Remember When I Moved in You... {Charmelia}

[CHARLEMAGNE FLETCHER]

Char's Outfit

It was easy to pick out Charlemagne Fletcher in a crowd most days, and that evening, with his mismatched shoes and slightly zany clothes, he stuck out like a sore thumb, as per usual. Of course, had he really had his way, his costume would have been much more elaborate...but these days, he hadn't quite felt himself.

It started when Amy disappeared.

There had been no word. No phone call, no email, no letter, not even a text message to tell him she was sorry, to tell him she was leaving, to tell him goodbye. She just...disappeared, and Charlemagne was left with the rumors, the secondhand news. She'd moved to California with Jon. They were engaged.

They were probably married, by now...

The thought made him feel a little sick.

Of course, he'd kept going. He hadn't let the circumstances pull him past the point of no return because he simply wouldn't allow it. He went on with his day to day life, did his job, scared the neighbors, fed his cats, slept alone in his king-sized bed in his huge and empty house. He pretended it didn't hurt.

Charlemagne didn't have friends -- well, he didn't have many friends, and the friends he had he held somewhat at arm's length. He had many acquaintances, people he'd stopped with a riddle who had riddled him back, but his friends were considerably few and far between. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that he didn't have any friends...and certainly none he could talk to in any seriousness. He had grown very accustomed to being alone over the years...

...and he never should have allowed himself, not even for a moment, to hope that he would ever have anything else.

The thought brought a dry smile to his face as he wove through the crowd. Of course not. Why would she ever want him, really want him? He was too abnormal, too out of place in the real world. He was fun for a laugh or a story or a riddle, sure, but nothing serious. Charlemagne could never be anything serious to anyone, let alone to Amy.

His usual grin was absent from his face. There was only a trace of a smile on his firmly pursed lips.

Were she here, she would have looked radiant, he knew it. All in blue, he was sure, to match those stunning eyes of hers, and she would claim the attention of anyone, everyone she passed, because damn, she was...beautiful.

And thinking about her hurt. He had to remember not to think about her.

It'll fade. You'll forget her. Eventually, you'll forget her and you'll be okay again.

Except he knew that was a lie.

He would never forget her.

But if she was happy...well, he couldn't want any more for her than that.

He consciously straightened himself, blue eyes staring out bleakly from behind his green cat mask, and threw himself back into the crowd.

Perhaps he could find something, anything, to distract him.

[AMY WINSTON]

To make a long story short, Amy was not happy.

To elaborate on that short story, one needed to look past the brave face she was putting on for Jamie's sake. The first night she had been in town was a difficult one at best, and Jamie had gone above and beyond the call of duty that Amy would expect out of a friend, even a best friend. Not one 'I told you so,' though he had told her; not once did he try to compare her problems to his own, he just sat there and listened and let her weep openly. She had awoken the next day feeling guilty, as was her way, and ever since had been determined to make it seem like nothing had happened.

They had played video games, gone out to museums and baseball games, and all manner of things that Jamie proposed to keep Amy busy and not thinking of 'you-know-who.' It was easier that way, and she was forever grateful. The masquerade was brought up, and Amy had purchased a dress before the fateful job-offer/proposal. No sense in letting such a high ticket item go to waste. Besides, the idea of a big social event was very promising. Maybe she would see some of her old friends there, maybe she wouldn't explain what happened, maybe they hadn't realized she'd gone.

Of course, if she was honest with herself, she would realize that besides Jamie, she only really had one real friend. And she was willing to bet that he had not only realized that she was gone, but perhaps hated her for leaving so abruptly with no word of warning, or even a goodbye.

It had been a bitch move, but how could she tell him goodbye? How could she tell him the reason she was leaving in the first place? How could she do any of those things when all it would have taken for her to stay would be the hint of sadness in his curious blue eyes, the tiniest falter of his easy, contagious grin? She had to skip the goodbyes, because she was faithful. She was loyal, even though Jonathan Rossum did not deserve it. And because of this unwavering loyalty, she had previously balked at her increasingly hard to ignore feelings for her curious friend Charlemagne. It was like gravity; like there was some unstoppable force pulling them together.

She had been a fool to ignore it.

So when she casually brought up the masquerade to Jamie, there was a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She knew he would go to make her happy, and she felt bad to exploit his good nature that way, but she didn't want to go alone in case she did find Char and he didn't want her anymore. The fear of that rejection made her want to go, find him, and watch him from afar. But that was not the way things were to go that evening.

She hadn't anticipated the sheer amount of couples that would be in attendance, and her heart had begun to ache. She danced with Jamie once before excusing herself to the restroom, trying desperately not to smudge her makeup. She was visited by a voice out of nowhere.

'Amy, I'm terribly surprised at you. Crying over someone who isn't worth it is such a terrible idea, especially when you look so beautiful. Suppose you started crying, and you couldn't stop! Why, the whole ballroom would be filled, and you still wouldn't feel better. You'd just feel wet. Calm yourself, and go enjoy the ball.'

The voice was right, even if it was making her question her sanity. She breathed a moment, and left the restroom, returning to Jamie at the food table. She asked him to dance, and as she floated along, clearing her mind of any hint of worry, she begun to feel much lighter.

But all too soon, that ended. A dark, wolfish woman appeared out of nowhere dressed to the nines in steampunk gear, asking to dance with Jamie. Ah. This must have been Ramona. Heart sinking, Amy conceded gracefully, spinning out of Jamie's grasp, weaving through the crowded dance floor, hardly watching where she was going, controlling her breathing...

'Don't cry, don't cry, don't cr-'

Her thoughts were interrupted by her body colliding with another, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she stammered out an apology to the oddly dressed stranger. Wait a moment. Two different shoes; pinstriped pants; two different, yet equally loud shirts; a purple blazer; a bowtie; and a cat mask?

She didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know who this person was. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she tried to finish apologizing, having every intention of disappearing, not ready to deal with this yet, but somehow her apology came out as a breathless, rushed "Wouldyouliketodance?"

Well. Yeah, that was fine too.

WORDS! 828
TAGGED! Charlemagne!
OUTFIT! click!
LYRICS! i should tell you, rent obc
NOTES! baww feelings okay
CREDIT! KENNATRONIC @ caution 2.0

[CHARLEMAGNE FLETCHER]

This was getting to be just a bit too painful.

Every time he saw a glimpse of a blue dress, every time he saw the light glance off a head of brunette hair even close to the right shade, he got excited. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself -- he'd been doing it for weeks. He looked for her everywhere, as if she would somehow appear somewhere and he would be able to chase after her, grab her, hold her, ask her why, why she did that, why, why would she do that to him.

He considered leaving. He didn't have to be here, he didn't have to do this. He could go home right now and no-one would be the wiser -- it wasn't like anyone knew he was here. Sure, they stared at his outfit, but with the mask covering most of his face besides his mouth, he was unrecognizable as a person.

And even if his face were visible, most people here didn't know who he was. They knew the name Fletcher, perhaps, knew of his family, but Charlemagne himself was a stubborn recluse. He didn't attend social events. He didn't even know why he was attending this one.

He had to leave.

This wasn't going anywhere.

Sighing, he adjusted his mask on his face and headed for the door, only partially looking where he was going--

--which was how he bumped into the woman in blue.

Or, rather, she bumped into him, but he could have avoided it if he'd been paying attention.

She was stammering out some kind of apology, but he didn't hear her. He didn't care. He just needed to get out of here and not look at her, because the fact that she was so blue reminded him of Amy, and he was not, was not, was not thinking about Amy, period, end of thought.

"It's fine," he mumbled in his faint British accent, his voice not as confident as it usually was, just soft and tired. He tried to muster a smile for her, but it was exceptionally difficult, so he gave up.

And then she spoke.

"Wouldyouliketodance?"

Oh, God.

Instantly, his eyes shot to her, widening behind the concealing plastic of his mask. He would know that voice from a hundred miles away. He would know those eyes, that mouth from a hundred miles away.

He stood there for a long moment, struck dumb, his eyes fixed on her, mouth opening in closing in shock. How was she here? She was in California. She was engaged. Why was she here? How--

Did she leave him?

She must have. Why else would she have come back.

"A--"

God, he could feel his eyes getting a little wet. He cleared his throat. Now, none of that, no.

"Amy," he managed at last, his voice barely a whisper.

[AMY WINSTON]

Gravity.

In the instant after she asked him to dance, bewilderingly, her mind raced back to her high school physics classes. She recalled all three rules of gravity, and decided just then that three rules were not enough. They could not account for this. Certainly, this might not have been the same type of gravity. She was not clinging to him for dear life as they hurtled around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour. But as her eyes met his, she could feel it.

As he gaped at her for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he forgot how to breathe, she regretted every horrible thing that she had put him through. Of course he had realized. Of course he knew. She should have told him she was back, she should take him away and explain what had happened. She wanted to take him in her arms and never let him go for the rest of time. But that wouldn't happen. After everything she had done, she couldn't expect to waltz back into his life and expect him to want her. He was a solitary figure, a constant enigma. He was like smoke, barely there, hardly substantial enough to catch. And just like smoke, he lingered. It had been true that in her brief time in Los Angeles, she had caught herself looking around, looking for Charlemagne where he had no sense in being. She would think she saw him perusing the mysteries in a bookstore, only to look back and see nothing there, a ghost of a grin etched in her line of sight as a cruel reminder to what she had lost.

Because she had lost him.

But that wasn't right.

She hadn't lost him.

She had given him up. Tossed away the crown jewels for a gaudy faux gold chain, and all she had left to show for it was a disgusting green tint on her metaphorical neck. There was no way he would still want her.

And yet, as he finally spit out her name, he did not sound angry. He did not sound dismissive. He just sounded hurt, and disbelieving. Unable to bear the note of pain in his voice, she did the only thing she could think to do. Raising up one white gloved hand, she grabbed his, putting the other one on his opposite shoulder, ever so slightly pushing him to dance. They were close, closer than they ever were before, and neither one of them were keeping tempo. She was leading them into a waltz, one of the only dances she knew how to do properly, and she couldn't be bothered with trying to hear what music was playing over the roaring beating of her heart. Not to mention the deafening weight between them. Eyes still locked, with no chance of being able to look away, Amy cleared her throat, trying her best not to fuck this one up. After all, in her mind, she'd only get the one chance to make things okay, to at least salvage the friendship.

"I feel I owe you an apology. Not to mention the longest explanation in the history of ever."