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+----- Thread: Unchained Melody | Rossian (/showthread.php?tid=1171)
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RE: Unchained Melody | Rossian - Rosalie McCormick - 08-08-2026
He was...crying.
Actually crying.
Rosalie had wiped his tears before when they pooled at the edges of his eyelids, but she'd never actually watched Cassian break down like this before. The sight of it clutched her by the chest and wrapped its cold tendrils around her heart, squeezing so hard Rosie thought she might break from the ache of it. So many times he'd held her while she sobbed, easing away her pain with his sweet words and kinder touches, but she'd never really been in a position to do the same for him.
It was one of the most vulnerable displays she'd ever seen from him, and the girl suddenly found herself hating everything that had ever hurt him. She wanted to fight them all, with every bit of strength she had until they left her sweet theatre boy alone for good. A boy with a heart so genuine and earnest, broken down beneath the loss of someone important to him...and everything else that had piled on him since...Rosalie didn't even know anymore. Months? Years?
Who could say when all the pain really started or if it had ever really given them a breather?
"It's...it's my fault."
She didn't understand. How could Patrick's death be Cassian's fault? Things happened sometimes. People got sick, or they injured themselves so gravely there was no coming back. Sometimes their hearts just gave out. Sometimes they were reckless and took risks that paid out in the end.
"What do you mean?" The question was gentle as she stroked her hands through his hair, pulling him closer to her. She didn't want to tell him he was being too hard on himself. She didn't want to talk him out of whatever he felt. She just wanted to listen and understand and let him get it out in whatever way he needed to.
It had been so long since she'd been able to act like his wife. Now, every instinct inside of her was screaming to comfort and love on him and do whatever she could to make his pain stop. She knew though...grief was an ugly thing, and there was no stopping it. It only had to run its course, and it was different for everyone. Rosie knew well that it wasn't something that could be fixed, only comforted.
His arms tightened around her, and she pressed herself closer into him, willing to let him take all that he needed from her. "I'm here," she reiterated quietly, hardly noticing when he kissed her forehead and apparated them into the night.
Later That Evening
The McCormick Home
The walk into the house had been quiet.
With his parents already upstairs in their room for the evening, there had been no big surprise or greeting at Rosalie's return. It was preferable. After the emotional rollercoaster the two had just put themselves through, she didn't know if she could then handle the inevitable questions one or both parents would have and the possible want to catch up, when all she wanted was to spend time with Cassian.
The house smelled the same, looked the same, felt the same. Nothing had changed in the two months since she'd been there, and there was a deep comfort in it. The picture of them outside of the town hall on their wedding day still sat in place of pride on his mother's bookshelf. It hadn't been removed. Rosalie was still his wife. Still a member of the family. Still theirs.
She'd nodded him on to his parent's room so he could let them know he was home, as she had ducked into his bedroom before anyone could notice. In the morning, she'd hug Kari so tightly the woman likely wouldn't be able to breathe. She'd even hug Julian while he grumped at the breakfast table. For now, she wanted to settle.
Closing his bedroom door behind her, she stood still for a moment, taking in the tidiness of his room. She remembered the first time she'd visited, papers and books were piled on nearly ever surface, with crumpled ideas and stories overflowing his bin. Now, it seemed...nearly lifeless. As though he'd hardly been here at all.
Rosalie knew - now - that Cassian hadn't handled things well in the two months they were apart. He'd said as much himself. But it made her wonder...what had he filled his time with? He'd said vials and....drinking, which was new....he'd been out with Freddie.
How bad, she wondered. His absence had ripped at her and hurt, more than she could put into words. What had it really done to him?
The door opened again behind her and she turned as she began fussing with the buttons on the back of her dress. She managed a small smile for him. "Can you help? I'm dying to get out of this damn thing." She sighed softly, her eyes falling around his room again, but deciding to leave all her questions for another time. "Give me a few?" she asked, when the buttons were undone. "I just need to get washed up real quick."
The sooner that field and all the ugly emotions were washed off of her, the better.
RE: Unchained Melody | Rossian - Cassian McCormick - 08-12-2026
Home.
In light of the night he'd just had, Cassian scarcely recognised it. Earlier, he'd been at the theatre, watching another man's work come to life. Now he walked into the dimly lit house, a light pouring in from the upstairs hall...with his wife's hand in his. It all felt a little surreal. She wasn't across the country; she was right there, and his mind had the hardest time making sense of that fact. It felt almost like learning to walk again or his lungs needing to remind themselves to manually breathe. Every few steps they took, Cassian found himself squeezing her hand, as if trying to convince himself that she was still there and not in danger of disappearing into a cloud of smoke.
When she nodded him toward the door his parents had left open a crack, there was a sharp spike of panic. Logically, he understood that letting his parents know he'd gotten home safely wouldn't have been the catalyst for her vanishing if she'd already made it up the stairs. On a more primal level, he'd just gotten her back and couldn't begin to let himself imagine her going anywhere.
Not even his bedroom.
But he forced himself. As he'd done through most of the night, Cassian put one foot in front of the next and insisted upon his own normalcy.
His mother gushed. His father offered him what he could in praise, still on the fence about the whole thing but able to appreciate that what he'd sat through had taken real work. It was a start, one Cass couldn't fully appreciate while his mind was already down the hall and heading back into his bedroom. He was gracious, if not a bit deprecating, and moved closer when his mother had requested a hug to end the night. When she commented on the scent he'd brought home, he offered her a grin and an off-handed "just another fan" before seeing himself out.
He could've told them, of course. It wasn't a secret, nor was it some moral failing for him to have his wife come home. On the contrary, they'd have been varying degrees of thrilled. It would've become a family affair when all he wanted to do was lie in his bed and hold her and not be forced into another performance.
When he got to his room, Rosie was already undressing.
"Can you help? I'm dying to get out of this damn thing."
Cassian moved behind her without thinking, instinctively fitting himself back into the role of helping her. His fingers deftly undid each button, muscle memory clicking into place for the many times he'd undressed her before. It felt foreign, too. It was funny how only two months could feel like an eternity when longing had nowhere to go. Was he still allowed to want her like that? Was there room for it in the middle of reconciliation that had taken so many terms since they'd first slammed into each other?
He didn't know and didn't like that he didn't know. Cass found himself mourning the certainty they once held between them.
"Give me a few? I just need to get washed up real quick."
He let his hand fall from the place they'd taken on her shoulder when the last button had been released. "Alright, yeah. There are fresh towels in the linen closet. Grab whichever one you want."
Cassian began removing his own clothes, popping each button with less care than he'd shown the ones on her dress. He slipped the shirt into the hamper before automatically sinking into the chair by his work desk. It was a habit he'd fallen into without ever noticing. After Patrick's death, there were nights when he would sit there, staring out the window at nothing in particular. Sometimes his gaze remained inward, locking onto a portion of the wall and lingering. Hours would pass unnoticed. There were times when morning would find him.
He'd likely be right there when she got back, unsure of what to do with himself and unable to organise his own thoughts.
RE: Unchained Melody | Rossian - Rosalie McCormick - 08-13-2026
She knew where the towels were.
It was a little reminder that they had come to a place where neither knew what to make of the other being in their space again. Cassian knew that Rosie knew were the towels were. She had showered here what felt like a hundred times before. She'd lived right across the hall from him and resided within the same walls. It had been her home until she'd decided it wasn't, regardless of whether it had ever truly felt like it during the time she was struggling.
She simply nodded, as she moved around him and towards the door again, holding the back of her dress up in case one of his parents decided to take a walk through the hallway. She didn't say anything else, needing a moment to gather her thoughts before choosing what to say. Their time in the field had already worn her down and she didn't want to devolve into another argument tonight.
The bathroom still held all of her things. Her soaps, her lotions, her shampoos. Little familiar things that she hadn't taken with her to Julia's in her rush to get out before she changed her mind. As steam filled the small room, the girl stood beneath the hot water, staring at the wall, letting the heat envelope her.
It hadn't been the reunion she'd imagined, although she could admit she hadn't really imagined anything, expecting that maybe he wouldn't have been as happy to see her as she'd hoped. The kiss blew that all out of the water, but everything that followed had been hard.
Rosalie had come to know who she was without Cassian in the two months that passed, but coming back together with him - how long would it take to feel whole again? She'd never seen the argument coming. Somewhere, deep down, Rosie knew they'd have to talk about their feelings and what the separation had done to them, but she'd never felt so attacked by Cassian or so misunderstood. It had felt mean and resentful and...
She stopped herself as she worked a lather through her hair. This was the problem, she realized. Both of them had fallen back into the habit of trying to defend their position instead of hearing the other person. Cassian had said her words hadn't meant anything without action, and he'd felt abandoned and left behind. While Rosalie saw it differently and knew that she hadn't abandoned him - at least not intentionally - he did feel that way, and intentions meant much less than impact.
Cassian Thomas had always been deeply sensitive. Beneath his charming smile and the ease with which he brushed things off, there was an insecure boy who took hurts incredibly personal and lingered on them far longer than he let on. It was unfair, letting someone think he was fine and past whatever had transpired between them when he still harbored ugly feelings beneath the surface, but it was what he did. She knew that despite what he might say, he was likely going to hold some distrust and anger towards her for awhile.
She supposed it was just a consequence of her decision that she'd have to learn to live with.
It made her question what she was going to be expecting from him, and what was realistic and fair. Could she expect him to still be honest with her, when she'd left in the midst of it? Could she still expect him to want her the same way he had before? Was she allowed to tell him when things bothered her or hurt her, or had she relinquished that right?
The uncertainty of everything that lay ahead of them not only discouraged but frightened her. She didn't want to make more mistakes. She didn't want to keep hurting him or have him think every time she got upset she was going to leave. She wanted to be happy in her marriage and trust his words, but...she didn't even know if she were allowed to tell him she loved him anymore. He'd made it plain that writing those words meant little to him.
What about if she said it? She didn't think she could withstand the hurt if she expressed how deep her love ran for him and he rebuffed it or brushed it off with a casual grin.
What if he didn't believe her?
After rinsing the last of the soap from her body, she turned off the shower and reached for the towel she'd hung on the hook. A quick comb through her wet hair, and Rosie knew she couldn't lay in bed all night with him wondering. She padded softly back down the hall, and crept back through the door to his bedroom.
Her eyes fell on him as she held tightly to the towel wrapped around her. She swallowed lightly, closing the door quietly behind her. He didn't move, or maybe didn't hear her, his gaze fixed out the window as he sat at his desk. The talk had been hard on him too, despite her shrinking and folding first. She couldn't pretend to know what he was thinking or feeling, now or in the months that had passed them by, but she wanted to.
He'd said he was at fault for Patrick's death. Not only had he said it, he'd broken down in a way she'd never seen from him before. She didn't know what he had meant, but it worried her, seeing how destroyed he was over it, and she....didn't know where to start helping him process it.
She moved across the room, wrapping an arm around him, letting her hand come to rest over his chest. Without his shirt in the way, she could feel his heart gently thudding, familiar and comforting. She didn't say anything but stood there for a moment, letting the quiet and soft touch pass between them. When she did speak, it was hushed, but firm.
"I'm still yours."
When he turned his head to look up at her, her blue eyes poured into his warm brown. "I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like I wasn't." She released him, moving around the chair to settle herself on his desk and took his hand instead, tugging him to move closer. When he stood, she let her legs dangle gently on either side of him.
"I still see you in everything that comes after this." She knew that her actions in the coming days, weeks, months and years were what would really ring true for Cassian and were what would help him move forward from this. Words were important, and Rosalie wouldn't shy away from them because they hit differently for both of them. But she knew it was her responsibility to make him feel secure in their marriage again by the behaviors she displayed.
Just like it was his responsibility to make her feel secure by showing her his true feelings and that he was trying to build a life with her as much as she was trying to build one with him.
Her hand ran from his, up his arm, coming to rest on the side of his face. "We'll figure it all out. Okay?" Her thumb brushed across his bottom lip, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers and the relief that had passed between them. Her eyes rose to find his again. "I've missed having you this close." Another brush of her thumb before her hand trailed along his jaw. Rosie held him captive in her gaze as she pulled him gently towards her, and she leaned up to meet his lips as her eyes fluttered closed.
RE: Unchained Melody | Rossian - Cassian McCormick - 08-15-2026
Rosie had been in the shower for hours.
Or maybe it had only been a few minutes.
Time passed differently for him at the window. There was an older car, sputtering its way up the street, its headlights announcing its approach in the same way its tail lights ushered its farewell. There had been a lone owl. It swooped in low, its feet tucked beneath it to prevent them from dragging along the pavement. Cassian didn't reckon he'd actually seen where it went. One minute it was there, its stark white wings streamlined and steady; the next, there was nothing. No street with its hanging overhead lights, no night sky full of stars winking at him. The houses across the street disappeared, the same way the walls around him began to.
Until her touch.
Cassian felt the way Rosie's arms draped around him. Slowly, they pulled him back to his room. Slowly, the outside began to take shape again. He blinked, taken aback by their sudden emergence. He felt his hand reach up to clasp one of hers. His fingers laced themselves through hers, hanging loosely while he forced himself back to the present.
"I'm still yours."
He squeezed her hand, letting the words settle in a place that had grown cold without her. It wasn't some melodramatic declaration of villainy and nothing as interesting as 'boy loses wife and becomes a callous shell of his former benevolence'. There was a physical coldness somewhere near the centre of his chest, one that had begun to thaw when they kissed out in the field before the conversation devolved into hurt and angry words. He felt it now, clawing its way back into existence at the words he didn't know he'd been waiting to hear.
She was still his. As much as Cass would've wanted to declare that it wasn't something he doubted, the evidence screamed against him. The fear had been there. It had felt real, and it lingered even after she'd come home with him. Did he know she was still his? If he did, would he have been so hesitant? He barely recognised the young man sitting at his desk, his wife offering comfort and him being uncertain of what he was allowed. That had never been them. Even in the earliest days when nothing was certain and they were figuring each other out, their hands always reached. There was always a stolen touch, a desire that neither had to speak. They didn't worry they were overstepping some hidden boundary. It had always been easy.
This wasn't easy, Cassian realised as he allowed his hand to fall from hers.
"I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like I wasn't."
Rosie moved around the desk, settling before him to finally pry the last of his attention from the outside. She reclaimed his hand with her apology, and he found himself rising to stand before her.
It felt right, but...undeserved. Her legs rested on either side of him the way they'd done many times before he took her by the hips and poured his love into her.
He still could...couldn't he...? Then why did it feel so much like he was walking on eggshells? His hands no longer felt confident that they knew where to go. His heart hammering so wildly in his chest with evidence of longing felt like a betrayal.
"I still see you in everything that comes after this."
"...You do...?"
"We'll figure it all out. Okay?"
It was another thing he didn't know he'd been waiting to hear until it brushed against his ears and sent shivers running through the rest of him. He wouldn't cry, not again. Since leaving the field, Cassian had gotten a better handle on the tumultuous emotions that were ravaging him inside, but he felt the familiar lump in his throat. There were still tiny threads unravelling, despite his best efforts. His arms moved around her middle as he let himself fall into her gentle touches.
"I've missed having you this close."
Suddenly, it was as if a dam had opened. After the sudden turn their talk had taken, moving from kisses that screamed of longing to cutting words, Cass had managed to convince himself that he'd only imagined her want. He'd thought...Rosie had returned for whatever reasons were her own, and he'd misread the signals so badly that he'd nearly taken them where she didn't want to go.
Now she told him that she missed having him so close, and it felt almost as if a tremendous weight had been lifted. It may have been more accurate to describe it as a rope that forced him into place. Her words cut it at the base. The moment her lips meant his, he pulled her across the desk and flush against him.
It went without saying that he missed her, too, but he was discovering the importance of words beyond anything he could've imagined for his wife. Cass pulled away only long enough to mumble against her lips, "There's nothing I haven't missed about you, before returning to the only thing he'd wanted to since he saw her in the theatre's lobby.