Chapter Text
- December 24 -
Benedict hasn’t lived at their mother’s home in over a decade, but his room still drips with the avant garde feng shui of an artist; half-finished paintings sit untouched on easels, almost hauntingly, and various scraps of letters and receipts litter every surface except the floor. Violet famously never disturbs her childrens’ rooms after they move out, citing her belief that a room that feels like home means her children will always feel welcomed under her roof – a fact that Colin hopes he’ll find deep appreciation for as he rummages through Benedict’s chest of drawers, pawing through clothes and praying to every deity he can think of that there’s a stray pack of B&H Golds still nestled there.
At last, in the bottom drawer, he hears his fingertips hit thin cardboard and plastic wrapping – fuck, yes – and he fishes the pack out from between two pairs of joggers. He opens it and gives it a whiff, surprised to inhale the earthy spice of tobacco that hasn’t gone completely stale. God, he’s desperate for the hit of nicotine. He stashes them into the pocket of his jacket and stands back up straight, turning to the door and jumping a bit at the figure there.
“Colin?” Violet eyes him a bit suspiciously, but mostly concernedly. Colin suddenly feels like a teenager again, caught red-handed with those disease sticks, still a little woozy from consuming the devil’s lettuce, and shit – she’s still up?
“Benedict asked me to look for something in his drawers,” Colin lies.
“Of course,” Violet nods. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be in Bloomsbury. Anthony said you were quite eager to move in there. Of course, you know you’re always welcome under this roof, Colin, but it’s nice to hear that you’re perhaps staying in town a bit longer …”
Colin considers how dry his mouth is, and keeps it shut, nodding tersely.
Violet’s head turns to the side, running a hand along Benedict’s door frame. For just a moment, Colin considers how lovely she looks – a long, white dressing gown, brown curls pinned back – she’s regal, he thinks. But Violet’s voice floats in between his thoughts, striking him down:
“It was good to see Penelope today, wasn’t it?”
And goddamn, Hyacinth was right. This was why he came back here.
He breaks.
Christ, he breaks.
He drops down, crouching, clutching at the tips of hair that brush against his forehead as he digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, daring himself to crush his eyes completely; pulverize them into his skull until they are dust, dry, unable to produce any more evidence of his pathos. Every tear is another reminder of his failure; of what he’s lost; of what he’ll never have; of her, of light, of love, of home, and fuck, he’s got to rid himself of every last one before any more can escape from his eyes and damn him even further to his fate. The tide within him is high, out of control, impossible to level, and he’s drowning quickly beneath it; gasping; sputtering …
… but then his mother’s hand is there, grabbing him, pulling his head just above water and holding him there. She crouches down beside him and calls his name, he thinks, chanting it over and over like a mantra as she shifts the sands beneath him and tries to steady him from his roots. She pulls him into her arms and cradles him there, like a babe, rocking and hushing and cooing like he’s one of the fucking grandchildren sobbing about a bruised kneecap.
But Christ, he’s powerless.
He sobs into her. Full-on, chest-heaving sobs, shattered like glass.
And his mother holds him for what feels like a year until his breathing becomes shaky but even, and he no longer feels the pull to completely disintegrate.
Violet moves sideways just enough to look down at him, taking her thumb and brushing it beneath his eye.
“If I could, I would take this pain on myself,” she says quietly, wiping his other eye.
“The pain is deserved, in my case,” Colin rasps. “I really fucked it up, Mum. In every sense.”
The tiniest hint of a smile appears on Violet’s lips.
“Then un-fuck it, dear.”
It’s the first time he thinks he’s ever heard a naughty four-letter word escape her lips, and he can’t help it – he laughs.
He feels fucking crazy.
“Did you learn that from Kate?” he manages to ask, and Violet nods somewhat proudly.
“It’s wrong, you know. That old adage about the dog. I’m quite capable of learning many new tricks,” she says as she starts to rise to her feet; she places her hands on Colin’s shoulders and pulls him up with her.
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Colin says.
He’s still sniffling, and he knows he must look awful, but his mother simply goes about straightening his jacket and fixing an errant curl on the side of his head, primping and preening over him like he’s a little boy.
“I don’t know how to un-fuck it, Mum,” he says finally. “I tried tonight. I adopted fourteen dormice on her boyfriend’s firm’s website because I thought–”
Violet’s eyes grow wide. “Dormice?”
Colin shakes his head. “Anyway … I went over to her house to tell her, to bring her back … but I clammed up. They were all there – her boyfriend, her mother, her sisters – and I just couldn’t find the right words, Mum.”
“Well, even with a great deal of rehearsal, the performance will be poor if the orchestra isn’t in harmony.”
Colin raises an eyebrow.
“Trust, communication, love … it builds over time, my dear. You become comfortable in what you build with each other first. You have to discover how you tune yourselves to one another; you have to figure out how to harmonize.”
Colin shifts a bit before the next confession.
“Eloise texted me that they broke up,” he says, nearly in a whisper. “She’s gone out with Penelope to help her cope. Christ, Mum … Eloise asked me what happened, and I couldn’t even find the words to respond to her. I fucked up Pen’s relationship completely.”
“Certainly that didn’t–” Violet began, but Colin continued bubbling over.
“I … I kissed her earlier today.”
“Oh,” Violet’s eyes widened just ever-so-slightly before she collected herself again, calm and cool.
“Yeah. That’s how much of a dickhead I am. And then I embarrassed both myself and her in front of her family.” Colin bites his lip in frustration. “Why would she ever speak to me again?”
Violet takes her hand back down to Colin’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You and Penelope are so alike,” she says thoughtfully.
“How so?”
“You both believe you aren’t deserving of a great love story.”
“She is,” Colin immediately replies. “Of course she is.”
“And you aren’t?”
There’s a good deal of discomfort in the thought. He’s never considered what he deserves, he thinks.
“Perhaps you need to convince each other,” Violet says. “Harmonize. And in that harmony, you’ll lift each other up.”
“I tried …” Colin begins, but Violet lifts a finger.
“It’d be a shame to let this go with even an ounce of regret,” she says simply.
Colin stares at her. It’s perhaps the least cryptic she’s ever been in challenging her children, and he can’t help but take note of it.
She wants Penelope home too.
Tick. Tick.
“I’m off to bed,” Violet says, leaning up to kiss Colin on the cheek. “You know I love you dearly, son.”
“I know,” he responds.
As Violet drifts out of the room, he pulls out his phone to check the time.
12:17 a.m.
One missed call from Eloise.
He inhales shakily, and presses the button to call her back.
She answers in one ring: “You should call Kate and fill her in instead. I’m honestly too frustrated by everything this evening to hear you out properly.”
“Kate?” Colin stammers a bit in his confusion.
“I was on my way to Mondrich’s when two blocks from my house, suddenly, I run over a fucking rock in the road. I get a fucking flat. Phillip had to pull the kids out of bed to come retrieve me … Christ, it’s been a nightmare. I’m still trying to get them back to bed. I was going to take an Uber out to Mondrich’s, but it was so chaotic getting home, I finally texted the girl chat to see who was up, and Kate volunteered to go find Pen. So honestly, whatever happened, just keep it to yourself until I’ve had at least two cups of coffee tomorrow morning; then I’ll try to hear you out …”
“Right,” Colin chokes out, “good luck with all that, El.”
He can’t hang up fast enough. Fingers shaking, he dials Kate.
“Did you by any chance speak to Eloise?” Kate answers; Colin hears her car keys jingling in the background.
“I just hung up. She said you were headed out to Pen.”
“I am,” Kate says. “That is, unless …”
He feels the burn rising within him, strengthening his resolve as it washes up from his core, into his chest, over his head.
Pen’s pulling at him, even from miles away.
“You can stay home,” Colin says.
He hears Kate drop her car keys.
“Don’t fuck it up,” she says.
Mondrich’s is dreary.
Any bar just a day before Christmas is a bit of a dreich place. Hometown reunions have already happened, so those that remain in the dark halls might not be entirely miserable, but they certainly have their fair share of sombre stories to tell. There’s always a reason they choose a bar over the warmth of their own home; justifiable reasons, perhaps, to distance themselves from the people who love them, but reasons nonetheless.
Bing Crosby is crooning over the crackling loudspeakers as Colin enters, scanning the room like he used to scan the pool as a summer lifeguard, looking desperately for her red locks.
“Christmas Eve will find me,” Bing sings, “where the lovelight gleams …”
And there she is.
Corner of the bar, a half-empty Guinness pint in front of her, staring down at her phone as she mindlessly clicks at some game flashing away on the screen. She’s still in the same gold-colored sweater she wore to her mother’s house; the black boots she’s wearing beneath her tights and skirt are just barely touching a bar towards the bottom of the bar stool she’s sitting on. The light from her phone filters up onto her cheeks, and God … she doesn’t fit here; in this crowd of melancholy. She’s too special for this den of mediocrity.
Her moonlight pulls him towards her.
He’s entranced.
He goes unnoticed until he slides into the stool next to her, a bit awkwardly; it creaks beneath him, causing her to jump a bit before looking over at him.
“Oh, Christ,” she whines. “How did you know I was …?”
She stops mid-sentence, shaking her head, reconsidering.
“Please go, Colin,” she says.
“No,” Colin says incontestably.
“Kate is on her way here. It would have been El, but she had a flat. I’m fine, I’m taken care of; just go, Colin.”
“I told Kate to stay home,” Colin begins. “I had to see you, Pen; I had to explain–”
“Oh, then you must know everything,” she fumes. “Well, in that case, you should already know that my one chance at actually having some sort of successful love story is now completely shot; dead in the water, and almost entirely thanks to you and your strange little stunts over the past few days. And he didn’t even know about what we did after the little Christmas tree excursion. I swear to God, Colin …”
She throws her forearms up onto the bar in front of her and drops her head on top of them, growling in frustration.
“I could have made it work with him,” she says, her voice muffled.
“He wasn’t right for you,” Colin can’t help but reply, and her head shoots back up, turning to glare at him.
“He wasn’t right for me?” Pen laughs a bit, clearly aghast. “He’s the longest boyfriend I’ve ever had, Colin, and it wasn’t all that long.”
“Penelope–” he begins again, but Pen raises a hand to cut him off.
“Please. This is my third Guinness, and I’m getting a nice little buzz going while smashing some Candy Crush. I don’t want to argue; I don’t want to talk; I don’t really want to think, Colin. I want to get a little drunk, wallow while playing my stupid game, then go home.”
He sits back, fiddling with his fingers anxiously.
“Can I at least make sure you get home safely?” he asks meekly.
“You can do whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to speak to you. I’m not ready to deal with whatever it is I need to say to you, Colin.”
He nods; it’s fair, he thinks.
He knows he’s pissed her off.
He’ll tread for now.
“Did you drive here?” he asks.
“I’ll just leave my car in the lot overnight,” she says, nodding in confirmation. “The bartender says people do it all the time. I can get an Uber home.”
“Sounds good,” Colin says.
Penelope takes several long sips of her drink and turns back to her game.
Colin orders a Guinness for himself before pulling out his phone to text Anthony.
Colin: do me a solid
Colin: pen’s yellow bug is in the lot at mondrich’s
Colin: you’ll be up before me in the morning
Colin: arrange a tow? anywhere that might be open on christmas eve.
Colin: and ask to have it looked at. something’s wrong with the engine.
Colin: i’ll pay you back.
A few seconds later, a response comes through.
Anthony: Kate says I have to agree to this.
Anthony: I’ll let you know the total.
Anthony: And don’t text me this late ever again unless it’s truly an emergency.
Anthony: … Kate is arguing this is an emergency, so please disregard the last text.
Colin smiles.
Penelope slips out to go to the bathroom, and while she’s gone, Colin orders her a fresh pint and has her tab moved to his card.
She returns to her seat, avoiding him again. Colin studies his pint: the bartender did a pretty shitty Guinness pour, and the excess foam in the head is just enough of an annoyance to distract him for a moment.
Penelope takes a sip of her fresh pint, also way too foamy, and makes a face.
“Shit pour,” she says, and Colin can’t hold back the laugh that escapes from him.
“You read my mind,” he says. “It’s inexcusable, really.”
For a split-second, she smiles before she seemingly remembers to be pissed at him, turning back to her game with a tiny grunt.
It’s a little cute, really.
Colin reaches for his pint again.
They both take several drinks.
He hears Penelope sigh, and even that sounds melodic to his ears.
“He wasn’t even supposed to come to dinner tonight,” she says out of nowhere.
Colin pauses, the glass still touching his lips.
He doesn’t dare react.
“He was originally going to work late tonight, then maybe get off a little earlier on Christmas Eve,” Penelope continues, eyes still glued onto her game. “Then he switched the days because he thought Christmas Eve would be even quieter at his office so he could get more done.”
Colin slowly lowers the glass to the bar.
Treading.
“He didn’t even really want to come over. I had to practically beg him. I have been so desperate for Mama to meet him; for her to believe that I could actually have someone interested in me. But when Alfred asked to speak to me outside her house, she had to have known it wasn’t going to be a good conversation .. God, the judgment in her face when I walked back in to grab my keys.”
Colin swallows.
“Of course,” Penelope scoffs a little bit, “the rest of my family might not have noticed Alfred taking me outside, considering they were all distracted by talking about how completely insane you are. So you might have done me a favor there.”
“Glad I could help,” Colin says, and Penelope shakes her head a little bit, a small incredulous chuckle escaping her lips.
She looks up at him, big blue eyes wide and searching.
He wills her to keep looking.
And his voice, barely a whisper, crumbles a bit as he dares to ask: “Do you want to talk–?”
“I’m not ready,” she says, sighing, taking a finger and drawing an invisible line between the two of them. “I’m not ready to address this elephant.”
She’s become a little more glassy-eyed since Colin arrived – whether it’s from drink or from her own emotions, he’s not sure, but he shifts his weight in the bar stool and folds his hands on top of the bar.
Treading.
“As you so astutely observed, I think I made enough of an arse of myself today,” he says a little timidly. “I’ll follow your lead now.”
They go back to their drinks; she goes back to her game. When she finishes her pint before him, he orders another one for her. He asks for a water too, and as the bartender slides it towards her, she shoots Colin an annoyed glare.
“You think I’m getting too drunk,” she says, accusatory.
“I’m helping you out. Christmas Eve is still happening at your house, yes? I’ll bet Portia can sniff out a hangover a mile away.”
“Well, Dad was a bit of a drunk,” Pen replies. “Why don’t you order another pint for yourself?”
Colin shrugs. “I want to be able to drive you home.”
“I’ll get a car,” she says, waving her hand. “And you can too.”
“I’ve got Frannie’s car,” he replies, holding up his keys and jingling them a bit. “Don’t think the homebody queen would be too keen on me leaving her nice vehicle in a bar parking lot overnight.”
Penelope looks down into her lap, biting her lower lip.
And he’s tried to be so careful this evening; not wanting to push, not wanting to prod – trying to keep her completely in control of the path of their interactions entirely … but he’s worried about her.
“What’s that look for?” he asks her quietly.
She laughs a bit. “I thought that maybe if you were drunk too, I wouldn’t feel so awkward talking about everything with you.”
Colin runs a hand along the back of his neck.
And shit, he’s like a man possessed.
The words just fly out of him:
“We could both go to my new place,” he says.
“And do what?”
“Have a nightcap,” he shrugs. “Talk. Rest. You can take the bed, if that makes you feel better. I’ll be perfectly happy on the sofa.”
She looks at her phone and closes her game.
She’s considering it.
“It’s been a long fucking day,” she says.
“It’s been a long fucking day,” he confirms.
Come with me, Pen. Make my house a home.
“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go to your place.”
Colin hands her a shot glass filled with amber liquor, holding one for himself in his hand. As they both shoot it back, he winces; ever since uni, the burn always gives him a quick wave of nausea, which he fights by dropping his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
Their car ride had been silent; Colin was too terrified to rock the boat in the slightest in case it would all go awry before she even set foot in his door. He needed to let her lead; if silence was her choice, he’d follow. When they had finally reached his place, he let her go in first to drop off her coat while he silently plugged in the Christmas tree. It casts a warm bit of light in the room that is just enough to cast a bit of shine over the glass in the liquor cabinet, which is thankfully well-stocked (in his head, Colin sang his praises for Anthony, who didn’t let any Bridgerton home be without a few good bottles of scotch).
Colin stares at the little Penelope angel ornament for a moment before turning back to the real angel in front of him.
“One more?” Colin asks her, reaching for her shot glass.
She shakes her head, still cringing a bit. “You do one. You need to catch up to me.”
He pours himself another shot and throws it back, wincing again.
“Colin,” Penelope whines, and it’s a strange enough tone to cause him to fight through the wave of nausea quickly, standing upright to meet her gaze.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“I think I need to yell at you,” she says, her eyes hooded with fatigue.
Colin bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. I might deserve that.”
She looks at him for a long time. He feels the weight of everything on his heart, like a foot on his chest; pressing, pressing, pressing, but he cannot take a breath or move until she opens the gates between them.
So he braces for impact.
She takes a deep breath.
“When Alfred took me outside at my mother’s house,” Pen says, “the very first thing he asked me was why you cared so much about my car. I thought it was an incredibly odd question, given all the other strange things that had gone down in your visit.
Colin shrugs. “I care.”
“Exactly. I told him it was because you always noticed the little things that were wrong in my life, and you always fixed them. When we were kids, if the ice cream truck rolled by and I didn’t have any money on me, you’d spend your last dollar in your pocket buying a popsicle for me so I could have a treat alongside El. When I left for uni after Christmas break one year and forgot all of my books back at home, you drove in the wee hours of the morning to deliver them to me. And there’s story after story … you’ve always gone the extra mile for me, Colin – and that’s what I told Alfred.”
“And what did he say?” Colin asks quietly.
“He said you were in love with me,” Pen says simply. “I said that was ridiculous … but then he asked if I would still stay together with him if I was certain that you loved me … and I didn’t have an answer for him. So Alfred shook my hand, wished me the best, and off he went.”
Colin is silent.
Treading.
And so, apparently, is Pen.
They look down at their hands, both unwilling to speak again, until Pen finally breaks the icy silence between them.
“Why are you fucking with me?”
She sounds as exhausted as Colin feels.
“I would never fuck with you,” he says quickly.
“Are you bored? Is that it? Lonely?” Penelope sits on the arm of the chaise in his living room, running a finger along the top edge of her shot glass. He notices that the black tights she’s wearing have snagged and started to run at some point, and the white skin of her leg beneath the little tear looks like a shooting star flying up her leg and landing in the center of her thigh.
Shit.
He can’t deny the loneliness.
“I’ve missed you, Pen.”
“You’ve missed me?” she says, and she exhales a disbelieving puff of air. “It’s only because I stopped talking to you as much.”
“Well, yeah,” Colin affirms. “I was quite used to hearing from you frequently. When you stopped messaging me, then I …”
He trails off, unsure of himself suddenly. How does he tell her about the dreams? About the longing? About breaking down in his mother’s garden in front of his brother; about crying in his mother’s arms?
“I stopped messaging you … so you took me Christmas tree shopping and kissed me,” she says.
And he realizes how insane it is.
“You’re my best friend,” he offers up, and he knows it sounds a bit pathetic in the grand scheme of things, but he swears he is starting to weave a path to some sort of understanding between them, maybe …
“So it was a best friend kiss,” she says, nodding a bit. “I see.”
Goddamn it.
“No, Pen,” Colin says, and his frustration is building because fuck, why can’t he just tell her that she’s everything? How is he so tongue-tied; does love really make someone this fucking stupid?
He prays for a lifeline of some kind, and by some miracle, Pen, his angel, gives it to him.
“What did you mean by that thing you texted?” Pen says. “‘Can you really ignore what we were both feeling this morning?’”
A literal angel. She should be painted on the ceiling of a cathedral, commissioned by royalty.
He inhales. “I hoped you felt similarly.”
“In what way?” she whispers.
The foot in his chest presses again.
“You make me feel, Pen,” he says finally.
She looks at him quizzically.
“Fuck,” he sighs.
He pours them both another shot; he takes his quickly, wincing through the nausea again, method acting that he’s drunker than he is, playing up the emboldened nerves he should be feeling by now through sheer will.
“Shit, Pen … you know you were the first person who encouraged me to really cry about my dad,” he says quietly; he feels her eyes grow wide, taking him in. “I don’t let my walls down often. But these last few weeks, despite my best efforts to try to ignore it, the honest truth is that you’ve ripped me raw, Pen. And now I feel like I’m eighteen again, sitting in your bed, crying into your hair … I want to break down, Pen, but I want it to be with you.”
“It’s me who should be breaking down, you know,” she says, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m the one who got broken up with because some crazy guy came to my house talking about adopting fourteen dormice to show he’s a conservationist.”
Colin laughs at that. “I do feel like I’ve lost my mind a bit these past few days.”
Pen shifts. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t been home for Christmas,” Colin replies. “Because I’ve been missing you. Because … fuck, Pen.”
No more treading.
Now’s the time to dive.
“I love you,” he says. “Because I love you.”
She drops her shot glass on the floor and it smacks with a thud; a corner of it chips off, sending a little shard of glass flying.
“Don’t move,” he says as he sees her start to crouch. He squats down onto the floor, his hand sliding around in search of the missing shard.
“Colin, you’ll hurt yourself,” Pen warns, but it’s too late.
His hand finds the shard, slicing up into him sharply, causing him to yelp in pain. He pulls his hand up and plucks the shard out, tossing it into the shot glass on the floor.
Bright red blood pools to the surface of his palm. It’s almost a welcome distraction.
“Shit,” Pen says, looking at his hand. “Bandages?”
Colin shakes his head. “If there are any, I have no clue where they’d be.”
“Fuck, these are ripped anyway.”
Pen kicks off her boots quickly, stands up, and reaches her hands up under her skirt. To Colin’s shock, she shimmies her tights down over her knees and over her feet. With one hand, she grabs the back of his hand, pulling it towards her before making quick work of wrapping her tights snugly around the cut, her thumb gently pressing them down to temper the bleed.
“Just for a minute, to stop it from bleeding any more,” she says. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to drop the glass … it’s just …”
“Don’t be sorry,” Colin whispers.
He catches her gaze, relishing in the feeling of her fingertips still grazing his hand, pressing into his palm.
She’s magnetic, and pulling him.
“You don’t mean–” she begins, eyelashes blinking furiously. “I mean … you love me as a friend, right?”
He shakes his head, and he can’t help a small smile at the corner of his mouth.
“I mean … I love you, Pen.”
She bites her lip as they both rise up to stand.
“How can you–”
“You balance me, Pen,” he answers.
She raises an eyebrow, and fuck, maybe he is still too sober for this, but he feels the press again, so he pushes forward.
“I’ll admit that I wasn’t honest about my feelings towards you until you stopped messaging me – and yeah, that makes me a dickhead, but I’ll be an honest dickhead about it. Then when I realized you weren’t spending Christmas with us … all of a sudden, the house I grew up in didn’t feel like home anymore. My family didn’t feel complete. You left an empty chair at our table, Pen. And everything was off-kilter for me.”
He inhales deeply before continuing:
“You bring balance to my world, Pen. It’s remarkable, really. You spin every tree in the lot until you’ve found the perfect one; branches even, bald spots proportional. The lights, the ornaments on this tree – it’s all perfectly balanced. And it’s because at your very being, you stabilize. You’re light in the darkness of the world; calm in the chaos of my family home; warmth in a frigid old house like this. And I couldn’t stand the idea of being with someone who didn’t balance your warmth equally. I mean, fuck, Pen; why wouldn’t someone want to spend every day at Christmas with you?”
He inhales, and decides to risk it.
He puts a shaky hand on her shoulder.
She doesn’t move.
“I know I’ve acted completely chaotic the past couple of days, but I feel like I’ve been going mad. And the only thing that brings me any sort of peace is you. You center me, Pen. You always have. For all of my wanderlust, you’ve been the lighthouse reminding me of where I should dock.”
He swallows.
“And … shit, Pen, there’s no other way to say this … when we kissed earlier, it was as though you could read me before I moved, every time. The moon to my tide.”
“Colin,” she says, her voice barely audible.
She’s trembling a bit under his touch.
He whispers: “Did you feel something too this afternoon?”
And to his relief … she nods.
“I’ve felt something for a long time,” she whispers.
Colin smiles. “My siblings have said as much. And I’m an idiot for taking so long to be honest about reciprocating, but God, Pen … now I realize that I always have.”
To his surprise, she reaches a hand up to his cheek, cupping his chin with the heel of her hand.
“Jesus, are you crying?” she asks, a little grin creeping onto her face.
“Yeah,” he says, and as if on cue, he feels a tear roll down his cheek. “It’s been an emotionally exhausting few days.”
They stare at each other like this for a few seconds before Pen takes her fingertips and brushes the tear away.
“You’re a softie,” she says quietly, still smiling.
“Guilty,” Colin laughs, and he sniffles a bit, still feeling rocky.
“Fuck,” she says, glancing over his shoulder at a clock on the table. “It’s nearly 4 a.m. We’re both going to be a wreck for Christmas Eve.”
“I can get you set up in the bedroom. I’m still fine to sleep out here,” Colin says.
He feels his chest tug.
“After what you’ve said to me?” Pen laughs. “You better fucking sleep in the same bed with me, Colin Bridgerton.”
He laughs, and oh fuck, oh God … it’s happening.
His Penelope is home.
Pen takes her hands and covers her face for a moment before looking up at the ceiling, laughing.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” she says to his ceiling.
He feels the same. He knows there’s a stupid fucking grin on his face, and he can’t be bothered to wipe it off. The fire running through his blood right now is hotter than scotch; scorching his veins from the inside out.
He’s going to sleep in the same bed as the love of his life.
A minute later, Penelope Featherington is standing in his bedroom, doing a once-over on his bed.
“Looks comfortable enough,” she says. “I want this side that’s closest to the bathroom.”
“Claim away,” he says, and oh, God, he loves that she has a side.
“But let’s get one thing straight, Colin – I’m not a girl who has sex with a guy the first time I spend the night with him,” she says; her eyes narrow, but for the first time all evening, really, there’s that little spark of playfulness he’s missed so desperately.
“I’d never pressure you, Pen,” he says.
“I don’t have any clothes to sleep in,” she says.
“I brought a few things over this morning,” Colin replies.
He extends a hand to her, which she timidly takes.
The skin on her fingers feels like velvet; they’re so smooth, he wants to run his own fingers over hers a thousand times over. Christ, he never knew a hand could feel like this – so perfect. It’s electric.
But he remains focused, pulling her into the bedroom and over to the suitcase he had haphazardly packed nearly 24 hours prior in hopes of bringing at least a few of his belongings to his new house. He rummages through the suitcase with his free hand, refusing to drop the hand that is still grasped onto her fingers, and finds a pair of pajama pants and an old shirt from uni that he occasionally uses as a gym shirt.
“Will this work?” he says.
She lets go of his hand to take the clothes from him, and he feels the sting of disappointment, immediately wanting to feel her touch again.
She pulls the clothes to her face and closes her eyes.
“These smell like you,” she says quietly, pressing the shirt into her nose.
… fuck.
“Bathroom’s over there,” he gulps, motioning to the en suite on the right side of his bed. “I don’t have much in there, but if you dig around, Anthony might have some brand new toothbrushes stashed away for renters. You can just use mine too, if you’d like.”
Penelope shoots him a strange look. “Oh. We’re not there, yet.”
The “yet” makes his heart sing.
And Colin shrugs.
He is.
She disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. He can hear her rummaging through drawers for a few seconds, then the telltale sounds of her brushing her teeth, the faucet running occasionally. He grabs a pair of pajama pants and another gym shirt from his suitcase and throws them on quickly; shit, he typically just sleeps in his underwear, but he figures he’ll at least show some decorum in front of her.
Finally, she emerges from the bathroom, and the sight of her is staggeringly gorgeous. Her red hair pops against the gray of his shirt, and there’s something so goddamn sexy about seeing the outline of her tits pressing up tightly against the fabric of his shirt, that fuck … it takes all his willpower to absolutely command his cock to lay low, at ease. Pen’s fingertips are gripped onto her thighs, pulling the pants legs up from dragging on the floor.
“Found a toothbrush,” she says matter-of-factly, shrugging.
Colin nods, swallowing, absolutely nerve-wracked.
“Anyway,” he motions to the bed, “shall we?”
She shuffles past him, the fabric of the pajama pants swishing against the floor as she claims the close side. Colin moves around to the far side and climbs in simultaneously, the old bed creaking a bit as it shifts beneath their weight. He pulls back the covers slightly for her, and she crawls underneath, wiggling down until just her head peeps out from above, her eyes glued to the ceiling. Colin follows suit, pulling the covers up just under his neck, already sweltering a bit from the heat radiating off her body beside him.
She must read his mind, because she’s quick to comment: “Do you typically sleep in all of those clothes?”
Colin laughs a bit. “No. Figured I’d be polite.”
“I appreciate it,” she says, a small smile on her lips.
A silence lulls between them for just a moment.
“But, you know,” she continues, “I think it’d be okay if you took off your shirt. Just to stay cool.”
“Okay. Sure,” Colin says. He sits up slightly and pulls his shirt off, tossing it down on the floor, a problem to be dealt with once the sun comes up and not a second sooner. He can feel her eyes on him as the shirt lifts up over his head, and they seem to remain there as he settles back onto the bed, so he loosens the pull over the covers a bit, staying exposed.
“Goddamn it, Colin,” she says, shaking her head before looking back up at the ceiling.
“What?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” she muses.
Perhaps a bit.
He grins.
“Just a reminder that you’re the one who suggested I take off my shirt,” he says playfully.
She hums. “I suppose I did.”
A breath.
“No pressure,” he says, knowing full-well that his hope is pulling extra weight to fill the gaps between them, “but we could cuddle.”
She glances at him sideways. “No pressure?”
“No pressure.”
She scoffs a bit. “You’re making it difficult to not feel pressure.”
“Not my intention” he says with a small frown. “Really, Pen, you don’t have to–”
He’s cut off by her shifting beneath the covers, rolling to her side. With a deep sigh, she slides an arm across his midsection, fingertips skating along a divot in his abdomen before settling on the back side of his waist. She throws a leg over his own, squeezing slightly into him before finally nestling her head near the crook of his armpit, her forehead resting on his chest.
It’s better than any woman has ever felt in his arms before.
Better than any high he’s ever experienced.
He’s absolutely euphoric.
“Don’t move,” she whispers, and her breath tickles on his chest. “I’m already almost asleep.”
“I won’t,” he says, and it’s a promise. He swears he’ll go completely stiff and numb without even considering moving, just so she can peacefully drift off to sleep. He never wants to move again. He can die here, he thinks.
She hums a little, and he can hardly believe his fortune.
She’s content.
This incredible woman who’s laying on his chest is content – here; now; with him.
And just a few moments later, her chest rises are rhythmic, steady, the faintest remainder of a whiff of alcohol on her breath as it hits his chin.
He’ll cling to this moment as long as he can.
“Sweet dreams, my love,” he says under his breath.
And he swears he sees her smile in her sleep.
An hour or so later, he feels her stirring gently, rolling off of him. His stomach feels a bit sticky with sweat, but he instantly misses the feeling of her on top of him, so he rolls over with her, wrapping an arm and a leg on top of her.
She’s the perfect little spoon; it’s like she was built to plug into him exactly like this.
“Mmm,” she moans a little bit.
“Comfortable?” he whispers into her ear.
“Mmhmm,” she responds, and he can see her cheek tighten with a little smile before she utters sleepily, “I can’t believe I’m being spooned by Colin Bridgerton.”
“I can’t believe I’m spooning Penelope Featherington,” he responds in kind, and she giggles lazily, still half-asleep.
“Do you know how much I wish I could tell 15-year-old Penelope that this is happening right now?”
“Do you know how much I wish I could tell Colin from like, ten hours ago that this is happening?” he says, nuzzling into her neck.
“Mmm. I’m still not going to have sex with you tonight,” she responds.
Tonight. It’s not lost on him.
“This might be better than sex,” he says, squeezing her a little tighter.
“We’ll just have to see,” she says.
Oh shit.
And there’s no helping it. He gets a little hard from that, and fuck he feels good pressing his cock directly into her backside – fuck, fuck – but he simply sighs and snuggles into her a little tighter.
He can’t believe he’s spooning Penelope Featherington.
He feels her lips pressing into his cheek as the light shines onto his face, and for a moment, he’s sure the light must be her.
He peeks an eye open.
It’s morning, but God, she’s brighter than the sun.
“Happy Christmas Eve,” she says.
He can’t help himself – he grabs behind her back and rolls slightly to pin her down as she giggles, and plants his own kiss on her cheek.
“Never been happier,” he mutters into her skin.
Somewhere in the room, he hears the unmistakable sound of a phone vibrating.
“Ah, fuck,” he says. “Think that’s me or you?”
“I’ve only been up for about five minutes, but I think both of our phones are blowing up. It’s pretty late; nearly 11,” she says, taking a hand and running it across the back of his head, her fingers threading through his curls, and Jesus Christ, it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, he thinks. He realizes why cats love to purr; God, he wants to curl up in her lap and never leave.
“Mmm. Let’s just ignore them and stay here,” he says, melting into her touch.
“Not ready to face the consequences of your actions?”
“I’m ready to face any consequences you’d like to give me,” he says, and she throws her head back, laughing – bells ringing; God, she’s so beautiful.
“You’re very naughty,” she scolds. “You aren’t afraid of coal in your stocking?”
“I’ve got the best present already,” he says, and she groans.
“Are we already onto the cheesy one-liners?”
“We’ve got two dead dads between us. Someone has to bring the dad jokes to the table.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re awful, Colin,” Penelope laughs, pushing him off of her. She rolls out of bed, much to his dismay, and pads over to the chair where she had placed her clothes the night before, rummaging for her phone.
Colin yawns and sits up a bit in bed, reaching over for his own phone on the nightstand. Turning it over, he coughs a bit at the screen full of notifications. Texts. Missed calls. A WhatsApp notification, which he thought he had uninstalled from his phone months ago.
“Christ,” Pen says from across the room. “Eloise blowing you up too?”
“I’m sure,” he says, swiping away and opening up his texts.
He taps on a message from Kate first:
Kate: good morning! pen’s car is at the shop, btw
Kate: ignore my husband if he’s a weird dickhead about it
Kate: you know how he is.
Kate: beneath that grumpy exterior is a total teddy bear who would do anything for family.
Kate: but ?? is all well?
Colin smiles and types out a response.
Colin: good morning, and thank you re: the car
Colin: and … i think things are becoming un-fucked
Colin: 🙂
His phone buzzes almost instantly.
Kate: !!!!!!
Kate: 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉
Kate: i’ll cover for you at your mum’s
Kate: take your fucking TIMMMEEEE
Kate: love you, colin. i’m proud of you, kid.
He then navigates to several texts from Eloise:
Eloise: why isn’t penelope at her apartment
Eloise: i got up extra early to go check on her and bring her a coffee
Eloise: no answer at her door
Eloise: i texted kate and she tells me apparently you went to retrieve her from mondrich’s last night
Eloise: 😑
“I’m texting El,” Penelope says from across the room, her fingers flying. “She went to my place this morning, apparently. Shit.”
“She’s been particularly hard on me about my feelings towards you,” Colin says.
“She’s protective of me,” Penelope responds. “And she saw that for years, you never really …”
Her voice trails off, and Colin feels the sting in the absence of an explanation.
For years, he never reciprocated her feelings – at least, not overtly.
For years, he never noticed her waiting.
For years, he kept her longing, caring for him from a distance, watching him with other people.
Fuck. The realization washes over him immediately; as awful as he has felt the past few weeks, Penelope; sweet Penelope, the love of his life … she’s felt this way for years. The heartache; the longing; the suffering – all of it, she’s had to endure in the face of his stupidity, his inability to realize what was right there in front of him all along.
No wonder Eloise was so protective of her.
Colin rises from the bed and walks over to Pen. She looks so heavenly there; all softness and warmth and morning light. She’s equal parts caffeine and sedative; she breathes life into him while simultaneously making him want to crawl back into bed with her.
“That’s a funny look on your face,” she says as he approaches, smiling, but all he can do in response is wrap her up into his arms, a hand on the back of her head to press her gently into his chest so that maybe, just maybe, she can feel the love spilling directly out of his heart and washing over her.
“This really should feel crazier than it does,” Penelope says into his chest. “Right? I mean … why doesn’t this feel like it’s going way too fast?”
“Because something’s always been there,” Colin responds. “Friendship, yes, but something more … don’t you think?”
Penelope nods. “It’s always been there for me. These feelings for you, I mean.”
Colin looks down at her, and he can hardly believe it.
God, he wants the confirmation from her own lips.
“Feelings?” he manages to squeak out; oh, Christ, it’s pathetic, and he desperately hopes she doesn’t feel pressured from it, but the hand on his back tracing little circles seems to indicate otherwise.
“Yeah,” she says sweetly. “I believe I’ve always loved you, you know.”
He wants to weep.
“I never thought you’d reciprocate,” she continues, burying her face into him a bit more.
“I’ll spend forever making it up to you,” he says. “I swear it.”
“Colin,” she says, her voice muffled into her chest. “You don’t have to do anything.”
“Listen,” he says, pulling her away and leaning down to cup her face in his hands, “I know this is going to sound like I am pushing way too much, way too quickly, but I don’t give a shit, Pen. I don’t want you to go another day of your life not feeling loved by me, okay? Never again. I will do whatever it takes so you know, confidently, without a doubt, that my heart is entirely yours.”
He can see tears welling in her eyes, and while he knows they’re not sadness, fuck, he can’t stand to see them anyway. He pulls her close again, running his fingers through her hair again, pressing her into him.
“Don’t cry, sweet Pen,” he says. “God, I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“They’re happy tears,” she says with a little laugh.
“Happy because I love you?” he says, pulling his head back slightly so he can look her in her tear-filled eyes again. “Fuck, I want to kiss those tears away.”
Her eyes sparkle as she looks back at him. “Go for it.”
He leans forward and kisses just beneath her right eye: “I love you.”
He kisses the outside corner of her left eye: “I love you.”
He kisses the center of her forehead: “I love you.” The tip of her nose: “I love you.” Her jawline, just under her cheek: “I love you.” He peppers her with more across her face, into her lips, lightly pecking, softly pressing into her as her eyes flutter closed and she drips with submission into his touch, into his words, so he keeps them flowing – the script of his soul, laid out before her in three words; a mantra, chanted over and over again as he worships at her and takes his communion from her boundless incandescence.
And for the love of all that is holy, she speaks her prayer too: “I love you, Colin …”
He grabs her phone and tosses it back into her things, reaches down, and picks her up, cradling her like a baby, still unable to break his lips away from her skin.
“God, please crawl back into bed with me,” he begs.
“We’ll see if it beats the spooning,” she responds breathily, returning his kisses with heat, passion.
Completely balanced.
In harmony; a perfect symphony.
Penelope Featherington, in his bed.
His light.
His home.