Chapter Text
England, 2025
The rain had been falling since early afternoon, one of those persistent English drizzles that never quite committed to a storm but refused to stop either. It tapped against the windows of the Clark house with irritating patience, streaking the glass in crooked lines and turning the sky a dull, colourless grey. Inside, the house smelled faintly of old books, laundry detergent, and the reheated remains of last night’s dinner.
And upstairs, in the smallest bedroom at the end of the hall, all hell had broken loose.
“You touched my laptop.”
Severine Clark stood near her desk, arms crossed so tightly across her chest it looked as though she were physically holding herself together. At twenty-five, she had mastered the art of looking exhausted and furious at the same time; dark circles under her eyes, hair hastily shoved into a messy knot, university hoodie hanging off her shoulders like a perpetual badge of stress. Her room reflected her life in chaos: stacks of academic books teetering dangerously, handwritten notes taped to the walls, half-finished mugs of tea cooling on every available surface.
Olympia Clark sat cross-legged on the bed, utterly unapologetic.
“I didn’t touch it,” Olympia said, chin lifted. “I used it.”
“You used it,” Severine repeated flatly.
Olympia, twelve years old and stubborn beyond her years, rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck that way. She had the unmistakable confidence of someone who had grown up being told she was a miracle baby; born thirteen years after she was supposed to be the last child, unexpected and therefore, in her mind, unstoppable.
“You weren’t here,” Olympia continued. “And my tablet was dead. And I needed to finish my homework.”
“My laptop,” Severine snapped, stepping closer, “is not a community resource.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Olympia shot back. “It’s literally just a computer.”
“It’s literally my thesis work,” Severine replied, voice rising. “You don’t just go snooping around on something like that!”
“I didn’t snoop!”
Severine gestured sharply toward the desk. “Then why were three of my folders open?”
Olympia’s mouth opened, then closed again. A split second of hesitation, barely noticeable, but Severine caught it instantly.
“Oh,” Severine said, tone dangerous now. “So you did look.”
Olympia slid off the bed, standing her ground despite being nearly a foot shorter. “I wasn’t trying to! They were already there.”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
“Well maybe if you didn’t treat your room like some kind of forbidden zone, I wouldn’t have to sneak in like a criminal!”
“I don’t sneak into your room and touch your stuff!”
“That’s because you don’t care about my stuff!”
The words hung in the air, sharper than either of them had intended.
For a moment, the only sound was the rain and the muffled hum of the television downstairs. Severine’s jaw tightened. Olympia’s hands curled into the sleeves of her jumper.
“That’s not true,” Severine said, quieter now, but no less tense.
“Oh, yeah?” Olympia challenged. “When was the last time you asked about school? Or my art? Or anything that wasn’t you being stressed about uni?”
Severine turned away, running a hand through her hair. She hated this part; the part where the argument slipped out of its usual, familiar groove and veered dangerously close to something real.
“I’m busy,” she said. “You know that.”
“You’re always busy,” Olympia shot back. “Ever since I can remember.”
“That’s unfair.”
“So is treating me like I’m invisible unless I mess something up!”
Severine spun back around. “You broke my charger last month!”
“It was an accident!”
“You didn’t even apologise!”
“I did apologise!”
“You said, ‘Oops.’”
“That counts!”
They were both breathing harder now, voices overlapping, emotions tangling into something messy and unmanageable. It was the same fight they’d had in different forms for years; too much space between them, too many unsaid things buried under sarcasm and shouting.
Olympia crossed her arms, mirroring Severine without even realising it. “You don’t even like me.”
Severine froze.
The room seemed suddenly too small, the walls pressing in. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You never want me around.”
“That’s not—”
“You act like I’m annoying all the time!”
“Because you are annoying,” Severine snapped, immediately regretting it.
Olympia’s face fell before she could hide it.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay.”
The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. Olympia turned toward the door, blinking rapidly, pretending very hard that she wasn’t affected at all.
Severine’s chest tightened.
She didn’t admit it (would never admit it) but the thought of Olympia actually leaving her room, of that small, stubborn presence disappearing behind the door, felt wrong in a way she couldn’t articulate.
“Wait,” Severine said.
Olympia paused, hand on the doorknob, without turning around.
Severine sighed, rubbing her temples. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Olympia shrugged, still not looking at her. “You meant it.”
“No,” Severine replied, softer now. “I didn’t.”
Another beat of silence.
“You drive me insane,” Severine continued. “You invade my space, you borrow things without asking, and you argue like it’s a sport.”
Olympia finally glanced back, suspicious.
“But,” Severine added, voice lowering, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
Olympia hesitated, then muttered, “You have a funny way of showing it.”
Severine huffed a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Well. I never said I was good at this.”
The tension didn’t disappear (far from it) but it shifted, settling into something quieter, more familiar. The kind of truce they were both used to.
Olympia let go of the door and leaned back against it. “I didn’t delete anything,” she said. “I swear.”
Severine nodded. “I know.”
They stood there, awkward and unresolved, bound together by blood, shared space, and a love neither of them knew how to express without turning it into a fight.