#sorry. feeling normal about mark winters hours. i wish i had art energy i need 2 draw him so badly . hrrhrgrhgrhghrhrhhrrhgghrgrhhhhhh

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

"he turns around and he pulls down the mask and you can see the gashes on his face. and clearly, since you last saw him, time has not been kind to him"

[evangelineartemiasamos]

Red Queen Secret Santa 2018 for Rhia @redqueenfandom <3

A/N: A modern AU, a sequel to the ones I wrote before. I wanted to place this in Paris at first, but then I thought I should rather write about a place where I’ve been to – although my memories aren’t that perfect^^° I’m sorry for eventual inaccuracies.

A New Place

Growing Up

The Dinner

Roman Holiday

The Wedding

FInd this on Wattpad and on AO3

Roman Holiday

Mare POV

It’s eleven in the evening when I can call it a day on christmas eve. I put away my apron and slip into my coat and scarf and step outside of the café and onto the streets of Rome, bright with lights, filled with people, bells sounding over me.

Astounding that I hardly need the coat, despite the time and season. But this is a warm place, making it even more of a magnet for tourists coming to flee the winter or to experience christmas surrounded by supposedly more holiness than at home, wherever it is.

I’m not sure whether I should call myself one of them. I’m still a foreigner like them, frequently overwhelmed by Rome’s grandeur and age and visiting its endless sights. But then again, I make my living by serving tourists currently.

Four months into my gap year, I’m spending the winter in Italy, working as a help or assistant in various institutions, first in the cheaper countryside, now in the capital. I was tempted to see the festive spectacle, to be honest, that I’m putting up the higher costs of coming here. Fortunately, my room is affordable enough, but nothing I’d like to stay in for longer than a few days for that price. I knew what I was getting into, I guess, so I’m here to make an experience of it.

Truly, it is one. The ancientness of the city, the marks of history and art everywhere, often pull at my suspension of disbelief until I can take it for real. The more I stay, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll normalize the marvels one moment, no longer able to take it all in as much as it deserves. But I don’t intend to stay that long. I’m here to travel and see the world, and my next stations are waiting. Because for all its greatness, Rome’s also tiring, exhausting me.

There’s a price for a year of travelling, and that is hard, ever-shifting, and often boring work. It isn’t difficult to find jobs when you’re a native English and Spanish speaker in places full of tourists. Interpreters are good to have and I’ve a talent for languages, so my Italian improves by the day. The café I currently work at seems to have mostly foreign customers talking English, but to encounter the barriers of languages, from one foreigner to another, leaves a strange impression. Words get jumbled and guesses have to be made all the time and I try to smile away the stress. I hope that eases the work as well as raise my tips.

Although I’ve understood the processes of applying and have some reserves at hand by now, a consequence of the gap year is a constant worry of having nothing when I wake up next. It can eat at you no matter what, having to rely on yourself alone this much, but then again, it’s also the freedom I’ve craved. Whatever I do, I achieve it by myself. I can be proud of that. Doesn’t that mean I can manage everything?

Yet, it also means that often, I’m terribly alone. To be here, I’ve left behind my home, my friends, and my family. Now I’m meeting strangers every day, of whom each might become a new friend if I gave them the chance. It’s hard, the enduring newness of people and everything else. I can’t open myself up to them all the time, re-introduce myself and every part of me, can’t bring up the energy to translate all of their conversations in my head to take part in them. Thus, I frequently fall into myself and rest alone at the end of a long day full of work.

Tonight is such a time, or could be. It’s still christmas, but the loud and lively shift has destroyed pretty much of my festive mood. This is nothing like my little girl christmases and their inherent childhood magic. This is noise and exhaustion and unfamiliarity. It’s a feeling pulling me off the ground and I’m not willing to give in to it.

The streets around me roar as I scout for a quieter spot where I can sit down. Not easy to find here, as many are already taken, or dirty, or prohibited so traffic isn’t disturbed. But finally, I find a free building block close to the Pantheon. I get down on it and take a deep breath of the night air, letting my body relax as good as possible.

It’s not far from St. Peter where the greatest crowd will celebrate and if I weren’t so tired, I might go there to watch them, to get my own image of it. Shade would be offended to hear about this, as he’s always keen on calling out the catholic church and the pope especially. But I’d welcome his rant if I saw him in person again, like the rest of my family. I miss them so much, and curse once more my decision to stay abroad during christmas. The loneliness is cruel on this day, and the only thing I can do is getting my phone out and looking over their pictures and messages again. I do so every day and send replies back, but I delayed this today, hoped not thinking about them and being unaware about what I’m missing would make my shift more tolerable. That didn’t really work out. I just had a bad day that went to waste while everyone else around me is having fun.

So now I can be lonely while watching my family celebrating christmas. Tramy sells christmas trees and presents the fairy tale-like winter wonderland of the garden center he works at. Bree is with his girlfriend, both grinning and likely slightly inebriated, when Kilorn crashes their photos. Shade, despite his atheist statements, put outfits on his baby daughter Clara that make her look like an elf of Santa Claus and he stands arms in arm with Clara and Diana under a mistletoe that hangs over their door. In another, Diana, seriously studying an important-looking book, wears a silly blinking cap on her head, and in a second photo she hugs Clara besottedly as if in ignorance of a photo being taken.

Mom and Dad are similarly in love with their first grandchild and have tons of pictures with her, of Dad keeping her from crawling into the Christmas tree, or of Bree holding her up to pull on a pinata.

Gisa shines in these photos, too. Even on casual days, her outfits leave me so awed and envious of her style full of details and perfection achieved by her own ideas and efforts. One time, she’s wearing a black dress, a ball dress I almost think, and she looks so gorgeous in it that I don’t know whether to adore her or to be scared of her.

I sniff and swipe tears from my eyes. When I look back to the screen, my contacts are shown. My fingers must’ve slipped and I scroll back to find my family again, as I still have to send greetings and wishes. It’s christmas after all, and since it’s still afternoon over there, it must the perfect time for messages. Maybe even a call. Yes, I should make a call. Yet I stop searching when I see another name on the list.

Cal.

His profile photo seems to smile at me, and I feel myself smiling back at him automatically. At the boy I dated a few times back in the States. The silly, rich, hot and kind Cal who’d muttered something about christmas in Italy back then. How decadent, I thought. And now I’m actually here. I can’t resist the temptation and text “hey” to him.

“Merry christmas!” he texts back. “My parents wanted to visit the holy night in Rome and now we’re watching from our hotel balcony. Can you believe?” Added is a photo of the crowd on St. Peter.

I can’t help grinning like an utter fool.

“Guess what …” I write to him.

I drop hints for him about where to find me, not really expecting him to show up. Why should he, when he’s with his family on christmas eve? And yet, between messaging my family and joking with Kilorn about food, I glance over my appearance in more than one mirror or window to make sure I have nothing in my face.

I’m right at replying to Kilorn’s snarks when I almost bounce into someone. I’m fast enough to get out of reach, but make myself ready to rant back if necessary.

Light falls on his face, and I, silly me, recognize him as Cal, who’s really come to meet with me in the middle of the holy night.

“Merry christmas again, Mare,” he says.

I hesitate. I tuck my hair behind my ears nervously and chew on my lip as I look for words and my composure. But when I see his face, beaming with excitement, I laugh out loud and he laughs along with me. I go to him and in a blink, I stand before him and give him a hug. A friendly one, like I’d hug everyone, yet I don’t let go, and neither does he. I pull him closer, my hands pressing into his back as I step on my toes to kiss his – stubby – cheek and whisper “merry christmas,” into his ear.

He returns the kiss on the cheek.

And then he kisses me on the mouth.

It’s a surprise for both of us, but we don’t stop. Does it mean anything? Or is it just fun? He might be drunk although I’m not, only tired and in need of warmth and a familiar human body close to me.

We pull apart to draw breaths and don’t know what to do afterwards. We grin and laugh again. “We can ... walk a little?” he prompts and I agree and take his hand. With him at my side, I don’t feel so tired and lost. We’re two people enjoying christmas together in a beautiful city, and that changes everything.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” I say.

“Same here,” he replies. “Well, you said something about being in Italy during winter, and when my parents talked about travelling on Christmas, I put in an option or two …” He shrugs.

I elbow him softly. “Stalker,” I jest.

“Hey! It was still a surprise,” he objects and smirks. “And you called me.”

That’s true, but I’m unsure whether to tell him how needy I felt an hour before. It’s good as it is, should I dive deeper? We’re strolling through this ancient quarter, two people who might be in love during a lush night, like millions of other people must’ve done before. It doesn’t make me feel small, but incredibly connected and right where I belong tonight. Cal especially seems to fit in here perfectly. With his handsome face, the contrast of light skin and dark hair illuminated by the moonlight, he could be a mystical apparition rising from the ruins.

Oh god, I can never tell him that. He’d never shut up about it, and the idea is way to pagan for this night. Shade would be proud.

“What?” Cal nudges me and I shake my head a little too long just to win time. He frowns.

“You’re her with your family?” I ask eventually. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“I …” Bingo. “Ugh, right, that must sound ridiculous to you.” He’s completely flustered and it’s very endearing. “You’re here on your own,” he continues, “and I came here on a family trip like a big baby.”

I incline my head, the corner of my mouth twitching. He doesn’t offer me a chance to reply though.

“However, it does mean something to me.” His hand squeezes mine, possibly inadvertently, as his voice gains a serious edge. “My parents often went on trips with me, of course. But this is the first my half-brother is with us.”

I stand still.

“Mare?” Cal asks. I don’t react. “Mare, your mouth’s open till the Alps,” he says.

A shiver washes over me and I look up to him. His confused face likely mirrors mine. “Mare, didn’t I tell you about my brother? Who’s lived with his mother?”

I nod gravely.

“You see, as I’ve told you, we met at the same college. And somehow, we got along surprisingly well. I was so glad, you know? I think Maven is, too.”

“That’s great.” I smile faintly.

“Indeed, so after a few months, we decided to go on vacation together, as a family. And Maven loves Rome.”

I can easily imagine him, standing in a museum or on the capitol hill among paintings and statues and looking like a mischievous fallen angel himself. “Oh, absolutely,” I say aloud. Only that that deeply puzzles Cal, because he doesn’t know that I know Maven personally, that we were friends and a couple for years. I’ve only learned by accident that he’s Cal’s half-brother.

Now I have no idea how to tell Cal this so late. Seems like Maven didn’t tell him either. I wonder if he figured out who Cal is meeting tonight.

Cal still isn’t enlightened and I take both of his hands and know I have to confess. I look into his beautiful eyes, golden like fire, like light. “I’ve been friends with Maven for a long time,” I say. More than friends. “Until last year.”

If I leave it at this, I’ll never be able to finish. So I go on. “We were together for a while,” I say quietly, and speaking feels like lifting a ton. “As a couple.”

Cal gasps for words. I Iay a finger on his lips. “But that’s over. I’m just glad, really happy, that he is doing well and getting along with you.”

Relief washes over Cal and I’m sure he’ll have to digest this for some time. His hands wriggle in mine, loosen, and wander over my arms to my shoulders. He rubs them and I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t, as he’s still at loss for words.

I stretch to give him a light kiss. He chuckles. “And I thought about asking you to come with me tonight …”

“Oh, how scandalous.” I tease back, hands on my hips.

“Yes, it’d be awkward for several reasons.”

I shake my head. “Not tonight, “I say with a sigh, a promise ringing in my voice.

He catches the note and smiles. His palms remain a caressing, welcome presence on my back, and I take the final step to embrace him. He pulls me even closer, bending down to my ear. “I’d say I’m looking forward for another time, Mare,” he mumbles, turning my name into a tender touch. “But whenever I let go of you and say ‘goodbye for now’, you vanish in a flash, fast as lightning.”

“I – ”

He kisses the top of my head. “I want to meet you again. I want to get to know you – for real.”

His eyes burn with intensity, his arms feel like a home. So under an infinite black sky, bells tolling around us in a city of legends, I whisper a time and place into his ear. “I’ll be there, I promise.” My hand rests on his cheek. “It’s my christmas present to you.”

@merrymareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @inopinion @lilyharvord @elliemarchetti (gosh I just hope I did get Italy mostly right) @eurydicel @sarcasm-and-procrastination @marecalrandomstuff @calmareforever @choosemarecal