Chapter Text
Eugenia artfully stirred the honey stick in her mug of chamomile tea, the steam fogging her glasses as she sampled it. Warm rain pitter-patted against the glass window leading out to the Blaires’ back porch, collecting itself in bigger and bigger droplets. It was mornings like those that Eugenia loved best—ones where her life felt so unimportant, even for a moment.
But the quiet serenity of sunlight scattering across the creaky wooden floors was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs beside her—the unsure pace followed by a third “click” of rubber on hardwood announced the arrival of Crow.
“Good morning,” she softly hummed, pursing her lips as she rested her mug on an embroidered coaster.
“G’morning,” Crow drowsily replied, adjusting his loose curls drawn tight into a coiled hair tie. His oversized black shirt fell across him, revealing his bony, freckled shoulders.
“Where were you last night?” Eugenia asked, the corners of her lips turning up and her dark eyes glinting.
“Mako’s.” Crow picked the leaf-patterned wrapper off of one of Charlie’s pumpkin spice muffins.
“Tell me more about her.” Eugenia crossed her legs as she sat atop a stool near the black marble island.
“Fuck you,” Crow mumbled through a mouthful of muffin. “Why do you ask me things when you already know them?”
“I don’t know everything—the Blaire library is more focused on overarching themes and concepts, but I want them to be as accurate as possible. All I know is that you spent the night with his sister and you felt safe for the first time since your father revealed his true colors to you.”
“Why is the second part more embarrassing than the first?”
“Because, much like him, you repress your emotions without doing anything about them. You really shouldn’t do that, by the way, it can lead to severe health issues as you age.”
“Like I don’t have severe health issues already.”
“It’s just like him to circle around the real issue at hand.”
“This Blaire intuition shit is getting so old.”
“Tell me more about this Dani girl, then.” Eugenia rested her hand on her palm and smiled at him.
“What do you want to know about her?” Crow half-laughed, clearly holding back his own smile.
“Just talk to me. My favorite part of all this is hearing others talk about who their loved ones.”
“Is that because you never found someone who loved you the same way you love everyone else?”
Eugenia’s face dropped. “Now I understand your perspective on the whole Blaire intuition thing.”
“It’s okay to live vicariously through me. I don’t think you’d like her, though.”
“Why does it matter if I like her? She makes you feel safe. That’s all that matters to me.”
“I feel bad, y’know? Because I do feel safe here—much safer than I felt back home, actually—but it isn’t the same. You all are genuinely good people and abide by Southern hospitality and whatnot. You would have taken in anybody and made them feel this welcome. You did that with my dad in the past.”
“And we saw where that led.”
“This is still different, though, I’m related to you. Everything about your family is overflowing with love and compassion, but Strike? She doesn’t do that. She chose me, for some reason, and it feels good to be chosen, I guess.”
“Strike?”
“Oh, yeah, her dad always calls her Strike Eagle, which usually just gets shortened to Strike.”
“He calls her ‘Strike Eagle?’”
“Yeah, like the fighter jet.”
“Of course, obviously.”
“I don’t know,” Crow giggled. He bit his bottom lip to collect himself. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you about her.”
“You said she wasn’t compassionate?”
“Not really. I mean, she has her reasons. No one was ever compassionate to her, so she doesn’t owe anyone anything. She’s very independent.”
“But she’s kind to you?”
“Not kind. Kind’s not the right word. She’s more open with me. More trusting.”
“Seems like you two are the perfect match, then. Both emotionally unavailable save for each other.”
“It’s hard finding someone who gets me. She gets me.”
“I’m not sure how anyone can understand you, Crow, but I’m glad you’ve found someone who does.”
“I don’t even understand myself, but she’s the closest thing I’ve found to someone who does.”
Eugenia blankly stared at him, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Crow deeply sighed. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Except for your father.”
“Why does everything have to come back to him?”
“Because he made you who you are. He understood you, even when you didn’t, because he raised you to be that way.”
“Strike wasn’t raised by him. She barely even knew Noeul. I don’t see the connection here.”
“Cold? Emotionally reserved but favors you? Militant in personality?”
“I hope you choke on your stupid fuckin’ chamomile.”
“She sounds a lot like him, Crow.”
“Strike is nothing like him. She sees past all of the expectations he had for me. She doesn’t expect anything from me except to be myself and to be there for her, too. It’s a mutual thing, not some weird power imbalance where my only goal is to make her proud of me. I mean, we didn’t even do anything last night! She didn’t expect me to do anything. It started raining, so we went inside, and we curled up on her bed and talked about whatever until we fell asleep. We’re equals. She’s not like him. She doesn’t get off on making other people feel lesser than her.”
Crow’s eyes glazed over. Eugenia smiled.
“That’s what you wanted out of me, isn’t it?”
“Precisely.”
“None of this was even about her, was it?”
“It was at first, but this is even better.”
“Even bagging a bad bitch is a lesson about how my dad was evil the whole time.”
Eugenia’s nose shriveled. “I don’t appreciate you referring to women with that sort of language in this house.”
“I’m close enough to being one.”
“You still meant it in an objectifying way.”
“This is ridiculous. You’re some old white lady from Kentucky, and you’re more woke than my trans and gay Asian parents. What happened here?”
“I am not old. Do not call me old.”
“You’re, what, fifty?”
“Forty-nine.”
“Oh, forty-nine,” Crow repeated in a mocking tone.
“Very man-like of you to insult a woman’s age after she calls you out for objectifying someone—such a fragile ego.”
Crow opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t find a rebuttal. He mumbled something unintelligible beneath his breath and shook his head.
“I’m teasing you, Jo, I know you aren’t serious.”
“I promise I don’t mean to objectify her, but, damn it, she’s hot! She’s hot as fuck, dude!”
“She is?”
“She is! She’s, like, super into fitness—I guess as a coping mechanism for everything wrong with her—so she’s got super defined muscles. And her hair is cool, it’s like, normal and black on top, but the underside is bleached white. You can see it when she ties up her hair, and she has, like, the little money pieces—“
Crow pulled down two of the front pieces of his hair to demonstrate.
“—the little money pieces up front are white. And she’s Wasian, mixed Japanese and Russian, I think? Some sort of Slavic. So, she has those, like, dark piercing eyes from her Japanese side but a defined nose and facial structure from the Russian side. And she has snake bites. And cool tattoos.”
“See, that was good. That wasn’t objectifying. It shows you see her as an individual and more than her body.”
“Oh, I left all of that out. I figured you wouldn’t want to hear me talk about that.”
“Some things never change,” Eugenia softly sighed.
“She really is an incredible person, though. Really, really incredible. She handles herself with such grace and intensity and purpose, and she thinks so deeply about the world around her. You can tell she cares, but she knows it isn’t her responsibility to care. When she looks at me, though, there’s so much life behind her eyes; it’s kind of scary. She’s like a ticking time bomb—you’re terrified, but you can’t help but be intrigued by her. And she listens to me—she takes note of what I say and doesn’t brush me off like most people. I don’t know what she sees in me when she’s on a whole other plane of existence than I am, it seems. It’s like some sort of goddess took pity on me.”
Eugenia tucked her olive sweater into her dark, layered skirt. “That was what I was looking for.”
“That was good?”
“That was perfect.”
“I love her, Genie,” Crow softly laughed, his eyes crowded with the thoughts scattered across his head.
“She’s going to be good for you,” Eugenia replied, finishing her tea.
“I don’t think I can tell her that yet. It’ll scare her. I don’t want to scare her.”
“I bet she can tell just by looking at you.”
“I try not to be that obvious when I’m around her. I don’t want to seem too soft or clingy.”
“That’s something I’ll never understand about your generation—how terrified you are to show each other you care. It’s saddening. I’m sure any girl would love to hear someone say those things about her.”
“It’s different. With people like us, we don’t understand what that means. It’s foreign for people to care so deeply, so we have to ease into it. If someone said those things about me, I’d probably throw up.”
“You are so strange.”
“Sorry you grew up in a loving household, and I didn’t.”
“I grew up knowing the truth about everything and everyone in this town against my will. Don’t act like isolation is a foreign concept to me.”
“Damn. Sometimes I forget about that.”
“But what I said still stands. Don’t be afraid to show your love to her, Crow. It sounds like she needs it, even if she pretends she doesn’t.”
“It’s all so new to me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’m so terrified of fucking it up and losing her.”
“If you ruin things by being genuine, then she was never the right person for you in the first place.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“And I’d bet she’s equally terrified of losing you.”
Crow scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like there’s anything about me worth being scared of losing.”
“An incredibly talented, passionate, and brave young man who cares so deeply about her? I wouldn’t want to lose you.”
“Hm,” Crow whispered. “I guess you’re right.”
“Well, I’ll leave you here to daydream about your precious little fighter pilot. I’m off to the living room.”
“Rewatching the BBC Pride and Prejudice?”
“The Blaire intuition is rubbing off on you too much.”
“That’s not intuition—that’s pattern recognition.”
“Haha, very funny,” Eugenia flatly said.
“Can I come watch with you? I’ll make popcorn.”
“At 8:30 in the morning?”
“A good source of fiber. Healthy breakfast.”
“But you’re going to slather it in butter and processed cheese dust, aren’t you?”
“So what? The fiber is still there.”
“Both your eating and emotional habits will lead you to heart disease sooner or later.”
“I’m sorry, I thought this was America. Land of the free and home of the heart disease.”
“Then what’s Dalseum? Land of the ostentatious and home of the substance abusers?”
“Yeah, you hit the nail on the head with that one.”
“This is why I choose to romanticize Victorian England.”
“Like they weren’t pouring shit on the streets.”
“Key word ‘romanticize.’”
“Yeah, I’d probably pick shit on the streets over alcoholic parents, once I think about it.”
“So, we can romanticize it together.”
“I’ll start the popcorn. Do you want another cup of tea?”
“Oh, yes please. Maybe some of the açaí tea Marie left for us.”
“But it’s never the same as when Sonnet made it. They did it all so precisely—I’ll have to ask next time I see them.”
“You still want to be in contact with them?”
“Yeah. I need to know how to make the tea.”
“Didn’t they try to kill Charlie? Multiple times?”
“They threatened to shoot Noeul to save her life later. I think that cancels out.”
“They did?”
“Yes, do you not remember that part of the story?”
“No! When was that?”
“Marie’s coronation.”
“During Marie’s coronation?”
“I barely remember it, to be honest. I blocked most of it out.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Do you like sweet or savory popcorn? We have cinnamon and cheese dust.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tried the cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon it is, then.”
“I’ll take note of what you said while you get everything prepared.”
“Ugh, don’t put down every corny thing I said about her in writing. I can’t have that traced back to me.”
“It’s the price you have to pay for living with us.”
“Can’t I just get a job and start paying rent?”
“You’d rather get a job than gush about your girlfriend?”
“Eh, I guess I can talk more about Dani.”
“Don’t forget about Mako. We still need more information on him. On his entire timeline, truly. It’s so fascinating—I’m debating going with you to interview them.”
“Yes, let me casually explain to my girlfriend that my aunt is an omniscient timeline hopper who wants to know more about her deepest secrets.”
“Would you be so kind?”
“If you let me upgrade the sound system in my room, maybe.”
“How much was that new turntable you were looking at?”
“$500.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Seriously?”
“This information is priceless, Crow. You’ve unlocked an entire other side of the world we had no clue about. Who knows what the next generation of Blaires will find through my research?”
“Hopefully more bad bitches.”
“Crow,” Eugenia sternly said.
“Sorry.”
“With that, I’m heading to the living room.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Crow flicked on their electric kettle as he scoured their pantry for tea and popcorn as the rain still pattered outside.
It was mornings like those that he loved the most—ones where his quiet life seemed so important to anyone who wasn’t himself, if only for a moment.