him.
"Why?" he asked quietly, but without any pressure, almost as if the question was a gentle invitation rather than a demand.
"Nothing… it's just that I feel we've done quite a lot together," she said, her voice firmer now, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap. "That makes us more than classmates."
He nodded, but made no comment.
"If you agree with me, then why did you say we were just classmates?" she asked, furrowing her brows in frustration.
"Just some reason," he said, his tone returning to its usual neutral calm.
"I hate that I cried," she admitted finally, voice trembling slightly. "I hate that it mattered so much… that your words… your denial… it hurt more than I thought it would."
"It's alright," he said quietly, his voice carrying a calm certainty. "It mattered because it was real. And… because it shows you care. That's not a bad thing." his words were a great comfort to her as she smiled feeling a weird sensw of happiness.
His eyes drifted away, landing on the small collection of potted flowers that Elaine's mother had placed carefully on the porch railing.
Elaine followed his gaze and smiled faintly. "Those are for Mum. She loves collecting rare plants," she said, a fond warmth spreading through her voice.
He only nodded, still looking at the plants, his head slightly bowed. Elaine didn't notice the soft intensity in his eyes, the way he lingered on her small gestures with an almost hidden curiosity.
\---
Meanwhile, far away in HERBERT WILBUR, a storm of a different kind was brewing.
Objects toppled one after another, the sound of chaos echoing through the otherwise silent room. Mr. Hance ransacked the room meant for Allan Demetriou, tossing aside books, papers, and personal items with ruthless precision. The room appeared to have been unused for a long time, layers of dust and neglect clinging to every surface.
He searched every nook and corner with meticulous care until his eyes landed on something that made his breath catch.
A narrow space behind the wardrobe revealed a dusty, black-covered book, the kind that looked like a journal. Its presence was almost forgotten, yet something about it made his lips curl into a sinister smile, one that teetered on the edge of madness. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for it, the creak of his fingers against the cover echoing in the silence of the abandoned room.