Chasing Disaster

[Lucan White]

"You're sure you're OK?"

The contents of Lucan's wine glass swirled around as he laughed. "I'm fine," The slight man insisted for the fourth time that evening, his voice thick with false sincerity. Keevan had raised a doubtful eyebrow, but was struggling to keep his gaze from drifting across the room. Clutching the edge of the polished mahogany counter for support, Lucan swivelled on his stool to follow his brother's gaze. With their fancy business suits, expensive wristwatches, and slightly balding heads, Keevan's colleagues were instantly recognizable. Lucan squirmed uncomfortably at the mere sight of them, secreted away into the quietest corner of the wizarding pub. McCarrick was there, as were Madley and Rodeau. There were a few men Lucan didn't recognize, too, though their pretentious smirks were equally as disconcerting as the rest. He tried not to dwell on Keevan's choices in partners for too long before turning back on his stool, which creaked beneath his weight. "But if you don't get back over there soon, Rodstick is going to poke someone's eye out with that watch," Lucan said, smiling fondly behind his wine glass. A second eyebrow was raised at Rodeau's nickname, but Keevan must have taken sympathy on the men because he promptly took to his leave. Lucan watched his brother's back until he had crossed the tiled floor before draining the last trickle of wine from his glass.

"Another?" Lucan's glass had barely touched the counter when a curvaceous, sandy blonde witch offered to refill it.

Lucan shrugged in way of accepting. He shouldn't have, really; Keevan was here on business, which meant that Lucan was, too. Not only that, but their get-together was likely to last at least another two hours. At the rate Lucan was going, he would be drunk before the clock even struck eleven. Vowing that it would be his last of the night, Lucan dragged his newly filled glass across the counter. "Thanks," He said quietly, rubbing with his forearm at the trail of liquid it had left on the polished wooden surface. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, he sipped sparingly at his drink, eyes darting restlessly around the brightly lit room. It was a nice bar; a little too fancy for Lucan's taste, but its distinct lack of candles put him at ease. Well, as at ease as he could be in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people. He forced his lungs to inhale deeply, his feet fidgeting slightly on the rungs of his bar stool. The wine helped, but it only took the edge off of his growing discomfort, and his glass was already nearing empty again. A quick glance toward Keevan confirmed Lucan's suspicions that the evening was far from over. With a shaky hand, he rubbed at his forehead, combing his fingers through his wavy curls. One more hour. That was all he needed to get through. Keevan would surely be done by then. One more hour.

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olivette Toviniski should have known better than to go out alone, to a club, and drink. It was a classy looking joint, she thought, but as soon as she entered with no one beside her to talk to, she could feel uncomfortable jolts of nervousness attack her fingertips. She smoothed her silken skirt down slightly, and made her way to the bar. Her heels clicked against the floor, but she was sure over the talking and laughter that she was the only one who could hear them. Approaching the bar the petite blonde placed a smile on her overly red lips. Her eyeliner made her already large brown eyes pop out to seem impossibly big. She enjoyed putting emphasis on the multicolored orbs, her left eye striking blue and her right eye a caramel brown. Those two eyes scanned the room after ordering herself a fruity drink - banana daiquiris were her favorite - and happened upon someone with an empty seat by them.

Why it was that Olive was drawn to those who seemed alone or sad, she could never quite figure out. Since a young age she'd always wanted to make others happy. At first the woman, with a crop top that rode up as she sat, only sat beside him, setting her drink down on the wooden styled counter. Flipping blondes waves over the shoulder opposite of the man, she looked directly at him and started a conversation. "Hey guy, why the long face?" Her Michigan accent often seemed so foreign in a land like New Zealand. It was obvious the moment she opened her mouth that she was not from this area. At last the accent did not denote the attitude that many Michiganders seemed to have, instead it's doll-like tone and slight crack to it oozed kindness, as was appropriate for someone like her. Her orbs trained on him consistently, hoping that he wanted company, and was nice enough to talk to her if he did.

 

[Lucan White]

There had once been a time - long, long ago - when Lucan would not have been startled by the arrival of unexpected company. But as it were, the youngest White had grown accustomed to being alone. Six months into his new job, Lucan had stopped caring whether or not his brother's colleagues paid him any attention. Often times it was easier to be invisible, anyway. The small man had spent the majority of his life being overshadowed by his siblings, whom Lucan believed were both more intelligent and more attractive than he. Still, it was no longer of any concern to him, and he had long since learned to enjoy living a life out of the spotlight.

It was this, coupled with several glasses of wine and a bundle of jittery nerves, that caused Lucan to jump at the sound of a woman's voice. He looked up from the counter at once, his eyes struggling to find an acceptable place to rest on his acquaintance's body. Was she talking to him? Lucan glanced over his shoulder, half expecting someone to be stood behind him, but his wide blue eyes found nothing except empty space. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he directed his attention back to the young, fresh faced blonde who had seated herself beside him. There was no mistaking it. She was talking to him. Forcing himself to retain eye contact (which turned out to be easier than expected, as her peculiar eyes were really quite mesmerising), Lucan cleared his throat. "N.. Nothing," He stammered unconvincingly, gripping his empty glass tighter in the hope that it might conceal his trembling. "You're not from 'round here, are you?" Lucan said quickly, steering the conversation to safer territory. All he needed was a stall. His own, thick Manchester accent would probably do the trick. Perhaps, if he could drag the topic out for long enough, Keevan might even return for another check-up.

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olivette's shimmering red lips parted into a smile. The man beside her was obviously older than her, but it didn't bother her too much to have a conversation, or a drink, or maybe a night with someone who was older. Olive didn't go out and home with people often, and she had been seeing someone as friends consistently since her last time in New Zealand. She hadn't thought about Jon since coming here though, after all, they were nothing official. She was sure a man as attractive as him was seeing other girls too. Her mind caused her eyes to flicker down to this man's hands, searching for a ring. She could see the slight trembles in his fingertips, but didn't say anything, as he seemed eager to have a different conversation. His own accent was slightly different from those around her as well. "No," She said. "I'm actually from the states. Michigan." She reached over and grabbed his hand, turning it over just slightly. She then placed her finger at the spot about where she lived. "I live right there in the mitt." She then released it and grabbed her drink off the counter to take a sip.

She looked out over the bar and noticed a few men talking rather loudly. She thought it had been where he was staying but said nothing about it. "Anyways, what about you. You don't sound like you're from here either." Her drink was going to be gone soon, and it was the only one she planned on having that night. Olive didn't drink a lot, and generally only in celebration with weakened drinks. The last thing she needed was to be out alone, talking with a stranger, and drunk. Olivette of course didn't think he would do anything, the blonde always gave everyone the benifit of the doubt - perhaps that was why she ended up being a doormat so often. She just had to view people as the best they could be, not the worst.

 

[Lucan White]

Where was Keevan? It was typical of him to show up four times in twenty minutes, and then spend close to an hour without so much as a backward glance in Lucan's direction. This wasn't strictly speaking true - Keevan had been watching his younger brother out of the corner of his eye for the entire evening - but Lucan had been too preoccupied with his wine to notice.

Lucan placed the empty glass back down on the counter with a clink, before bringing his shaking hands down to his rest in his lap. He wanted to remove his navy blue tie, which was starting to feel like a boa constrictor around his neck, but the opportunity was unlikely to arise now. Especially since the young blonde had just reached forward to grasp one of his hands. Lucan's entire body froze, rigid with apprehension. At the soonest possible moment without appearing rude, he pulled his hand away, stuffing it back into his lap. He managed a smile, though, which he shot sheepishly at the blonde. "Michigan?" Lucan repeated, nodding slightly and fumbling with his thumbs. His soft curls flicked with each bob of his head. "I've always kinda wanted to go to the States," He said, forcing his voice to sound somewhat enthusiastic. It wasn't that Lucan didn't appreciate the company - he did. In fact, he was delighted to have been approached by such a gorgeous, well mannered lady. But if there was one thing the small man struggled with, it was small talk.

Lucan's eyes flicked down to what could have been, conceivably, his acquaintance's almost empty glass. "No, you're right. I'm from England, actually," Lucan said quickly when he had finally fought his gaze back up to her eyes. "Would you like another drink?" He asked nervously, in case his wandering eyes had been picked up on. Whether or not Lucan had actually wanted another drink no longer seemed in the slightest bit relevant.

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olivette couldn't help but take note of the uncomfortable air around her new found friend. Her multi-colored orbs roamed over his attire for a brief moment, before once again meting with his pale blue orbs. Thy were entrancing, a hint of some emotion hidden behind them. It wasn't anything the blonde could pin point though, and so rather than dwelling on it, she gave him another smile and nodded at his inquiry to the state she lived in. "Well, if you're ever in my neck of the woods, I have two extra bedrooms. Feel free to give me a ring or something." She looked into her glass and took the last drink from it, already feeling mildly tipsy. Perhaps her inability to handle alcohol came from her petite size, being that one glass of the drink was closer to what she weighed than what her brother weighed. Perhaps it was that she didn't do it enough. Not that Olive wanted to make a habit out of getting drunk.

At the man's next words she smiled. "I've always wanted to see England. Sounds lovely with all the rain and what not." Her voice seemed almost dreamy; Olive loved rain. She loved all kinds of weather, if she was honest. Setting her empty glass down she shook her head at his offer. "No, thank you, I'd rather be sober, and besides, you seem a tad uncomfortable here." Olive looked around at the pople murmuring, chatting about miscellaneous things. She leaned forward as a group of women cackled behind her. Placing a lithe hand on the man's thigh, she leaned her red lips to his ear. "Why don't we go somewhere more private, would that make you feel better? My hotel's just around the bend." She offered, before leaning back and watching him curiously. Olive truly had no idea what the implications behind her words were, and only wanted to make the man feel more comfortable. Olivette liked to make others feel comfortable and happy, it was one of the things that made her such an amazing teacher.

 

[Lucan White]

Lucan laughed genuinely for the first time that evening. "Thanks," He said uncertainly, unclasping his hands to rest an elbow on the counter beside him. Lucan may have lacked experience with the ladies, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that this one had confidence. In the bucket loads. He refrained from returning the favour, though, since Keevan would likely have throttled him for opening their bedrooms to a woman he had met merely five minutes ago. He didn't even know her name, for goodness' sake. For all Lucan knew, she could have been a serial killer. A very attractive one, he admitted to himself bluntly, but a serial killer all the same.

Another genuine smile turned up Lucan's lips. This blonde - whatever her name was - was certainly something. "I hadn't noticed it rain more in England, to be honest," Lucan said, but his words were quickly lost in the whirlwind of emotions which followed. It was all Lucan could do not to gasp as the petite blonde's hand came to rest on his thigh. His blue eyes widened, body once again tense and alert. The warmth from her palm was spreading through Lucan's legs at a frightfully quickening pace, and showed no signs of slowing as her breath tickled his cheek. Lucan gulped so loudly it was almost comical. Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? Or was it simply a friendly offer to get away from the noise? No, she had just invited him to her hotel. Hadn't she? The rushing of blood through Lucan's ears was making it quite difficult to hear. There were many, many reasons not to go, but unfortunately, Lucan wasn't thinking with his brain.

After staring wide-eyed for a moment, Lucan finally found his tongue again. "Y.. Yes, sure, if you want. Thank you," Lucan's voice faltered, but he didn't take his eyes off the blonde's for a second. A few awkward seconds passed before he finally summoned the courage to stand. As an afterthought, he took a moment to glance at Keevan, who was grinning at him from across the room. Taking that as an 'all clear', Lucan turned back to the blonde and smiled nervously. "Oh, er, I'm Lucan, by the way."

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olivette was pleased with the sound of the man's laughter. He sounded so genuine, and if Olive was honest, genuine was the best thing a man could be. Had the laughter sounded false she may have been insulted, and may have needed to take back the offer she had given him moments before. She herself laughed a bit and shrugged at his statement. "I've just heard that it rains a lot there. Guess I'll just have to learn for myself, eh?" She sat up a bit straighter in her chair for the remainder of the conversation, smiling at him as he seemingly became nervous at her offer. She hadn't meant anything much by it. He was attractive, the man she now knew was Lucan, and she wanted a conversation. If anything beyond that happened, then so be it.

Standing up, Olive took his hand. "I'm Olivette, you can call me Olive if you'd like. C'mon." She gave him a gentle tug as they skillfully exited the bar and made their way into the cool night air. For Olive, this winter weather was nothing. Upper Michigan could get as low as forty below, so the forty degree temperatures were a nice contrast. She pulled the man behind her for a good distance, only releasing his hand as they arrived at the hotel. She greeted the woman at the desk with a smile, still continuing her trek down the hall and up the elevator to the third floor. It wasn't until they reached room 321, that she stopped to take out her room key, and let him inside. Once both were inside she shut the door. "There, now that's better than the chit-chat in the resteraunt, isn't it, Lucan?" The brief pause before Olive said the man's name added slight emphasis to it, and she sat on the edge of the bed, inviting him to sit beside her. "So tell me about yourself! What do you do for a living?" As she sat on the foam mattress, her shades shut and the lighting subpar, it became obvious to herself how pale she was currently, not having been in the sunlight often. She looked at her own nails for a moment, the beds of them nearing blue - she wasn't too concerned for that though. Instead she wanted to concentrate on the company she had.

 

[Lucan White]

Lucan was insane. The further through the dark streets of Napier Olivette dragged him (although, admittedly, there was little need to drag), the more certain he became of it. By the time they had reached the hotel foyer, Lucan's heart was hammering wildly beneath his waistcoat, his hazel curls jostled by the gentle night breeze. He fully expected them to stop there; perhaps take a sharp right turn down the narrow passageway that led to the hotel's bar. But instead, Lucan found himself surrounded by the four, gaudily decorated walls of the elevator. That was unpleasant. Lucan clenched his sweaty fists, forcing himself to concentrate on spotlight embedded into the panel above him as the elevator began its stomach churning ascent. The excitement he had nurtured in the bar not moments before had vanished like a fart in the wind. How high were they going? Too high, Lucan's head supplied unhelpfully. There was no quick way out of a building like this. And like a rabbit in a snare, Lucan was decidedly stuck.

The elevator reached Olivette's floor just in time, because Lucan's knees were threatening to buckle. He glanced nervously along the corridor as they padded across the carpet, eyes prowling every inch of the walls for the reassuring green light of a fire exit. Nothing. His breath was beginning to catch in his throat, his blue tie coiling relentlessly around his throat. He pulled at it uselessly, struggling to loosen it without appearing as though taking it off entirely. Fortunately, Olivette's key was fumbling in the lock of her door, giving him a moment to readjust. He followed her tentatively inside, his slim figure trembling with what probably appeared to be excitement. He smiled, only further reinforcing the implication. "Mmm," Lucan agreed half-heartedly, feeling very much less comfortable than he had done in the bar. Hands clasped awkwardly in front of him, he perched on the corner of her mattress with deliberate care. "I work for me brother, who owns Decado pharmaceuticals," He spoke as if Olivette might actually have a clue what he was talking about. "And I write poetry, sometimes," Lucan added quickly, but the sudden lock of his pale blue eyes on hers made him trail off at the end, his sentence unresolved. They regarded each other for a moment, the gentle whooshing of Lucan's shallow breath the only distraction from the silence. Then, with a slight waver to his voice, he asked, "What about you?"

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

The dark streets didn't put fear into the young Olive's heart, she had faith in herself to defend her and her new found friend - whether he wanted to be defended or not. She noticed the way that he became nervous, perhaps he was afraid of heights. She could ask for a lesser room on the ground floor if it mad him nervous, willing to give up her own comfort for any of her friends. At this point, now that they'd exchanged names and gone back to her hotel room, she would definitely consider then friends. It didn't take long for olive to consider anyone a friend if she was honest. Though how honest she was with them was a different story, being that she didn't often like to talk about herself, and instead focused on the other person. However, in the comfort of her hotel room, which she'd been in for about half a week now, she felt herself ease into an even more confident and smiling version of who she was - if it was possible.

"Poetry? I love poetry; it's so romantic, and they have so many great teaching poems for children as well." She mused softly, taking a genuine interest in what he had to say. She looked over to him, her orbs tracing the lines of his face before flopping back on her bed, allowing her hair to spread out beneath her. Her shirt pulled up slightly, her abdomen revealed - no piercings or tattoos in sight and for a good reason, Olive thought. "I'm a Kindergarten teacher actually. I want to move to New York someday and teach inner city." She admitted sheepishly. She enjoyed helping the less fortunate, regardless on if people recognized it or not. "Lucan," She whispered, his name rolling gently off her lips, like a butterfly taking off. "You don't have to be nervous, I only invited you back so that we wouldn't have to shout into each other's ears." She sat up, her body now slightly closer to his. "If you don't want to kiss or anything, we really don't have to." She gave him another rosy lipped smile, her hand now overlapping his in reassurance.

 

[Lucan White]

Lucan wasn't sure he would consider his poetry 'romantic'. Much of what he had written was the culmination of a hundred sleepless nights, sat up incessantly in the faded-silver moonlight with a quill and a single scrap of parchment. Still, he smiled gratefully at what Olivette had clearly intended to be a compliment, fending his gaze from her exposed navel as she lay back on the plush, king sized bed. Lucan could have buried his face into the Egyptian cotton sheets and wailed in lament. Why did he have to be so nervous? A few drinks in the bar with Keevan and his creepy associates suddenly sounded like a holiday in the Bahamas.

"That sounds nice. Do you like kids?" Lucan asked stupidly, struggling to get a solid grasp on his surroundings. None of it felt real. He knew, logically, that he was in room 321 of The Belmont Hotel; three floors above the familiar, lamp-lit streets of Napier. But unfortunately, neither logic nor the effects of several glasses of wine were helping Lucan come to terms with the most frightening thing of all - he was here with a woman. A drop dead, skin exposing, 'I'd ask you to pinch me but then I might wake up', gorgeous woman. And, in regular Lucan fashion, he was on the verge of having a panic attack.

"Yeah?" Lucan replied to his name without thinking, rubbing his hands restlessly over the tops of his trousers. "Oh! Um, well," He stammered, his mind and body firing conflicting thoughts at each other. He did want to kiss her - very much so, if his inability to peel his eyes from her lips was anything to go by - but what would it lead to? Though he didn't like to jump to any hasty conclusions, Lucan couldn't help but wonder. Did he even want it to lead anywhere? Of course he did; that was a stupid question. Six months had passed since the finalization of his divorce from Esmerelda, and Lucan had been without female company ever since. Esmerelda. She was the problem here, wasn't she? It was her disparaging remarks, echoing through his skull, that were making him doubt himself.

Lucan shook his head suddenly, because Olive had inched towards him and was waiting patiently for a reply. He swallowed, her hand on his only further adding to his internal (and, at this point, external) conflict. To hell with it. Lucan leaned forward, tentative at first, to meet her painted lips with his. He didn't lift a hand to comb through her hair, though, nor to snake around her neck, despite the overwhelming urge to do either. Wait... Was he was being too forward? What if she hadn't even wanted to kiss him? What if he was doing it all wrong??

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olive watched his face, the way he seemed to be distracted. A thought crossed her mind, she was early twenties and he had to be at least in his thirties, perhaps she was too young for him. He seemed so mature, like the kind of man she would be able to spend time with as friends or more, but she wondered if he saw her as too young - and mistook her taking him back to the hotel room as some kind of tennage fling. She looked at her hands for a moment, her own panic going on before she answered his question - with a smile back on her lips. "I love kids, I really do." She answered with a nod. She wondered if he had kids. Olive glanced for a wedding ring again in that moment, afraid she'd taken a married man back to her hotel room - like that woman had done with her father when he decided to destroy their semi-charmed life. Again she found his finger empty, her fears slightly assuaged.

With her body closer to Lucan's and her words out in the open, she watched him once more, wondering if he was contemplating her comment again because as Olive now realized, he was quite out of the league she should be dating in. After all, there was a difference between a pro quidditch player and the school player who dreamed of playing in the big leagues. Olivette, was definitely not the pro-league player here in her mind. However, all of those thoughts ceased when he leaned forward, and his gentle, chapped lips mussed her lipstick up. Olivette didn't mind, sitting there with her hand on his as their lips moved together like two gears, turning in sync. The blonde guided the still tense man to lean back on the bed, eventually pressing his head down into the pillow as they parted lips. "You know, I seriously can't believe you'd kiss me." Her eyes bore into his for a moment. "You're really very handsome..." She wanted to say more, but rather than saying it, she decided to show him, and continued to kiss him with ruby red lips sealed over his pink one's just as gently as before.

 

[Lucan White]

Though Lucan's concerns for being trapped were gone ('You're a wizard', he reminded himself sheepishly), they had been replaced with an altogether more paralysing fear. Apparently he'd done something right, because the back of his head had hit Olive's pillow with a gentle thump. For a moment, he stared up into her multicolours irises, chest heaving with each strained breath he drew. Olivette couldn't believe he'd kiss her? Did that mean she hadn't been expecting it? Lucan had assumed that was what she'd wanted, but was now beginning to doubt his judgement. She seemed happy enough, but what if he was forcing himself on her?

All of this flashed through Lucan's mind in the single blink of an eye. He opened his mouth to reciprocate Olive's compliment (which he couldn't quite believe), but his words were lost in their unintentionally open mouthed kiss. In a matter of seconds, Lucan's hand had risen instinctively to caress her back, trembling fingers stretching to brush against soft skin. For a few precious moments, he was lost in their fumbling embrace, unable to think of anything except the tingling pleasure that danced down his spine and settled in the tips of his toes. But then, as quickly as they had disappeared, the foreboding thoughts were back; and this time, they were here to stay. What if he wasn't good enough? What was it Esmerelda had told him? Lucan almost winced as he recalled his ex-wife's demeaning words. He tried not to believe her, he really did, but with no other experience to speak of, Lucan had no way of telling if her degrading comments held substance or not.

The trapped feeling was returning at a sickening pace - quite literally; Lucan had started to feel genuinely nauseated at the prospect of what might follow their kisses. He wriggled a little, tugging at whatever fabric his desperate hand could find, but the motion likely only came across as pleasurable for Olivette. This was not good.

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olivette couldn't remember the last time she'd been bold like this, the last time she'd been pysical. She felt his hand on her back, causing her to shiver with an eruption of feelings and synapse firings that couldn't be described by a cliche like "fluttering butterflies". Instead it was more like when adrenaline would rush through her veins as a child, when she'd run outside to her father as he came home from work, or when she first jumped from a swing set to land in the heated sand below. Her face was hot like the sand she fondly remembered squishing in her toes, though her body was icy cold, a winter storm blowing her blood to different places in her body. Her still shoe-covered toes curled, fighting against the heels that she wore, but in the same moment every emotion attacked her, it ended. His hands pawing at her while yes, feeling well, reminded her that they both needed air - and perhaps that was what he was so gently asking for.

Olive's head backed away from his lips and her blue-brown eyes focused briefly on his lips. She let out a slight chuckle to see they were covered in what was once her ruby lipstick. Then, without word, she closed her eyes and leaned back in to the kiss she so desperately felt she needed. She needed a closeness that perhaps she hadn't received in years. Her excursions from high school were not closeness - they were a teenage circus of hormones and finding out what exactly hands did when intertwined with another's. What their breathing dis when mixed with the breath of another, and what hearts did when they beat as one. Olive was done discovering that - she wanted to know what it felt like to be loved afterward, and perhaps that drew her forward, unaware of Lucan's panic stricken state - though it wasn't as though he made it too obvious.

 

[Lucan White]

In his head, Lucan was cursing more colourfully than the rainbow. He couldn't go through with this. Even if (and it was a big if) Esmerelda's remarks didn't hold truth, having to explain the lurid pink burns down the right side of his body was a whole new kettle of fish - and not one he particularly wanted to drink from.

For a few precious moments, Lucan thought Olive had sensed his discomfort and let off. But she was laughing, and before too long had leant back down to reunite their red-stained lips. Unfortunately, Any spark of pleasure Lucan might have felt at the touch had been suppressed by the overwhelming urge to cry, hyperventilate, and vomit - possibly simultaneously. Merlin on a broomstick; this was bad. What on earth would Olivette think if he pulled away now? The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel guilty, or worse, unattractive. It was no use. Lucan's heart was ready to burst through his ribcage, and the acidic feeling in his stomach was starting to rise into his throat. "Stop!" He cried at the soonest break in their lips, all of his pent up anxiety releasing into a single word. "Please, get off, please," He begged, his complextion pallid from holding his breath for so long. Now, he gasped uncontrollably, vaguely aware of the fact he had pushed Olive's small frame off of him to leap up and sprint to the en suite bathroom. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't cry. All he could do was shake, his restless, adrenaline fuelled legs pacing the bathroom tiles. Then, when he began to worry his legs couldn't carry him any longer, he crumpled onto the edge of the bath tub and ran a trembling hand through his damp curls.

Keevan... Where was Keevan? Lucan wanted his brother. He wanted to be embraced in the protection of those slender, comforting arms. To hear that familiar, deep voice telling him everything was going to be OK. Lucan's face contorted painfully. He was supposed to be an adult. Yet here he was, shaking like a leaf at the first opportunity he'd had in months to show a bit of God damn maturity. Why on earth his brothers put up with him, Lucan hadn't the faintest idea.

 

[Olivette Tchovinski]

Olive was oblivious. Had the brunette spoken out about his feelings with her she'd have stopped and bought him a coffee, and possibly anything else to make him happy. She would have reassured him regardless that he was indeed enough. She hadn't had a lot of men in and out of her bedroom, so she felt that her words might have been truth with him. Though her enjoyment in the kiss and the heat in her face was intense it seemed her partner was not feeling the same. It was only made clear when she was pushed away and subsequently rolled from the bed and onto the floor with a loud thud followed by a sharp cry of pain. "L-Lucan!" She called after him, the man having fled to the bathroom in her suit. The blonde stood slowly, with a small pain in her back. In her mind she whispered child friendly swears. Her head ached from bonking the headboard lightly, and her rear was more sore than anything else. She rubbed at herself before making her way over to the bathroom door. She could hear his breathing through the thin wood.

"Lucan..." She called concerned, tapping the door with her knuckle. She felt awful, what had she done. Her blue-brown eyes shifted down to her outfit and then to her hands which themselves were trembling. It then struck her, maybe she was some sort of rebound, or a night outwith the guys. A bachelor party? Was he the bachelor. Olive tried not to picture herself as the other woman, but couldn't help but wonder if that was true. She tried the door, which it seemed in his panic he didn't lock. "I'm only cracking the door, I won't come in if you don't want me to. Would you like some milk? Water? A blanket?" She uestiond, wanting to figure out what was going on before freaking out. After all she wasn't the sort of person to think the worst - though her watering eyes btrayed her, a few tears slipping down her cheek, mascara running with them.