all eyes on us .

[oscar rutherford]

He looks at her, head tilted. "What did you tell your hairdresser? Give me the 'everything in my life is a messy unknown so cut it all off' special?" His eyes glance behind her to the screen, the England team striding out on to the ground. He forces his eye line back to hers, lining up some spring onions on a chopping board. "I think everything you're doing is off brand," he looks back down at what he's doing, the knife in his hand so sharp it would take a finger off with minimal effort. "And you don't seem to be sold on this new version of yourself."

[charlotte lemeir]

”Oscar! That's rude. I asked for an inch off, but my French is so bad they thought I said six,” she jokes. She watches his eyes tear away and she looks behind her to the screen. Football reminds her of his family, all in jerseys except for his poor mother who was exhausted by all the swearing at the tv. ”I'm just tired,” she turns back to watch him effortlessly chop. ”I think I'm doing everything wrong and I don't know what's right. I don't really want to be anywhere.”

[oscar rutherford]

He laughs, holding up his hands in surrender, knife and all. "I like it! I like it, I promise. It's just synonymous with female suffering, that's all." He listens and it would be funny if it didn't make him feel so sad, she sounds exactly how he sounded back when they dated. Aimless, taking things one step at a time, making mistakes. "You were due some of these questions, Lottie. You were too obsessed with being a vet you didn't stop to think about anything else."

[charlotte lemeir]

”If I was really suffering I'd have gone full Sinéad,” she grins. She thinks about what he says next. Charlotte was dedicated and obsessive about her schooling, it made sense that now that the road had widened she was having a harder time focusing in. ”I'm obsessed with homesteading right now. I keep looking up farms in Montana and cattle auctions,” she takes another sip, ”really it's unhinged. I need to get control of myself." There's commotion behind her and she turns around, but it's only a player rolling on the ground as if he's been shot at. ”You seem well though. I'm happy for you.”

[oscar rutherford]

"There's time yet." He slides finely chopped chilli into the bowl where his spring onion already sits, drizzling sesame oil over them both. He winces at what she says next. "Lottie no. You know the crunchy to alt-right pipeline is real, right? One minute you're pickling everything, the next you're holding up signs saying God Hates You at Pride marches." His attention is split evenly between the cooking, the football and the only woman he's ever truly loved. Three of his true loves, now he comes to think about it. "It's not forever but I feel like I have a track to follow. Finally."

[charlotte lemeir]

”Okay, soooooo,” she drags out her words and takes a chug of her beer, ”why the 'stache?” She watches him create with no thought or no recipe. Charlotte wasn't a natural cook and an avid recipe follower, watching her once other half work with ease was mesmerizing. ”Oh boy would I pickle EVERYTHING. Imagine growing your own cucumber and turning it into a pickle?! You can shit on it, but you'd buy my pickles. Maybe it's the quiet of Aisha's home, but she's starting to feel more comfortable and her heart is settling into rhythm. ”I'm happy for you.”

[oscar rutherford]

"Why not?" he says with that trademark lopsided grin, a characteristic sent down the gene pool from his father, completely unchanged. "I think it makes me look like a Yank." He cleans the knife and dries it straight away, one of his prized possessions and a rare item that wasn't already provided in Aisha's extensive but mostly untouched kitchen. "You're right. I'm declaring first dibs on your first crop, hit me up." The game is starting to pick up so he picks up with it, rolling out and frying the pancakes. He fries two eggs too, placing them perfectly on top and scattering more spring onions and sesame seeds across them both, finishing it with a drizzle of crispy chilli oil he'd made earlier. "Here, c'mon." Sitting on the couch, he basically forgets to eat, too rapt by the sport. He's groaning and cheering in equal measure, finally breathing a sigh of contentment when it gets to halftime and he can look away. She provides the perfect alternative view. "I used to fantasise about you watching football with me. Except you'd be wearing an England shirt and not much else."

[charlotte lemeir]

She’s curled up on the couch, with her long legs tucked under her and her half empty beer in her hand. It feels familiar and as it should be, only if it were fine she’d have a long outstretched on his lap. She narrows her eyes at his comment, a smirk playing at her pouty lips. ”I still have the one you sent me. Labels and everything,” she shuffles a little and accidentally brushes against him, her skin feels a lick of fire. ”I know you’ve said a million times but what’s the point of this?”

[oscar rutherford]

"In my fantasy you'd be more interested though, so we could combine two of my great loves; footie and mansplaining." He finishes off his beer, placing the empty bottle next to his half eaten plate of food. "Three of my great loves if we include you." He's overstepping and he knows it, groaning at her question instead, hoping they can keep the conversation going and not let it slip into awkwardness. "It's the beautiful game! It's about love, loss, guts and glory. It's the single greatest accomplishment of man."

[charlotte lemeir]

She takes a long sip, eager to catch up but aware enough to hold back. ”Do you still think that I’m your great love? Even though I’m an awful person?” She rests her cheek on the back of the couch and her eyes pleading. ”I just see drama and rolled ankles.”

[oscar rutherford]

It's as if their old reality had been shifted just a little. In Aisha's flush apartment, not Caesar's. Him still sort of nannying though he'd pivoted to food. Charlotte a vet, not a veterinary student. Small shifts that were huge in practice. "It doesn't change how I felt about you at the time." He's not magnanimous enough to deny that she's an awful person, though that's not what he truly believes. "Who doesn't love a little drama?"

[charlotte lemeir]

Charlotte doesn't comment, she just pulls her knees from under her bum and hugs them against her chest like a shield protecting her from energy that will hurt. Her chin rests on the her sharp little knees and she studies him with her big blue eyes, ”not me, apparently.” She sucks the rest of the beer into her and turns her head to watch another failed shot at the net. ”How are your parents? I've been missing them.”

[oscar rutherford]

She curls into herself and manages to make her statuesque stature seem tiny. A dull ache has settled into his chest, left behind now that the initial shock of seeing her unexpectedly had worn off. She looks away from him so he returns the favour, looking back at the screen without really seeing it. "Oh they're the same as always. Desperate for me to move home, tell me I spend too much time at the gym, glad I'm working." He glances at the ridiculous room. "They think it's weird that I'm still mixed up with your family. They worry it's not good for me."

[charlotte lemeir]

”You don’t think it’s weird?.” When she first heard Oscar was working for her family she was irritated, not at him but at her father. It felt cruel to keep him so close after what had happened with him. ”It’s a little weird.”

[oscar rutherford]

Admittedly, Oscar had a talent for compartmentalisation. His friendship with her father was in one box, his break up with her in another, his casual flirtation with Aisha in a third. It hadn't been until his mum had asked what he was playing at that he had opened up all those boxes and realised the common thread, though of course deep down he knew. Deep down, he didn't want to sever the tie, not when an opportunity not to had presented itself to him out of thin air. "You're so separate from your family usually, I didn't really make the connection. Is it uncomfortable for you?"