Love and Life | Phillip and Anne Oneshots

Anchor

Author Note: This movie is amazing and I couldn't help myself so I'll be adding one shots to this collection periodically.
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The rush is booming - deafening. It isn't the Swedish singer on the stage causing the uproar in his ears, no, Phillip Carlyle can't hear a damn thing over the thump of his own heart. He took a risk and his body is on a high, heart slamming, blood rushing, stomach twisting into knots. A hand slips into his, the slight brush of her little finger becomes the full heat of her hand as all their fingers entwine and the thundering in his chest becomes a symphony greater than that the orchestra is playing.

Anne Wheeler is by far the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but right this second, he can't look over at her. He can't spare the glance. He simply cannot move his eyes from the stage for fear the moment will break if he does. He heard her gasp, he felt the zip in his blood in response and he wanted to look, to see her eyes as their hands comfortably slipped into place. Does she feel it too? He doesn't have as much control as he'd like when his thumb brushes over her skin. He doesn't have any control at all when her fingers tighten within his. What he wouldn't give to be anywhere else with her, away from prying eyes. A different room. A different place. He'd give it all to be alone with her where they can touch freely, talk freely, be together.

For a second all he feels is the warmth, starting at the point of contact and flooding through him. Every inch of his body is heating and coming alive. He's never felt anything so powerful, his highbrow life hadn't thrilled him even a fraction as much as this small touch. The whiskey, the plays, the parties, none of it comes close to the ache in his bones for the woman standing at his side. But just thinking of his lifestyle has his eyes wandering, not to Anne but to the stare he can feel burning into him. It's hotter than the rush in his veins, the disgust stabbing into him. It gets to him.

He feels like a fool the moment he pulls away from her. The second her touch is gone, the warmth and all consuming ache go with it. He can't look at her now for a different reason than before. He feels her. She's close enough, the hurt coming off her in waves and he can't see it. He doesn't want to see what he's caused. What a stupid fool to believe he could ever have someone so pure and good in his life when he's nothing but a mess.

The last vestige of heat vanishes when she turns away from him, his heart constricts, his breath stalls, lungs aching when she leaves his side in a rush. What has he done to her? God, his life is nothing. It's not worth hurting her to maintain an image he now wants no part of. Anne doesn't deserve it, she doesn't deserve this from him. She is everything. She is beauty, she is strong, and he reacted like a coward. Still he stays motionless, frozen in place. The ice of her absence is achingly worse than the judgment, than his previous life slipping through his fingers. His eyes are stinging; he can't hear the words of the song, just the sound of shattering hope.

He clenches his fist, his hand feels too empty now. He can't do it anymore. Something inside him snaps, something he can't pinpoint and doesn't take the time to try. His feet move, one step, then two. He has to find Anne. He doesn't glance back as he makes his exit, he doesn't care if anyone is looking, if any of their friends have taken notice. All he cares about is finding her.

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The air outside is brisk, refreshing as it chills her flaming cheeks. She can't believe she let herself hope for even a second, this isn't the world she belongs in. She doesn't belong with him. Somebody forgot to tell her heart. The way it burns in her chest is a sore reminder that it doesn't see class or skin color. All her heart cares about are the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen and a pull so strong she's been powerless to stop it.

Her fingers clench around nothing, forming a fist instead of feeling the warm clasp of his hand. What was she thinking? The sting of rejection - however small of a gesture - still aches hard behind the cage of her ribs, splitting her at the seams with each throb. It's her own fault, her own foolishness and tangled feelings. She didn't have to let him touch her, she didn't have to slide her hand into his but she did and now the anger is building. Her feet carry her but she's lost the sense of direction. The slow boil replaces the shame and embarrassment. This isn't what she wants.

"Anne!" She keeps walking but her heart skips a few beats at the sound of his voice. "Anne, wait!"

There's no reason to. He catches up before he says her name one more time, more of a whisper as he slows next to her.

"You're missing the show," Anne says, squaring her shoulders and jaw. She can't let him see. "I have to get back, get ready for ours."

"Then we're already going the same direction."

"Mr. Carlyle..."

"Phillip," he interjects. He stops walking alongside her, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief. Until the warmth of fingers encircle her wrist and tug her to a stop. "Anne,"

She pulls free, whirling on him, eyes flashing. The cards she wanted to keep hidden are on full display now. Anyone walking by can see. Phillip can see and she'll care another time.

"I'm not ashamed of who I am," she says. But he is. He pulled away at the first glance. They never talked about this, about the undercurrent of electricity coursing between them. They don't talk about the stolen glances when the other isn't paying attention or the eye locking across the ring.

Anne had almost convinced herself they could work together and ignore it. Until she felt him move his hand closer tonight, until her fingers had a mind of their own. That first touch set her on fire.

"No." Phillip touches her again before she can jerk away, his fingertips light against her cheek. The desire to get as far away as possible dims and the rush of heat she'd felt when his hand had slipped over hers comes back. "I'm not ashamed."

"You -"

"It was poor judgment. I'm known for my lack of good sense." His lips tilt in a cautious smile. She can't do anything but stand still, feel his fingers dance across her jaw.

"People can see us now."

"Let them." Maybe she wasn't so wrong about him after all. The throb in her chest is still there, the uncertainty raging but there's something calming in his blue eyes. Something apologetic in his touch.

She doesn't know what else to say, she's not sure any words can be said. His hand leaves her face, replaced with the sharp air, and the sting of rejection pinches again. He doesn't step back, the soft pads of his fingers slip down to her hand and her eyes follow. She watches this time.

It's just as soft, just as hesitant when their hands touch, caress, and finally interlock. The moment doesn't come to an abrupt end. She takes the first step, keeping their hands together and he follows. Anne feels a tug at her lips as he walks steadily by her side. He isn't like the rest of them.