Almost

[hennessys]

Title: Almost
Rating: G
Summary: It's that almost.
Warnings: Er. Pining? Also a blink-and-miss-it mention of underage sex.
Notes: On the Lint Roller, feline_scribe asked Sebastian "What's your biggest regret?" One of these days I'll come up with a PB for him. So far all I know is that he's good-looking and British. Ish.


I almost told her once.

For my twenty-first birthday, my mother threw this huge party. Black tie, five-star caterers, champagne, the works—she even rented this penthouse, with a balcony overlooking the city skyline, and do you have any idea how expensive that is in LA? Kind of a shame I left so early.

Of course, the party wasn't really for me. Most of my friends were across the country, where I went to school, and the only people I really knew there were the Hennessys, and they came with me. Well, the children did anyway. Their parents said they'd run interference for us—their birthday present to me, I knew I liked them. But anyway.

It was a really nice night. The air had that living sort of quality that you get in the city sometimes, and there was supposed to be a meteor shower later that you could see even through the light pollution. It was just the four of us, these wonderful people I'd known for most of my life, wandering around the city in our formal wear, popping into bars so Miranda and I could have a drink. Jack amused himself by letting people hit on him and then casually mentioning that he was seventeen; Charlotte sang for us, standing on a construction barrier in her high heels and evening gown.

Miranda was wearing purple, I think—or maybe red? No, purple. But I know she really likes purple, so maybe I'm just extrapolating from that. And Jack and I were in tuxes, of course. Charlotte's dress had this kind of wrap bodice, not a lot of cleavage, and this really full, really swirly skirt. I remember her spinning around on the beach, her silver skirts flaring out around her. There were decorations on the sleeves and the neckline, and she had this silver headband with stars on it—it made her hair look like the night sky.

So I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you what it was I almost told her.

We were sitting on the beach, waiting for the meteors. Jack threw some sand at Miranda or something, and started a full-blown fight that ended up with him in the ocean and Miranda, tousled but perfectly dry, smirking at him. I could've told him he would lose that, but I was looking at Charlotte. She was laughing, so happy.

She looked so beautiful. I almost said it.

Then Jack, still on his back and mostly in the water, threw a hand up and shouted, "Look, there they are!" And Charlotte was on her feet—her bare feet, she'd taken her shoes off—watching the metoers streak across the sky like so many prayers.

I don't know what would have happened if I'd told her. Maybe she would have looked at me with big eyes and told me she didn't feel that way about me. Maybe she would have laughed it off, uneasily, and avoided me after.

Maybe she would have put her arms around me and told me she loved me too.

It's too late now, of course. She's married, she's happy, and I'm happy for her, I really am.

But there's nothing I regret more than that "almost."