The sun hung high above the field, its golden rays dancing over the sea of daffodils. The wind hummed gently, tousling At's unruly red hair as he lay beside Ophelia, her head resting on his chest. The world felt warm, alive-full of promise. The scent of flowers mingled with the earthy undertones of the soil beneath them. A peaceful moment, suspended in time.
Ophelia shifted, her fingers brushing against At's arm, causing him to stir. Her laughter, light and carefree, filled the space between them as she looked up at him.
"Are you getting hard, At?" she asked, her voice playful but with an edge of curiosity. The wind picked up, swirling her hair around her face as she turned to meet his gaze. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, as if she already knew the answer.
At let out a soft laugh, the corners of his lips curving upward. He could feel her warmth beside him, her presence intoxicating. He brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
"Maybe," he said with a teasing smile, his voice low. His heartbeat quickened, a mix of excitement and something deeper, something that left him uncertain. But he didn't care. For the first time in a long time, he didn't care.
Ophelia giggled, the sound like music, before she reached up, her lips brushing lightly against his cheek. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, the soft breeze blowing her hair around them like some kind of beautiful, fleeting dream.
"You know," she murmured, "I think this is the happiest I've ever felt."
At's breath caught in his throat as she leaned closer, her lips finding his in a kiss that was slow, deliberate. The world seemed to disappear in that moment-the sun, the daffodils, the wind-it all faded, leaving just the feeling of her lips on his, the fluttering in his chest.
When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, the lingering touch of her kiss sending a shiver down his spine.
"I don't ever want this moment to end," Ophelia whispered, resting her head against his shoulder again, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.
"Me neither," At murmured, his heart racing, but something more than just affection flickered in his chest-something darker. Something he wasn't ready to admit.
The daffodils swayed around them, as if the world around them was alive, sharing in the beauty of the moment. But beneath the warmth, the lightness, At couldn't shake the feeling that something was always just beyond his reach. Something he couldn't see but could feel, hovering in the air between them. Maybe it was just the weight of his growing feelings for her, or maybe it was something darker-a premonition of what was to come.
For now, though, he pushed it all aside and closed his eyes, letting himself fall into the quiet rhythm of her breathing. Everything else could wait. In this field, with Ophelia, nothing else mattered.
....
The world was still, too still, when At woke up. His mouth was dry, his head pounding like a jackhammer against his skull. The remnants of last night-of the endless bottles, the pills, and the haze-lingered like a bad dream. The soft light filtering through the curtains did little to ease the nausea swirling in his gut. He blinked slowly, his body aching as he tried to piece together the fragments of the night before.
His boxers clung to his hips, the faint smell of stale beer and sweat mingling with the air. He sat up, the room spinning around him, and his eyes flickered to the empty, cluttered mess of the floor-half-empty bottles, scattered cigarette butts, and remnants of pills he couldn't even remember swallowing. The walls seemed to close in as the memories of last night bled into his consciousness like spilled ink.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples.
The pain was almost unbearable. His vision swam, blurry, the edges of the room distorted. He hadn't slept properly in days. Not since Ophelia went missing.
The memory hit him like a slap to the face. The frantic search, the empty police reports, the unanswered questions. Where was she? He still couldn't figure it out. No one could.
He stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over a bottle in the process. The cool tile of the bathroom floor felt like a shock to his bare feet. He reached for the shower knob, turning it until the water ran cold, hoping the icy stream would shake him awake, shake him from the nightmare he was living.
Under the freezing water, he shuddered, his body reacting to the cold but his mind still trapped in a fog. He tried to scrub away the remnants of alcohol and smoke, but it felt futile. It wouldn't change what had happened. Nothing would. The void where Ophelia should've been only grew deeper.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally stepped out of the shower, his skin prickling with cold as he dried off quickly, barely registering the motions. His movements were mechanical, almost numb. Pulling on a plain shirt and jeans, he avoided his reflection in the mirror, not wanting to see the person he had become-someone who lived for the next drink, the next high, just to numb the pain of the loss.
But as he reached for the door, a sudden, muffled sound broke his thoughts-shouting.
At paused, his hand still on the doorknob, the noise cutting through the fog of his hangover.
He stepped toward the window, pushing the curtain aside, and froze. His heart skipped a beat. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. There, gathered outside his house, was a mob-a sea of angry faces, all twisted with rage. They held signs, their shouts echoing down the quiet street, demanding justice. Demanding answers.
And At... At was their scapegoat.
The crowd was thick with hatred, eyes glaring up at his window, as if they knew exactly who they were after. As if they knew what they were going to do.
At felt his breath catch in his throat. The weight of it was suffocating. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't explain. He wasn't ready. But he knew one thing for sure-he would have to face them eventually.
But for now, the only thing he could do was close the blinds, hide behind the walls of his own home, and try to escape the suffocating grip of reality.
At grabbed his pack of fags from the counter, the crinkling of the paper wrapper the only sound in the quiet of the room. He popped one out, lit it with a flick of his lighter, and took a long drag. The smoke curled around him, hazy and thick, like the fog that clouded his thoughts. Another drag, and another. Five fags a day had become a routine now-a ritual to dull the ache, to keep his mind off the shit that had been spiraling out of control since Ophelia vanished.
The thought of her still lingered, always there, gnawing at the edges of his mind. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. She was gone, and the town had made it clear they wanted him to pay for it.
He pulled on a jacket, shoved his keys into his pocket, and stepped out the door, slamming it shut behind him. The air was still crisp, the wind cutting through his hair as he made his way to his car. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, but none of that mattered right now. He was numb-physically, emotionally-just the way he wanted it.
The engine of the old car hummed to life, and At pulled out of his driveway, the tires screeching slightly as he accelerated down the road. The weight of the world felt heavier in the car, but he was used to it by now. He didn't look back, just stared ahead through the windshield, the faint reflection of the trees passing by blurring in the corner of his eye.
As he drove, he lit another fag, exhaling smoke out the cracked window. His fingers shook slightly as he held the cigarette, the taste of nicotine grounding him-if only for a moment. The world around him seemed distant, muffled, like he was living in a dream he couldn't wake up from.
His thumb hovered over the screen of his phone. He needed to talk to someone. Someone who could listen. Grav was the only one who didn't judge, the only one who hadn't turned his back on him since Ophelia had disappeared.
He dialed the number without thinking, pressing the phone to his ear, waiting for the ring. But when the voicemail picked up, At cursed under his breath, leaning back in his seat. He'd been expecting this. Grav always seemed to be out of reach when he needed him most.
"Grav, it's me. Fuck, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. These people... they're all out for me. I can't keep fucking pretending I'm fine, alright? I just-I just need to talk to you. Please. Call me back when you get this, yeah?"
At hung up the call with a frustrated sigh, his eyes flickering briefly to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. He threw the phone onto the passenger seat and took another drag of his cigarette, trying to shake the gnawing feeling of loneliness creeping up on him again.
His mother and father's house was just a few miles away, but it felt like an eternity. He didn't know what he was hoping for by going there. Maybe he just needed to see something familiar. Something that wasn't just a broken town, a missing girl, and a town full of people who only wanted him to suffer.
As he drove on, the familiar streets of his childhood passed by, each one a painful reminder of the things he used to have, the things he had lost.