Work Text:
Elain was late.
Not her usual, sorry I’m late-I couldn’t resist-there was a new cafe I just had to try on the way- late, but a fuck me-I slept through five alarms-maybe I spent too long watching reruns of Bake Off-or was it the bottle of Sauvignon?- tardiness, which left her cursing profusely while she tripped over her tights, slapped on eye cream and was out the door.
Uncaffeinated, puffy-eyed, and decidedly grumpy (she had to skip her usual ritual of giving the neighbour’s cat a good cuddle, after all), Elain unceremoniously dumped her backpack at her desk and mumbled hello to her colleagues, before making a beeline for the office kitchen. To get to work on time, she had been forced to break her golden rule (never leaving the house without having first had a cup of coffee), and, between the madness that was navigating the Northern line at rush hour, and the fact that it was so cold she couldn’t feel the fingers of her left hand nor the tip of her nose, the very state of the rest of her day hinged upon the immediate consumption of an oat latte.
Except, upon pressing the required setting on the aged espresso machine, nothing happened. Elain blinked. Perhaps her finger was numb from the wind? She pushed the button once more, with vigour. The machine was plugged in (she had the wherewithal to check this time) but an ominous red light blinked back at her.
“They have the budget to throw a ridiculous event to launch our swanky new website, but apparently draw the line at providing vital services for their in-need employees. For a public service broadcaster, I can’t say I’m surprised,” a deep voice humoured drily from somewhere behind her. In other circumstances, it would’ve made her jump – her flatmate Nuala was forever complaining about how skittish she was – but this voice, she would recognise anywhere. This voice made her flush, even as she whipped around to face him.
With his towering, broad frame, arms crossed, and full lips smiling (albeit ruefully) at the offending coffee machine behind her, Lucien Mchana exuded a sunny warmth that continually made Elain stare. He wore his usual glasses, the thin, gold frames of which did nothing to hide the old scar bisecting his left eye. But his long, curly, copper hair had been neatly canerowed, and the change stirred something within Elain. Absently, she tugged at her scarf. She was vaguely aware that she had haphazardly thrown it on while rushing and that her hair was caught underneath and had jellyfished around her red cheeks, which were currently too warm under Lucien’s russet gaze.
“Careful now,” Elain warned, and watched as Lucien smirked immediately in response; “That’s the annual Christmas party you’re talking about. Someone might accuse you of being a Grinch. Especially if you’re attempting to criticise the new website budget – in which case, the Lead Web Developer is probably not the person you want to whine to,” she finished primly, and with more confidence than she actually felt, turning back around and busying herself with the kettle. Earl Grey would have to do.
In what had to be an intentional attempt to continue to burrow under Elain’s skin, Lucien stepped in beside her, easily reaching for a colourful bag of coffee from the highest shelf as she poured her tea. She quickly cut her eyes away from the sliver of solid, brown skin that became exposed as his buttoned shirt rose.
“Elain, you know that the last Head of HR bought those teabags forever ago and forgot to throw them out after she retired - don’t drink that. I’m making a cafetière, please do us both a favour and have a cup from it instead,” Lucien drawled, though she knew he wasn’t just offering out of courtesy. Elain huffed a sigh in fake resignation, and instantly regretted it. The aroma of the coffee was delicious – she made a mental note of the label (single origin, Mombasa; notes of clove and citrus), but the scent of Lucien – like oak firewood, and crisp air – it was all too much. Elain shook her head, flustered. How long had she spent on her fruitless search for caffeine? It must be half ten by now, she had a team meeting shortly –
Lucien pushed a mug towards her, blinking. “My dad brings back coffee every time he visits family. Take it, I promise the news desk won’t hold it against you. And don’t you have a presentation or something that you’re late for?” He grinned, knowing he’d won the battle. Elain resisted rolling her eyes fondly. Lucien was too nice for his own good and it got on her nerves, because everyone in the office was endeared to him.
“Just this once, then. Thank you, I owe you!” Elain promised, hurrying back to her desk to the sound of Lucien’s low laughter. Mid-Zoom meeting, she took a distracted first sip. An oat latte with brown sugar – exactly the way she liked it.
“… And please, remember that the website launch event on the 15th will also serve as the office’s end of year celebration. If you are participating in the Secret Santa, this will be when the gift exchange occurs. You will shortly receive an email from either Mckenna or me notifying you as to who your giftee is. If you have an issue, raise it with us as soon as possible – and for God’s sake, don’t approach the HR desk in person,” Khadijah announced to the smattering of employees who had gathered around to listen in to the Monday Bulletin. There were several giggles and grumblings in response, as everyone dispersed back to their own desks in the open-plan space. As Elain sat back down in her chair and took a moment to water her desk companion (a baby Aloe Vera plant that Jurian gifted her and routinely greeted with an ‘Ello, Vera); her inbox chimed. HR ran the annual Secret Santa like the navy.
As Elain opened the email and scanned the only three sentences it contained, she felt sure that a mistake had been made. Her throat went dry. It wasn’t possible.
There was no way that it was a coincidence that Lucien was her giftee.
Heart racing, she looked up; suddenly self-conscious. Elain zeroed in on the news desk for the familiar sight of his tall figure, and spotted him, deeply focused on his own computer screen, body tense – most likely working on a new op-ed that would undoubtedly make first page – and none the wiser to Elain’s spiralling. She scrunched her eyes closed and took a deep breath. There was no reason to panic. She would email Mckenna and request a change. Elain and Lucien weren’t even friends, after all – if anything, their departments were often at loggerheads, owing to organisational spending cuts or technical issues. Sure, he seemed to enjoy bantering with her in the break room, but she didn’t know him well enough to get him a gift. Though he wasn’t a distant enough connection that something generic would suffice, either – for some reason, he and Feyre were still good friends, and he’d attended Rhys’ yearly Halloween party, to Elain’s horror. What could she get that translated, ‘I like you in a casual way because we work together and although I think about you all the time, it’s only because my sister keeps inviting you to family events and you’re kind enough to keep me company when it gets overwhelming?
She suddenly had the prickling sense that someone was watching her descent into madness. Looking up, Elain spotted Vassa sitting adjacent to an oblivious Lucien, watching her closely. Locking eyes, Vassa shot Elain a feline smile, and motioned towards the bathroom. Elain frowned questioningly, but as with everything Vassa suggested, she got up shakily and followed behind.
As Elain stepped into the bathroom, Vassa hauled her further in, and deftly locked the door behind.
“So. Spill. Why do you look like you’re shitting bricks?” Vassa declared, as she hiked herself imperiously up onto the sink counter and shot Elain another sly grin. Vassa was the Lead Editor of the South and Central America column; she was as tenacious as she was direct. The two had become close in the past year, making bi-weekly trips together to treat themselves to matcha and gossip about the office. If Elain hadn’t been inclined to slap the smile off her face, she would’ve paid more attention to how Vassa’s wild ginger mane glowed under the bright light, adding to her regal – if deeply unhinged – presence.
Elain settled for narrowing her eyes at her instead. “I have no idea what you’re on about,” she sniffed, and proceeded to shove a cackling Vassa off the counter, as she distracted herself with splashing water on her face. Why was her heart racing? She needed to get a grip. In the mirror, Elain’s typically tan skin seemed much paler than usual, and her brown hair dull. She grimaced at her reflection.
“God, Lainey! It is too easy to wind you up. What’s going on, is it to do with the website launch? Tell me that bitch Richard isn’t giving you a hard time again – you know I could take care of him if you wanted me to. I know people.” Vassa asserted, raising her brows emphatically at Elain as they met eyes in the mirror.
Elain snorted. If there was one thing that could calm her down, it was Vassa’s outlandishness. “Thanks V, but I think I’ll spare Rich’s life on this occasion. Besides, I don’t think killing my line manager will resolve this issue.” She sighed, picking at her lips in worry.
Vassa smacked Elain’s hand away from her face. “You know I hate it when you peel skin off your lips, they’re your best feature,” she chastised. She scowled further. “Also, it’s a gross habit. Anyway, what’s got you rattled then?” Vassa implored.
Elain turned towards her and paused. “It’s Lucien,” she blurted.
Vassa’s eyes widened with near comedic effect. “I knew it!” she screeched, smacking the sink counter. “He told me he’d had an almost-conversation with you this morning, but I didn’t think he’d finally-”
“What? No. How’d you know that?” Elain interrupted, “Anyway, that’s beside the point. They allocated me Lucien for the Secret Santa. Vassa, what the hell am I going to do? I have no idea what to get him, and if I get a bad gift and witness the look of disappointment on his face, I might die-”
“Elain!” Vassa interjected as she gripped her shoulders firmly, “Lucien would never be disappointed in you. This is fine! Perfect, actually. I’ll help you brainstorm. But for now, we’re going to breathe, and we’re going to go casually walk back into the office; before Richard himself bursts into the women’s bathroom and has an aneurysm over something you’ll be able to troubleshoot in two minutes,” She soothed.
Elain exhaled heavily. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. I’m overthinking this. It’s probably just the stress around getting the website finished on time,” She explained. Vassa shot her a funny look she couldn’t interpret.
Vassa huffed a laugh as they walked back to their desks. “Yep, that’s the only reason you’re stressed about it. Anyway, I’ll have a think of what we can get our resident second-best redhead, and I’ll see you at lunch!” she waved cheerily as she made her way back to the news section.
Elain headed the long way around to bypass the kitchen for a glass of water, and to collect her thoughts. This seemed a fruitless task, however, as she entered only to find the paper’s Strategic Director making a cup of tea. Once aware of her presence, he considered her, brows raised haughtily.
“Elain, it’s good to see you. I take it the website must be done, if you’ve made a habit of arriving to the office at a quarter past ten?” Eris derided.
Elain’s face burned in response. “Always lovely to see you, Eris. The website is nearly finished, we’re making the final tweaks currently. Any reason you’re gracing the fifth floor with your presence? I didn’t think you’d deign to travel lower than the seventh,” She quipped back, as she strode over to the water cooler.
The side of Eris’ lips twitched upwards, before her cleared his throat and shot her a deadpan look. “Corporate’s kitchen flooded. We’ve been instructed to slum it in here with you lot for the time being. There certainly seems to be more Christmas spirit than on the ninth floor, though decidedly less productivity.” He grumbled, though it almost sounded like a chuckle.
“Well, if you’d like to get more festive, it might not be too late to sign up to the office-wide Secret Santa,” Elain offered, “And if you do, kindly do me a favour and switch with me. I’m at a loss as to what to get my giftee.”
Eris cocked his head at her. “Elain, I take part in the Secret Santa every year. It’s my favourite office social activity. Why would you want to switch? Whose name did you pull?” he asked, puzzled.
Elain paused and took a long sip of her glass of water. “I might have been assigned Lucien,” she near whispered in answer.
Eris’ eyes widened, though he caught himself, and pursed his lips in thought. “Of course, you would draw my brother’s name. How fitting.” He tapped his fingers against the kitchen counter, then carefully picked up a sugar cube and stirred it into his cup of tea, thinking.
“You’re always bringing pastries to the annual fundraising week, aren’t you?” Eris questioned, as if Elain didn’t single-handedly run the bake sale year on year; “I remember Lucien being especially fond of these pastries - Mandazi – that our mother first learned about after she initially visited Kenya. It’s when she met Lucien’s father. He has such a sweet tooth, but he’s not been able to get his hands on them in London.”
Elain blinked. Though she knew Eris and Lucien were half-brothers, she hadn’t known them to be especially close. Eris, who was normally so tight-lipped and professional, seemed almost… endearing, after sharing such a tender fragment of information on his upbringing.
“That’s… Thank you. It’s a beautiful idea and I’ll get to researching it once I’m home, you’ve helped me out so much.” She nodded, smiling softly at Eris. His amber eyes glimmered in response.
“Anytime, Elain. Though perhaps it’s wise not to tell anyone else whose name you drew, lest you ruin the surprise.” He narrowed his eyes, pseudo-threateningly. “And on the topic – I’ll most definitely be surprised if you manage to get the new website ready on time for the Christmas party. Work hard and have a good day.” He imparted, half smirking as he left the kitchen swiftly.
On her walk back to her desk, Elain finally felt settled. She loved baking, loved the process of taking time to make something special for another, if only to make them smile. Baking, she could do. And while Elain spent the afternoon googling Mandazi recipes, she couldn’t help but grin to herself while picturing a young Lucien helping his mother bake in the kitchen, and savouring the lovely pastries, together as a family.
The next few days were a blur of coding and caster sugar. Between launch meetings and test running the new website, Elain was up to her elbows in batter. She was exhausted, and never happier. In the last week, she had tested no less than nine recipes, and had tried at least seven different iterations of flavour combinations. She’d sent the spare batches to Vassa; Nesta and Cassian (who was apparently ‘bulking’, and thus delighted with the delicious additional calories), who had helped her narrow down the final concoction: coconut and cardamom.
Interacting with Lucien in the office was even more overwhelming than usual, with both the excitement and nervousness of the burden of her secret. Vassa had invited Elain to the final lunch of the working year with the rest of her news desk colleagues. Lucien had held every door open for her, and when they’d sat and were perusing the menus, he’d asked her casually what her favourite dessert was; and Elain had almost popped a blood vessel.
The day before the holiday party launch event, Elain found herself once again in the office kitchen, contemplating her chosen gift while making a cup of coffee.
“We need to stop meeting like this.” Lucien joked, his deep voice still rough with sleep, as he pulled a box of cereal bars out of the pantry.
Elain couldn’t control the smile that spread across her face as she turned to look at him. “Why?” She hummed, “I’m beginning to think you might be enjoying it. Seems a bit too coincidental, Luce,” She teased, emboldened by the caffeine, or the holiday cheer, or some combination of the two.
She could’ve sworn that Lucien blushed as he beheld her incredulously. He leaned his hip against the counter, so that they were facing each other. Elain took a sip of her coffee coyly, watching him.
Lucien cleared his throat. “Maybe so, though an argument could be made that the office is too… restrictive an environment,” he said carefully. Elain tilted her head in response as she mulled his words. “Anyway. What are your plans for the holidays? Will I see you at Feyre’s birthday?” Lucien quizzed lightly, folding his arms across his chest. Elain watched his forearm muscles strain under the rolled-up sleeves of his buttoned shirt, and swallowed.
“Of course. I’m sure it’ll be more laid back this year, since Feyre will be less frazzled – we’re not heading to Korea for the holidays this time around.” Elain smiled politely. The three sisters had collectively made the difficult decision that they wouldn’t be visiting their mother’s relatives for Christmas. Nyx was too young, Nesta too busy with work, and Elain… Elain had agreed because she wanted to keep the peace; though the thought of not celebrating with her extended family, as was tradition, made her chest ache. “What about you?”
Lucien’s expression softened as her gazed at her. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’ll be able to visit in the new year perhaps,” he offered kindly. “I’m heading to Annecy in a week or so to visit my parents. We were with my dad’s family in Nairobi last year, so we thought we’d spend time with my mum’s side in France this time around. Typically, my brothers come along, and we celebrate on Christmas Eve, much to Eris’ chagrin.” He smirked lopsidedly at her.
Elain could picture the domestic scene, and the thought warmed her heart. She was beginning to think that Lucien had an uncanny ability to cheer her up. “That sounds beautiful, I hope you have a lovely time. Or at least, try to, despite Eris’ haughtiness.” She gnawed her lip to stop herself from beaming at him.
Lucien chuckled, shaking his head. “Might be a hard task but God loves a trier,” he retorted. “I’ve got to go review a piece before Jurian hunts me down, but I’ll see you tomorrow at the launch party? I can’t wait to see what you’ve done.” Lucien assured, eyes twinkling. Elain bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.
As Lucien exited the kitchen, Amarantha, the office Receptionist, sauntered in. Despite her attempts, Elain had never warmed to Amarantha – who she found to be unkind at best, and conniving at worst - but she’d always been civil towards her. Now, watching as Amarantha’s eyes trailed Lucien’s form up and down, she’d wished she’d been anything but.
Amarantha smirked wolfishly at her. “Can you believe that we’re just expected to go about our day while he’s around?” She simpered, dark eyes widening suggestively. Elain huffed an empty laugh, even as her stomach turned.
“I’ve been trying all year to get a sense of him but he’s so tight-lipped. Just too professional,” Amarantha sighed, as Elain’s grip tightened on her coffee mug involuntarily; “But I’ll finally be able to chat with him properly at the Christmas social tomorrow. And hopefully take him home with me as a party favour.” She cackled, teeth gleaming.
Elain felt like she was going to be sick. Or punch a wall. She washed up her coffee mug quickly as Amarantha went on, doing her best to tune out her grating voice.
Mumbling something about getting back to her programming, Elain stumbled back to her desk, simmering. Perturbed, she didn’t know why Amarantha’s remarks had affected her so deeply. But it was as if suddenly, her planned gift to Lucien didn’t seem enough. Her day passed quickly as her thoughts raced. And then, it came to her.
The morning of the Christmas launch event was bright and clear, the wintry sun lifting Elain’s spirits as she managed to arrive to the office early, in preparation. She made a discreet trip up to the seventh floor to carefully place her Secret Santa gift (in a red woven basket, protected with a quaint tea towel) under the tree. She spent a minute to pause and say a quick prayer that her late-night addition to the gift would be well received. The hours passed by in a haze of final touches; as she quashed Richard’s inane qualms about the coding script, and reassured Jurian that, yes, she had been sure to hyperlink his most recent thinkpiece on the home page.
Too quickly, the afternoon arrived, and staff began popping bottles of prosecco at their desks - which Eris noticed, frowned at, but didn’t intervene upon - and made their way to the bathrooms to get ready for the Christmas party.
Vassa styled her hair, taking time to daintily swig her glass of bubbly, as Elain painted her lips a shade of dark, cherry red. The two giggled as they got ready, the buzz of the time of year undeniable. She never knew what to wear to work events, especially ones that she was presenting at, so she’d chosen a dress in a similar burgundy hue as her lipstick, with long sleeves and a demure boat neck, and a hem that modestly grazed just below her knees. Elain felt effervescent. Tonight was the culmination of her team’s efforts, a year of hard work amid several setbacks. Although it didn’t come to her naturally, she felt as though she’d rose to being an effective leader and hoped that the rest of her co-workers thought the same.
Surreptitiously, she also wanted Lucien to like her gift. She knew it was a risk, making such a sentimental present, but was hopeful that it would pay off. She was in two minds as to whether she’d reveal herself to be his Secret Santa – the thought of telling him as much made something in her chest flutter.
Once ready, Vassa and Elain headed up to the seventh-floor lounge, which had been transformed with tinsel and glowing lights, and round tables filled with canapés and glasses of red, white, and sparkling wine. A DJ at the back of the room played jazz covers of the usual Christmas hits. Vassa made a beeline for Jurian, who had already started on his second glass of Malbec. His face lit up once he noticed them, and he whistled.
“Nice of you to finally join me! Though I can’t complain when you look this gorgeous. More vino for me anyway,” he wiggled his brows, his usual moody disposition mellowed by the drink. He looked particularly merry in a forest green velvet blazer, which brought out the brown of his bright eyes, and the tan of his skin.
Vassa threw her head back, laughing. “Put your claws away, Jurian. Or at least save them for Amarantha,” She quipped, grinning.
Elain picked up a glass of white wine, and the three toasted their glasses. After a long gulp, Jurian shook his head. “Can’t. Drew her name for Secret Santa. The only thing Amarantha is getting from me this year is a box of bath salts,” he shrugged.
“How sweet of you,” Elain crooned sarcastically. She had to bite her tongue from saying more, though it wasn’t hard, as her attention was drawn to Jurian, who was waving Lucien over. Her breath caught.
In a pale pink silk dress shirt that was unbuttoned to his chest, Lucien looked near regal as he strode towards them. He wasn’t wearing his usual glasses, which served to draw further attention to his russet eyes. His gold chain and rings offset against his warm brown skin, that seemed to glow under the twinkling Christmas lights. Beautiful, Elain thought.
“Sorry I’m late, I was rushing to get a pitch approved before I signed off for the holidays. What have I missed?” Lucien asked, nodding thanks to Jurian who eagerly pushed a glass of prosecco into his hands.
Jurian tittered. “Alright golden boy, we get it. Don’t worry, these two only just joined in on my fun,” He gestured to Vassa and Elain. Lucien’s keen eyes slid towards her, before scanning downwards. Elain felt her body heat under his gaze.
“Anyway, I was explaining to them how I’ve gotten my Secret Santa giftee the best present of the lot,” Jurian continued smugly, to which Vassa guffawed. The interaction seemed to break Lucien from his reverie, and he turned to Jurian, blinking.
“I wasn’t aware we were making a habit of discussing our Secret Santa giftees,” Lucien remarked cynically, looking hesitantly to Elain once more, “You’d make a terrible spy, Jurian. But go on, then. What are you giving them? Because I think I have you beat.” He grinned self-assuredly, before taking a long sip of his drink.
Vassa rolled her eyes at their pissing contest, which made Elain giggle good-naturedly. “God, you’re such men. Jurian, we know your gift is shit. I personally think that this one’s got you all beat.” She pointed to Elain, who might’ve panicked under the sudden attention, had she not drunk a glass of wine on a near empty stomach. Instead, her giggling only got worse.
“I’ll take that, thanks V,” Elain winked, clinking her glass against her friend’s. Lucien made a face of mock incredulity.
“I’m sorry ‘Lain, but I think I may be rivalling you for top spot. Or at least, I’m hoping to,” Lucien told her very seriously, dark eyes holding her gaze, though his face threatened to break out in a grin.
Elain raised a single eyebrow at him in challenge. “Sounds unlikely, but I guess we’ll see,” she retorted cheekily, which made Jurian snort into his fourth glass of wine, “We can open our gifts altogether and put it to a vote. Loser buys the other lunch,” she decided. Vassa vehemently agreed, though Elain wasn’t quite sure what she and Jurian replied, as she became acutely aware that Lucien hadn’t stopped staring at her, smiling.
“You have a deal,” He rasped.
The evening trickled along in a cloud of small talk and even smaller portions of finger food. Elain had rehearsed her presentation speech countless of times with Vassa, so when it came time to deliver the real thing, she kept her eyes trained on her friend at the back of the room and was able to get through it without her hands shaking too much. She concluded to raucous applause (aided, most likely, by the copious amount of alcohol floating around the party), and good feedback from the suits on the ninth floor – with Eris congratulating her particularly jovially (for Eris).
As she made her way to the back, she was nearly rugby tackled by the sheer force of Vassa’s hug. Jurian pried Vassa off, only to crush Elain in the exact same scale of affection, as they laughed together. Once released, he’d taken a step back and revealed Lucien behind him.
Lucien’s eyes bore into her own once more, though this time, they shone with pride. “You’re incredible, Elain,” he murmured. Carefully, Lucien stepped forward, and wrapped his own arms around her.
Elain had felt a very many things in her lifetime, but in Lucien’s embrace, she felt them all. Safe and content in his arms, the scent of him enveloped her; a crackling fireplace, fresh sheets, an early morning walk at the beginning of Autumn. Inexplicably, she felt at home.
Jurian coughed behind them, before squawking in protest at Vassa’s elbow digging into his side. Elain pulled away from Lucien, flustered.
“I’m sorry, you know I hate to ruin a moment – but we’ve been instructed to proceed to the Christmas tree for the gift exchange, or else face the wrath of HR,” Jurian interrupted sheepishly. Lucien glared fiercely at him.
Vassa locked arms with Elain and Lucien and frog-marched them all to the tree, with Jurian trailing behind.
Nearly the entire staff milled about, talking animatedly as they picked up and tore open presents of various sizes and gift-wrapping quality. Vaguely, Elain was aware that her friends had dispersed to find their own gifts, as Elain began searching in quiet glee for her own.
With a near uncanny ability, Elain stumbled across a large package wrapped in shiny maroon paper, with her name scrawled across a brown envelope attached with a bow. Picking it up and pulling out the card, she read:
Dear Elain,
Here’s hoping that you can always enjoy a small part of home, even when you’re thousands of miles away.
I hope this brings you almost as much joy as you bring me.
Yours, always,
Xxx
Elain could feel her heart thrumming in her chest as she unwrapped the gift. The weight of it in her arms perplexed her.
But there, below the wrapping paper, lay a potted plant with wide, shiny green leaves. With shaking hands, she turned the label attached towards her, which stated: Daebong 대봉 大峯 Persimmon Fruit Tree.
Elain gasped, her throat tightening. Every year since childhood, she had helped her aunts’ dry persimmons in the autumnal sun in their home in Busan, and in adulthood, when work constrained her to London, she had made do with buying as much of the fruit as she could to enjoy in the colder months. With how busy the website development was, she had missed persimmon season this year, which had made the decision not to go to Korea for Christmas that much harder.
She looked up through misty eyes, overcome with gratitude. Who could have possibly known to get me this? Elain thought. Vassa would be the obvious choice, though perhaps –
Her searching eyes were drawn suddenly to movement behind the Christmas tree, in a dark alcove. Elain squinted. She could recognise Lucien standing firmly in the corner, though she couldn’t tell who was huddled close to him, with a hand on his chest, until her gold hair was illuminated by a string of blinking fairylights.
Elain swallowed. Her mind emptied out completely as she watched Amarantha inch ever closer to Lucien, sliding her hand to his shoulder, leaning in –
Chest tight and skin crawling, Elain turned away. She had seen enough. Her legs moved on their own volition, moving her erratically towards the lift she could take to exit this room that was too loud; the lights too bright, the smell of wine turning her stomach.
Vaguely remembering to grab her bag, coat and scarf, Elain strode across the lobby of the building. She indistinctly realised that her arms were aching, and looked down, only to see the plant nestled between them.
It gave her pause. Lucien didn’t owe her anything, not really. She might’ve thought they had a moment earlier – and, upon reflection; had secretly hoped it would be the culmination of a year of dancing around one other, stealing looks, sharing soundless thoughts, toeing the line - but that clearly wasn’t the case, and she had to be fine with that. But why did her heart ache?
The echo of quick footfall broke her from her swirling thoughts.
“Elain!” A strangled voice shouted, reverberating around the empty office lobby.
She would recognise him with her eyes closed, in a crowded room, in darkness, or in sleep.
“Elain,” Lucien rasped breathlessly, voice rough. She turned towards him, dread trickling down her spine. Even in a state of sadness, Lucien looked beautiful. Belatedly, Elain realised he had his hands equally full with the red woven basket of pastries she’d given him. He searched her eyes frenziedly, before following them to look down at what lay in his arms.
He drew a breath. “Vassa told me. I can’t thank you enough for this. It’s the best thing I’ve ever been given.” He promised. Elain saw nothing but truth in his gaze.
She smiled half-heartedly. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. There’s a recipe somewhere in there too, so you can always make them for yourself, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic,” Elain finished quietly.
Lucien looked at her closely, then shook his head. “Can’t do that, actually. I’ve lost it.”
Elain frowned. “What? How?” She looked down once more, scanning the basket. “Well, I know you’re heading home soon. Maybe your mum can make hers and teach you.” She sighed, resigned.
She looked up to Lucien grinning brazenly. “Don’t tell her I said so, but yours are better, I’m afraid,” he shrugged irreverently, placing the basket carefully on the floor, “I think you’ll have to be the one to teach me.”
Elain scowled further. “I don’t understand–”
“Who do you think won, then?” Lucien questioned amusedly, looking down at the plant in her hands.
Elain hesitated, eyes widening. Her pulse began to race. “How did you know?” She pressed, mouth dry.
Lucien gazed at her tenderly. “How could I not?” he replied simply.
Lucien took the potted plant from her arms, lowering it gently to the floor beside the red basket. He gingerly took hold of her hand, his own shaking.
“Elain, I don’t know what you saw, but nothing happened. I was searching for you, and Amarantha… I’ve made it clear that I feel nothing for her and want her to stop.” He stated imploringly.
Elain’s breathe hitched. They had somehow gravitated towards one another, so close, always too close and yet –
Lucien cupped her face tenderly, stroking her jaw with his thumb, as his other hand came to rest on her waist.
“It was always you,” he breathed, “It was only ever going to be you.”
Sliding his hand to the back of her neck, Lucien drew Elain close, his lips warm against her own, as their bodies melted into one another.
“Merry Christmas, Elain.”