Grief had encased you for days now. You rarely left the confines of your room and when you did, it was for mere minutes to use the bathroom or get water. You would quickly return to your room, locking the door behind you so as not to be disturbed.
Polly had tried to get you to go to the shops with her, but you had politely declined. She had pushed you until you snapped and told her to leave you alone and stop interfering. She hadn’t tried to coax you out since. That was 2 days ago.
Your father had been close to the Shelby’s, a type of uncle to the brothers, and a brother figure to Polly. That, in turn, had meant that you grew up quite close to the troublesome family. You were the same age as Tommy, but had always been closer to John. Cleaning him up after fights in the school yard and covering for him when he was playing truant. This had blossomed into a beautiful friendship when you had both left school to join the real world. Until he had been called to fight.
You had stayed in touch, writing letters to keep each other up to date and he had kept an eye out for your father while they were away. But when the men had returned, John had been different. He distanced himself from you, keeping conversation short and quick. He had avoided you at all costs and you had slowly come to accept that the man who had returned from France was not the same man that you had hugged goodbye at the train station when he went. It hurt but you had been so busy helping Polly run shop, minding Finn and doing your own work that you hadn’t had a chance to upset yourself too much.
Your father knew how much it had hurt you to lose John and many occasions you had found the pair arguing before John had seen you and left the room. Your father had told you to pay him no mind, told you he was a stupid little boy and not worth you upsetting yourself over. Who would have known that a month later you would kiss your father on the cheek for the last time before leaving for work, only to come home to the news that he had died after suffering a heart attack.
The funeral was tomorrow. Polly had brought in your dress this morning, hanging it on the door of your wardrobe, gave you a sympathetic smile and left. You sat up on the edge of your bed and stared at the black material. Absently, a tear rolled down your cheek and you swiped at it. With a sigh, you stood from the bed, deciding to make a cup of tea – your first proper drink in days.
The kitchen had fallen quiet the moment you had entered it. All of the Shelby family had seemed to take over your house, taking responsibility for preparing the funeral and arranging everything so that you didn’t have to. You appreciated that. If it had been left to you, nothing would have been done.
Cautiously looking around at the people in your kitchen, you made your way to the hob, noticing how the steam still rose from the pipe. Polly must have already made a round before you had come out.
You felt a presence to your left and noticed the figure reaching out to you, a cup in hand. You look up and meet the blue eyes of John. The familiar irises which you had almost forgotten the sight of. His face held an apologetic, sad smile but you couldn’t even bring yourself to acknowledge this act. Face remaining solemn and still, blank of all expression. You watch his eyes fall to look at the ground temporarily before rising back to your face again.
‘Do you want me to make it?’ he asks quietly as the other people in the room begin to leave or busy themselves. Your eyes flicker to the retreating figures for a moment, watching the sunlight peak in through the door as people filed through.
‘No’ your voice doesn’t sound like your own when you answer, hoarse and broken from lack of use over the past few days.
‘Y/N, let me help, you’re shaking’ he pushes you and you feel your anger begin to stew.
‘You want to help me now? How kind of you John, the good Samaritan. What? Acknowledging my presence now that my father has dropped dead?’ you spit viciously.
You take the cup out of his hand and place it on the counter. John can see the tears begin to fall in rapid concession down your cheeks and tries to pull you into him, his arms wrapping around your small, shaking frame. But you push away, desperately trying to calm yourself in order to make your drink and leave.
‘Leave me alone’ you whisper ‘please, just leave me alone’. You hear John gulp, watching from the corner of your eye as he walks away, head bowed. You had half expected the door to slam behind him, but it doesn’t. In fact, it closes more gently than even you would have the ability to. You huff in frustration, finishing your drink and returning, once again, to your room, choosing to remain there until the next morning.
-------------------------------------------------------
The funeral had been a blur of tears, kind words, people giving you their condolences and Polly constantly checking to see if you were okay. Up until now, you had managed to get through fine. No tears had fallen and you had managed to be a seemingly figure of comfort to those who were upset by the loss – mostly your aunt, who cried dramatically throughout the service, despite her having not spoken to your father for several years.
The wake was to be, of course, held at The Garrison, and so Polly accompanied you in the car to the grim building where your father had spent a good majority of his life. Almost everyone had arrived before you, watching quietly as you entered, Pol linking her arm through yours to guide you to the bar. She inclined her head, subtly asking if you wanted to go to the back room where the Shelby’s usually spent their time, but you shook your head ferociously.
‘This is where my father made most of his friends. These people are here to pay their respects. I will not sit, holed up in a corner, avoiding them all’ you explain and Polly nods, acknowledging you with a smile.
Somewhere throughout the night, Polly had drank one too many whiskeys and ended up sat on a table, singing her heart out with two of the men from the stables in the next village.
You smiled, watching her from your stool at the end of the bar. Harry would keep coming over to see whether you were okay, and the more drunk the men got, the more frequently and recurrently they approached you to offer their respects. You smiled politely each time, thanking them and watching them return to their tables. John was sat at the other end of the room and occasionally, his eyes would meet yours. Only briefly before you would look away and continue taking in your surroundings. Eventually, he stood to approach the bar and top up his glass.
However, he made a detour, coming to stand in front of you and giving you no choice but to look at him.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, acting as though your outburst yesterday had never happened. You sigh, taking a breath before answering.
‘As okay as I can be’ you half-heartedly reply. John moves to take the seat next to you, obviously having decided that your tone today is much calmer than the one you spoke to him with yesterday.
He sits with you in silence for a few minutes, the both of you letting out a small chuckle when Polly shouts about wanting to sing another song.
‘I’m sorry…for yesterday’ you say quietly, staring straight ahead but you know John heard you. He turns to face you and you mirror him.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me’ he begins and you go to cut him off but he holds up a hand.
‘Please, let me say this. God knows I might not have the guts to again’ he insists and you just nod. John sits up straighter, wrapping both of his hands around his class, staring hard at the contents as he talks.
‘When I was there, in France…you were the only thing that got me through. You were the only pure thing in my life. The only thing that wasn’t tainted by crime or blood or hatred and anger. So when I came back, I didn’t want to infect you with that. With that darkness that came back with me. People don’t think it affected me, but it did. And I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I thought that by avoiding you and pushing you away, you might have a chance at staying pure. But I realise now I only dragged you further into the darkness with me. I’ve loved you since we were little and play fighting in the back gardens or chasing each other down the hill. And I’m just sorry that you couldn’t come to me when you needed me’ he finishes, taking a long swig of his drink and trying to avoid looking at you.
You stare at him, completely shocked at his declaration.
‘My father was right, John Shelby, you are a bloody idiot’ you utter, watching in joy as his head lifts and his eyes meet yours, confusion on his face. His mouth open in questioning.
‘Why do you think it hurt me so much when you avoided me? I wasn’t just losing my bestfriend, I was losing the love of my life too’ you declare, tears brimming in your eyes as you watch his face light up.
‘I didn’t think you would feel…I didn’t know you loved…Y/N, I didn’t…’ he stutters and you chuckle quietly.
‘Shut up John. Shut up and kiss me’ you beg, watching him stand from his stool and move closer to you, his hands coming to rest on your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours.