5 1/2 Temple Meadow - The Quiet Things | Rossian

         Friday, June 30, 1922  

8:30 PM
❤︎⁠

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Rosalie had been home for two days, and it was time for her husband to keep his promise.

Two weeks in Mungo's had made a vast difference in the girl's appearance and demeanor, and it had only strengthened her resolve to help Cassian begin his long road to healing. Neither of them had come out of the past month unscathed, and the evidence had been written all over the both of them physically and mentally.

Rosie wouldn't say she was fine now, necessarily, but she was recovering, and eating better than she ever had. She was smiling, authentically again, and her laughs now rose to her eyes rather than dying politely behind her lips. Where Cassian had dragged out a screaming, hysterical shell of a girl, now sat a young woman, still prone to moments of sadness and darkness that took hold, but surrounded by love and people that were determined to help her move through them to happier ones.

Rosie knew she had a long way to go. The trauma she'd endured didn't just magically go away with the two weeks of intense therapy and psychiatric care, but it didn't feel so heavy and overwhelming anymore. She could see light at the end of the tunnel, and in the meantime, she was finding joy in little every day things again.

Coming home had been the biggest.

"You can do this," she said softly, taking hold of Cassian's hand as they sat on his bed, summoning the courage to go downstairs and confess to his parents what had been going on. It was the promise she'd asked of him, not to make her carry all of this alone, especially when they both knew she'd tried and had been unsuccessful at it. More than that, for his own well-being, Rosalie didn't want Cassian overwhelmed with shame anymore. The more people that knew about his struggles - especially those that loved him - the better chance he had at getting better. More support could only be a good thing, even if the revelation was difficult.

Dinner cleaned up and the kitchen spotless, she was sure Julian and Kari weren't expecting to see the two for the rest of the night. The two had made early evenings of it since she'd returned home, preferring to sit up in bed together, reading books to one another out loud, or talking about the things that had come to pass. Interrupting his parents' evening radio program to talk about vices wouldn't be welcome news, she was sure.

But it was necessary.

"Do you want to call them up here, or do you want to go down?"

"You can do this."

He couldn't.

"Do you want to call them up here, or do you want to go down?"

He didn't.

This was a mistake. Cassian realised this from the moment those vast oceans drew him beneath their waves when he'd lain next to her in that hospital bed. Telling his parents. Nothing had run more counter to his sense of self-preservation and survival. There were levels. Deep levels. It wasn't simply telling his parents and watching them have a cry while he felt terrible for what he continued putting them through – although that was certainly a part of it. Both had watched him drag Rosie kicking and screaming from the house. They'd tried talking him through it, supportive as they could afford to be while letting him know that sometimes people needed more help.

He'd kept quiet about himself, giving away nothing that might suggest that their lectures needed to be given a little closer to home. For the first in a long time, he wasn't his father's 'fuck-up' of a son. His mother had finally stopped side-eyeing him straight to hell for what she'd convinced herself was his gross and callous indifference to Rosie's suffering.

If his father thought he needed a job because his hands had been too idle before, what would he think now? He'd never believe him, no matter how much he insisted he'd never shown up to work high.

And................maybe he shouldn't believe him anyway.

But that was hardly the point.

This felt like the preparation for his funeral, a thing he'd expected to be gone from the earth before being made to endure. Did he want to go down? Did he want to call them up? Neither. Cassian wanted to take his wife, a trunk full of their most precious things, and disappear so thoroughly into the night that his mother would have to question whether she'd ever carried him in her womb for 9 months.

Unfortunately, his wife would never let him. They'd brought her into the light, and now she sought to do the same for him. It wasn't in any malicious sort of way, he knew. Rosie wanted him getting the sort of help he wasn't yet convinced he needed.
Sometimes, it was astonishing the things he did for love.

The boy sighed heavily, understanding that it was time to face the music and that he was only delaying the inevitable. Calm as Rosie was being, he also knew this wasn't actually a negotiation. She would be going to them with or without him. 'With' simply allowed him the opportunity to show her he was serious about making changes and helping them to a better place. Merlin's beard.

"Let's just go. If they come up here, they'll never leave." There would be no escaping to his room, no pretending he was asleep. They weren't about to give up their only ground for retreat.

Rising, he tugged her along with him. Down the stairs. Through the short hall, into the living room. His heart thudded loudly the entire way. Everything in him screamed to take his wife back upstairs and suggest another night, but he forced himself forward, one step at a time.

When they got to the living room, his parents each spared them a glance before his father returned to his paper and his mother to her knitting.

"Heading somewhere? It's already getting late," his father muttered distractedly.

A brilliant idea. Perhaps they should have been headed somewhere, though he doubted Rosie would go for it.

"Let's just go. If they come up here, they'll never leave."

She could read him like a book.

It was the benefit, and curse, of having spent so much of her young life with Cassian. Days spent watching him work and ruminate, nights spent listening to his words and body language had made the girl somewhat of an expert in all the mechanisms, expressions and smallest tells that made him who he was.

He didn't want to do this. That much would have been obvious to anyone, but Rosie knew he so adamantly didn't want to do this that the only thing breaking his resolve was the knowing the consequences if he didn't. Cassian had had plenty of opportunities to handle this privately and on his own. Merlin knew Rosalie had given him grace and space when perhaps she shouldn't have, with the knowledge that he'd promised to handle it.

He hadn't. And whether he liked it or not, she was forcing this whole thing out into the open where there'd be no place left for him to hide. In the same way he'd dragged her screaming through the house and to the hospital, she was ready to lay everything out in the open. Not to humiliate or shame him, but because she was terrified of him overdosing again. He claimed he knew his limits, that he could handle it now, but she knew better.

Cassian was a lover of great words when he wanted to be the center of attention, and an even greater lover of minimalizing when he didn't want to be seen.

She wasn't risking it anymore, not when she finally understood that this wasn't something they could handle, just the two of them.

She stood when he tugged her along, following him down the stairs and into the living room.

"Heading somewhere? It's already getting late."

Rosie's gaze moved to Cassian, waiting for him to say something. She squeezed his hand a little tighter for encouragement, but when he didn't speak, she sighed softly, pulling him with her to the sofa across from his parents' chairs. "No," she answered Julian, placing her free hand over the one she already held. She looked at her husband expectantly, begging him not to make her be the one to say it. She wanted to allow Cassian the opportunity to do it himself as they'd agreed.

"There's something really important that we need to talk to you about," she said softly, looking from Cassian to his parents. Kari's knitting slowed until she'd dropped it in her lap and looked to Julian, concern beginning to rise between the two of them.

"Are you feeling alright, Rosie?" Julian's eyebrows lowered over his eyes, the man obviously wary of where this conversation was going. Another Mungo's trip? Merlin forbid another pregnancy. Julian and Kari knew what the two had been up to - it'd be surprising if half the neighborhood didn't - and it was the last thing the two wayward teenagers needed in the midst of all this chaos.

"I'm fine, really," she answered with a small smile, but it fell quickly as she turned her attention back to her husband.

He wasn't, and she was tired of being the only one who knew it.

The sofa, right, sitting. Sitting he could do. Functionally, his knees were still capable of bending.

Down he went, his heart plunging further beneath the tumultuous waves of his anxiety. It didn't take long for his parents to start paying real attention. For the boy who loved the limelight and the roar of the crowd, nothing was more capable of turning his stomach in that moment. There were only so many ways this would end, none of them the way he'd have wanted. Cassian found himself clinging to the fleeting seconds of peace that remained while his parents' gazes settled on Rosie. It was something he was sure his wife held some small resentment for. The pair of them had fallen into the habit of pitying her. It wasn't deliberate and it wasn't by any means malicious, but they worried over her just about as much as they worried over him.

More by now, he reckoned. While Rosie had slowly been broken down by her grief, Cassian had inflated. He laughed; he grinned with that familiar boyish charm that had slowly chipped away at their suspicions. In the beginning, his mother had been sure her son must've been hiding some deep-seated anguish. She'd tried everything she could to pry it out into the open so 'it could heal'. He'd deflected hard enough to convince her that he was harbouring something far different.

Borderline callous indifference to his grim circumstances.

She'd never seen him sit silently with the loss of his child or the brutal attack that had brought him bloody to their front door. Cass hadn't allowed her even the smallest glimpse into the rage that had burned in the back of his dark eyes over a woman who no longer breathed or the way he sank a little further beneath the fog with each day he was forced back to the ministry.

His father had been even easier to fool.

Julian wasn't a terrible father, no matter what he and his siblings had believed growing up, but he tended to retreat. In his own way, the man liked to see the things that preserved the safer version of reality that he preferred. He'd never once faltered with the lie that Kari was dead. He took him fishing despite understanding his utter disdain for the sport, convincing himself that they were bonding. Now, his son that had spent too much of his recovery in his mother's skirts had bounced back and remembered who he was.

Cass was rising with the sun, walking shoulder to shoulder into the ministry, shaking hands with dignitaries, and occasionally being afforded small introductions with people he would otherwise have had no hope of meeting.

His father didn't need anything more and so didn't look for anything more.

It made for a smooth system, but, feeling Rosie's hand tighten around his as she answered, he knew it wasn't a comfort he could allow himself to maintain. The walls would have to come tumbling down, and he would have to stand – well...sit—in its aftermath.

He squeezed back, steeling himself for what he knew he would have to do.

All eyes were on him, but none had come for the performance that night. Rosie was forcing him from behind the curtains.

Briefly, his eyes flickered to the door, but he knew better. The expectation etched into everyone's expressions demanded an answer, and he could only sit in the uncomfortable silence for so long.

"Well, one of you spit it out," Kari encouraged, returning to her needlework as she managed to convince herself they were simply being children about whatever they had come to say. She wasn't worried, not really. Rosie had already said she was fine, and every performance Cass had put on assured her of the same.

Cassian exhaled sharply.

"I've been taking potions again." His words tapered off near the end, losing their courage as his father's gaze sharpened with concentration.

"What was that?" Julian asked, closing his paper entirely. He couldn't tell whether the man had genuinely not heard or was daring him to admit it a second time. "Speak up, Cassian. You know how I feel about mumbling."

He did. It wasn't a sign of a strong and confident man—fitting, oh so fitting for the moment, but not the presentation his father would accept. Cassian swallowed roughly. "I said I've been," this time, he caught himself as his voice began to dip, forcing it back to a reasonable volume. "taking potions again."

As if by its own bit of impressive magic, the room suddenly went frighteningly still. Kari abandoned her needles, letting them fall into her lap. Julian placed the paper on the small end table before leaning forward in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was low and deceptively calm. "You're doing...what?"

"...Dad," Cassian groaned.

"No, no, say it again. Loud enough for your mother to hear. Look at her when you say it."

He couldn't.

The eye of the storm was quickly passing, the reckoning waiting to crash its way in.

The tension could be cut like a knife.

Rosalie wasn't a mother; not in the truest sense. She didn't yet understand all the nuances that came with being a parent - balancing emotions, guidance, discipline, love - or how those nuances affected the way someone viewed their entire world. She'd been pregnant, yes, and felt that instinctual pull to protect and love her unborn child, but she hadn't carried him to term. She hadn't birthed him, spent sleepless nights comforting him, feeding him, bathing him, caring for him when he was sick, teaching him right from wrong and -

She couldn't yet understand how Julian felt when Cassian's words lingered in the room. She couldn't yet understand the sheer, gut-wrenching shock that was written all over Kari's face. From a girlfriend or wife's perspective it was bad enough - but as a mother? To know your child was so sick, in so much pain that they willingly hurt themselves to soothe it - Rosie supposed she couldn't, in this case, relate.

To Rosie, Cassian was the love of her life. A young man that had grown from her first real friend into the husband she admired and adored and intended to build her life around. To Julian and Kari, he was their son, their baby. A boy they had made from their love and raised up from the moment he took his first breath.

It was natural they may not handle it as well as she had.

"No, no, say it again. Loud enough for your mother to hear. Look at her when you say it."

Rosalie's eyes remained on Cassian, her heart aching at the pain and shame that visibly washed over him. She wanted to save him from this. She wanted to protect and defend him from the consequences of all of it, soothe him with soft words and reassure him that everything would be okay.

But Cassian would never be okay, would never find a reason to really try, if he kept being shielded from the reality of what he was doing to himself and his family. Had their baby survived, Rosalie would be nearly five months pregnant - halfway to her due date - and preparing to bring a child into the world. How would she have cared for their son, helpless and dependent, if Cassian remained in the clutches of his vices? What would he do when the baby kept him up all night and he needed to work the next day? What would he do if the baby became sick and needed to go to Mungo's? How long would he have been able to fake it all?

What would have happened if Rosie found herself having to make a choice between the safety and well-being of their baby, and Cassian? She wanted to have a family with him one day, but she knew, deep down, she couldn't in good conscience do that if he wasn't getting better.

With his fingers clenched between hers, Rosie's other hand gently rubbed the top of his, a gentle reassurance that he could do this. He could be a man and face what he needed to. "Cassian needs," Rosie started, her voice beginning small but becoming steadier and stronger, "...he needs support to be able to get better. I can't help him on my own." Her eyes flicked to Kari, pleading for her to intercede before this turned into a blow-up. "He's not...doing it to hurt anyone he's just..."

Her gaze moved to Julian, her words dying on her lips at the look on his face.

Rosalie may as well have been on another planet. None of them heard her, not even the boy who clung so fiercely to her hand.

The tension within the room wasn't merely thick. It was all-consuming and rang so loudly that it drowned out everything else.

There was nothing strange about the situation that slowly unfurled. Cassian wasn't taken aback by the sudden manifestation of rage that his father tried so hard to contain. He wasn't surprised to find the horror, hurt and disappointment swirling within his mother's liquid blue eyes. In some ways, it was a repeat of that December morning when he'd woken up to find his secret in the open and an IV drip stuck inside his arm. This wasn't that. He wasn't groggy, disoriented and wondering how much they knew. He was sitting and waiting for the storm to pass.

While Rosie looked at him, he looked to his father. The man sported the scowl that never failed to make Cassian feel small and inadequate. It had been there the third time he'd managed to be pulled into a body of water by a fish; it was there when he'd first shared his ambitions to have his name in dazzling lights rather than on a nameplate on a desk over at the ministry. When he told him Rosie's family didn't want them together, when he'd returned from France, it was always the same. Now, it waited with silent expectation, daring him to break his mother's heart again.

His father waited.

Cassian straightened under the man's unrelenting gaze. With palpable reluctance, he finally turned his gaze to his mother. The woman's expression was already crumbling in on itself despite her efforts to remain composed.

"It's not true..." she whispered.

"He's not...doing it to hurt anyone he's just..."

"Just what?" Kari asked, her voice laden with grief and heartbreak. She returned her attention to Cassian. "How can you keep doing this? To yourself, to us, to your wife? When will it stop being one big performance? You—" her voice broke as moisture moved to cloud her eyes. "You told me you were fine – that you were taking care of things. Is this...is this how you take care of things?"

Each time his lips parted, the words expired before they could fully claw their way up the back of his throat.

"I...it was fine—"

"Which part of it?" his father demanded, throwing down his newspaper entirely. "Lying to us? Taking up with those drugs as if you aren't better than that? As if you're no better than those boys on the street corners? Is that the kind of man you want to be?"

"No, it's not! I—"

"What's the matter with you? We've tried. Your poor wife's tried. What's it going to take for you to stop destroying yourself?"

"It wasn't that muc—"

His father rose in sudden fury. "Enough with the excuses, Cassian! When are you going to start owning your mistakes like a man? Your mother's skirts won't be here for you to hide behind forever – do you think she wants to sit by and watch you destroy yourself?"

"Julian..." Kari cautioned, herself rising to match the escalation she could see erupting.

"That's enough, Kari! Protecting him won't do him any good—hasn't done him any good. You told me to leave him be, that he just needed some space. All the bloody good that's done. He just sneaks off with your full trust. God, you can be so naive, sometimes."

Cassian leaned into the back of the couch without noticing, subconsciously trying to fall through to the other side and disappear from the scene that he knew all too well would soon become nasty.

"He's just hurting." The words came with soft desperation, but fell on ears that couldn't hear it.

In a room full of McCormicks, Rosalie felt the least legitimate. Where his parents had their right to speak and say what they needed to, Rosalie didn't know at what point she was allowed to interject, where she could say her peace without being verbally run over. It wasn't that she was afraid, but moreso she never wanted his parents to feel disrespected by her, and all of this had been her idea. If she now got all up in arms about the way they were reacting...wasn't that silly?

No, she decided. It wasn't. His parents were entitled to feel what they felt of course, but insulting and humiliating their son who had come to them for help was a line Rosalie didn't think she could stomach. As her eyes remained on Cassian, she realized - this was why. This was why he hid what he found shameful about himself so thoroughly. Why he handled his problems in the dark. Why he never wanted to talk about the things that he did.

Had he always been afraid she would treat him like this?

"Enough with the excuses, Cassian! When are you going to start owning your mistakes like a man? Your mother's skirts won't be here for you to hide behind forever – do you think she wants to sit by and watch you destroy yourself?"

Rosalie's lips parted to speak up, but Julian's anger turned on Kari, while Cassian sunk deep into the couch. "This isn't helping," Rosie said, her heart pounding in her chest so fiercely she was sure they could all hear it. She pounced on the brief moment of quiet to let her words be heard.

"He lost his child." Her eyes misted over, as she looked between Kari and Julian, trying to help them understand. "Just like I did. He almost died, and then he had to watch me almost die." It didn't excuse any of it, but it certainly explained why Cassian wasn't doing well, why it had been what he turned to when Rosie wasn't there to hold him through the harder feelings.

"I know you're angry and upset, but..." She felt very much like a child again, pleading with her own parents to understand or even just acknowledge her perspective. She trailed off again, swallowing against the tightness that had taken hold of her throat. "...he is sitting right here." Her eyes found Julian's, and she pulled for the little confidence she felt in her chest. "He came to you because he needs help. Something terrible happened to him, and he doesn't know what to do with it."

Perhaps she had said too much, but she couldn't in good conscience sit there in silence and let Cassian navigate this alone. Together, they had promised each other. For better or worse. That was the crux in it all, wasn't it? Come Hell or high water, they had each other, and the vows they'd made to take care of one another. If Cassian had to face a reckoning, then Rosie would face it with him. If Rosalie became sick, Cassian would stay by her side night and day and nurse her back to health.

His parents loved Cassian. They didn't want to think their son, who was so good at heart, could continue down this path he was on. But he was, whether they liked it or not.

Shame and accusations wouldn't change it.

His sins had come to find him, and all Cassian could do was stare, mouth agape, while the scene descended into utter – predictable – chaos.

It was nothing less than he deserved. That was the one sentence that kept him anchored to the couch while his body craved flight. In some ways, it felt nearly like penitence for how much he'd terrified his wife...how hopeless he'd made her feel every time his potions had come up. The disappointment his father no doubt felt, the fear his mother felt that she might some day lose her son – there was a price for all that. It had been easier when there was no demand for him to repay. As he sat there watching his parents unravel while his wife tried to bring them back, Cassian understood that the bill had come due.

Neither Julian nor Kari had heard Rosie's insistence that he was also hurting. His mother had already begun to bristle at the unstated accusations that lay beneath his father's words. His father, desperate for some external force to blame for his son's shortcomings, refused to back down.

This isn't helping."

The floral wallpaper would've made for a better audience.

Cassian heard. In the din of confrontation, the boy heard the gentle voice of his wife trying to bring down the temperature in the middle of a roaring inferno. He held no such ambitions. He knew he'd let them down again – that he'd let them all down. To ask them not to be angry felt like knocking an egg off the counter then asking it not to break as it hit the hardwood floor. It wasn't possible. The only way to avoid such an outcome – to truly avoid it – would have been to not agree to the deal in the first place, for all the good it would've done. Rosie would've told, anyway. There wasn't a road either of them could've taken that would've had a different outcome shy of not engaging with the confession to begin with.

"Rosie..." he tried quietly, wanting her to know she could leave them be. They would wear themselves out eventually, and then the pair could escape back upstairs. He could deal with the fallout then.

"He lost his child. Just like I did. He almost died, and then he had to watch me almost die."

He did have to do all those things, but hadn't been strong enough to make it out the other side. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to do better. If he could snap his fingers and be off the stuff permanently, his fingers would catch fire from the friction of his incessant snaps.

His mother was the first to relent. Her words died on her tongue as she turned to face them. The sudden withdrawal from their spat forced Julian's attention on the pair as well.

"I know you're angry and upset, but... he is sitting right here."

When their eyes settled on Cassian, it was as if they were seeing him for the first time.

"He came to you because he needs help. Something terrible happened to him, and he doesn't know what to do with it."

They were words meant to soothe his parents, but they also intensified his shame. Cassian didn't know what to do. He hadn't known what to do and required his parents to step in and remind him of the child he was. It was the same way the rest of the world had done when they ran. It was another problem he couldn't handle, another thing he should've been better at but wasn't. The admission was the sting that hurt the most, despite his not having been the one to say it.

There was a long, heavy pause where no one seemed to know what to do or say.

"Why didn't you say something – anything?" his mother asked, her voice softening as she drew close. She knelt before him, taking his face in her hands. Her gaze searched his as if trying to find some tangible hurt she could pluck from her son.

He couldn't look at her, his dark eyes falling to his lap.

"I didn't want you worrying."

From across the room, the front door slammed shut. His father. Julian left without a word, the echo of the door's slam all the warning he gave before his departure.

"Don't..." Kari tried, looking between him and his wife. "Don't worry about him. He just...needs a moment." She was trying to manage the scene, though whether it was for them or herself had yet to be seen. "I'll...do either of you want some tea? I can put the kettle on."

For a moment, Rosalie wasn't sure if her words would make any difference.

She understood that for Julian - since Rosalie had entered the scene all those years ago - it had been one thing after another with Cassian. Sneaking out, running away, getting himself nearly killed, drugs, an overdose. If Rosie laid out all the horrible things that had befallen Cassian McCormick in the time she'd known him, the evidence would be damning. Julian's son was spiraling down a dark road which there seemed to be no return, and here was a little girl holding his hand through it, asking them to see him as their son and not another problem to deal with.

But Rosie couldn't watch Cassian bury himself in shame and self-loathing. All it would do was drive him harder back to the things that made him feel better. All it would do was make him more secretive. And with secrets, came danger and a world that Rosie knew she could no longer live in. She wasn't naïve. She didn't believe that by telling his parents, Cassian would magically never use again. She didn't believe this was the end of the road for the dangerous ways he soothed himself, but at least, while he was trying, he'd have more people on his side, and not just his wife who looked at him with suppressed terror in her eyes.

"Why didn't you say something – anything?"

Relief flooded the girl who still clung to Cassian's hand. Her eyes softened as Kari knelt down in front of Cassian, her words calmer and softer now as she placed a hand on his cheek.

"I didn't want you worrying."

It was what he said to Rosie time and time again. He didn't want her to worry. He didn't want her to blame herself. He didn't want to see the heartbreak overwhelm her or the frustration at not being able to help him kick the habit once and for all. Cassian was a caretaker, as much as Rosie was. When he cared about someone, or loved them, he did everything in his power to make them feel that love. He tried to shield them from harder or darker things, especially himself.

Cassian was always about the show. Make his audience laugh, smile, even cry if it summoned feelings that brought them joy. He never wanted them to see the hurting boy behind the curtain.

But this was good. His mum was seeing him, and maybe if they could all just -

SLAM.

Rosie visibly jumped at the sound of the front door meeting its frame, causing the entire living room to shake. It reminded her of her own father and the silence he'd punish everyone with before the explosion. A ticking time bomb, while everyone held their breath. She knew that wasn't what Julian was doing, and he probably just needed a breather but -

"Don't worry about him. He just...needs a moment."

Rosie nodded emphatically when Kari looked to her, willing to understand and convince herself that this really would all be okay. When she'd asked Cassian to tell his parents, it wasn't to cause all of this. It was merely to ensure they knew what their son was doing and why, so they could help him in the ways that Rosie knew she wouldn't always be able to.

"I'll...do either of you want some tea? I can put the kettle on."

"I'll do it," Rosie offered immediately. She kissed Cassian's hand before letting it go, standing quickly and placing a hand on Kari's shoulder when she looked to insist. "He needs you. Talk to him. I'll make the tea." And before anyone could insist she sit, she headed towards the kitchen, giving Cassian and his mother some time to chat while she fussed with the stove.

Tea.

The word was so simple. He knew what it meant, what it was, what his mother was trying to do. Intellectually, he knew it all. But it didn't make sense. Cassian struggled to understand the function of tea while everything actively went to shit. What role did such a domestic gesture have while the edges of his family had once again begun to fray? It was almost...insulting. The idea is so preposterous as to be considered satire. Tea wouldn't fix things. Talking to his mother wouldn't fix things despite the gentle optimism Rosie had left them with.

His wife pulled away, and his hand went cold, missing the warmth that hers had provided.

"He needs you."

He didn't.

"Talk to him."

He had nothing to say.

"I'll make the tea."

It wasn't necessary. Dark eyes flickered to the door again. It wasn't his first time here, and he had enough sense to know it wouldn't be the last. No matter how good times became, there would always be something. Some struggle, some temptation, some bar set just beyond his reach, and then he'd fuck up again and the theatrics would start all over. His father would lose his mind and his composure. The mother who'd thought dance halls and strange men were worth more than her children would sob her heart out, beside herself with grief, and he'd feel bad. Of course, he would. He always did. She was his mother, and every time he tried to remind himself of the hurt she'd not only caused him but also Adam and Justine—even his father—other feelings would crop up, too.

They were inextricable.

His mother had made selfish choices that had devastated and destroyed the family, but she'd also held him. She'd sung him Norwegian lullabies and let him taste everything she cooked before the meal was ever done. She was the one who'd planted seeds of grandeur in his still-developing heart, filling him with wonder at what the world might have to offer.

Cassian stiffened as she moved to take Rosie's place on the couch. He wanted to accept her comfort, for her sake more than his own. What boy didn't like to see his mother smile?

But he couldn't.

It still hurt too much. Maybe it had never stopped hurting. When she'd come back, it had been easier to pretend that things could return to normal. When she'd nursed him back to health, it had felt so good to be cared for and to have the world lifted off his shoulders for just a little that Cass hadn't paid any mind to the feelings that simmered beneath that. He didn't want to feel the way he did toward her, and most days, it was easy to convince himself he didn't.

In moments like these when everything was forced to the fore, those feelings came back. They were the raw ones that reminded him that he was still angry.

Cassian wouldn't go as far as blaming her for where his struggles and vices had taken him, but she wasn't innocent and he didn't want to sip tea with her and pretend his father hadn't just stormed out.

He needed air, not platitudes.

Before Rosie could enter the kitchen, the boy was on his feet. He took his wife by the elbow, spinning her around before heading for the door himself. He couldn't sit there anymore. It was too much. The walls were caving in, and there was a growing feeling that if he sat there watching his mother cry, he might say something that in his better senses he might regret. If he could, he'd give a speech and make everyone happy, but he couldn't.

What he could do was make sure he didn't make it worse.

"We'll be back. Don't wait up."

The hand at her elbow came unexpectedly.

She was doing the hard, but right thing, Rosie told herself. Dragging Cassian's struggles into the light meant there'd be nowhere left for him to hide. If everyone knew, if everyone worked together to help him understand that his world wasn't so broken that he couldn't navigate it without drugs, then there was hope.

When Cassian had agreed to tell his parents, it had given her hope. The smallest golden spark that finally, finally things could start to change. Not immediately, and maybe not even soon. But that they would, and that Cassian being willing to talk about it meant that he was willing to try.

Because if he wasn't...they didn't have a future. There was no future that Rosalie could reconcile where she spent her life circling him and walking on eggshells, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop. There was no family she could imagine raising with a husband strung out when times got hard.

People changed on substances. Alcohol, drugs, potions. After awhile, with enough use, Rosalie knew Cassian wouldn't be Cassian anymore. He would be a shell of himself, unrecognizable. Maybe he'd be mean, or erratic or...indifferent. She couldn't sit there, day after day, year after year, watching him kill himself slowly and losing all the light she had fallen in love with.

Maybe it wouldn't happen today, or even anytime soon. But eventually, if he never tried, it would.

"Cassian, wait..."

The urgency in Kari's voice flooded Rosalie with a wave of guilt as she allowed herself to be led towards the door. Did it mean nothing? She had sat in that living room with him and done the hard thing too. She spoke up to Julian, she tried to give Kari space to be his mum. She tried to ask the family to join her in helping him, rather than letting her be his only lifeline.

And it was all being undone in a matter of seconds.

"We'll be back. Don't wait up."

And she went with him, of course, because he was her husband.

When the door closed behind them, the faintly illuminated street opening up in front of them, Rosie didn't know what to say. She stammered for a moment as he led her to the sidewalk, unsure of where they were headed. She wanted to urge him to stop, to rethink what he was doing, and just go back inside.

But instead, another ugly emotion welled in her chest.

Anger.

It wasn't that she didn't understand. She'd known Cassian long enough now to understand well that he was feeling more than he cared to currently deal with, and his response to that was to leave. Running. He was always running. Whether physically, emotionally, or mentally, Cassian was always finding a way to escape the things that scared him. He didn't want to face them when avoidance was easier. She knew he was overwhelmed. She knew Julian's judgment rattled him. She knew he didn't want to see the pain in his mother's eyes.

But why did that make this okay?

Perhaps she should have pulled away. Perhaps she should have told him that she wasn't going. Maybe she should have yelled at him right there in the street.

Instead, she walked silently alongside him, tears filling her eyes as he held her arm. She held them back, the moisture stinging the corners of her eyelids as she tightened her jaw and stared straight ahead. She'd only been home two days. Just two days ago, she was sitting in a fucking mental ward, trying to find healthier ways to cope with everything so she could be not just a better person for herself, but a better wife to Cassian as well.

A shaky exhale left through her nose. Why did he get to fall apart and avoid everything, while she had to get better and learn how to hold everything together? Why did he get to hide? Why did he get to run?

"Where are we going?" Her quiet question broke the silence of the evening, but she continued looking forward, unable to reconcile the conflicting feelings that were now surging through her.

"Cassian, wait..."

For what?

He had waited. The night of the memorial and in the weeks that followed, while everyone locked themselves away in their own spaces: the first year and then the second. He'd waited for his chest to stop burning every time she'd smiled at him and spoke to him like a woman who'd never left. He waited for the day he'd wake up with clear emotions. Tonight, he waited for his parents to be done with their song and dance. His father had bowed out about as gracefully as he supposed he could have. His mother insisted on letting the show go on for a while longer. The stage was all hers; he had no interest in the performance.

Cassian led them down the sidewalk without the first clue about where they were going. The chaos inside his mind crashed against the silence of the night. He could hear the yelling again. He could see the tears welling in his mother's eyes and tension that engulfed his father's frame.

He'd left the house, but it seemed that the night wasn't done with him.

Was there anywhere he could go that might make a difference? Anywhere that would quiet his thoughts long enough for him to recover? He couldn't think of any. The boy had impulsively taken his wife from their home without the first clue as to where they might end up. The thought slowed his steps, but it was her question that stopped him.

Rather, it was the quiet tone and the things that lingered inside it that finally forced him stationary.

"I..." When his gaze fell to her, he realised she wasn't looking at him. Something inside him twisted. Helplessness. Frustration. No matter where he turned, no matter what he did, it wasn't the right answer. Cassian knew he couldn't stay in the house. He knew he wouldn't be able to listen to his mother promise to be there for him while she gently insisted he should've trusted her with his pain so she could shatter him again. At the same time, he'd given little thought to where he might take his wife or what they'd do when they got there.

Nothing was fixed. Nothing was better. All they'd accomplished was making sure his parents knew they should once again be on the lookout and pay more attention to him than he would ever be comfortable with.

Cassian exhaled deeply, trying to release some of the built-up tension that made his muscles feel like they'd caught fire. "Fuck...I don't know," he confessed. Cass let her go, running his hands through his curls while he forced himself to breathe. "I don't know."

He turned to look back at the house, instantly feeling his chest constricting at the thought of going back.

"A walk...I guess."

He rounded on her, moving to obstruct her view so that he could get a better look at her in the low light. Rosie's voice had been the first sign that things weren't alright for her either. The way her blue irises glistened was the nail in the coffin of any hope he had that he'd just been reading too much into things because of his own heightened sensitivity. There was no mistaking the expression, not for the boy who'd spent so much of his time getting to know her. Hell, without knowing anything at all, it didn't take a empath to notice that Rosie wasn't pleased.

"...Hey," Cass said softly, trying to capture her attention.

"They'll be fine," he tried to assure her, thinking she may have been disappointed that the night hadn't been as productive as she'd likely hoped. "Dad'll probably be himself by morning, sit me down, pry the answers out of me, then go back to whatever he's doing. Mum'll make breakfast – too much, probably – then chatter about her plans for the day. You don't have to worry, really."

A walk.

Rosie's eyebrows came together in consternation. A - a walk? Was that what she had asked? She'd asked where they were going and - oh. But she hadn't mean it in that way. Wherever they were physically going didn't really matter. Up the street, into London, down south to the quiet beaches of Arundel. Alençon. Allonnes. Hogwarts.

It didn't matter where they went. It didn't matter how hard they tried or didn't. Everything always had the same ending. Tears, pain, fear, desperation. The smallest, naivest part of herself had still believed. Had clung to the last piece of hope that she had that maybe they could still do this together. That love was still enough. That devotion was still enough if it was said with the right amount of conviction. That assurances and promises were cemented in permanence and inevitability because she wanted them to be.

She hadn't meant to ask where he was guiding her. She meant in the figurative sense. Where did he see their life headed? What did he see laying out for them in their future? Did he see happiness and contentment and joy? Or did he just see more anguish and tribulation and all the struggles that never seemed to get any better?

Because she didn't know anymore. Cassian dragging her out of the house had dragged her right out of her last resort. He'd dragged her out of the middle of her Hail Mary and now...now what?

"...Hey,"

Her eyes focused on him when he moved in front of her, her jaw still tightened almost uncomfortably as her body stiffened and she waited.

"Dad'll probably be himself by morning, sit me down, pry the answers out of me, then go back to whatever he's doing. Mum'll make breakfast – too much, probably – then chatter about her plans for the day. You don't have to worry, really."

"I'm not worried about them," her soft answer came, as she swallowed hard and held his gaze. She shook her head slightly, "I've only ever been worried about you." In everything they had gone through, Cassian had been her first priority. As friends, she had wanted to make him feel safe and seen enough to open up and show her the real boy she saw behind sparkling brown eyes. When they'd began dating, she'd wanted to shield him from the naysayers and cruel words that were being said about their relationship. She'd wanted to protect his feelings from her family and ingratiate herself to his father so that when the bad stuff came, maybe Julian wouldn't dislike her so much.

She couldn't be his shield in this if she wanted him to eventually get better.

"Cassian," she said, reaching for his hand and closing hers around it before he could pull away. A soft sound broke in her throat, but she held her composure. She wanted to stand beside him in all of this, but it was a two-way street. If he ran away every time something got hard, then they weren't partners. She was standing in the fog alone while he drifted further away, past her vision. "I can't keep doing this. Either you want to try or you don't. Running from everything, it doesn't make things better. Maybe for the moment but..."

She paused. "It only makes things worse. Every time. We've only made things worse." Her eyes searched his as the first tears broke over her eyelids. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Worried...about him...?

Cassian almost asked why. He supposed...he could understand her concern. The little 'Come To Jesus' moment that Rosie had planned hadn't gone nearly as well as he thought that she'd imagined it could. His wife was, in many ways, as idealistic as he was, albeit about different things at times. This was one of those times. Cass didn't imagine some heartwarming ending where everyone hugged and cried and promised to be there for each other. He didn't see his mother pulling him into her arms while his father vowed to do whatever it took. It would be nice, he couldn't lie, and a part of him wondered if there were families that would have reacted that way.

Were there people who heard things like this, smiled and promised you that tomorrow would be brighter? It all sounded a bit far-fetched, even for a hopeless romantic like him who liked to see dazzling wonder in everything.

Cassian had seen the end the moment he'd looked into those deep oceans and promised her they would tell his parents. His body already anticipated the hostility; he'd already been braced for the rebuke. He knew it wouldn't have been clean and he knew it wouldn't have been pleasant. Granted, when it came, it hit a lot harder than even he'd imagined, but whatever ill-feelings bubbled inside him, they didn't stem from the same place that Rosie's did. The boy was no more worried about himself than he had been before his father unloaded on him.

"Cassian."

She took his hand, and he gave a gentle squeeze, letting her know he was listening. It had been a lot... a... monumental amount for the girl who'd largely seen the polished side of his family. She'd seen the support, the warm meals, the newspaper reading, the mild exasperation and the needlework that decorated the home. She'd seen his mother cuss him out for what she believed to be gross indifference while he grinned and waited for the storm to pass. Cass was sure that Rosie believed he would tell his story and that, even if they got mad, they would sit like civilised people and work through it together. A rough patch, then they'd be on track with his healing.

"I can't keep doing this. Either you want to try or you don't. Running from everything, it doesn't make things better. Maybe for the moment but..."

And just like that, every alarm bell inside him began blaring.

That kind of talk, coming from the girl who'd used such language before and always before saying things he didn't like, was enough to send his already frenzied mind into overdrive.

He didn't...he didn't understand but scrambled to, thinking he must have missed something somewhere in all the other chaos of the evening. Was it something he'd said? Something he hadn't said? The whole thing was a blur, one giant swirling storm of disapproval, anger and hurt. Cassian remembered the feelings more than the words that had been exchanged, and suddenly, he was behind.

"It only makes things worse. Every time. We've only made things worse. I don't know what to do anymore."

"I—what..."

He reached for her other hand, holding both of them against him as he tugged her to him. There was a desperation in his dark eyes, a yearning to understand before the ground could manage to start shifting from beneath him.

"I don't...I don't get it." Despite now thinking he needed to. "Who said anything about not trying? You wanted us telling my parents—and I did." The nerves that still fired inside him were proof enough of that. "I'm not running—I mean—I guess..." He looked back to the house. "I guess this isn't exactly standing still, but I'm not running, I swear. I just need a minute. We'll go back, we will, just..."

His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he went quiet.

Was that really what it looked like? Did she think he was giving up so soon after subjecting himself to his father's ire? It was a little too late for all that, wasn't it?

He pressed his palm to his forehead.

"We can go back." Just saying it was enough to make his stomach turn, but if it would resolve any misgivings Rosie had about his intentions, then... there really wasn't much choice.

"This is running," she answered, her voice despondent and distant now as he pulled her closer to him. "Whether you're actually running out of the house or..." She sighed, wiping a few tears from her cheeks. "Hiding what you're feeling or thinking, it's all a form of it." He pressed his palm to his forehead but her other hand still remained locked on his.

Cassian had told his mother not to wait up. That essentially, he wouldn't be continuing the conversation anymore tonight. Was it fair to ask him to continue anyway?

"We can go back."

"It's not the point," she said, resignation taking over as her own frame visibly slumped in on itself. "I don't want you going back because you think it's what I want or because you're scared of what will happen if you don't." Rosie didn't want him doing anything for her benefit. All of this was for him. No, Julian hadn't reacted well and...she didn't really know why Cassian had rebuffed his mother so hard, but his parents' soft reaction wasn't what this had been about.

It was about Cassian finally letting other people see and love him enough to help.

Because if he didn't and something actually happened to him, Rosalie would never be able to forgive herself for not being able to save him. But...maybe that was the problem. Maybe she still thought she could.

The realization hit hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs, and for a moment, Rosie could only stare at him through the blur of tears, her hand still curled around his as though holding tighter might somehow keep him there.

“I know you told them,” she said, her voice cracking around the words. “I know you did. I’m not saying you didn’t.” She shook her head, frustrated now because she couldn’t make it sound right. None of it sounded right. Everything in her felt tangled and ugly and too big for her own chest. “But then you left.”

Her mouth trembled.

“You always leave.”

Maybe it wasn't fair. It probably wasn't, but in the moment it felt accurate. He was always leaving emotionally, mentally, chemically. Maybe his body would remain. Physically there - not in this case - but when things got hard, he escaped and left her behind to try and pick up the pieces. It was what she'd shouted at him that day after Julia's office, before he'd pulled her into a broom closet. That he always did this. Find a way to escape - whether through masking, or otherwise - and leave her holding the emotional bag.

“When it was me, you made me stay.” The words came out smaller than she meant them to, but once they were there, she couldn’t take them back. “At Mungo’s. I begged you. I promised I’d eat, I promised I’d be good, and you still left me there.”

The night air seemed to be sucked right out of their vicinity, making the girl fight for each breath she managed to gather between words.

“And you were right. I know you were right, but I hated it. I hated everyone looking at me and talking to me and knowing what was wrong with me.” Her breath hitched again as her words came louder. “But I had to stay. Why do I have to stay when I'm scared but you don't?" Her face crumpled as she finally fell apart, releasing his hand to sob into her own. "I had plans after this," small sobs hiccupped as she tried to speak, breaking up her natural cadence, "to take you to the beach and watch the stars, and remind you that someday...we'd have our house and we'd be past all of this, and now I don't even know if I should go back in there with you."

“I didn't mean that,” she said quickly, except part of her did. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean.”

“This is running.”

“No, it’s not!” he insisted, trying desperately to make her understand. Cassian knew what running was. He knew that if he’d been running, none of them would’ve known. He’d be clear across the English Channel by morning, maybe even across the continent if border services operated late enough into the night. Had he been running, he wouldn’t have taken her with him, wanting to maximise his avoidance of the shame the night had brought him. It would hardly have been a reprieve if he was still required to look at the face of the girl he loved and internalise that she’d had to sit and listen to everything his father had said and all the unspoken things that somehow seemed louder.

“Really, I’m not. This is…it’s a lot. I just needed to step away for a bit, collect myself.” He wasn’t in the frame of mind for any sort of constructive reconciliation with his mother. It wasn’t the night for that. Yes, he felt wretched for the strong emotions he’d evoked in her, but he was realising more and more just how…angry he was.

Contrition was what he needed to feel. He was meant to be a bleeding heart ready and willing to atone for the vices that had taken over him. Feeling the things he did at just the thought of going back inside and having his mother fawn over him was hardly conducive to that.

Defending himself probably wasn't either. It would only lead to arguments, and after the way Rosie had brought up his 'running', the boy already felt like he was once again walking a precarious tightrope.

For once, he wished the answer would magically present itself and save him the pitfalls that lay hidden in wait.

"It's not the point. I don't want you going back because you think it's what I want or because you're scared of what will happen if you don't."

"Then...then what do you want? You said you don't want me running. That you want me going back because it's what I want, but it's not what I want and it's not what matters. It matters that I care enough about fixing this and fighting for us that I'll do shit I don't want to do." Wasn't that the point of the confession in the first place? Cassian would have preferred to swallow broken glass than admit what he had to his parents. Would he have done it on his own? Never. It would've been a secret that he took to his grave. But it mattered enough to Rosie that he was prepared to – and did – do it anyway.

There were a multitude of things that Cassian Thomas McCormick preferred not to do, but for Rosie, they were all worth his discomfort.

He felt all the air leave his lungs when the crack appeared in her voice. Much like the scene in the living room, this one was falling apart quickly, and he didn't have the first clue how to fix it.

“But then you left.”

"I told you it was to—"

“You always leave.”

She was barely keeping it together, and the sight of it violently twisted his insides. Something else twisted them, too. Always. He always left. His brows furrowed. "That's not true..." Cassian, under duress, would readily admit to being avoidant, but he drew the line at 'always' when there were so many times he'd stayed. He didn't always get it right – Merlin knew he didn't – but...

He didn't like this feeling either or the dread that slowly coiled its spindly fingers around him.

"Why do I have to stay when I'm scared but you don't?"

"It's not like that – they're not the same. Rosie, you'd gone down to nothing. Who knew how much longer you had? I haven't had a vial in over a week. I'm not crashing; I'm just...I'm just taking air. I'll go back. We'll go back. We can talk about whatever anyone wants to talk about." But he couldn't, not right that second and only needed a moment.

"I had plans after this to take you to the beach and watch the stars, and remind you that someday...we'd have our house and we'd be past all of this, and now I don't even know if I should go back in there with you."

While her sobbing had struck him, it was the ending words that sent his mind reeling.

For the millionth time, Cassians's panic spiked at the realisation he didn't know what to do. She was sobbing. She was unsure she wanted to come back. Sure, she'd said she didn't mean it after, but it didn't sound nearly as convincing as when she made the initial statement.

There were too many things that required his focus at once, and he could feel his head begin to split in an effort to keep up with them all. Did he hold her? Did he beg her not to say things like that? She was entitled to her feelings. He couldn't very well tell her what was or wasn't acceptable.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean.”

"You meant it," he countered quietly, his thumbs working to clear the tears that soaked her cheeks. "I'm trying, Rosie. It's hard but I'm willing to try for us."

He'd just needed time to collect himself. That...that was fair, wasn't it? With a clearer mind, or had Cassian said as much when he led her out of the house, maybe she would have believed it easier. She didn't necessarily think he was lying or just saying things to appease her, but...

Merlin she didn't know. She didn't know. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was seventeen and...this was supposed to be the happiest time of their lives. Their first year of marriage. They were supposed to be giddy and exploring their new world together. They were supposed to be over the moon in love and...she just didn't know.

"Then...then what do you want? You said you don't want me running. That you want me going back because it's what I want, but it's not what I want and it's not what matters. It matters that I care enough about fixing this and fighting for us that I'll do shit I don't want to do."

"I don't know," she admitted. Another thing she didn't know. The list of things that Rosalie McCormick didn't know was staggering, piling up before her eyes alongside the pile of all of her failures. "I don't have all the answers Cassian. I'm just..." She looked past him for a moment, before turning her gaze back to his. She couldn't in good conscience say he didn't care. He did care. It was obvious to her that he cared more than he'd ever let on.

But did he care because he wanted to get better, or did he care because he didn't want to lose her? "I'm just trying to help you." In all the wrong ways it seemed. Again. She'd thought that maybe this time, she'd cracked the code. That maybe this time, things wouldn't fall apart or feel so precarious and uncertain. They had each other, they were doing everything together.

"That's not true..."

She...knew that. Even in the shallowest parts of her mind, Rosie knew it wasn't true, but she couldn't acknowledge it. In the moment, when things were heated and happening at breakneck speeds, all the girl knew was tunnel vision. She couldn't see the hurt crossing his features, or notice the way his voice dropped. She couldn't reason with herself that she was being unfair with her words. Not when everything else was rushing through her mind so quickly.

"It's not like that – they're not the same. Rosie, you'd gone down to nothing. Who knew how much longer you had?"

Of course it wasn't the same. Nothing was ever the same. Rosalie's problems were always more important, more urgent, more pressing in their need to be addressed. It was always important for her to talk. Always important for her to be transparent and bring him into her world.

There was never that same urgency with Cassian. He deflected, brushed everything off, minimized. He was doing it now, even when she'd tried to show him the disparity in how they were handling one another. But that was just who her husband was. In some ways it was endearing, but in times like now, it just felt like he only listened enough to justify why his actions or her perspective didn't matter.

"I haven't had a vial in over a week. I'm not crashing; I'm just...I'm just taking air. I'll go back. We'll go back. We can talk about whatever anyone wants to talk about."

She wanted to agree. She wanted to say she'd go back with him, and they'd work everything out. She wanted to say it would be enough. Even if Cassian didn't want to do this for himself - it would be enough, wouldn't it?

"You meant it."

It cut her heart wide open. His warm hands against her cheeks, wiping away the hot tears that freely streamed down were a small torture, urging the girl to melt into his touch and let it chase away all her fears as it always had before. She nodded, just once, hating herself for it. She had meant it. Rosalie never said things she didn't really mean.

She didn't know if she should go back into the house with him, but if she didn't - then what did that mean?

"I'm trying, Rosie. It's hard but I'm willing to try for us."

"I know you are," she managed between her tears, "I know you are." Her hands took hold of both of Cassian's again as her reddened eyes found his deep brown again. "But I want you to try for you. Not for me. Not for your mum or dad. You."

She took a deep breath. "Maybe me being around isn't the healthiest thing for you." She hated herself. She absolutely hated herself. "If I'm not around, then you can just focus on you, and not worry about me." Her words trembled as another sob shook her.

"Maybe we just need a little time apart so we both can get better?"

She didn't know.

That made the two of them, didn't it? Cassian didn't know either. He didn't know how the night had landed them both here on the side of the street, going back and forth while missing the deeper meaning either was trying to share. He didn't know how a request to be honest had led to his parents exploding and his wife dangling the possibility that she was no longer sure they could be together.

There were many gaps he couldn't fill, and if she didn't know, then there was no one left to help him fill them.

Where did that leave them? He didn't like the uncertainty. It made him antsy. It overwhelmed his heart with a particular dread that things were on a path to getting worse. The problem with such an outcome was the realisation that there were very few ways this could become worse, and they all involved Rosie leaving.

She nodded, confirming a fear he'd tried so hard to stuff down. She'd meant it. He knew she had. For better or worse, his wife had always been honest. When she'd said she was scared for him because of the vials, she'd meant it. When she told him that she was tired of carrying it all alone and that she was tired of being shut out, she'd meant it. Now, saying that she didn't know whether she should go back and that she didn't think they could keep going this way...he knew she meant it. For the briefest moment, he tried to take heart in the fact she'd also said that she wasn't going anywhere. Curled up together in the hospital bed, she'd thanked him for his honesty and told him they were in it together. Following his own logic, she...had to mean it.

But if that was the case...then why didn't he feel better?

Why was the pit in his stomach only growing deeper and deeper? Why could he feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat while the corners of his eyes went dark?

"I know you are. I know you are."

Why did it sound like it no longer mattered? Beneath the shaky voice and the tears was a distinct lack of...of... Cassian thought hope. Rosie said she knew that he was trying, but there was nothing reassuring about it. His wife took his hands and he clung to hers as if they were the only things keeping him above the waves.

"But I want you to try for you. Not for me. Not for your mum or dad. You."

"Who says I'm not? Rosie, just becau—"

"Maybe me being around isn't the healthiest thing for you."

His eyes widened immediately. The hands that had already been clinging now held hers in a vice-like grip. "What? Rosie! No! Nothing could be further from—"

"If I'm not around, then you can just focus on you, and not worry about me. Maybe we just need a little time apart so we both can get better?"

"That's not true! We don't need time. I'm working on it – you know I'm working on it. I already said we could go back into the house. Let's go now. I want to, with you." His vision blurred from the tears that welled in his dark eyes. Rosie said what she meant, and she was saying this now. "Time – we – it – Rosie," his voice broke with her name, the earnestness of his plea distorting the sound. "We can figure this out. We don't... You don't have to do this. Please. I—I can fix this—I can." Releasing her hands, he instead cupped her face, his gaze boring into hers. "This isn't what we need. It won't...it won't help anything."

His entire world was shattering around him, and his hands on her face were the only things keeping him anchored to that sidewalk. "You can't go. I couldn't...I don't know if I'd..."

It wasn't fair, he warned himself. To put such a burden on her shoulder, to make her think she really was the only thing keeping him afloat, even if it was the truth.

Cassian pressed his forehead to hers, trying to calm the sudden dizziness that had taken him.

"You love me, real or not?"

His words were coming fast and desperate, pleading with her to hear him. And she did, she really did. She just didn't know if it mattered at this point.

"That's not true! We don't need time. I'm working on it – you know I'm working on it. I already said we could go back into the house. Let's go now. I want to, with you."

The tears in his eyes were the first real ones she'd ever seen from him. There had been moments before where he'd gotten misty-eyed, but overall Cassian wasn't the type to show the emotions that hurt. There had been times when Rosie had even silently wondered if something had been as devastating or meaningful for him as it had been for her. But she'd always been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. Cassian was much more guarded, and seeing that emotion now, all across his face, threatening to spill over, broke something inside of her that she didn't know was still whole.

For over a month now, little pieces of herself had been breaking off here or there, fracturing one by one in a slow crumble. Mungo's had helped. Hell, she'd even foolishly believed that it had led her to somehow understanding herself and the world around her a little better, but standing here on this sidewalk, she was realizing, she knew nothing.

She was still a child. A lost, wayward, brokenhearted child. Without her mother. Without her father. Trying to navigate a world that had never taught her how to lead instead of follow.

"Time – we – it – Rosie."

Her expression crumpled again at the sound of her name, hearing the heartbreak as it spilled out of him. This...this wasn't what she wanted. When she'd said she wanted to tell his parents, it was to preserve them, and yet here it was absolutely destroying them. Had she really been so naïve, after everything that had happened? How else did she really think this was going to go?

"We can figure this out. We don't... You don't have to do this. Please. I—I can fix this—I can. This isn't what we need. It won't...it won't help anything."

He cupped her face, her hands rising to his wrists to hold him steady against her. She didn't want him to let go. She didn't want him to step away or take his warmth from her, even in this panic. She wanted to fold, to curl up into his chest and wail her apologies, to reassure him she was just scared and confused and didn't know what to do.

"You can't go. I couldn't...I don't know if I'd..."

The pressure was enormous. Even without him saying the words, Rosalie already knew. It was the demon that haunted her whenever she wondered if Cassian would be better off without her. Would he really? Without her there to soothe all his aches and pains and keep him grounded? Would he succumb to it all? Would he fall so far down that when she found him again, he'd be broken and beyond helping? What if...what if...

"You love me, real or not?"

It was their language. Their intimacy. Their soft, hidden place, just for the two of them. The exchange they turned to when they wanted to remind each other of who they were together. His forehead against hers beat at the walls of her defenses, and she nodded emphatically as she closed her eyes, her eyelashes wet with sorrow. "Real," she murmured, another shaky breath passing between her lips. Her hands shook as she clung to his wrists, tightening to keep him close, as though he'd vanish beneath her hold.

"I've loved you since the day we met. I love you more than anyone or anything on this earth. I've been in love with you longer than you've even known." Her eyes opened, finding his again, as she felt herself already backpedaling, questioning everything, asking herself what she was thinking, what she had meant.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, her resolve breaking again. “I don’t. I just…” Rosie swallowed hard, her hands still trembling against his wrists. “I don’t think I can go back tonight.” The words gutted her the moment they left her mouth. “Not like this.” Her forehead stayed pressed to his, because pulling away felt impossible. “Maybe just…a little while. Just so we can both breathe.”

She shook her head quickly, as fresh tears began to fall.

“It’s not over. Please don’t think it’s over."

"Real."

She said, 'Real.' That...that should've been enough. They loved each other, they'd promised each other forever long before they'd stood before that registrar, and that had been enough for him. When things got bad, when things were overwhelming, when he felt like an absolute failure, Cassian had the promise of 'forever' and the assurance that even the darkest days would have the sun rise again. Rosie was the sun, and in the moment, he began to understand how crippling that must have been. His wife had been trying to tell him that she was tired and that she couldn't handle it all on her own. Would things have been different if he'd listened sooner? If he hadn't burdened her so greatly – didn't leave her to carry so much and to worry about so much – would she still be too tired to continue?

A threshold had been reached, an invisible line he hadn't been able to see until Rosie had finally reached it. Too much; it had all been too much. He hadn't given enough of some things and had let her have too much of others. He'd gotten complacent with the things he carried and the things he'd allowed her to carry, so much so that she genuinely thought that leaving was how they saw their way through.

They'd been here before, when he'd returned to Hogwarts following his overdose. She'd told him that she didn't think she was good for him, that she worried she was only making things worse – making him worse. They'd come right back around to the argument, whether she realised it or not. Once again, she was insisting that she was the thing in the way or him getting better.

Cassian had told her more times than he could remember how much she made his life better and worth living. He'd called her his sun and the axis on which his world rotated. Had that been the problem? Had it led her to thinking she had to be everything and everywhere? Cass had only wanted her to know how much she meant to him and how irreplaceable she was. None of that had changed. Rosie said he needed time to focus on himself. He couldn't see it. She was one of the only people who'd seen him after his mother's alleged death. It was true, a lot of his motivations were tied to her, but it was because, for the first time in a long time, he was able to feel like he wanted to be better.

What did it matter who he wanted to do it for? Why was that the straw that broke the camel's back?

He didn't want to focus on himself. He wanted his wife and the life they were trying to build together. He'd already promised to try with the potions, and now that his parents both knew, any ideas of relapsing he had would be infinitely harder to carry out.

It was already enough, wasn't it?

"I've loved you since the day we met. I love you more than anyone or anything on this earth. I've been in love with you longer than you've even known."

It had taken him awhile, but he'd finally gotten to a place where he could believe such a thing. When Cassian had first met Rosie, he hadn't dared dream she'd be interested in anything he might have to offer. Rich, a pureblood with a pureblood circle flocking to her the moment she'd arrived, they'd come from different worlds. She'd always been perfect, each flaw only complementing the girl she was. To think that she could love him – that she could see smaller glances of something realer and remain steadfast in that – had seemed like such a ludicrous idea. As time passed, it started to feel less absurd. The boy woke up one day realising that his heart had grown three sizes larger and that he suddenly believed that there was a girl with bright blue eyes and the prettiest smile he'd ever seen who loved him with her whole heart.

She said she loved him, and he believed it.

But...she still wanted to go.

“I don’t want to leave you."

"Then...then why are you doing this?"

“I don’t. I just… I don’t think I can go back tonight. Not like this. Maybe just…a little while. Just so we can both breathe.”

"We don't have to go back tonight then! We – we can go somewhere else. We'll find a place for the night – or for a few days. Whatever you want – wherever you want." There would be no breathing, not if she were gone. At the risk of sounding dramatic, he didn't think he'd remember how.

“It’s not over. Please don’t think it’s over."

Cassian searched her gaze, trying to hold himself together despite the way his grief ripped at him. "Then why does it feel like it is? You said you don't want to leave, so why are you doing it anyway? You don't have to do this."