Beyond Love - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

"What are you looking at, Chip?" Rose asked gently, her gaze following the boy's before he jumped with a start—shy and embarrassed.
"Nothing. I-It's nothing."
He backed away from the window which he had been looking out of, resting his feet which had been on tiptoes for the past couple of minutes. "I, um. I just thought that I'd look at the snow," He continued quietly, glancing outside once more as if in search for something—before turning back to his sister.
Rose laughed softly, reaching out to smooth her little brother's hair. "Okay. But you shouldn't stand by the window. Come, let's sit by the fireplace with Shea. It's not every day that we get to see her, right?"
Chip nodded, taking her hand.
He looked up to see her smile, at it seemed out of place for a moment there—for he could also hear the angry words from his mother upstairs.
There was little understanding in those words. He didn't hear them often.
After all, his father didn't visit very often, either.
.
It had been a three years since that cold Christmas night; the night he met someone he thought special.
Little had changed.
Left-over bread occupied the heated oven, the white whir of ovens filling the air along with the sweet scent of waffles and vanilla; a tiny creak in his steps as he descended the wooden stairs from the second floor to the bakery below; the warmth of his sister's fingers as she held his own in the heart of her hand.
And beside the ovens, tucked away behind bags of flour, leaning against the heated sides of the machines to keep it warm—
Was a bag of two hot cross buns.
The eight-year-old had never really questioned why their bakery sold hot cross buns all-year round.
They didn't seem like a popular pick, and neither did they sit very well with his tummy either. So the little one found it rather strange every time he insisted that those remained in the regular selection of bread—for he had begun to wonder where such an insistence arose.
His heart?
But Chip was far too young to understand what the heart was;
How it worked, or how it seemed to ache sometimes and then beat so fast—
Just like how it would, as he recalled, every winter day as he packed those left-over buns into a paper bag.
Only to eat it by himself the very next day,
Quite alone.
He never saw that boy—or the girl—ever again.
Not since that cold winter night.
There was a time when he began to question if it was merely a figment of his imagination; something like a dream...the things that he saw in his head late at night.
For indeed, it did feel like something out of a dream—a tale.
The things that Rose would read to him before bed.
But now, as she led him to the fireplace where the rest of their siblings sat, feeling contented with a simple cup of hot cocoa in their hands and a plate of Christmas cookies in the middle, on the floor—
He seemed a little less alone.
Chip's heart lent little understanding to his confused mind, struggling with emotions he couldn't quite comprehend but also slightly relieved that he wasn't able to, for which child liked to live in a complex mind?
.
Letting go of Rose's hand as she sat down on the floor between Hansel and Gretel to split the last cookie into two to stop them from whining, Chip made his way quietly to the window once more.
He peered outside, tiny breath fogging up the glass just a little.
The windows were laced with frost, and it was cold to touch when his small fingers pressed against them.
"Chip? What are you looking at?" His oldest brother asked, tugging him away from the window. "Sit down."
It was strange;
Because Chip didn't know what he was looking at.
There was nothing to look at.
There was no one there.
"He's looking at the snow," Rose replied for her little brother, stroking his head once in a fond manner. She didn't tell him to sit.
Rose was right, however.
Of course Chip was looking at the snow—
What else could he be looking at?
There was no one on the street.
There was nothing there.
And perhaps Chip had begun to understand the differences between dreams and reality, beginning to sort out where things were, and where they were supposed to be.
Perhaps things like Love and hopes were meant to belong in the realm of dreams; tucked away in a place so safe, no one could touch...
Not even reality.
So what did reality consist of, then?
Chip never really answered that question.
He simply gazed out of the window, standing on tiptoes, cheeks slightly flushed, and eyes—expectant.
As if waiting for a friend.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You have no idea how cute you looked when you were young," I said over dinner one day—thoughts lost but found as I noticed that my gaze had not left Chip since the start of the evening.
God, I was hungry.
Still am; I know.
Even though I just ate a whole dish of the most amazing baked pasta in the world.
"W-What?" My angel looked up from his cup of blueberry yoghurt, a faint blush dusting his ears. "Does that mean I'm not cute anymore?"
Giselle shook her head immediately, unable to speak with her mouth full of pasta and cheese.
"That's not what I meant," I laughed lowly, reaching over in attempt to feel some part of him under my fingertips.
It was a strange desire for connection—as if somehow, words weren't enough to reach him.
This all made little sense to my sullied mind and tainted heart; and I felt as if a part of me was being tampered, weakened—strengthened.
Chip didn't look very surprised at my hand that reached across to brush a bit of his fringe to the side.
He smiled.
"I know," He said softly, eyes...filled with a simple contentment. "I was just kidding."
"Wow, since when?" I laughed, only to have him pout and push my hand away gently.
"Mean!"
"But really, your smile—"
Didn't seem like it belonged to this hellish world.
Chip blinked, tilting his head to the side when I couldn't get the words out of my mouth.
Nothing seemed to suffice, at that point of time.
But it was the filled silence that proceeded to lull the unsaid words to our quiet hearts—and that, in itself, was loud enough for us to hear.
"Hm," My angel resumed his attention to the blueberry yoghurt that I bought for him on the way home from coaching at Rivendell. "I don't believe you though! I-it's not possible that you can remember how I looked like exactly. That was so many years ago!"
Sixteen.
Sixteen years—but yes...
How strange it must be that I can remember.
"Maybe Xandie's lying," Giselle piped up nonchalantly with a shrug, and I knew she only said that to take Chip's side.
My angel laughed, and even Berry barked. By the way, what is with animals understanding everything we say?
I rolled my eyes. "It's rude to talk while having food in your mouth."
"I don't have any food in my mouth, see?" She opened her mouth and I told her that she was as hopeless as the volleyball players I had been coaching for a little more than a month.
Before she could come up with a retort, the doorbell rang in a surprising manner—partly because we rarely had any visitors.
Berry rushed to the door, barking twice.
Chip and I exchanged looks.
"I'll get it," I reassured, rising from my seat. My angel nodded, but his eyes cast a wavering light. "It's probably a salesman or something."
He laughed, nodding in quiet agreement.
It was cold outside—another reason to be suspicious of this sudden visitor, but I brushed it off, opening the door to let Berry out and she flew towards the gate, unfazed by the cold.
There was a young lady standing at the gate. She looked around the same age as me, or maybe younger.
Being—well—being me, I frowned.
Our gazes met and her face lit up with a perfect smile.
"Hi! I just moved here yesterday. Not the best timing, huh?" She laughed, tilting her head to the side and glancing at the two snowmen that Chip and Giselle had built in our front yard. "I swear it's the coldest winter ever."
I nodded carefully. "Yeah. Welcome to the neighborhood."
It was definitely apparent by now that I wasn't in the mood to talk or entertain her. After all, I wasn't the perfect converser when I deemed talking unnecessary.
She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "Did I interrupt your dinner?"
"No."
"Ah, I see."
Was she going to stand here forever?
I saw that she was holding a pink pastry box of some sort, so I asked if she liked baking. After all, anyone who baked couldn't be that bad. Right?
"Oh, yes! I almost forgot. I was going to give this to you since we'll be neighbors from now on," She handed me the box through a gap in the grills of the gate, adjusting the scarf around her neck once more. "I baked these myself! Hope they'll be to your liking..."
She looked up at me after batting her lashes once. "Do you live here alone?"
I glanced at the fancy pink box, feeling slightly uncomfortable as the color didn't sit well with the monster in my heart.
"Thanks. And no, actually. I'll be sure to share it with my sister and my husband."
Her smile disappeared and a strange frown replaced the once pretty perfect face.
As if ashamed that she let slip her guard, she forced another smile. "S-Sorry?"
I remember saying—quite a long time ago—how I detested fake smiles.
"No, I don't live alone," I repeated slowly, feet starting to feel the freeze. "And I will share your kind gift with my husband and sister."
She stilled.
Then, began to laugh awkwardly. "Wow, you sure like to joke a lot, hahaha! You, well—you got me there!"
Berry had stopped wagging her tail for quite some time, as if she had sensed the tension that drew taut between us both.
"Well...uh. I better be going. It's really, really freezing, gosh," She pretended to shiver. "Remember to eat the cupcakes!"
She turned in the opposite direction—
Then turned back. "Wait!"
I almost let out a sigh, but remembered the many times that Chip told me I was being too rude to others.
"Yes...?"
"It would be a pity not to ask for your name! Silly me." She smiled that perfect smile and adjusted her scarf yet again.
"Jaxon."
I didn't ask for hers; and it was obvious that I didn't really bother since I instinctively said my last name instead of my first.
"Ah," She seemed pleased. "I'm Rachel. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Mmhm, same," I said simply, and Berry was starting to sniff the box warily.
"See you around!" She waved over her shoulder, walking to the terrace on the opposite side of the road.
I watched as she went, the most disturbing thought crawling in my mind.
She had lied more than three times in a span of mere two minutes.
It was so obvious to me because lying wasn't uncommon in the world I used to live in—surrounded by people who twisted facts for wealth; hid trade secrets for a convenient blackmail.
Of course, it could have just been me who was overthinking.
It might have been a habit of hers to touch her neck or her ears and speak in such a strange manner as if the conversation had been planned—just not constructed because I wasn't stupid enough to give her the answer she wanted but—
Thrice?
It disturbed me so much.
She was pretty, I'd give her that.
Though maybe being pretty was just a safe mask she could hide behind.
Berry sniffed the box once more—then, as if disgusted, she ran away.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Angel, you ready?" I called from downstairs, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the second floor. "The bags are in Blake's car—he and Ace are waiting for us."
"Uwa, coming! Hold on..."
There was the sound of the door closing, and him bumping into the banister with a soft yelp.
"Slow down," I laughed, taking his haversack. "We don't want you to be getting injured even before stepping into America."
Chip pouted. "W-Well! Sorry for being clumsy, I'm not as cool or...agile as you are."
"What—you want me to hold your hand as we walk down the street or something?" I teased, checking the switches once more to ensure that they were off before joining my angel at the hallway.
"That's not what I meant!" He protested in embarrassment, taking my coat from the coat hanger and passing it to me quickly.
I laughed, slipping it on.
Then, if hearts could smile—
My angel wrapped a black checkered scarf around his neck, face glowing with content.
He caught me looking at him, and hurried to declare that the scarf was his.
"It's mine, r-right? I...I mean, you gave it to me."
He looked away, as if unsure.
But what could I say, then?
That yes, perhaps—the scarf was still mine. Though I'd point out soon after that something which had been in his hands for more than five years was more likely to have become his in the end; though I had not intended it to be.
What was I talking about again?
The scarf?
Or my heart?
It seemed...almost like the same thing.
"I didn't give it to you," I began, and Chip's smile faltered for a moment.
"It's been yours for the longest time."
I don't think he knew what I was really referring to.
"O-Oh," His face lit up with a smile made out of sunshine. "Really? I...wow that was so cheesy, uwa. But thank you!"
"It's very warm," Chip laughed softly, nuzzling into the fabric.
No. No it's not, actually.
It's kind of cold.
And dark.
"Oi! Lovebirds, hurry up!" Blake called from outside, and I rolled my eyes.
He just had to.
"S-Sorry!" Chip apologized, fishing out his gloves from a nearby drawer before saying that we should hurry. "I forgot we were taking a plane—I-I mean, I've never taken a plane before."
"Great occasion then, don't you think? Since we're going to finally get registered," I took his hand that held my heart;
And all of me, really.
My angel laughed. "Ah, but I'm a little nervous...um, aren't you?" He asked, glancing up to meet my gaze.
"Everything's going to be fine," I locked the door behind us, pulling him along as I felt the chill of winter on the tips of my ungloved fingers—warmed by my fiancé's.
I didn't answer his question.
Partly because I believed he knew the answer.
He had it in his hands—
Beating a little louder, going a little faster;
And then stopping—
For another.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I used to think
That a heart stops for death
But I guess it could also stop
For another heart.
As if waiting
For it to start.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"I'm a little worried about Giselle..." Chip fidgeted in the window seat beside me, glancing nervously around the interior of the plane as the pilot's message came on. "We'll be away for more than four days. Y-You think she'll be okay?"
I smiled reassuringly, running a hand through his soft hair.
"Didn't she tell you specifically to enjoy yourself?" I pointed out, recalling from this morning when we dropped her off at Rose's.
"Besides, Giselle's all grown up now, as she reminded me yesterday," I added with a resigned roll of my eyes. "There's nothing to be worried about."
Chip sighed, looking away. "I...I guess."
The safety instructions came on.
Resting a finger under his chin, I turned him to face me—meeting his gaze. "What is it?"
"It's just...I've been thinking about what Giselle said this morning. About wishing she could see us together."
I smiled.
"Listen, I've been talking to her about—"
"Excuse me Sir, would you please put on your seatbelt?" A flight attendant interrupted with a smile, making Chip nervous all of a sudden.
"I'm so sorry," He apologized as the attendant moved on with wave. "Xan! Why didn't you say anything? Uwa I almost forgot we were on a plane," My angel panicked quietly, fishing for the seatbelt on his left and right only to be confused as to where to slot them into place.
I laughed.
"That's because you're always so busy thinking about other people and not yourself!" I leaned over, reaching across his seat to tighten the strap for him.
"I! I don't...I don't do that..."
"So hopeless," I teased.
"Well, at least I have someone who looks out for me then," Chip retorted shyly, and I almost fucking blushed.
Those two words don't go together.
Before the heat rose to my cheeks, I quietened my heart with a sigh—trying my best to pay attention to the safety instructions that I've heard many a time.
"Then I hope out of all people, you think about me the most," I thought out loud with a smirk.
And of course, Chip quickly looked out of the window—ears red.
God, this almost feels unreal.
I'm not used to this feeling—
The absence of a harsh reality.
I think I said it too soon.
"The people in America are so friendly," Chip noted in quiet relief as soon as we were out of earshot.
Quite lost, we had asked around for directions to the taxi stand after wandering around for some time. We were fortunate to have met approachable people who were more than willing to help.
My fiancé had been fidgety ever since we boarded the plane—flooding me with questions about the people there and whether they were 'mean' or 'actually really cute and friendly' along the way.
I didn't know exactly how to answer his questions.
After all, the people I had met in business weren't exactly those you'd see on the street.
Basically, they weren't 'cute and friendly'.
Before I could tell him that I wasn't the best person to ask, Chip had come to the conclusion that he shouldn't stereotype anyone he was about to meet anyway—since expectations would either fall short or be exceeded and tamper with his attitude towards others.
Then I realized that he was actually talking to himself.
And then I went back to sleep.
"There was nothing to worry about, right?" I nudged him gently with a knowing smile. "The man from before said something about a Starbucks near the taxi stand. Shall we get something warm to drink? It's freezing outside."
Chip nodded with a spark in his eyes at the sound of Starbucks.
It was a rare treat for him since they didn't have a store back home, and Chip didn't go to the city very often.
"Okay! I'll just share a drink with you," He piped, trying to look indifferent but failing to hide his excitement anyway.
We spotted Starbucks soon after; the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as we entered the store.
There was a small queue in front of the counter, and the tables were occupied by couples and friends alike; taking some time to rest before or after their flight.
"What would you like?" I glanced over at my angel—who was getting starry-eyed just by looking at the menu written in chalk above the counter.
"I...I don't really...is there anything with chocolate? I mean, I know you don't like hot chocolate so...we can't possibly share that."
I laughed.
He was thinking about me after all.
"How about a mocha, then?"
Chip nodded with a smile, and we waited in line together.
That's so strange.
I wonder if anyone does that—queueing along with someone else even if you didn't have to get anything;
But just because you wanted to be with them a little longer.
.
"Welcome to Starbucks!" A cheery young lady behind the counter greeted with a smile. "Your order?"
"Can we have a white chocolate mocha? Grande please."
"Milk?"
"Whole I guess," I laughed, glancing down at Chip who seemed confused already. He probably wouldn't like the non-fat milk. "And it's a yes to whipped cream."
She laughed with me.
"Sounds good. Your name?" She picked up a marker and a Grande cup.
"Is it possible to write two?" I asked. "Xander and Chip."
The cashier thought for a second, then started writing on the cup. "Xander with an X? I'll make it short and sweet so—Xip is kinda cute."
She grinned to herself in an adorable manner, as if proud of her creativity before passing the cup to one of the baristas. "That'll be four-fifty."
I was about to pass her a five when she leaned over the counter to say, in a tone that revealed her hard-to-conceal excitement, "You two are so cute."
Chip's face dusted red immediately, and I rolled my eyes—telling her to keep the change.
.
It was awkward when our new name was called.
.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly at this point of time; and not even the chilled breeze that swept past could dampen our spirits as we made our way to the taxi stand.
A couple walked towards us—laughing, lost in another world that was their own.
They were holding hands; gripped tightly, as if it wasn't enough.
They passed us soon after, and perhaps it was on a whim—or maybe I was just being slightly jealous—but I took my angel's hand in mine.
He jumped, startled; but didn't look up to meet my gaze.
I passed him the mocha, and he sipped at it shyly.
At first, I thought it was my imagination—that people were giving us strange looks.
Not all. Maybe just a few.
We arrived at the stand and waited in line for a taxi.
The woman in front of us had a toddler in hand, and the moment he saw us—hands held and everything—he asked, in a rather loud voice, why we were holding hands.
His mother hushed him quickly, turning him around to face the front.
Basically, everyone else in the queue was craning their necks to look at us now, thanks to him. But what could I say? He was just a kid. It happens a lot.
"Hush Riley," The woman said in a gentle tone, then she turned around to stare at our hands.
She did nothing; just stared, with really huge eyes.
I think someone behind us snickered—but it could have been my imagination.
It was also strange that no one seemed to tell the kid that it was okay to hold hands with anyone as long as they were both willing.
After all why did anyone need a reason to hold hands?
My angel's smile faltered at the boy's question, and his hand went limp in mine.
He glanced up at me, and then, with a sad smile—let go of my hand.
He's probably thinking that again.
I bet he is—
"Let's not cause trouble for others..." He said softly, tiptoeing a little to give me a peck on the cheek.
Then, he took a small step away from me.
Small.
Small,
But noticeable.