Partially continued from last year’s Missed Opportunities.

——————

David had never been the studious type. He wasn’t an artist, either, not in the way late Lawrence had been – but David still preferred the freedom of the night sky to the stuffiness of a library.

Yet here he was, surrounded by books as his only pastime, with Audrey dusting off the higher shelves he no longer touched.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked. “The weather’s quite nice today.”

He didn’t, not really. But it was as much about Audrey as it was about him, he supposed, and since for once in his life, he had no words of comfort for her, David found himself nodding.

Audrey reached for the handles of his wheelchair, but he stopped her. If they were going out, however briefly, he could as well do it on his own two feet. Getting up was as tedious as it always was these days – the weakened muscles and brittle, hollow bones barely supporting his weight – but he needed the exercise, and at least with Audrey here, he didn’t have to worry about tripping and breaking something, again.

Audrey hovered, annoyingly, and David bit back the bitter words he wanted to throw at her. Instead, he offered her his arm.

“Shall we?”

Oh, how the roles were reversed. Not ten years ago, he was the one lightly supporting her as he led her into the hall at her debutante ball. Now, he relied on her to keep him steady, unable to provide the comfort her grief desperately needed.

The garden was messy, mostly left to its own devices and only straightened out on the rare occasions Kira visited, none of David’s other friends having much interest in gardening. Had he still had his magic, it would have been easy enough to keep it presentable – but then again, he wouldn’t have been in this situation if his connection to the plane of air still supported his bird-like bones.

Audrey was distracted, and David remembered, belatedly, how much Lawrence loved bringing her flowers from that same garden. His heart ached for her – oh, if only they had heard each other sooner, if they had at least a few moments of happiness together…

But the perplexing romance was over before it got a chance to start. Audrey’s grief, however, seemed to be eternal. It would have been sweet that she still found the strength to visit him, but David suspected she was running away from her life moreso than towards him.

At least she still had that option.

“So, how are you holding up?” she asked, as if the answer could have changed in the weeks since her last visit.

He shrugged, careful not to get his feet caught in the cracks between the stones lining the path. “Could have been worse. I manage fine by myself, and those strange cocktails Remi has come up with help somewhat.”

Audrey hummed, and David elaborated, “I don’t think I’ve broken a single bone since her last visit. Then again, I’ve learnt to be more careful – and not to let Ben tell too many jokes lest my poor ribs can’t take it.”

She chuckled awkwardly, as if unsure if it was okay to laugh.

“Still…” David watched her expression out of the corner of his eye, seeing her nose scrunch up and lips purse up in concern. “You look… like you’re wasting away. Are you eating fine?”

“I do,” even though getting to the bathroom on bad days was a humiliating and bothersome affair. He’d once managed to slip on the tiles, and even though he’d caught himself, he still managed to break an arm and a few ribs against the sink.

“You look thinner,” Audrey noted, not quite scolding, but with enough thin accusation in her voice that David felt irritation rise again.

“I used to do quite a lot of running around back in the day, and if you hadn’t noticed, now the length of this garden is almost more than I can handle.”

“I just worry,” she frowned, defensive, and David turned away to hide his grimace from her.

She was grieving, he kept telling himself. She was the one who wanted company and was too proud to ask for it.

But he was tired, and his legs and spine ached, and he already felt useless enough without her fussing.

“Well, you don’t have to,” he said, still trying to keep his voice level. “I’m doing as good as I can.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

Since when had she learnt to read people so well? Or had he become that obvious, locked in his house for months in casts and bandages?

“So what if it’s not?” he chocked out. “You have your own life to live. Don’t worry about me too much.” She probably wouldn’t have to worry about him for much longer either way.

“Maybe I should move in,” Audrey said, completely ignoring his words. “I mean, you’d lived with us for a while when you were tutoring me. I’ll just be returning the favor.”

“Do you loathe your home so much now?” He didn’t mean to say it. The loss is still fresh for all of them, they all still saw the reminders of their dead friends in little knickknacks and random places, and it was clear that Audrey was taking it the hardest of them all.

But David had been suppressing his frustration for too long, clinging to his role as the oldest, the emotional support. They all were broken, and only Remi seemed to somewhat understand just how hard the transition to a magicless world was hard on him, who apparently was only alive thanks to that magic.

Audrey inhaled, a quick, furious sound. “This isn’t about me,” she argued, and David allowed himself a careful chuckle.

They really needed to sit down soon.

“I want to believe you,” he said. “But do you even believe yourself?”

She stayed silent, stubborn as ever. He felt bad for turning her down, but he couldn’t take any more pity, any more people to keep himself in check for and to comfort day after day. This time, they couldn’t be what each other needed.

“Let’s head back,” he said after a long silence. He’d been hoping to take a break on the edge of the garden, but there were more things to ease the awkwardness back in the house.

The gentleness of her grip around his arm never falters, and for that, at least, he is grateful.