Cloche
Made on: 30 Apr, 2021
Rating: General Audiences
Word Count: 457
Relationship(s): Belle Leskowitz & Paul Leskowitz
Characters of Focus: Belle Leskowitz, Paul Leskowitz
Setting: Post-canon
Metadata: Ficlet
Warnings: It's canon typical
Summary: He's at the place where the windmill is. There's a bench where the camera would be. Or rather, the camera was placed where the bench is. The real world is more important, hopefully.
Here's how it "starts".
He was looking through his mother's attic, carrying a heavy weight of old items sealed within a box. After finding a place to tuck it in the corner, he noticed a trail of Christmas lights had escaped their container. When he lifted the flaps of the box he discovered a game and note in a plastic bag. The rest you know.
Here's how it "ends".
He's at the place where the windmill is. There's a bench where the camera would be. Or rather, the camera was placed where the bench is. The real world is more important, hopefully. The clouds are grey and swirling; a mass of uncontrollable, twisting, limbs. Maybe it will rain. The bench is like ice under him, everything's always cold lately. He's wearing a heavy coat and has a scarf he got as a gift a long time ago looped around his neck. He's still cold, regardless.
His hands are shaking a bit, it's the chill, probably. He wouldn't be surprised if it started snowing.
In his hand is a note. Not the note , but a note. From Jill. He's read it but doesn't particularly want to think about it. Think about what will happen to the game, now that he's reached the credits.
A hand shaking his shoulder jars him from his thoughts.
"Paul? Hello? Is everything alright?" It's Belle. When he looks over his shoulder he sees her leaning against the backside of the bench. Her wireframe glasses are a tad askew.
"I'm" He pauses, wavering on a cliff, "Uh, I'm fine, just a bit—" he waves his arms, as if he could attempt to sum everything up in a single simple motion. "just cold."
She smiles in the way she always does when she doesn't quite believe him, but doesn't want to argue. He doesn't point it out. Belle lets her hand drift over the wood as she walks around the bench to sit down next to him.
"Well, that can be fixed easily enough!" She hands Paul her coat after taking it off. It's warmer, with another layer on. The coat is brown and thick, he remembers when Belle first got it, a good find at a thrift store years ago. It was a tad too big for her, with always rolled up sleeves, but it fits fine on him. The ice still sits in his bones, frozen, unrelenting, but at least his skin is now kept safe.
She leans into his shoulder and he sighs. The windmill in front of them creaks as the wind changes, the air seems somehow even more humid. The clouds are still darkening and spinning, still a mass of swarming limbs.
Paul leans back, and watches everything move by.
Ending Authors Note: Petscop my beloved