21 - Bubble

                                    

                                          
M A R G O T - 2 0 2 4
WHEN Charles wiggled out of the sheets next to her, she blinked a few times against the first few rays of sunlight which fell into the otherwise dimly lit room.
She watched the silhouette of his upper body appear in front of the window, his shoulders rising and sinking as he took a deep breath.
With a drowsy yawn, she scrambled out off the pillow and sat up too, her hand pressing to his back.
"What's wrong?" she groaned with a raspy voice.
He shook his head and gently brushed her hand off his back to get up.
Again, it was one of the mysterious things he never talked about. 
She wondered if he did talk about it to others, if he ever faced his struggles and admitted his feelings when one of his 'real big loves' asked him about it.
But Eloise was gone.
"Charles," she whispered and kicked the sheets away to stand next to him by the window.
He looked tired and exhausted as if he hadn't slept properly for days. 
"C'mon, let me hold you."
He shook his head.
His shoulders dropped when he inhaled sharply only to squeeze out a soft blow. 
When her palm carefully pressed into his back again, he closed his eyes. The expressions on the fine lines of his face were furrowed ever so slightly.
"What is it, Charles?" she repeated her question and stepped a bit closer to get a better look at his side profile.
Gently, her thumb swept along his spine.
"I am fine, don't worry. I just can't sleep," he muttered.
His gaze was still locked on the beautiful view from her room. The many flashing street lights and advertisement panels in the distance were completely different to Monaco  even if they slowly went out one by one.
Margot ran her hand up and down his back. "Do you want to tell me why?"
He shook his head.
"Sometimes, you shouldn't just eat things up and instead talk about them, you know?" she tried to persuade him to open up even just a little.
It probably was about the poor performance of Ferrari and the media chaos currently going on, but maybe it was also about their 'incident' from earlier.
Either way, she wanted to know.
"You have to get up in three hours, Charles. If you don't want to talk, that's fine, but at least let me get you back to sleep, alright?" she asked him and tugged his t-shirt a little so he would give her the needed attention.
He turned around to face her. When her hand slipped onto his stomach at the sudden movement, he put his on top and pressed it firmer against him.
"Okay," he agreed and let her guide him back to bed.
She was tired enough to have to fight her eyelids open. A heartfelt yawn washed over her.
"You can sleep, Mar. You don't have to stay awake for me," he whispered when he nuzzled his face back into the pillow next to her.
They had never shared the bed before. Or they had, but that was in their early childhood days so neither could properly remember the slumber party they've had.
Margot had never expected his body to radiate the heat it did. It had gotten so warm under his blanket that she snuck beneath her own throughout the night.
"It's fine, tell me something," she replied with a weak smile.
Her eyes locked with his. Their gazes felt so gentle that she could have sworn that his was made of nothing but cotton.
It took her all the self-control she could possibly come up with not to think anything into it. She knew that Charles didn't feel what she felt, that his gaze was solely a sign of an exceptionally soft friendship and not the love she hoped for.
He was not in love with her.
A sting shot through her chest at the thought that none of this was as real as it seemed.
There was no affection in his gaze other than the purest wish to stay with her (in whatever messed up way they'd been friends for years).
He needed her.
And worse, she wanted him to.