WHO: Oliver Comstock and Nona Pepper
WHAT: FEELS
WHERE: ITALY
WHEN: LIKE TWO MONTHS AGO I'M SO SORRY

After spending an established number of cool nights sleeping on the roof, it was a curious development that Ollie found himself relishing the warm comfort of his own bed. He had been steadfast determined to stay above and away from the rooms below filled with people, and expressed his deep sentiments with Jake alone that only an extreme force of nature would be able to tear him away from the untroubled Venetian sun. He would stay up here, high up here, until the people that made him want to retreat from his own home disappeared.

He should have known that Nona Pepper absolutely counted as a force of nature, and it would only be a matter of time until she interrupted his hazed denial of reality.

Ollie couldn’t help it, once again he questioned the reality displayed before him. Had last night really…? And was she truly…? It felt like he could barely grapple with the memory… finding it too difficult, for not the first time upon waking up, Ollie gave up on trying to determine if this was a drug-induced pseudo-reality or not. It would not be the first time he dreamed of opening his eyes to the slumbering form of Nona Pepper beside him.

If only life could be contained to moments like this--- experiences pressed on the uncertain bubble that was no doubt going to eventually burst. But there were still a few minutes left now, before he could wake up and ruin the dull content fog in the air. He sighed.

Taking the hand resting under the cuff of his ear, Ollie gently pressed his mouth to those fingertips. Her skin felt soft and warm against his lips. “What a strange dream,” Ollie murmured idly, and closed his eyes again.

Nona was fairly certain this was not the bed she had become accustomed to sleeping in for the last two nights, but that didn't bother her so much. Two nights was not a very long time to become adjusted to anything, after all. It certainly was not enough time to become accustomed to the merciless sun or stifling humidity.

It was a little more troubling to her that she was having yet another dream about Oliver Comstock. Nona had possibly not stopped to listen to the full details of her cousin's jaunt, only the words "Italy" and "vacation" and demanded that he take her (and her two housemates) with him immediately, so her discovering that their home for the next however many days belonged to… well, to say the least, the father of her unknown child, was disconcerting to say the least. But the three witches, all seemingly outrunning some demon or the other of their own, threw themselves into sightseeing and experiencing Venetian life to its fullest, which left shockingly little time for brooding of confrontations with ex-paramours.

She sighed heavily, as prickles of wakefulness pierced her feeling of contentment which only meant the inevitable acknowledgment that this was just a dream, and not one that would remain good for much longer, if it lasted.

Then she felt brushes against her fingertips, unusual warmth curved around her. She could hear his quiet voice. And though her face remained smooth and just beginning to rouse from sleep, she gave the impression of a crinkled forehead. "That's not usually what you say in dreams," she said in a voice soft and hoarse from sleep.

Ollie laughed, his voice breathy and light. Even here she was set on dashing his happiness. Even in his dreams Nona Pepper was determined to destroy his hope. Shouldn’t he have learned by now?

Tilting his head, Ollie ran his face within her palm. It felt perfect, and he thought how much he would miss the feeling of how her skin felt against his. Surely this vision wasn’t meant to last much longer, but the greatest small part of him hoped it would go on forever.

Even if it meant having to eternally endure her invalidation.

Just a few more moments now.

Wholly unwilling to resist her, Ollive conceded fully, and spoke easily. “You would know, with how you frequent mine,” he murmured, certainly understanding the irony. He chuckled again, and breathed deeply into her hand. It smelled like curiosity and rain.

She had a sensation of wrongness swell over her as she lay in the bed. Perhaps not of wrongness, but of caution, and wariness.

And Nona wondered when Ollie had ever held her hand in her dreams before, when he had ever said anything more than just revealing his disgust for her and leaving her alone, sad and unloved and humiliated.

The idea that that part of the dream may still be coming was very unbearable.

Yet, as more of her surroundings swam in, as she saw the sleepy sun grow brighter, Nona had the curious feeling of being awake, but not being in control of herself. She felt like a visitor.

"Is this your dream or mine?" she asked, feeling the coarse growth of hair on his face rake against her hand.

He stopped, a bit of awareness beginning to percolate his conscious. What an entirely strange question. Of course it was his, his dreams always flitted here. Perhaps in different ways, with different settings, but always with the same feeling of serene acceptance. Why would she suggest otherwise?

Ollie breathed in deeply again, and his eyes now fluttered between opening and closing. Were they testing the realm of possibility before them? He felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise, and for the first time, noticed the humid breeze curling up his bare back every couple of moments.

Had last night really…? And was she truly…? Was it even…? His mind crawled forward, moving at a slug’s pace until all of the sudden, realization slammed forward. His eyelids split apart, and a complex combination of intense dread and indescribable pleasure filled him. He remembered, it was her, he had been out of his mind, possibly still was, when she had come up to the roof, and then---

This was real. It wasn’t some dream, some escape, some concoction of his conscious but a thing, a moment still currently playing out----

Immediately, he felt scared, and unwilling, to bring her attention to this news. She would leave, he knew she would, and only after putting up a bitter fight. But the tensing in his muscles and the motionless manner he now currently held himself was telling, and he grappled miserably with his next words. Swallowing, his voice came out heavy and sad when Ollie spoke.

“Neither. Neither, Nona.”

Unable to do it himself, he waited for her to eventually pull her hand away.

She listened to his answered with half an ear, but then—neither of them were dreaming?

Her hand stilled on his face, as Nona tried to recall last night. Bits and pieces came to her, mostly of skin. Of seeing it, feeling it, running her—

Well, that part certainly hadn't been a dream. Even though that, all of this, felt wholly unreal.

She wondered how they had even been in the same room at the same time, much less spent the night together. Nona had only glanced Ollie briefly when she and her housemates had arrived in his home, and the three girls had ensured they spent as little time in the house as possible. Had all this just been… a drunken mistake?

Though Nona didn't feel hungover, and, even so, she so rarely imbibed. No, she felt… content. Or had. She felt heavy in a sleepy way, sluggish, but not unpleasantly so.

This wasn't a dream. But he hadn't left yet, had he? She'd been awake this whole time, and he hadn't left. Even though he sounded so… resigned.

"Oh," she said, sounding very small, suddenly feeling so tired she could not bring herself to lift her hand or roll away, even if Ollie wished it.

Oh? Oh. Just ‘oh’. Even it being the smallest word, the tiniest form of indication, it gave him the greatest installation of hope. It wasn’t a shrivel away, it wasn’t a sharp collect of words pointed at his heart, but something… that did not immediately break him. In those few quiet moments, his pathetic hopes ran as high as the sky before a sobering acceptance brought them crashing down. Was it insanity to do the same act over and over again and expect different results? Or important to never stop fighting for the one person that meant the most?

Ollie squeezed his eyes shut, taking the still moment blooming between them to think. He wanted, painfully so, for things to be easy. It could, he knew it could, they could be easy, but---

Frowning, his brow furrowed even deeper in confused reservation. It would be for the best to detangle himself from her as seamlessly as possible. It would be less painful to forget the last twelve hours, return to his island on the roof and spend the longest days of his life up there. It would be paramount to forget about her, forget his feelings for her and---

“Don’t go,” Ollie blurted, honestly earnest. Again, his eyes snapped open and instead of watching the ceiling, he finally turned to look at her. His chest grew a painful strength as he realized, quickly, that giving up would never be the right option.

“I love you.” His words were ripe with purpose. “Don’t leave. Be here.”

The words felt like a hammer's blow to her heart. They robbed her of breath, and of sense, and she stared at him blankly as the seconds ticked by.

Had he uttered those words to her, truly? Words Nona had said, albeit in anger and desperation, but had never been returned. Words she then deeply regretted saying, unsure how her guard had been let down enough to allow them to escape from her mouth. He hadn't given her what she'd wanted or needed then, hadn't let them start over as she wished. Ollie certainly hadn't returned her sentiment, not in anger, sadness, or any other emotion.

Suddenly, Nona felt very vulnerable, as if it mattered now, for the first time in ten minutes, that she didn't wear a stitch under the covers.

"You don't mean that," she whispered to the ceiling. Then she turned her head so their faces were just a breath apart. "Do you?"

Did he? She had to know, had to press and needle him, because she didn't believe him. Didn't know if she could let herself believe him.

He felt himself halt. Again, a warm breeze swept through the window that crawled up his spine and made his hair stand on end, though it barely interrupted his thoughts. She didn’t believe him? How could she possibly...? For a brief moment, a flash of confused disbelief appeared on Ollie’s face. But as soon as it appeared, it washed away to make room for calm understanding.

She was just simply in need of a gentle reminder.

Taking his time, Ollie took advantage of her close proximity and gazed at Nona. Her mouth, the lone strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead, the freckles cascading down her nose, her eyes--- the ends of his mouth curled into a wispy smile.

Easily, as if it was the easiest motion in the world, Ollie shifted to sit up, briefly cupping the side of Nona’s face before taking her one hand into both of his. Delicately he held her, looking down at their intertwined hands before his gaze flitted back.

“Of course,” he murmured, letting out an untroubled sigh. “Of course I love you.” Leaning forward now, they were close again, but not in a way that he hovered. “Always.”

Ollie smiled again, feeling for the first time in a while a great lightness within him. Speaking quietly, his next words were more rhetorical than anything. It was not important that she answered, but simply remembered. “Do you remember what I gave you for your birthday seventh year?”

"I don't think I could forget it," Nona told him honestly, as she had tried many times to forget that book of memories over the years and had failed every time. It was hidden now in Tertia's attic, something she had never been able to destroy, but something that had hurt much too much to keep with her on travels over the years.

Still, she could recall each page with precision. It had been beautiful, and touching, and strange, for there were parts of it she could not understand with her logically-minded brain, yet still appealed to whimsical and dreamy sides of her she never knew existed unless she was with Oliver.

Her heart still thumped unsteadily as she regarded him looking still and peaceful in the morning light, his words still echoing in her ears, as if they were being held there until she could accept them without reservation.

Nona turned on her side and propped her head up with one hand, still holding the covers to her front. "What of it?" asked Nona curiously.

His mind felt light, like apart of his head had become unattached from his shoulders and had floated away into the morning air. This was real; they were not fighting, or ignoring each other, or attempting to speak in ways that the other could not understand, but in soft, honest tones that reminded him of how they used to be.

Was he truly sure this wasn’t a dream?

“I could create a new one with how I feel about you now,” Ollie professed, nodding in just the slightest of ways. If he focused, he could probably recount each page of the old one for her, but at the risk of being sappy, he refrained. Instead, he continued to smile and stare at Nona’s face. “It would be better. There would be more complex and beautiful passages in it. And color. Much more color.”

His lips parted, and in something of an embarrassed gesture, Ollie tucked his ear to his shoulder. He kept a steady grip on her as he spoke next, and decided to wait for her answer before moving to kiss her. “Is that alright?” he asked.

Nona simply nodded and kissed Ollie instead, content to curl up next to him and listen to his steady breathing and his poetic visions of their future, and begin a new chapter in their story.