Archive of Our Own

It happens on a perfectly average Saturday afternoon. 

Colin is hungry — per usual as Pen would say — and he convinces everyone to pile into the old Subaru so they can get ice cream. Not that he really has to twist anyone’s arm. It’s late September but they’ve hit an odd heat wave. The temperature has been in the mid to high 30s this entire week. The four of them decided to escape to the country for a little bit of relief.

Only to discover that Anthony had already had the maintenance staff at Aubrey Hall pull out all the air conditioners and close up the pool for the season. El and Colin had tried to needle their brother over the phone to fix the situation. Yet he had vehemently refused. Especially when he heard they were only there for a long weekend. Anthony had simply let them know where to find the fans and wished them the best of luck. Then rudely hung up the phone.

In all fairness to Ant, the fans do help. But they don’t exactly cut the humidity and stickiness as much as they had all hoped. So ice cream, as a temporary solution to beat the heat, was quickly approved. 

Eloise and Phillip have already purchased their treats and have slipped away from the outdoor counter to go find a table. Penelope chose to stay behind with Colin while he debates between a brownie sundae with all the fixings or a three-scoop bowl.

“I don’t think I understand the issue, Colin,” Penelope mutters as she waves another group to cut ahead of them in line. “Just pick one.”

“Pen,” Colin groans dramatically. “This is a fundamental quandary. It’s the battle between tradition and modernity!” She scoffs heavily at this but Colin soldiers on. “On the one hand we have the never ending quest for variety. I could experience three, new exciting flavors! Dig deeper into the ingenuity of man!” Colin swings his arms up to encompass the totality of this little ice cream stand alongside the road.  Like who here created ‘Rainbow Ribbon’ and what, exactly, does that taste like? 

Colin has to know.

“But on the other hand, I could have something classic. Timeless. A dessert perfectly crafted over generations to feature a perfect square of decadently rich brownie, scoops of refreshing vanilla ice cream to counterbalance, all topped with whipped cream, nuts, hot fudge, and cherries. How could I resist the pull of such a tempting combination that never fails to hit the spot?”

Penelope greets the end of his monologue with a frown.

“This explains so much about your personality,” his friend grouses. Pen even puts her hands on her wide hips and rolls her ice blue eyes at him in mock annoyance. 

Colin simply laughs. While it’s true he is having trouble deciding, he’d also known his indecision would get on Pen’s last nerve. It’s entirely possible he’s hamming it up just because he enjoys pulling her pigtails. Metaphorically, anyway. Pen has her voluminous red hair thrown up into a large clip at the back of her head. In the last 24 hours she’s already threatened to lop it all off at least thirteen times due to the heat. El had driven Pen to the local convenience store at nearly midnight last night in a panic. Even promised to foot the bill for the emergency hair supplies, so long as Pen’s purchases did not involve scissors. 

Colin’s mobile vibrates in his pocket, pulling him back to the present. He fishes the phone out, expecting an update from El about where their table is.

Except that’s not what greets him when Colin looks at his home screen.

It’s a Google photos notification.

It says “Remember When?” in thick black font with a little photo clip beside it. The photo shows a tiny rendering of a younger Colin perched on top of his father’s shoulders. His skinny legs rest against his dad’s broad chest and his skinny arms are resting on his dad’s head. Same dark brown hair, same dark blue eyes. They’re even mugging for the camera in exactly the same way, two twin smiles radiating out pure excitement and joy. 

Colin has seen this photo a million times since his dad died. A copy of it sits in a frame on his nightstand at his flat. He even has a smaller, travel version that he puts beside every bed he sleeps in when he’s abroad. It’s currently propped up against a table lamp in his bedroom back at Aubrey Hall.

Remember When?

Of course he bloody remembers that day. They had been at the carnival all day and Colin’s feet were practically ready to fall off. But he wanted to keep up with Ant and Ben, desired at least two more rollercoaster rides, and ached to smash the living daylights out of his brothers’ bumper cars. Dad could tell his energy couldn’t keep pace with his plans though. So he’d scooped Colin up and carried him from ride to ride as the end of the day drew to a close.  

Remember When?

All Colin worries about is that he won’t remember. That he won’t remember that magical day. Won’t remember the pungent, slightly too spicy smell of his dad’s aftershave or the brilliant cornflower blue of his kind eyes. Colin worries that when he has kids, they’ll ask about Grandpa Edmund and Colin won't be able to fully capture the essence of such an incredible man. That his stories will lack the detail and heart needed to explain how special his father truly was. 

“Colin?”

Colin looks up from his phone screen. Everything in front of him swims, blurry and unfocused. Oh. He’s crying. Colin closes his eyes, trying to blot away the tears, but when he reopens them all he can see is Pen’s startled face. Those familiar eyes twisted into an unfamiliar shape of fear and concern. 

Shit. He didn’t mean to ruin their outing. Dad has been dead for eighteen years now. This is embarrassing. He can’t believe he’s getting choked up after all this time. Colin tries to come up with a joke. He opens his mouth to make fun of himself. Something about being a mess? Or maybe something about how Google is a fucking menace? Throw in a rant about AI being the absolute worst while he’s at it.

But nothing comes out.

Pen steps closer and puts a gentle hand on his wrist. The one still holding his phone out in front of him. She looks down quizzically at the now black screen for a moment and then returns her gaze back to his face.

“Hey, come on. Let’s get out of line,” Pen’s hold gets firmer and she tugs at him. Colin stumbles behind her. He focuses on her hair because it helps him not think about his dad. Red isn’t an Edmund Bridgerton color. It firmly and irrevocably belongs to Penelope. He can’t think about his dead dad if he’s thinking about Pen.

So Colin zeros in on the outline of her curls. Notes the way her new green hair clip digs deep into her hair, simultaneously holding so much of it in place and failing to control her volume in others. He tries to count the tiny plastic teeth but they are buried too deep for Colin to get a proper look.

Penelope drags them around the side of the building where there are no customers. Just the side of the building and a tall chain link fence working in tandem to create a secluded alleyway. The overhang to the roof even gives it some shade out of the oppressive sun that's been beating down on them in the car park. Pen turns around and grabs his phone. She tucks it swiftly into the pocket of her denim shorts. Then she grabs both his hands in each of her own. Squeezes them tightly.

“Okay, let it out,” Pen whispers.

Colin didn’t know he was waiting for permission. But as soon as she says it, a sob bursts from his chest. Then another. Colin tugs his hands out from Pen’s and uses them to cover his face as he starts crying in earnest. His shoulders and chest heave in jerky time to each racking exhale of pain. It gets harder to breathe as his nose fills up with snot. Colin can even feel it beginning to drip down onto his face and hands. Brilliant.

A weight settles onto his abdomen. Soft and warm and Pen-shaped. Her arms curl around his waist and she squeezes him tightly to her. 

“I’ve got you Colin. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. He’s not okay. Everything is wrong.

His dad should be here. He’d order a coffee milkshake, extra thick, as well as a spare spoon. Dad would constantly try to swipe bites from each of his kids’ desserts, demanding they pay the “Dad Tax”. Colin would always use his scrawny arms to try and box out that sniping spoon. 

Now? If given the chance, Colin would go back in time and happily pay the tax. He'd give his father every damn bite if he wanted. Because Edmund was a fantastic dad. One of the best. He deserved to be repaid tenfold for all the happiness and joy he brought to Colin and his family. 

Colin sobs harder into his hands at the thought. Christ, he’d been so selfish! How could he not share his ice cream with his dad?

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. Keep going.” Pen starts sweeping a hand up and down Colin’s back, pressing firmly against his quaking muscles as he cries. 

Colin does keep going. Though not exactly by choice. It’s a necessity at this point. He expects important dates to set him off— birthdays, anniversaries, and new milestones. Colin can prepare for those. But this fucking picture has sideswiped him completely out of the blue. All the memories scrape and tear into him on this otherwise perfectly ordinary day. 

They say time heals all wounds. But it doesn’t. Not really. At least, not in Colin’s experience. The wound is still a bleeding, bloody mess. It just takes longer each time for the bandage to fall off and reveal how little has scabbed over. 

At thirty, Colin is still the same heartbrokened little boy that didn’t sleep in his own bed for nearly two years. He’d sneak into one of his younger siblings’ rooms every night and interrupt their weeping. Slide in beside them and hold them tight to his chest so at least they weren’t left alone with their grief. He supposes they all thought Colin was just being kind. A dutiful older brother. But the truth is, he was desperately seeking out that comfort too. He was the one that couldn’t handle being alone with his thoughts and his feelings. Especially the darker ones. 

Not to mention Colin always felt better about all of it when he could be useful. When his grief could serve a purpose.  Colin couldn’t drown in it if he was too busy using it as a life raft to keep his family afloat. 

But there isn’t anyone here he can comfort. There’s no one here to save. No way for Colin to twist his grief into something productive. It just hurts. Everything hurts. Each breath is wet and shuddering. His nose is useless, too stuffed to pull in any sort of oxygen. His head is a tumultuous cacophony of self-recrimination and pity. Colin truly thinks the current would pull him under if not for Pen. She is his buoy. His port in the storm. She has him. 

“Pen!” Colin sobs. He tears his hands away from his face and wraps them around her body. His fingers dig and scramble against her back, trying to pull her closer. Colin’s knees bend absurdly low just so he can bury his face against the curve of her shoulder. He chokes each one of his sobs into the white cotton fabric of her T-shirt. 

Pen sort of sways beneath him. She stumbles back a couple feet and suddenly Colin’s feet are in one place and the top half of him in another. He stumbles forward on his bent knees, but it’s awkward and shambling. His knees knock into Pen’s legs which has them both swaying and stumbling some more.

“Okay, I know I said I have you, but you are actually too heavy for me to hold,” Pen laughs out nervously. Christ. Colin is an idiot. He shouldn’t be leaning on Pen. Their bodies don’t fit at all like this. Tiny thing like her? Colin is liable to crush her. 

“I’m sorry!” Colin croaks. He tries to lift himself off her. Attempts to sweep himself up into a semblance of dignity and composure.

“No! No, don’t be sorry! I just mean we should sit,” Pen clarifies. Her hands refuse to let him pull away. In fact, she pushes down hard on his shoulders with a strength Colin isn’t sure he knew she was capable of. His already bent legs capitulate easily and just fold further from there. They both land a bit hard on their knees onto the asphalt. “Ouch! Shit. Sorry, Colin. That— that worked out a little better in my head,” Pen says nervously. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Colin sniffles. Even though he’s pretty sure when he next looks there are going to be little red cuts all over his knees.

“Come on,” Pen says. She shuffles backwards a bit so she can get her back up against the wall to the ice cream parlor and then she slides down onto her butt. All the while Pen drags him along by his hands clasped tight between her own again. He’s not quite sure how or when that happened. The hand holding. But he follows her lead regardless. Colin shuffles forward on his knees — yeah, no hope for those, his skin is going to be scrape city — and parks himself beside her. 

“There we go! Much better,” Pen says brightly. 

Ugh. Colin loves her but honestly he wants to tell Pen to shove it. He doesn’t feel better at all. He’s hollow. Scooped out. His eyes are puffy and he can’t stop the fucking snot from dribbling down his nose. Even his throat feels a bit tender from all his sobbing. 

He’s also increasingly annoyed that they aren’t touching anymore. Colin had to drop her hands when he went to sit. Half because he stupidly thought he might need them for balance and half because it just seemed awkward to continue to hold them (both logistically and emotionally). But now he’s kicking himself because his hands feel empty and itchy. 

Actually, all of him feels a bit achy now that Pen’s not holding him. There’s this crappy little slice of separation between their bodies. Colin’s wobbly legs accidentally listed him further over than he intended when he sat down. (His hands ended up being useless for balance, go figure). So now there is this gap that Colin desperately wants to close but he doesn’t know if that’s allowed. Maybe the hugging portion of this cry fest is over. Maybe they are just going to sit here in quiet contemplation. Maybe Pen is going to give him some more empty cheer. He doesn’t fucking know.

What he does know is that he feels bloody miserable. 

His pity party doesn’t last long however. Pen slides across that tiny crevice and erases the space between them. One hand reaches over his body and grasps onto his waist tightly, folding herself even closer into his side. And the other? Goosebumps break out along his neck as her fingers land there and then slide deep into his hair. She kind of curls her fingers to hold the stands in a loose fist. Not tight, necessarily, but firm. Uses her leverage to push his head to rest on top of hers. 

God. It’s too hot and sweaty for this sort of cuddling. And the top of Pen’s hair clip is digging painfully into his cheek. Yet Colin feels instantly better. He allows himself to melt into her embrace. 

It only stands to reason that if being held by Penelope feels good, that holding her back will make him feel even better. Colin wiggles his arm in between the wall and her back so he can wrap it around her. His hand pops out the other side and he clutches onto her hip. Not tight but firm. 

“I’m not going anywhere Colin,” Pen murmurs. The words dance out across his chest, where she’s burrowed up against his side.

“I know,” Colin responds. He means it earnestly but the words come out a little flat. Dull. Colin can’t summon enough energy to properly convey what he means. He is a husk with nothing left inside. 

“I have you,” she repeats. Pen squeezes his hip and her fistful of his hair in reassurance. She even lifts her leg and loops it over the top of his, tangling their legs together. These touch points help. The squeezing helps. Colin gives up on using his words. He grasps her leg with his free hand. Proceeds to splay all five fingers in a wide arc across her skin, right above the knee and just below the cutoff of her shorts. Then he presses in with his palm and squeezes her back just as tight. 

Colin hopes she can read the desperate thanks he is trying to convey with his grip.

Remember When?

A fresh wave of grief washes over Colin. His chin starts to shake as he tries to hold it in. But it’s a pointless endeavor. 

Colin begins to cry again in earnest, burying the sounds into Pen’s bright red hair.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Colin doesn’t know how long they have been sitting in this dusty alley. All he knows is that at some point his tears had finally petered out. Colin’s not sure if that was before or after his head had ended up in Pen’s lap. In all honesty he doesn’t remember how he came to be in this position. He likes it though. At least, the parts of him that are curled up safe on her thighs. Colin is steadfastly ignoring the rest of him that is splayed out against the dirty, pebbly asphalt of this alleyway.

And Colin particularly finds Pen’s fingers carding through his brown, sweaty curls to be the height of comfort. Nobody has played with his hair like this since he was a kid. Come to find out it’s still as calming now as it was back then.

“There you are! What’s— Pen? Colin?” Colin distantly hears his sister’s voice. Then her frenzied footsteps as she runs over to them. “What’s wrong?” She collapses in a heap in front of Colin, trying to peer into his face. He squeezes his eyes shut and burrows his face into Penelope’s thigh to escape. 

“Bad Dad day,” Pen says diplomatically.

“Oh,” Eloise says uneasily. Pen’s hand lifts out of his curls and Colin almost whimpers at the sudden absence. But then El swoops in to fill the void. He can tell because her fingers are longer and thinner than Pen’s. More hesitant. She doesn’t know to scrape her nails just right over his scalp. Still, it’s nice. 

They stay like that for a few quiet minutes. 

“Phil? Can you help us get him to the car?” Eloise says finally. Shit. Phil is here? Colin unburrows himself so he can swipe a hand over his eyes, trying to soak up any remaining tears.

“I can walk,” Colin insists in a husky rasp. He’s not that hard up. “I’m not helpless.”

“I hear you mate,” Phil says affably. Completely unruffled by Colin’s bite. “But all the same, I’d feel better if you let me help you up at least.” Colin’s hackles lower immediately at his kind but no-nonsense tone. Sometimes he forgets that Phillip isn’t a complete toxic knob like Colin’s old Eton school friends.

Eloise scoots out of the way and Phillip extends a large hand out in front of Colin. He reaches up to clasp it. Allows Phil to carefully haul him back up to standing. 

“How those legs feel?” Phil asks, his brown eyes sweeping curiously over Colin’s scraped and dirty knees.

“Fine. I’m fine,” Colin states. 

“Okay. But if, hypothetically, your legs were feeling a bit rubbery? It would be an excuse for you to put your hand over my shoulder. And we could walk out of this alley all silly-like. Make a bit of a spectacle, yeah?” 

Colin does like making a spectacle, it’s true. Phil? Less so. So Colin knows this is truly a one-of-a-kind offer. Still…

“Tempting,” Colin replies with a ghost of his usual smirk. “But like I said, I’m fine.” Eloise lets out a large huff of annoyance. It’s eerily similar to Pen’s. He wonders if one day the two friends will fuse together completely. Peneloise. Colin shudders in horror.

“Don’t be a prat, Colin!” Eloise wedges herself under his armpit so that she can get his arm up and over her own shoulders. Snags his waist with her claws like a frightened cat. “Last time I stayed in bed for a week watching episodes of Love Island and exclusively eating kimbap from that Korean place around the corner. I wish someone had been there to shove me into the shower.”

“Someone?” Penelope pipes up incredulously from behind them. “I was there,” When Colin looks over his shoulder, Phillip is pulling Pen up to her feet too. “Who do you think brought your food from the front door to your bedroom? And the two times I mentioned a shower you threw a slipper at my head!”

“Shush. I’m trying to make a point!” Eloise mock-whispers as she starts hauling Colin towards the exit to the alleyway. He forces himself to turn his face back towards the front so he doesn’t trip. 

“Love, I rather think Pen’s helping your case,” Phil says gently.

“Yet did she intervene in my terrible television watching habits? No. So my point still stands.” 

They exit the shaded protection of the alleyway and Colin immediately has to stop as the bright light hits his eyes, rendering them useless for a moment. He raises a hand over his brow to shield himself from the sun’s rays. Eloise, for once, waits patiently for Colin to get his shit together.

Instead it’s Phillip that jostles into him from behind. 

“Sorry mate!” He says as he strides past the Bridgertons. The jostling and hurrying isn’t the oddest part. It’s that Phil has got his arm swung around Pen’s shoulder and hers is likewise tucked around his waist. A matching set to Colin and Eloise. The height differential between the two of them, though, is more comical than when Pen’s standing next to Colin. Phil has an inch on him and still has a surprising amount of muscle and bulk left over from his former boxing days. It’s like watching a rehabilitated Doberman Pinscher  prance around with an energetic chihuahua. Colin watches in astonishment as the two of them giggle and begin doing Rockette styles kicks through the car park. 

They have absolutely no rhythm together. Even when Pen tries to implement a count for them, Phillip is wildly off beat. Thank god Eloise hates to dance. She would be doomed with Phillip otherwise.

“Look, they’re distracted,” Eloise says loudly, interrupting Colin’s thoughts that Pen would make a rather smashing (albeit pocket-sized) Rockette. “If we hustle we can beat them to the car.” Colin sniggers and allows Eloise to pick up their pace. His dormant Bridgerton competitive streak activates like a sleeper agent. Colin falls into lockstep with El, their stride becoming a perfect three-legged march. 

“Oy! Phil, I think they’re trying to race us!” Pen shouts as Colin and Eloise easily outstrip them where they’re bumbling around like drunk toddlers. Colin feels infinitely lighter as they rush by and delights in Eloise throwing pointed barbs over her shoulder at her boyfriend and her best friend. 

Then all the sudden Colin hears huffing and the thud of footsteps. He doesn’t even have time to turn around before Phil goes charging past them with Pen clinging to his back. Phil has a tight grip on her legs where they’re resting on either side of his hips and Pen’s arms are locked around his neck. Colin’s mouth drops open in surprise. 

“Ta-ta Bridgertons!” Pen hollers. She gives them a stiff, royal wave behind her back. At that, Colin and Eloise collapse against each other in helpless giggles. He’s not exactly sure who is holding up whom anymore. 

“Your friends are ridiculous,” Colin mutters, wiping away tears of laughter this time. Then reaches over and does the same for Eloise.

“My friends?” Eloise asks incredulously. She gets them moving back in the direction of the car. “Nuh uh. Not a chance. Those clowns are absolutely your friends at the moment.”

Eloise might have a point. Because by the time they make it over to the car, Pen and her trusty steed are doing victory laps around the Subaru. Pen is swinging her arm around like she’s got a lasso she’s fixing to throw around one of the nearby cars. Phillip is tossing his head and whipping his sandy brown hair back and forth, whinnying and nickering as he prances in the car park. 

Colin feels his heart thudding in time with each ridiculous step the two of them take. This is so wildly out of character for both of them. Definitely for Phil across the board. Pen, at least, can be this outgoing and charming when she’s in the safety of the Bridgerton bubble. In public though? She and Phil turn into a matching set of introverts.  

But right now they are effervescent. Carefree. You wouldn’t suspect for a moment that they’re currently pushing themselves wildly outside of their comfort zones. For his sake. 

Christ, he loves them both so goddamn much.

“Come on you two,” Eloise says as she steals the keys out of Colin’s pocket and unlocks the car doors. “We must gallop along home now.” 

It’s so stupid. A pun shouldn’t make him cry. Yet Colin’s emotions are all over the place. So the second he realizes what Eloise said, his eyes start filling with tears. El is always the first one to roll her eyes at his wordplay. She’s always the one to tell him that puns are the lowest form of wit. (To which he often retorts that Eloise is confusing that with sarcasm.) But here she is making a little quip just to entertain him! Christ. He can even see the tiny pull of her mouth at the corner as she tries not to smile at her own joke. Colin uses his hold over Eloise’s shoulder to rein her in so he can drop a wet, noisy kiss on top of her head.

“Ew! Colin! Disgusting,” Eloise groans. She bats at his chest and upside his head in mock reproach. Then she slides into the back seat. Eloise reaches up and grabs his bicep, tugging him into the car alongside her. She scoots all the way over to the furthest seat and forces Colin to sit in the middle. Before he can even truly get settled, El starts fussing with his seatbelt and proceeds to buckle the clip into place. It's just about then that Colin’s friends finally join them. Phillip slides into the front seat and holds his hand out to El for the keys. Pen meanwhile climbs into the back and sits beside Colin. 

Once she’s buckled, Pen doesn’t hesitate. She grabs one of Colin’s hands and gently folds it between both of hers, tucking the entire neat parcel onto her lap. Easy. No hesitation. No pity. Just Pen being endlessly kind and in his corner. 

I have you.

Colin curls like a flower seeking sunshine. He shifts his body so he’s turned towards Pen. He proceeds to place his remaining hand on top of the whole pile before allowing his weary head to return to its resting place on top of hers.

Phillip starts the car and the rumble of the engine echoes in his ears. They head back to Aubrey Hall. 

……………………………………………………………………………………

Colin doesn’t let go of Pen’s hand. Not for the entire car ride. Not as they unbuckle (he unclicks their belts for the both of them). Not during the walk up to the house from the garage. 

He sort of gets the impression that El and Phil are eying him oddly. Colin knows he’s being clingy. Too much. But… Penelope doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t bat an eye at Phil’s curious stare or Eloise’s bewildered one. Pen hasn’t even tried to pull away. They know each other well enough that, if she really wanted her hand back, Pen would say something. So that reassures Colin that she doesn’t have a problem with it. 

The attention does make Colin a bit itchy though. He is starting to feel exposed in a way he doesn’t quite like. All he wants is to hold Pen’s hand in peace. He’s just so damn tired.

So as soon as they cross the threshold of Aubrey Hall’s doorway, Colin starts tugging Pen towards the staircase. He doesn’t even turn back to say thanks to El and Phil for their help today. Perhaps that makes Colin a bad brother and a bad friend, but he honestly needs to be alone right now. He’ll circle back with them later.

Instead he increases his pace so that his sister and her boyfriend don’t try to catch up. Colin is going at such a rapid clip that Pen is practically jogging alongside him. But she does ask him to slow down and she doesn’t ask him where they’re going. Just clutches his hand tighter.

Colin drags them up the stairs and hustles them down the corridor. Colin pushes open the door to his bedroom and pulls Pen inside. The relief that floods him when he hears the familiar creak of wood and hinges as he swings the door shut is palpable. They’ve only been gone for two hours yet Colin feels like he’s lived a lifetime since he left this house. He’s exhausted. Mentally and physically. Sleeping for a thousand years sounds like the only logical solution.

“I’m tired,” Colin admits. Now that he thinks about it, he probably should have said goodbye to Pen out in the hallway. It’s a little awkward to have dragged her in here only to promptly kick her out again. Colin drags his thumb over her knuckles as he contemplates how to phrase this goodbye. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Alright, sounds good to me,” Pen agrees. She squeezes his hand. “Mind if I join you?”

Colin looks up from her fingers in surprise. Is that– is that an option? Colin really fucking hopes so. He was already kind of dreading letting Pen go. He studies her face. Those light blue eyes of Pen’s are carefully blank. But Colin’s exhausted brain still cuts through the artifice of Pen’s easy going question. 

“If you really don’t mind,” Colin offers back carefully. Then decides that he can be brave, even if Pen is providing him an out. “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Yeah, of course Colin,” Pen says softly. The blankness melts away as quickly as she’d served it to him. All he can read there now is relief. “Whatever you need.” 

Colin likes it infinitely better when her eyes are honest with him. A blank Penelope is truly torture. Colin’s been there before — a spat they’d had in their early twenties where Pen didn’t give him the time of day for nearly a year — and he never wants to go back. 

As much as he likes being able to read Pen, though, a squirrelly sensation tugs at his stomach. He doesn’t like making Pen, or anyone really, worry. Not over him. It’s a bit grating to be the center of attention in this way. Colin feels flayed open and exposed. 

It’s just… well… Colin is not good at being vulnerable. He excels at showing the easy parts of himself. The charming bits, the funny bits, even the annoying bits. Those emotions are simple. Palatable. But nothing about these vulnerable, tender parts of him can be termed acceptable. They are messy and inconvenient. Colin never has time to edit them to be clean and neat. They spill over the page, scribbled and crossed out and just… raw. 

He doesn’t like people seeing his first draft.

Yet somehow, even though it’s a tad uncomfortable, he can’t quite regret it. Because Pen makes him feel seen. Not only seen, he supposes. But like she actually knows what to do with the chaos and tumult that is Colin Bridgerton. (Astonishing really, maybe she can give him some tips?) Not only that but she doesn’t mind sticking around during this rough bit and helping him work it out. 

Colin supposes, being an editor and all, that Pen doesn’t mind a messy first draft. Even before editing became Penelope’s profession, she was shadow editing Colin’s work. First as an accident – Pen always had a knack for finding Colin in the midst of some secret writing project or another – and would lean over his shoulder trying to get a glimpse at his frenzied word vomit. And she’d always tell him honestly “I like that” or “what’s this word say? I can’t make it out.” After a while Colin started letting her read it more intentionally, sliding his journal over to Pen for her inspection. 

So Colin supposes he can trust her with this too.

“Do I need to change or are you okay with me just getting into your bed in my street clothes?” Pen asks.

They should change. They absolutely should. Colin is a stickler for clean sheets, actually. Traveling for a living will do that to a person. And Colin knows for a fact they’ve both been sweating, both been sitting on the dirty asphalt beside the ice cream parlor for the better part of thirty minutes. His snot is crusted rather disgustingly on her shirt sleeve for God’s sake!

But Colin’s stomach sinks rather pathetically at the idea of Pen leaving now, after she offered to stay. He’s sure he could manage for the sliver of time it would take them to change. But… he doesn’t want to. Colin wants to climb into his bed and sleep for a thousand years… and he wants Pen there while he does it. Frankly, Colin thinks he might start hyperventilating if he’s forced to let go of her hand. Which obviously makes changing into comfy clothes a bit challenging.

“Street clothes are fine,” Colin lies. He’ll change the sheets before he goes back to bed tonight. “Shoes off though.” He kicks off his crocs and Pen slides out her cute, strappy little sandals. She also untucks her hair clip and drops it on the floor beside their shoes. Colin then leads them over to the bed and pulls back the yellow cover sheet. 

It’s not until they are laying side by side in his bed, still holding hands and listening to the whir of the oscillating fan, that Colin realizes this is a bit… awkward. They’ve never done this before. Slept in the same bed, that is. Same room? Sure. Ages ago. When they were kids. Occasionally they’ve split a hotel room. But they’ve never slept in the same bed. He’s never been able to hear her steady breaths so close to his ear or witness his own sheets moving out of the corner of his eye with each rise and fall of Pen’s chest. Most of all, Colin can feel every place their fingers are interlocked together. 

This is… yeah, it’s weird… right? Even excusing the fact he’s having a “bad dad day” Colin thinks he probably should have suggested a less intimate place to nap. Any one of the four couches in this big mansion would have probably comfortably fit them. If not laying down then at least sitting next to each other.

And Colin should probably let go of her hand. He doesn’t want to but he should. He’s a grown man and Pen is not his teddy bear. Just having her here should be enough.

Should being the operative word. 

“Colin?” 

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You’ve gone a bit… tense,” Pen admits.

Fuck. Has he? Fuck. Having emotions is embarrassing. Colin wants to flee so badly. Except that would require leaving Pen’s side and Colin’s stupid emotions won’t let him do that either.

“Colin, spit it out,” Pen laughs.

Okay. Okay, Colin trusts Pen. She has already witnessed the worst of him. The most pathetic version of himself. It really can’t get any worse than that.

“Can we— can we cuddle?” Colin asks nervously. Even the word cuddle sounds stupid. Cuddle. There has to be a more dignified word than this. Such a cutesy word has no right making his heart pound heavy in his chest or cause his hands to get all sweaty.

Pen laughs again. 

“Is that all?” She asks lightly. “I thought you were having second thoughts and were going to kick me out of your bed.”

Colin has to swallow back the “never” that tries to escape from his throat. Saying that would be weirder than the bed sharing and the hand holding and the cuddling. Colin might be needy at the moment but he still has what’s left of his pride. 

“Well, get a move on then. If you wanna cuddle, you’re going to have to come to me.” 

Okay, fuck pride actually. 

Colin swiftly rolls over and rests his head onto her shoulder. Fits the front of himself tight against Pen’s side. 

Except… well… Colin doesn’t know why but this isn’t as comfortable as he imagined. His head is at a weird angle and he’d actually landed on top of his own arm when he rolled over. Their clasped hands are squished between their two bodies in a way that’s borderline unbearable. 

It’s fine though. Colin can manage. He doesn’t want to inconvenience Pen further.

“Okay, my hand is already starting to fall asleep,” Penelope whispers guiltily. 

“Mine too,” he admits, with a slight laugh. 

“Can we shift?” Pen asks. Oh thank god. Colin nods gratefully into her hair.

“How do you—“ he starts. 

“Can you—“ Pen overlaps. 

They both laugh. 

“We’ve known each other sixteen years now. You’d think we would be in better sync than this,” Pen huffs. Colin silently agrees. Though they’ve never really cuddled before. Perhaps it was too much to hope that they’d just slot together right from the get go. “Can you push back for a sec?”

Colin slides away from her. Even though it hasn’t been entirely comfortable, once again the sudden space between them leaves Colin a little mulish. More so when she tries to pry her hand away. Colin, embarrassingly, holds on tighter when he feels the light tugging.

Pen gives him an exasperated look.

“Here,” she extends her other hand. “You can hold this one.” Colin feels a wave of gratitude at this kind offering. It’s not like he doesn’t realize he’s acting silly and clingy. But Pen, as much as she clearly wants to tease him, holds back. Indulges him. He’s grateful for her restraint.

Colin grabs her other hand before allowing Pen to drop the other. Then he watches her brow furrow and her teeth are suddenly worrying on her bottom lip.

“Do you mind if I just… manhandle you a bit?” She asks, turning her head to make eye contact with him. Oh. That’s all? Colin meets her eyes willingly and gives her a small little grin. Of course he doesn’t mind. She’s Pen. 

“Nah, go for it,” he offers back. 

Pen tugs their joined hands to rest onto her stomach. Then her other hand slips under and around his neck and starts gently pulling. Colin follows willingly, sliding back across the bed into her personal space. He’s so busy just letting Pen drive this interaction, in fact, that it takes him a few seconds longer than it should to realize where she’s leading him. That Pen is guiding his head towards her chest. You know, where her breasts live….

Oh. He’s not sure that’s— well that’s— surely she doesn’t feel comfortable—

Colin spends that short interval panicking, so much so that it’s too late to kick up a fuss. Before he can say anything, his head is already being pressed against the soft, warm give of her breast. Right over the end of the word “Aperitivo” that’s splayed across her tits in a fancy, cherry red font. 

Pen's hand slides down his neck and begins to push on his shoulders to encourage Colin to drape half of his body on top of her as well.

He doesn’t want to put too much of his body weight on her though. Colin is cognizant of their size discrepancy. So he makes sure to balance most of his weight on his side and tries to hold himself back a bit from where they’re touching. Yet Pen must sense that Colin is leaning back. Her hand on his shoulder blade gets more insistent. 

“Colin, I won’t break. Come on. Just let go,” she says gently. Her tone is so kind and no nonsense that Colin instantly realizes he’s being foolish. What’s the point of cuddling if he’s not going to actually cuddle her? And his head is already on her breast for Christ’s sake. Can’t get any more physical than that. So Colin unclenches his muscles and allows his body to fully sink into Pen’s. And it’s—

God, it feels really nice. 

Pen has always been bigger than other women of his acquaintance. It’s never bothered him before or really entered his mind beyond acknowledging it as a fact and moving on. But now that he’s essentially using Pen as a pillow, he realizes that her body is very different from what he’s used to. There aren’t any bony hips or poking collarbones. Pen is very soft… and well, he thinks lush would probably work as an adjective. Except that word sounds a little too sexual for Colin to feel entirely comfortable using it himself. But he can’t deny how novel and kind of wonderful it feels to have Pen folding under and around him.

If it wasn’t her breast his head was laying on top of, Colin would probably be trying to nuzzle his way deeper into the soft give of Pen’s body.

Instead of being weird though, Colin decides to just relax. He closes his eyes to block out the late afternoon sun. Allows his body and his breath to fall in sync with Pen’s. Resumes running his thumb over the back of her hand and knuckles, letting the motion sooth him.

That being said, after a couple of pleasant moments breathing together, Colin does feel the need to point out the elephant in the room.

“Your breast, Pen? Jesus.” 

Her tinkling laugh rings lightly in his ear. He can’t help but join in, chuckling softly at the absurdity of this moment. Colin’s head is resting on top of his childhood friend’s breast. They are cuddling in his bed. They’re holding hands. All of this is a bit silly. All of this feels exactly right.

“What? I’ve had no complaints,” Pen says smugly. Colin’s chuckle turns into a full blown laugh. 

“No, I can’t imagine you would,” Colin admits. “It’s rather nice actually.” He likes this confident version of Pen. He enjoys this version of her that is comfortable joking about her body with him. It’s another thing they’ve never done before. Colin has overheard Pen and Eloise cracking jokes about her tits countless times but— well, he’s a guy. It didn’t feel the same and it definitely didn’t feel appropriate. 

If Colin’s being honest he is starting to get drunk on the trust Pen’s placing in him right now. There is something kind of sacred about Pen using her body to comfort him and allowing him to lay on top of her this intimately. She wouldn’t do this if she didn’t feel safe around him. If she didn’t trust him too.

Pen scoffs. “Just nice?” She teases him.

Oh, Colin is obsessed with this new dynamic between them. 

“Well, it would be nicer if you played with my hair again,” he responds with a pretentious little pout in his voice. Colin even bumps the top of his head up against Pen’s chin, like an impatient puppy demanding its pets.

Just as he suspected, Pen laughs at his antics. He can feel it echoing under his ear and it warms him from the inside out. 

“As you wish,” Pen says with mock seriousness. Her hand slips up his back and up over his neck. Then her nails are gently scratching his scalp in these pleasing little circles.

All the playfulness leaches out of Colin in an instant. Something about Pen’s hand in his hair grounds Colin back into his body. Which in turn has him thinking back over the last few hours. It has Colin examining and turning over every interaction he’s had with Pen. Her care and her kindness. Her silliness and her seriousness. 

Colin always knew they were friends of a sort. Definitely friends of proximity and convenience in those early years of childhood. Then slowly but surely Pen stopped just being “Eloise’s best friend” or “a friend of the family.” Maybe it began with the editing or maybe something else, but Pen and Colin started carving out their own thing. Something that wasn’t based on convenience or proximity. 

And that’s only improved since he’s been home for good. All of Colin’s relationships have grown deeper, actually. He’s able to make plans and stick to them. Colin can make Pen laugh without the barrier of a phone screen between them. There are birthdays, anniversaries, and new milestones he gets to celebrate with his loved ones in person. 

The Pen of it all has been especially meaningful. If he thought they were friends before, it pales in comparison to this new version of them that’s grown over the last couple years. Like…there is absolutely nobody else in the world he would have trusted to witness his breakdown. Nobody else he feels this comfortable with. Nobody he willingly shows the ugly parts of himself that even he doesn’t like. 

Colin opens his eyes and intentionally looks over at his side table. Dad smiles back at him from the framed photo of them at the carnival. This time it doesn’t sideswipe him, doesn’t take him out at the knees. 

It’s simply a bittersweet memory and a stark reminder that time is short. 

“Pen?” Colin says hesitantly.

“Yeah?” she answers absently. Her fingers are moving in wider circles and her fingers keep brushing the tip of one of his ears. 

“You’re my best friend,” Colin whispers. 

Of all the things he has said and done today, it’s this admission that feels the most vulnerable. Colin’s stomach churns a bit in anxiety. It doesn’t help that Pen goes quiet for a moment nor that her hand pauses in his curls. It makes him nervous to know that she needs a minute.

“Really?” Pen asks eventually. “Me?”

Colin can’t help the snort that comes out of his mouth. 

“Of course you,” Colin says peevishly in response to the tone of surprise and incredulity in her voice. Hates it with a burning, fiery passion. Colin loathes that Pen, of all people, doesn’t think she’s worthy and deserving of the title. 

Frankly, he doesn’t deserve her. What has Colin ever done to warrant this type of care and devotion? How did Colin get so lucky to snag any bit of Pen’s attention when Eloise has always been there with something more clever and insightful to say? All Colin has to offer is silly jokes and messy drafts.

“Absolutely you,” Colin says in a gentler tone. 

They lay there quietly for a moment. Colin doesn’t know what he was expecting her to say in response to his admission. It’s not like Colin is going to push Eloise off her best friend pedestal. Nor does he want to, necessarily. Colin just… well he hopes that maybe Pen will haul up a pedestal for him too. 

Colin searches his tired mind for something to break the silence. He needs to convince Pen of his sincerity. The shape of his earnestness comes to him suddenly but Colin finds that the words stutter and stick as he tries to get them out.

“It’s just… you said you had me. You know… back at the ice cream shop. And I just….I wanted you to know that… you have me too.” Colin swallows thickly and fights through the blush that’s starting to steal across his face. “I have you,” Colin offers. 

He doesn’t know if that makes much sense. God, Colin should stick to writing. He sounds like an absolute knob right—

“Colin, you’re one of my best friends too.”

Colin can’t help but suck in an excited breath at her admission. He doesn’t know why his body is suddenly thrumming with joy. There’s no reason for him to be quite this ecstatic. They were already friends before. Obviously. But here he is grinning like a madman. Pleased as punch at her acknowledgement. Their friendship feels even stronger than it did the day before.

“Yeah?” He asks eagerly. But then, because he can’t entirely help himself, Colin adds: “You know ‘one of’ is doing a lot of work in that sentence Pen.” 

She flicks his ear.

“Don’t be rude, BFF,” Pen admonishes him. But the pain only lasts a mere moment in comparison to Colin’s joy. Best friends forever. He slides their joined hands to Pen’s hip and uses the back of his hand and his wrist to squeeze Pen so very tightly.

“Sorry bestie,” he chirps back happily. “I will be much more secure in our friendship moving forward.” 

Colin squeezes her again just because he can. Because he is allowed.

Pen lets out a world weary sigh so strong that it ruffles his hair. “Yeah, sure you will. Because you are known for being a very chill and secure person. And not at all competitive, especially when it comes to your siblings.” Penelope’s sarcasm drenches every single one of her words. As does her affection.

Colin shrugs. He lets the sarcasm roll off his back and allows the affection to sink into his bones.

“Guilty,” he says unabashedly. “Should we get matching friendship necklaces, you think? Or, like, maybe those plastic ones they used to sell at Claire’s? The broken heart ones where each person wears a half.”

“Oh, Eloise is going to kill us.” Pen’s sigh has evolved into a groan of despair. 

“So that’s a yes on the necklaces then?” Colin teases. 

“I thought you were tired!” Pen exclaims, abruptly changing topics. “What happened to my sad little dew drop?”

“Your what?” Colin screeches. He tries to lift his head off Pen’s chest but she uses the hand that’s still resting in his hair to firmly keep him in place.

“You heard me,” Pen grumbles. “Just a sad little storm cloud. A leaky faucet. A tiny stream plodding sadly over rocks and dirt and—

“Friendship over,” Colin interrupts forcefully. “I’ll have Ant draw up the paperwork in the morning.” But he squeezes both Pen’s hand and her hip at the same time just in case she can’t tell that he’s joking.

Because, in all honesty, Colin is absolutely delighted with her characterization of him. He likes her teasing him about being sad. Feels relieved that she isn’t treating him like glass anymore just because he had a bad Dad day. Or well, that she knows when to treat him like glass and knows when he’s ready to be stomped on a little bit.

“Alright. Make sure he spells my middle name right.”

“Always,” Colin replies. He yawns, his jaw cracking with the movement. But he makes sure to add, after he’s finished, his new mantra. “I have you, Pen.”

Pen finally resumes running her fingers through his hair. Colin lets out a little hum of pleasure and lets his eyes drift shut. The tiredness from earlier blankets him once more. In fact, it gets heavier as he and Pen resume laying there quietly and breathing deeply together. 

“Yeah?” She asks eventually. Her voice is quiet but Colin’s ear is close to her mouth so he doesn’t miss it.

“Yes,” Colin answers sleepily. “I have you Pen. And you have me.”

They have each other.

Colin likes that thought. He likes it a lot. He can’t help but nuzzle his face, just a little bit, further into the top of her chest. Pen is warm and comfy and they are best friends. 

“We have each other,” Colin mumbles as he slips off into sleep. The last thing he hears is the quick beat of Pen’s heart as it races underneath his ear.

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