@❛ estelle ysolda egan。 If her mere presence, sitting quietly and small in front of him, affected him at all, Henri would have summoned his best façade to convey that he had moved on from their distant past, which now seemed so long ago. Only weeks earlier, he had deluded himself into believing that the wounds from their separation had healed. If someone could have peered into his heart, they would have seen only the deepest scars of heartbreak. But just when he thought he had fully moved on, she of course appeared once again. And the scars that he thought had already healed would reopen as if they had just been inflicted at the mere sight of her.
Estelle.

He loved her. With all of his being, with all that he had. And at some point, both of them thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. They had it all. Careers that they were both passionate about, a relationship that many would be envious of. But sometimes, love just was not enough to keep a relationship alive.

Her discomfort was evident from where Henri sat. "Good," he thought to himself. He would ensure he smiled wider, laughed louder, and acted more obnoxiously to show her that she no longer held sway over his heart. But these were mere deceptions. His laughter rang hollow, his smiles failed to reach his eyes, and the sparkle that once filled his brown orbs had long been extinguished. What did she know? It had been way too long—four years to be exact.

When Estelle finally took her leave, citing the need for fresh air, Henri experienced a mix of relief and longing as he watched her back retreat. It felt as though he could finally release the breath he had been holding since they entered the establishment—or rather, since he learned he would be seated with her and their colleagues for some sort of celebration.

Despite his inebriation, the man's keen observational skills were undiminished. Before long, he noticed that the woman had left her jacket draped over the chair she had recently vacated.

“ah..merde.” He curses under his breath, waiting just a few minutes before faking further inebriation just so he was able to excuse himself from his colleagues. Saying something about needing to come home, lest he misses work tomorrow.

“Ah you know my mother..I would hate for a howler to show up in my desk.” It was easy for him to charm his colleagues and they fell for his excuse so just before he left, he discreetly nabbed Estelle’s jacket. Perhaps slightly hoping that she would still be outside.

As Henri watched her standing solitary outside the bar, it appeared as though the chill in the air had almost frozen her in place. He hated seeing her like this, feeling a pang in his heart as he observed her seeming fragility. Though she had always possessed a lithe frame, it was now evident that her past struggles with poor eating habits had resurfaced, leaving her looking unnervingly delicate.
And he couldn't ignore his own struggles either. Nights were often sleepless for him, a victim of insomnia that had plagued him relentlessly for the past four years, leaving him exhausted and unrested. The parallels between their visible vulnerabilities struck him deeply.

His shoulders would tense when their gazes met. He tried his best to avoid her the whole night and yet like a fool, he’s here yet again. Seeking her out, with her jacket in his hand.

“Arden told me you left your jacket..here.” he says, handing her the jacket. Lying as if he did not just voluntarily take it upon himself to return her jacket because he knew that she would be cold.

@❛ heinrich la lune。 it was a little past midnight and the streets were already bare.

estelle stepped out of the pub and into a dimly illuminated portion of the street. her arms were wound around her slender body to shield her from the chilly air, only belatedly realizing that she had forgotten her jacket on the barstool up front. she had no desire to go back, however, not when /he/ was there, all tipsy and smiley and looking like the man she had once been in love with.

but, that was not all true, was it? for the very image of him sitting across her on the table sent her reeling, spiraling back into a past that she had wanted to forget but could not. her memories of him continued to flash through the forefront of her mind like a movie as he continued to converse with their co-workers, looking elsewhere but at her. his very actions reminded her of her lapses and estelle felt suffocated; she needed to get away.

the girl shuddered where she stood, drawing her arms closer as she leaned against the lamp post. should she head back? should she retrieve her jacket? perhaps, someone would bring it tomorrow to work if she happened to “leave it behind by accident”?

anxiously, she rubbed her hands to stave off the cold, only eventually choosing to go back to quickly bid everyone goodbye before she headed home after awhile. however, as she turned, a man emerged from the wooden doors to the cauldron, his mop of hair unruly as inebriation slowly took him. heinrich la lune looked gaunt and tired, as if he had been exposed to a multitude of dementors. whether it was by work stress or by being around her, it seemed to her that he had been fighting for his rights to sleep. estelle’s heart ached at the sight - but what rights did she have?

he was no longer hers and she can only watch painfully before ultimately choosing to turn around once more, fully forgetting the cold enveloping her and the jacket that she was supposed to retrieve.