**LUKAS**
I don’t think I’ve watched more than half a second of this movie. The moment Clare walked into the room, that was it, my attention was gone. She looked… Soft. Comfortable. Beautiful.
And it basically took every last ounce of energy and restraint I have not to just sit there staring at her. I didn’t want to freak her out. She already over thinks things enough without me adding weird staring into the mix. But still, it was difficult. Now she’s asleep on my lap, her breathing slow and steady, her head resting just beneath my chin and I have absolutely no intention of waking her. Not unless the world is ending. She’s worn out, more than she lets on. Clare’s the kind of person who never really stays still. Even when she’s ‘relaxing,’ she’s moving. Humming, fiddling with something, talking to Roxy, drifting from room to room like she’s powered by some invisible current. She doesn’t realise how much energy she burns just existing. And she’s been contemplative tonight. Quiet in a way that suggests her thoughts are heavier than usual. From what I’ve heard. It’s just now sinking in for her, that all of this is going to end soon. That we’ll have to figure out what life looks like after. Honestly? I can’t wait. Not because I want to be done with all this, though I do. But because I want the part after. The routine. The part where we finally get to figure out what we want to do without the weight of everything else pressing down on us. I imagine visiting the bar on Friday nights after work. Movie nights at least a few times a week. I wonder if Clare would be willing to come to my place for those sometimes? She’d probably hate the decor. I’m fairly certain she would hate the decor. But… I’d let her change things. Which, for me, is kind of a big deal. I haven’t changed anything in my home since I first finished setting it up. And it took me weeks to get it just the way I wanted. But if adding a few soft blankets or some colour, maybe even some cat stuff so she could bring Princess, makes her feel more at home there… Then I’d do it. Gladly. The truth is, I’m excited. Excited to build a new normal after mine has been so completely torn apart. A life where we can make space for each other intentionally, instead of just crashing into each other because of chaos and demons and magical disasters. I think one of the first things I want to do with her is arrange a time to meet her brother’s elf girlfriend. I wasn’t especially curious about her at first. But Clare’s been wondering about her for weeks, worrying, really. Worrying about how she might treat her brother, if Julian’s happy, if they’re a good match. And somewhere along the way, that curiosity rubbed off on me. Now I catch myself wondering what she’s like. I don’t even know if it’s my curiosity or just Clare’s echoing inside my head, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Because even if I didn’t care, I’d want to care. Because Clare does. And it’s something I can do for her, something I can help HER with. That’s a rare thing. She carries so many of our social interactions. She’s the one who talks, who smiles, who reads the room and keeps things moving. I always mean to jump in. But I’m just better in one-on-one conversations, or with speeches I’ve mentally rehearsed a dozen times. Group dynamics are… Complicated. Even when the group is just made up of friends. Still, Clare never seems to mind. She never makes me feel bad about it. And when she’s curled up like this, completely still, finally ACTUALLY resting, I get to do what I’m best at. I get to just be here. Quiet. Steady. Present. For her.
Most people assume I’m unfriendly. Standoffish. Cold, even. And maybe I am, a little. But it’s not because I don’t WANT to talk to people. It’s just that… Talking is hard. I don’t read facial expressions the way others do. I don’t instinctively pick up on tone or body language. I don’t always know what the right thing to say is, and even when I do, I often think of it after the moment has passed. My mother used to say I should ‘try harder.’ Other people have told me to just ‘be more friendly,’ ‘more approachable,’ as if that’s something you can just flip on like a light switch. Like being reserved is some kind of flaw. Like it’s a crime to be quiet. But Clare… Clare is different. Sure, she thinks I should communicate with her more sometimes. And usually, she’s right. But even when she’s frustrated with me, talking to her doesn’t feel like work. It’s not exhausting. It’s not a social performance I have to rehearse in my head twenty times before I speak. It’s easy. Because I understand her, because she let me have the time to learn. Reading her thoughts so often means I’ve been able to connect her expressions to her emotions, her gestures to her intentions. I know what her frown means. I know the difference between her thinking face and her ‘I’m annoyed but trying not to say anything’ face. I get her. Even more than that, through her, I understand other people better. I see how SHE interprets them. I see the impressions she has of others, the way she reads their moods, their expressions, their intentions. It saves me so much energy trying to decode things myself. She’s like… My social cheat sheet. Without Clare, I don’t think I’d be on such good terms with the people at the bar. Sure, I could have read their minds. Could have figured out on my own that they didn’t mean me any harm. But that’s not the hard part. The hard part is showing up, going out. Sitting in a room full of people and existing. With Clare there, it’s so much easier. It’s not just tolerable, sometimes it’s even fun. I know how this sounds. Like I only appreciate her for how she makes MY life easier. But that’s not it. That’s not it at all. Clare is the sweetest, most genuine person I’ve ever met. When she helps me, it’s never because she thinks I’m incompetent, or because she’s hoping I’ll hurry up and stop being a burden. It’s because she wants to help. Because she sees someone struggling and her first instinct is to lighten the load, not to shame them for carrying it. She’s not just my anchor. She’s the person who chooses to make space for me when most people don’t. And I want to be that person for her too. I want to be someone who makes her life easier. I haven’t quite figured out how yet, not fully. But I’m trying. And I will figure it out.
Clare is a flurry of activity. Pure, beautiful chaos in motion. Her mind moves fast, constantly leaping from one idea to the next, rarely slowing down long enough to breathe. It’s part of what makes her brilliant. That speed, that wild current of thoughts, is what lets her come up with impossible plans on the fly, how she’s able to think sideways when most people can only think straight. In a crisis, she’s laser focused. Grounded, sharp and completely in control. But the day to day things like getting groceries. Doing dishes or laundry? Those kinds of tasks slip through the cracks, drowned out by everything else swirling around in her mind. It’s not laziness. She fully intends to do them. They just get quietly shuffled to the side while more urgent things take over. It’s something I noticed about her early on. So I’ve started helping with the little things, either doing them for her or with her, depending on what the day looks like. I’m not exactly playing housekeeper, and I know that she can do these things herself. I’m just easing a bit of the weight where I can. Because she does the same for me constantly. It feels good to do something for her in return. Even if it’s something as small as making sure her favourite mug is clean when she wants it. She’s asleep now, curled up in my lap, her fingers loosely tangled in the front of my shirt like she’s holding onto me in her sleep. I smile to myself. Then, carefully, I reach for the remote and flick off the TV. The room dims instantly, quiet settling around us like a blanket. I move slowly, sealing up the half eaten snacks on the coffee table. I know Roxy knows better than to steal food, but I’m less sure about Princess. She has a much stronger sense of entitlement. Once everything is taken care of, I shift, adjusting to get my footing. Clare’s small, but her couch is deep and comfortable, which makes standing with her still in my arms… Complicated. I don’t want to wake her. It takes a bit of effort, but I manage. Carefully, I carry her back to her room, Roxy trailing behind us quietly. I nudge the door open, and gently lay her down on the bed. Only, her hands are still clinging to my shirt. Even in her sleep, she doesn’t let go. I hesitate for a breath, then ease myself down beside her instead. I remember what she said earlier. That I could sleep in her bed whenever I wanted. I wonder how she’d feel if I took that to mean every night, for the rest of our lives. It’s a quiet, dangerous thought. But it feels warm. Solid. Like something real I want to reach for. I shift closer and tug her gently into my arms, resting her head against my chest. Then I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. Tomorrow, we’ll be back to planning, worrying, navigating our way through threats and impossible decisions. But not right now? Right now, she’s here, and I’m here, and for the moment, everything is still. And I’m going to hold onto that as long as I can.