a new beginning

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[eggawoo]

　　　　　　　✧　M I L O　A B R A M S　!

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LOCATION　diane's house　━━━　　　COMPANY　diane, bentley, & scout　━━━


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The past month had been a rollercoaster of anger, frustration, and simmering tension for Milo. Diane's birthday, a night he had planned to be perfect, had spiraled into disaster after their argument. He told himself he just wanted to make her happy, but beneath that was a need to keep her close, to know she was his.

The morning after was worse. When Eleanor dropped Diane off, Milo's frustration turned into a storm of jealousy. Seeing Diane in a shirt that clearly wasn't hers—it didn't take much to figure out where she'd been. His calls and texts had gone unanswered all night and morning. Where had she been? Had she left with Bentley? The sight of Eleanor hovering protectively behind her only added fuel to his insecurities.

"Nice shirt, Diane. Didn't think you'd come home in one of Bentley's t-shirts after last night." The words were meant to sting. They were meant to draw a reaction, to force an explanation, but Diane didn't take the bait. Her cheeks flushed, but she said nothing. She just retreated into the house, Eleanor by her side, leaving Milo to stew in the bitterness of his own making.

Since then, things between them had only grown more strained. He tried to convince himself that he trusted her, that he believed her when she said there was nothing going on with Bentley. But the silence between them told a different story. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering, from picking apart every unanswered question and every evasive look she gave him. Each moment of distance felt like punishment—a twisted sort of karma for all the times he'd lied to her, all the times he'd betrayed her trust with other girls. But even that knowledge didn't dull the edge of his jealousy.

Milo had been trying harder than ever to prove himself to Diane, to be the partner he thought she needed. He showed up, he listened, he tried to be the guy she deserved. That night, when he picked her up from the cemetery, he told himself he was being the supportive boyfriend, that his patience would be enough to bridge the gap between them. But even as he sat there listening to her vent her anger and frustration, a darker part of him couldn't help but think that maybe she didn't deserve his patience. After all, she hadn't been honest with him—not completely. And now Aaron's offhand comment had cracked the fragile peace between them wide open.

When Aaron brought up the night Diane stayed over at his place, Milo watched the way her expression froze, the way her breath hitched. That look in her eyes—like a cornered animal—ignited everything he'd been trying to suppress. 'Why didn't she tell me? Why did she keep something like that from me?' His mind raced with questions, each one sharper and more accusatory than the last. He wanted to believe her, to give her the benefit of the doubt, but her secrecy lodged in his mind like a thorn.

Diane hadn't just stayed at Aaron's place, she'd stayed under the same roof as Bentley. The fact that they were even sharing a space made Milo's gut churn with jealousy and doubt. The history between her and Bentley was something Milo couldn't forget, and it gnawed at him that Diane hadn't been honest about it. Every unanswered question felt like a crack in their fragile trust.

Diane walked away without giving him the answers he so desperately wanted. The hollow ache in his chest twisted into something darker, something closer to resentment. He told himself it was because he cared, because he wanted them to work, but deep down, Milo knew it wasn't just that. It was the persistent fear that she was slipping away from him, that he was losing control of the one thing he could count on.

All he wanted was the truth, but Diane couldn't—or wouldn't—give it to him. And that uncertainty, more than anything else, was what he couldn't bear.




━━━　　T　I　M　E　　S　K　I　P　　━━━




It had been a few days since Aaron's visit, and the tension between Milo and Diane still lingered in the air like a low hum, impossible to ignore. Today, however, brought a new obstacle: Diane's period. Milo had known her long enough to understand her chronic illness often disrupted her cycle, but this was the first time he'd seen her during it firsthand. He hadn't expected her to seem so irritable, like she was holding the world at arm's length just to get through the day.

They were making dinner together when she abruptly sent him home. "I've got it from here," she said, brushing past him to grab something from the counter.

Milo hesitated. "You sure? I can stay and help—"

"I said I've got it," she cut him off, her tone colder than usual. She didn't look angry, but the message was clear: I need space.

He raised his hands in surrender and stepped back, nodding. "Alright. Call if you need me."

As he left, relief mixed with unease. He'd learned how to handle mood swings like this from growing up with an older sister who could turn into a ticking time bomb during her period. But with Diane, this wasn't familiar territory, and the tension between them—still unresolved since Aaron's visit—only made it worse.

Later that evening, while Milo was cooking dinner for himself, his phone buzzed with a text from Cherise:


　
you forgot your journal, i'm holding onto it for you 🤦‍♀️


He frowned at the message, staring at the screen for a moment before responding:


　
I don't have a journal? 🤨


A moment later, two more texts popped up:


　
there's nothing wrong w/ admitting you have a journal lol


　
well, it's here, just grab it whenever 🤷‍♀️


This bothered him. 'A journal?' His mind circled back to the Hale brothers. Scout was supposed to be dropped off at Diane's place tonight, so maybe it was theirs. That made sense. 'But why was it there? And why did Cherise think it was mine?' Milo tried to shake the thought as he finished cleaning up, but the nagging curiosity lingered.

By the time he swung by the house, it was well into the evening. The air was cool as he knocked lightly on the door. Cherise opened it, handing him the journal without much fanfare, her expression neutral.

"Thanks," he said, trying to sound casual. He didn't linger, stepping back into the night with the book in hand.

As he turned to leave, Cherise called after him, a brow quirked. "You aren't going to say hi to your girlfriend?"

He froze, rubbing the back of his neck. A dozen reasons not to came to mind, but none of them felt valid. "Right. It'd be weird if I didn't check on her," he mumbled.

Cherise shrugged, her tone light but edged with something he couldn't quite place. "I don't blame you. She's been in a mood ever since you left."

The words sparked something in him, a blend of curiosity about how she'd acted when Scout was dropped off and a flicker of relief that her mood might have widened the gap between her and one of the Hale brothers.

His feet carried him inside, up the stairs, and down the hall toward Diane's room. Before he knocked, he glanced at the journal in his hand, its worn cover a reminder of the curiosity gnawing at him. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, making sure it was out of sight.

When Diane answered, she looked surprised, but only for a moment. Her expression quickly smoothed into something polite, though undeniably tired. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

"I forgot something," he said, keeping his tone casual.

Diane's brow arched skeptically. "Don't you work tomorrow?"

He faltered. "Yeah, but I—"

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering accross her face. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words.

Before she could press him further, Milo stepped closer, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. "Just needed to grab something," he said softly. "See you tomorrow."

Diane didn't stop him as he turned and left. Her door clicked shut behind him, the sound unnervingly final.

Back at his own place, Milo sat with the journal, flipping through its pages under the dim light of his desk lamp. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but something about it offered a sudden sense of understanding. A single line stood out, scrawled near the top of a page:


　
I stopped smoking in fear of losing you


Milo's mind immediately jumped to Bentley. It wasn't his journal, and it definitely wasn't Diane's—he'd recognize her handwriting anywhere. But this? This felt like something Bentley would say. Aaron wouldn't have written it because he wasn't the type to smoke. After all, he was the more responsible Hale brother.

It had to be Bentley's.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Pieces of the puzzle seemed to slot into place as he read on, piecing together fragments of whatever Bentley had left behind. Yet, with every answer, more questions seemed to surface.

By the time he glanced at his phone, the screen read just shy of midnight. It rested on the edge of the desk, glowing faintly as he typed out a quick text to Diane:


　
Won't be able to come in tomorrow, sorry


He hit send and leaned back, rubbing his face as the weight of everything settled in. His eyes dropped back to the journal, the pull of it drawing him back in. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.




━━━　　T　I　M　E　　S　K　I　P　　━━━



The journal lay open on Milo's desk, its pages a tangled mess of thoughts, confessions, and half-buried guilt. He'd been at it all night, his coffee turning cold beside him as he read and reread every word. By the time the sun came up, his brain felt completely drained, as if he'd been turning the same thoughts over and over until there was nothing left to squeeze out. But the questions wouldn't stop. What had Bentley been thinking, leaving this behind? And more importantly, what did Diane know about it?

The words swam in his mind, fragments of sentences hinting at truths too big to keep to himself. He couldn't just sit on this. Not now. Not when the journal had upended everything he thought he understood about the last few months. By noon, his exhaustion sharpened into something restless—a need for answers he couldn't ignore. He grabbed the notebook, shoved it under his arm, and left without another thought.

The drive to Diane's house passed in a blur. When he arrived, the front door was unlocked, as it often was during the day. He hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the handle. A part of him felt like this was crossing a line, barging in unannounced. But then again, hadn't she crossed one first by not telling him the truth? Whatever this truth was.

The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, the notebook heavy in his hand. The sound of voices drew him toward the living room, and as he turned the corner, the sight dropped the breath from his lungs. Diane and Bentley were close. Too close. Her hand hovered just above Bentley's, their posture unmistakably intimate. Milo froze, the journal dangling from his fingers. For a moment, he thought he might just walk back out, but the weight of the night, of everything he'd read, refused to let him.

"Looking for this?" he said, his voice flat, but the tension in it umistakable.

Diane's head snapped toward him, her eyes wide, and he watched the confusion flicker into recognition... then panic. Bentley stiffened beside her, his expression hard to read, but Milo didn't care. His focus was on Diane, on the way she froze, her hand caught mid-motion.

He stepped into the room, and before he could say another word, Scout's delighted squeal broke the tension. Her little feet carried her toward him faster than he could react, and for a moment, all the anger and confusion swirling inside him dulled as he knelt to meet her. "Hey, Scout," he murmured, his voice softer than he'd intended. She tugged at his pants, her tiny hands reaching for the notebook. Milo hesitated, glancing back up at Diane, who was still frozen in place, her expression unreadable.

The tension in the room was thick enough to crack the walls. Milo took a deep breath, standing as Scout clung to his leg. He met Diane's gaze, trying to read her, to understand the storm behind her eyes. Her voice broke the silence, rushed and almost frantic. "Here," she said, scooping Scout into her arms like a shield. The toddler's giggles muffled against her shoulder, but Diane's eyes never let Milo's.

He watched her for a long moment, his exhaustion pulling at his nerves, threatening to make him say more than he should. But he swallowed them down, forcing himself to stay calm. "I came to speak with you, Diane," he said finally, his voice steady, though the weight of everything unsaid pressed against his chest. He shifted his gaze to Bentley, his next words deliberate. "But I suppose Bentley will do just fine."

The words landed like a challenge, and Milo saw Diane flinch, just slightly. He didn't know what he wanted from her—an explanation, a confession, anything—but the silence that followed only made the knot in his stomach tighten. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he knew one thing for certain: it was all about to unravel.

Milo reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it slowly, his eyes lingering on the scribbled lines, the ones that had been gnawing at him for hours. His gaze flicked to Bentley, a sharp edge creeping into his voice as he started reading aloud, almost mocking the words.

"'Did you miss me enough to drink, or did you drink enough to miss me?'" Milo read, his gaze flicking from the paper to Diane, his brow raised. "That one sounds... like something you'd do, don't you think?"

He didn't give them a chance to respond before moving on to the next one. "'If you love two people at the same time, choose the second, because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn't have fallen for the second.'" Milo's voice dripped with disbelief. "Is that supposed to be advice? Or is it just the kind of thing you tell yourself when you're trying to justify..." He paused, gesturing toward them with his hand, before continuing, "Whatever this is?"

Finally, his eyes narrowed as he read the last line. "'I constantly prepare myself just in case you come back, and I'm tired. You leave me ill and waiting with your kind eyes and kind smile, and you taunt me silently with your absence.'" He folded the paper back up, the words hanging in the air. "Sounds like you've really been waiting around for her, huh?"


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THOUGHTS　'so this is what i get for calling off'　━━━

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[c u p p ii e]

𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆-𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟴

There was nothing to do but stand their awkwardly as she searched for it, but the longer he stood their the more uncertain he became, deciding he should help so he could grab it and head back. They already communicated what they wanted to do for Scout’s birthday, he got to see his daughter on a day that wasn’t his, the last thing Bentley wanted to over stay his welcome. So he crouched down beside her, fingers skimming the small stack, Bentley being able to pick out the journal like a needle in a haystack with how often had used it. But of course, it wasn’t there, instead it stood a few feet away in the hands of a now standing Milo who had come out of absolutely no where.

As soon as Scout ran off, he reached out to grab her, his fingers grazing her shirt, but he wasn’t quick enough. Before he knew it he was watching carefully as Scout stood between the three of them, reaching up for the journal, much like she had been yesterday. It was only when Diane blocked his view of Milo did he look away and to her, silently questioning why she would invite him over when she knew Milo would be stopping by as well. She knew how much tension there would be, but maybe not to the extent of how much animosity had formed since the last time they had seen each other. Bentley didn’t remember that night a hundred percent clearly, he had been drinking a lot with Cherise and Eden that night, but he remembered just enough.

Bentley was already angry, angry over the fact that Milo had his journal, angry at the fact that he had ripped it apart when it wasn’t his property to begin with, angry because of everything before that. But the thing that had the tension in his jaw so tight was the way he started reading excerpts from it one by one. But, Bentley let him, allowing Milo to get out what he needed, practicing patience, remembering how upset Scout had gotten the last time he had raised his voice, and deciding he’d never want his daughter to be scared of him like that ever again, not like the way Bentley was with his father. As soon as he was finished he spoke without a thought, “Diane, I’m going to need you to take Scout upstairs,” and when Diane tried to refuse, tried to talk to him, he barked. “Diane, now," his patience running thin.

There was no denying the way he ignored Diane's feelings, it wasn't up for discussion, not right now, not like this. Instead, he was too focused on Scout, reassuring her that everything was okay, but the moment they were both out of sight his entire demeanor changed, “You’re Diane’s problem, meaning I have no reason to tell you who I talk to or who I write about or anything ******** personal about me,” the air in the room was nothing short of thick and palpable, the distance purposeful, loud even now that they were alone. As much as Bentley didn't want to, he knew what would happen if Milo decided to take even the slightest step forward. His hands stayed hidden away deep into the lining of the jacket pocket, knowing that hiding how tightly they were balled into fists was his safest option.

“Maybe you should stop being concerned with who I'm talking to and worry about yourself,” neither confirming or denying the allegations fully because he wasn't ready to admit it, he was happier knowing that Diane thought he was writing about Eden. Everything in his journal so personal, too raw to put an actual name too, denying Diane an answer the day before as well. “I’m sure cheating makes a person paranoid and insecure,” his gaze drifted down to the now useless pieces of paper, a time capsule that he’d never get back, fueling everything he was feeling inside further. “You always ******** have been,” Bentley was a lot of things, but he was none of the things Milo wore proudly.

[eggawoo]

　　　　　　　✧　M I L O　A B R A M S　!

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LOCATION　diane's house　━━━　　　COMPANY　bentley　━━━


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Milo's gaze followed Diane as she held Scout close, her hesitation evident, as if she were trying to decide whether to give in or stand her ground. For a moment, it seemed like she might refuse Bentley's demand; her posture was stiff, caught between loyalty and frustration. But after a tense exchange of glances between them, her resolve cracked, like something fragile breaking. Wordlessly, she turned to leave, tension visible in every movement.

"Yeah, wouldn't want to upset him," Milo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the silence. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, dripping with sarcasm. He watched her leave, his gaze burning into her back. Diane's step faltered for a split second like she heard him but couldn't bring herself to respond. Before long, the sound of Scout's laughter echoed from upstairs, making the air in the living room feel even heavier.

Milo didn't look away; his frustration continued to simmer. He wasn't going to let either her or Bentley off easy.

The room felt suffocating, the silence stretching on until Bentley finally broke it. Milo's pulse hammered in his ears, nearly drowning out everything except for the growing rage in his chest. It wasn't just Bentley's words that angered him; it was how Bentley said them, as if Milo's anger were nothing more than a passing inconvenience, unworthy of his concern. Bentley's infuriating calmness and his refusal to take responsibility made Milo's blood boil, pushing him closer to the edge.

"Cheating makes someone paranoid and insecure?" Milo echoed, disbelief coloring every word. He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "That's rich, coming from the guy who—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening as he clenched his fists at his sides. Heat crawled up his neck, making it harder to hold back, but he swallowed it down anyway. "You know what? Forget it. You wouldn't even know self-awareness if it hit you."

Milo tightened his grip on the journal until the edges bent under his fingers, the pressure pulling him back from the brink of his anger. But it wasn't enough to stop the words from spilling out. "You think you can just keep running your mouth and hide behind this whole 'patience' crap?" His voice rose, betraying his slipping control. "You really think I'm just gonna stand here and take it from you?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Milo stepped forward and shoved Bentley hard in the chest. The impact reverberated between them, sharp and satisfying, cutting through the tense silence like a release he'd been craving. His voice was low but intense, almost a growl as he snapped, "This is for a month ago." The memory of that night flashed before his eyes—the way Bentley had shoved him first, humiliating him in front of everyone, and how his friends had to step in to prevent the situation from escalating. The anger had been building ever since, and now it was all coming out at once.

Milo stood tall, his chest rising and falling rapidly, adrenaline igniting every nerve with a fire that demanded action. He didn't break eye contact, daring Bentley to make the next move. "Go ahead," he challenged, his voice rough but clear. "Say another word and see where my hands end up next." He wasn't sure what would happen next, but for the first time in forever, he didn't care. He wasn't backing down. Not this time. Not from Bentley. Not from anyone.


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[******** you, bentley'　━━━

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[c u p p ii e]

𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆-𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟴

As soon as Milo put his hands on him first all thoughts and patience forgotten as he pulled his fist out of his jacket pocket and swung without a thought. This all would have been avoided if Milo had kept the space between them, claiming this is what Bentley deserved when Bentley hardly saw that he did a damn thing wrong. “Milo, keep putting your nose into my business and you won’t have any working hands to do anything with,” he threatened. And just like that, as Milo tried to recover Bentley shoved him back giving him no time to do so. The moment Milo’s back hit the wall Bentley grabbed onto his shirt, this time speaking through gritted teeth. “Wether you like it or not, Scout’s our daughter and I will always be in Diane’s life because of it,” Bentley gripped onto his shirt tighter, keeping his hands busy, knowing it was the only thing from keeping him swinging again. He knew Milo wouldn’t be able to stand up to him the way he wanted, Bentley was used to nasty street fights growing up and this was nothing in comparison. “And when Diane finally realizes how big of a piece of s**t you are I’ll be right there too, with one last shove, as if he was trying to press the words into Milo’s soul he was finally about to let go.

But as he loosened his grip he heard Diane come around the corner, unsure of how much she had heard, Bentley almost embarrassed at the thought even though there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Everything he had said, he had mean’t every word of it, but it didn’t matter, he had no time to think, because the moment he turned his head to look at her he felt a sweltering pain to the side of his face just beneath his eye. Instead of letting go like he should have, his mind flew back to those uneasy days, Bentley ignoring the bruise that was already starting to bloom on his cheek. “Go ahead, Milo, do it again,” he said as he pulled him in, faces inches away, before Bentley slammed him back against the wall behind them. “But you better hope to what ever based God you believe in that you knock me the ******** out,” he said while looking at Milo, Bentley’s full weight pressing into him. There was no visible space between them, apparent as to what kind of threat that was woven into his words as he starred down at Milo beneath his grip. He could hear Diane’s pleads behind them, fuzzy, but he could hear them nonetheless even while seeing red. Bentley was done fighting, he had let those days ago, but all it took was the right person to bring it back out of him. He knew that once he calmed down he would see it that way, be disappointed in the progress he had just let go, just not right now, not like this and not when it involved someone so important to him like Diane.

[eggawoo]

　　　　　　　✧　D I A N E　M O R E A U　!

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LOCATION　home　━━━　　　COMPANY　bentley & milo　⇨　bentley　━━━


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Diane froze at the sound of Milo's voice, her breath catching as her fingers hovered mid-motion, just shy of brushing Bentley's. They had been crouched close together, rifling through scattered papers in search of the journal—only to come up empty. And now, here it was, held in Milo's hands for both of them to see.

His voice alone had been enough to send a tremor through her, but seeing him? The flicker of confusion in his expression before it hardened into something unreadable sent cold dread curling in her stomach. He wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this. Her hand remained suspended in the air, unmoving, her body refusing to catch up with her thoughts. She knew Bentley had stiffened beside her, but she couldn't look at him, couldn't look at anyone but Milo. The journal. Him. The unspoken weight of his presence.

Then, Scout's delighted squeal split the tension, shattering the moment like glass. Before either she or Bentley could react, their daughter was already running to him, her tiny hands reaching eagerly. That was what finally broke her paralysis. She pushed to her feet, the scrape of her movement at odds with the hesitation still gripping at her chest. Without a word, she crossed the space between them, reaching for Scout before she could settle against him for too long.

"Here," she said, scooping her up, her voice too quick, too tight. Scout giggled against her shoulder, oblivious to the storm raging between the adults. But Diane's eyes never let Milo's. As she stepped back, her grip tightened slightly around the toddler's small body, shifting her on her hip. She didn't immediately turn away, instead focusing on the soft strands of Scout's hair beneath her palm, grounding herself—just for a second.

Milo's words were impossible to ignore—not just because of what he said, but because of the weight behind them. Accusation. Exhaustion. Anger. She didn't just hear it; she felt it, each syllable pressing into her chest like a blow she should've seen coming. The last time they'd been in a room together, she had let him leave, convinced she wouldn't have to face this moment. Not yet. And yet here was, standing in front of her, forcing her to.

Before she could respond, Bentley beat her to it, his tone so firm it sounded like a command. Diane's head snapped toward him, her brows furrowing. "What? Bentley, you can't—" The bark in his voice startled her, silencing whatever argument was forming on her lips. Even Scout flinched slightly in her arms, her tiny hands clutching Diane's shirt as if sensing the shift in the room. Diane's jaw tightened, and her chest rose and fell as she stared at Bentley, searching his expression for a hint of understanding—something softer than the sudden demand. But there was nothing there, only thinly veiled impatience.

She wanted to push back, to tell him that he didn't get to decide when she left or stayed, especially not now—not with Milo standing there, the unspoken tension between them pressing in, dense and unrelenting. But Milo's gaze burned into her, silent but heavy, every second stretching unbearably long. Scout shifted restlessly in her arms, her soft babble oblivious to the charged silence that wrapped around the room like a vice.

Diane exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging as she cast Bentley a final, pointed look. Fine. Let them tear into each other if that's what they wanted. She had Scout to think about. Without another word, she turned, her steps slow, each movement heavier than it should have been.

As she passed Milo, his voice—low, laced with sarcasm—sliced through the air. "Yeah, wouldn't want to upset him." The words landed like a dagger, a sharp jab between her ribs that stopped her mid-step. Her grip on Scout tightened instinctively, her mind racing with the urge to whirl around and snap something back at him. But Scout shifted in her arms again, pulling her back from the edge. No. Not now. She wouldn't add fuel to the fire—not with Scout watching, not when the room was already ready to combust.

She pressed on, unfaltering this time. Scout's laughter spilled into the tense silence behind her, light and carefree, a cruel contrast to the weight pressing on Diane's chest. The sound followed her up the stairs, lingering even as she entered the nursery and gently set Scout down. Diane moved on autopilot, her hands methodically reaching for one of Scout's toys, the motions practiced and familiar.

The room had once been Bentley's. After he moved out, she couldn't bring herself to let anyone else take it, couldn't stomach the idea of erasing what was left of him in this house. So she gave it to Scout instead, filling the space with soft pastels and scattered toys, pretending it had always belonged to their daughter. But some nights, when the house was quiet, she still caught herself thinking of it as Bentley's room.

Now leaning against the doorway, Diane exhaled slowly, arms crossing over her chest as she stared at the floor. The low rumble of voices from below carried up through the quiet house, the words muffled but the tone unmistakable. Guilt, frustration, and exhaustion twisted inside her, tangling into an unbearable knot that refused to loosen.

She wasn't stupid. She knew what Milo was implying, the weight behind every word he'd said. She knew the pressure Bentley's command carried, the way it had stripped her of choice. None of this was just about Scout. It was about all of them—the fractured, jagged pieces of what they'd once been scraping against each other, cutting deeper with every moment that passed. One thought circled relentlessly in her mind, refusing to let go: 'How did we get here?'

The tension still clung to her skin as she made her way back downstairs—only to walk straight into the tail end of Milo's voice, right as his fist connected with Bentley. The sickening thud of impact sent a jolt through her, her stomach twisting as Bentley staggered back, jaw clenched tight. "Milo, stop!" Diane blurted, but it was already too late. The air in the room had shifted, charged with something volatile, teetering on the edge of breaking.

She saw where this was headed before it could spiral into something worse. Moving without thinking, she stepped between them, pressing a hand against Milo's chest to push him back. "Just go home," she said, her voice low but firm. "Cool off." She didn't wait to see if he would argue. The second he was gone, she exhaled sharply and turned on her heel, ushering Bentley toward the kitchen. Her mind raced, searching for something—anything—to ground herself. The freezer. A frozen bag of peas, or whatever else she could find. Something to fix what little she could.

Diane yanked the freezer with more force than necessary, the cool air hitting her flushed skin as she rummaged through half-empty bags of vegetables and forgotten leftovers. Finally, her fingers closed around a bag of frozen peas, the plastic stiff and unyielding with ice. She turned, pressing it into Bentley's hand before he could brush her off. "Here," she said, her voice quieter now, though the tension hadn't bled from it entirely. "Hold it to your jaw before it swells."

She crossed her arms as the silence stretched on, the weight of the last few minutes pressing down on her. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving something heavier in its place. "I don't know what's worse—Milo taking a swing at you or you acting like I should've just let him." Her voice came out sharper than intended, but she didn't take it back. The frustration, the exhaustion, all of it was still too fresh.

Shaking her head, she let out a short, humorless laugh. "You don't get to push me aside when it's convenient." The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. But fighting wouldn't fix anything, especially not now. She dragged a hand through her hair, forcing a steady breath before her tone softened, just a little. "Are you okay?" It wasn't just about the bruise forming on his jaw.


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THOUGHTS　'i'm so tired...'　━━━

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[c u p p ii e]

𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆-𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟴

It wasn’t until Diane wedged her hands between the two, verbally asking them to stop, all three of them knowing she wasn’t strong enough to pull Bentley away even if she wanted too. It was Bentley’s choice to make, she knew it, he knew it, “There’s not always going to be someone there to save you,” and fortunately for Milo, Bentley decided to make the right one this time around. As he spoke he didn’t break eye contact with Milo, using one hand to keep his grip on his shirt, the other to rip his journal out of Milo’s hand. It was useless to him now, the pages frail and bent, more than likely to fall apart completely when he opened it back up, but it was his to keep. It was only then did he release his grip from Milo’s shirt, watching him carefully almost as if he was challenging him to do something else so Bentley had an excuse to take this further. But for the sake of everyone involved, Milo left, Bentley stayed quiet, only taking one last glance at the door as if he was planning to bolt out of there too.

He had every plan to leave right this second, he was upset about what had just happened because truthfully Bentley wanted it to. It felt good to get out his frustrations in such an unhealthy way, something he had lost the need for what felt like forever ago, and yet there he was doing it all over again everything coming back to him like second nature. He didn’t know why he did it, he just did, lost in thought as he followed Diane into the kitchen, an even bigger part of him sorry for barking at her the way he did. Of course he wasn’t surprised when she brought it up either, Bentley listening to her as she grabbed the bag of peas and placing it just below his eye. The bruise was already blooming on his cheekbone, he could feel it. “I know, I’m sorry. Just— Scout,” he said their daughters name hoping that Diane would simply understand. “I don’t want her to see me like that. I don’t want her to think of me as—,” the words got caught in his throat as the thought of James flashed through his mind like a ghost, the phantom pains still engraved into every crevice.

“Milo, I hit him first,” so he changed the subject unsure as to why he was trying to defend him, maybe it was the guilt. The accusations from the previous day of him interfering ringing loudly in his head or maybe that was just the come down of adrenaline from Milo getting such a clean shot now that it was dissipating. “I don’t like the way he treats you,” but Bentley just couldn’t help himself, knowing this may be the only stroke of courage to say this sober, especially when what Eleanor had told Aaron in confidence was so much louder. “When you asked me if it was okay for you to date Milo I said yes, because I said I wanted you to be happy,” Bentley pulled the bag from his face, leaning against the counter and looking down at her as he thought over his words carefully before continuing. “But you don’t seem happy,” he couldn't give her specifics, didn't want too, but he needed Diane to know that she deserved more than what either him or Milo had ever given her.

And the only way he could think to do that is with the way he looked at her with those big imploring blue eyes of his, because Bentley knew that Diane could read him, journal entries forgotten and damned. “Diane, I just want you to—,” to what? to see herself the way he did? To love herself the way Bentley did, endlessly and without a second thought? To have the strength to walk away, because he couldn't, rooted to her like weeds to a garden. He started again, unsure where he was going but it didn’t matter all that much when his phone started going off several times in succession inside his pocket. These days it hardly went off, especially not like that, so he took it out without a thought, regretting it immediately. Bentley made a face, some where in between annoyance and knowing he should just let it go, he didn’t exactly want to deal with the issue right this second. Instead he swiped away the messages, leaving it on read, and slid his phone away.

The interruption was like a splash of cold water, the last half hour suddenly catching up to him as he looked back up at Diane. “I should get going,” Bentley placed the frozen bag on the counter and straightened himself up as he spoke. “I’m sorry, about today,” and Bentley really wished that one of these days he’d be able to stop having to apologize to her but all he could do was take things one step at a time. “It won't happen again,” but as he said the words he knew that if Diane asked him to promise those words right this second he wouldn't be able too. As little as he wanted to admit it Bentley knew that things would have escalated outside of his control if Diane hadn’t stepped in when she did. And as little as he liked it, Diane was going to choose Milo over and over again and that was enough for him to make the conscious decision to make his leave.

[eggawoo]

　　　　　　　✧　D I A N E　M O R E A U　!

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LOCATION　home　━━━　　　COMPANY　bentley & scout　━━━


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Diane exhaled softly, her gaze flickering to Bentley as he spoke. She understood. The weight of that unspoken name, the fear laced within it. She had lived it too, carried the same scars—just shaped differently. "I know," she murmured, her voice quieter than before. "She's okay."

When Bentley mentioned that he hit Milo first, she didn't say anything. Her eyes followed him as he pressed the bag of frozen peas to his cheek, then turned away, busying herself with small, insignificant movements—straightening something on the counter, adjusting a chair that was barely askew. It gave her something to do, something to focus on besides him. Because if she looked at him too long, she might see too much—might catch the concern furrowing his brows, the frustration tightening his jaw, the raw honesty in his eyes. And she wasn't sure she could handle that right now. Her silence answered for her, but Bentley, as always, refused to let things go.

"I don't like the way he treats you."

Diane inhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping just slightly. As if she didn't know that already. As if she hadn't known it long before Bentley ever said it out loud. She had known it long before Milo had even begun testing the boundaries of what she would tolerate. It was a truth she had accepted, one she had chosen to live with. Because what else was she supposed to do? She wasn't happy. But happiness wasn't the priority. She parted her lips, maybe to refute, maybe to change the subject. But then—

"But you don't seem happy."

His words hung in the air, but she didn't reach for them, didn't try to argue or justify herself. What was there to say? That he was wrong? He wasn't. And they both knew it. But it hit differently. It struck something buried deep, something she had been trying not to acknowledge. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, gripping for just a moment before she forced herself to relax. She didn't react right away, didn't snap or deflect. Instead, she sighed, finally turning to meet his gaze. "I know," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. It was all she was willing to give him. Maybe that was cruel—offering him nothing but the truth, with no reassurance to soften the blow. But wasn't that better than lying?

Bentley said her name, like he had more to say, like he was about to push her to admit something even deeper. But before he could, his phone buzzed again. The shift was immediate, his attention pulled elsewhere. Diane noticed—of course, she did—but she didn't dwell on it. Whoever it was, whatever it was, wasn't her concern. He glanced at the screen, his expression flickering between irritation, reluctance, and something else she couldn't quite place. Then, he dismissed the messages and pocketed the phone. When his gaze returned to hers, something between them had shifted, like the weight of reality had finally settled in. And just like that, he decided to leave, setting the ice pack on the counter. She didn't argue. What would be the point? If he left, the conversation ended. And wasn't that what she wanted? But then, quieter—

"I'm sorry, about today."

Diane shook her head slightly. "I know." And she did. She believed him, but it didn't change anything. When he spoke again, there was something unconvincing about it. Maybe because they both knew that wasn't a promise he could make. She didn't call him out on it. Instead, she just gave the smallest nod, barely noticeable. "Take care of yourself, Bentley." The words carried more weight than she meant them to, and she hated that. Hated that she still cared in ways that weren't convenient or practical. But she didn't take them back.

Bentley hesitated. Just for a moment. Long enough that if she had wanted to stop him, she could have. But she didn't, and he turned toward the door. She watched him go, telling herself that she wasn't waiting for him to turn around. That she wasn't holding her breath, waiting for some last word, some last look—some sign that this had meant something to him too. But he never turned back. The door shut behind him, and the silence he left in his wake was heavier than anything he had said aloud.

Diane let out a slow breath, staring at the spot where he had stood, feeling the weight of all the things left unsaid press against her chest. Then, as if to physically shake it off, she turned away, walking back toward the counter, her fingers brushing against the ice pack he had left behind. She had already made her choice. And she would keep making it, over and over again, even if it meant sacrificing something that had once made her happy.

Happiness wasn't the priority.

It never would be.



━━━　　T　I　M　E　　S　K　I　P　　━━━



The silence after Bentley left was heavier than expected. It lingered, pressing in on her as she moved through the house, filling the spaces he had occupied only moments ago. A week passed. Then another. Diane had wanted to give him space, to let things settle, but the weight of their last conversation hadn't faded. She exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair before shaking off the thoughts creeping in. She told herself it didn't matter. That it couldn't. But the weight in her chest said otherwise.

Falling back into routine was easy, almost mechanical. She wiped down the counters, folded laundry, and sorted through a few things that had been left out for too long. Milo had returned to work after the weekend of the incident, but things had been rocky between them. He made petty comments while they worked, or avoided her entirely. She knew why: she had checked on Bentley before she even checked on him. The routine helped. It kept her hands busy, her thoughts occupied. But no matter how much she scrubbed the counters or folded laundry, the quiet still nagged at her, a persistent hum at the back of her mind. Before she could stop herself, she was reaching for her phone.

The initial message was simple and casual, just an excuse to talk to Bentley:


　
i forgot to give you back your shirt. the one i borrowed on my birthday. 😅


She hesitated before sending it. Then, before she could second-guess herself, her fingers moved again, crafting a justification that felt easier to accept:


　
i think scout misses you because she wouldn't let me wash it last night. you should come over tomorrow. how could you say 'no' to this sweet little face of hers? 🥺


Attaching the picture was the worst part. It made her hesitate, made her stomach twist in a way she didn't want to acknowledge. Scout, nestled against the fabric, her tiny fingers clutching at Bentley's shirt as she stubbornly pulled it from the washer—like letting go wasn't an option. It was a perfect reason, a perfect excuse. But as soon as she sent it, doubt settled in. Bentley didn't respond. Minutes stretched into an hour. Then another. The day faded into night, and still... nothing. Diane told herself she didn't care. That it was fine. Maybe he had too much going on. Maybe he had already decided he wasn't going to respond. And maybe... she shouldn't have sent anything at all.



━━━　　T　I　M　E　　S　K　I　P　　━━━



The next day, while Diane was finishing up her cleaning after lunch, her phone buzzed. It was Bentley, letting her know he was on his way. Just like that—no time, no explanation. She froze, staring at the message for a long moment before locking her phone and shoving the thought aside. He was actually coming. Her heart began to race, but she tried to ignore it, wiping her hands on a dish towel and glancing around the house. Was everything clean? Did it really matter? She inhaled sharply, running a hand down her shirt as if that would smooth out the sudden unease curling in her stomach.

Milo had called the day before—something about a last-minute boys' weekend for someone's birthday. She hadn't questioned it. She hadn't asked him to cancel his plans, and he hadn't offered. Cherise was around if she needed anything, but for the most part, Diane planned to handle this herself. Not that she had much of a choice. Scout had been fussy all night, waking up every couple of hours, and the morning hadn't been much better. She was still a couple of months shy of two, but her terrible twos had decided to make an early appearance. Diane had spent most of the day soothing tantrums and wiping tears, and it showed—the kind of exhaustion that settled into her bones, dragging at every movement. Needing an excuse to step away, she retreated to Bentley's old room and sent a quick message:


　
feel free to let yourself in. i'm upstairs in your old room. scout's being fussy.


Maybe that would buy her a little time. Maybe it would make this easier. But as she sat there, Scout finally settling against her, small fingers clutching her sleeve, breathing even and soft, she realized there was no preparing for this. Because Bentley was already here.

Diane heard him before she saw him—the creak of the floorboards, the quiet way he moved through the house like he wasn't sure he belonged in it anymore. When he reached the doorway, she barely looked up, her gaze lingering on Scout. "You look exhausted," she said first, because it was easier than everything else she could have said—and because it was true.

There was a moment of hesitation before he answered, but she didn't fill the silence for him. Instead, she finally looked at him—really looked at him. The exhaustion carved into his face, the weight in his expression. And the bruise, faded now but still visible. She exhaled sharply, something pinching at the edges of her expression before she quickly smoothed it away. "You could've waited another day, you know." Her voice was quieter this time, careful. Then, a beat later, "You didn't have to come at all." It wasn't a push, exactly, but it wasn't a welcome, either. Just a truth hanging in the space between them.

Diane shifted, adjusting her grip as Scout squirmed in her lap, whining through her sniffles. "Here," she murmured, gently easing the restless toddler into Bentley's arms. He held her like it was second nature, like muscle memory. Scout fussed at first, her little hands pushing against his chest, but the moment she registered who was holding her, she settled—hiccuping softly before reaching up, her fingertips brushing against the remnants of the bruise on his face.

Diane watched, something tightening in her chest. This was familiar—the three of them. And yet, it wasn't. She swallowed, gaze dipping away as she rubbed at her arm, fingers pressing into the fabric of her sleeve. "You been sleeping?" The question was quieter, almost an afterthought, but something about the way she asked made it clear—she already knew the answer.


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THOUGHTS　'i thought i could move on, but here i am, hoping for something more'　━━━

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[c u p p ii e]

𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟴

It took him all of half the walk back to Aaron’s house, fully processing the events that just had unfolded, and remembering what happened the last time he had shown up with a wound on his face, all thanks to his messy night out with Cherise months ago, did he take his phone back out and pull up the stack of unread messages from one person in particular. Bentley reread the messages over and over again, Eden apologizing for her actions, and maybe it was because he was backed into a corner, feeling a million different things and unable to think clearly, he responded and agreed to meet up. After that evening Bentley had started to see her regularly again, it kept him out of the apartment while his cheek began to heal and to some stroke of luck Aaron hadn’t been around enough to notice the bruise as it faded from black and purple to a soft brown in the matter of a week and a half or so. The two of them hadn't shared more than two words as they went each time in passing, maybe Aaron was too busy with Eleanor to notice or maybe he was purposely deciding not to address the situation but either way Bentley was thankful for it.

When Bentley received Diane’s message nearly two weeks later he sat there and starred at it, as if doing so would change anything that had happened since the last time he had seen her. The idea that Scout had missed him, resorting to clinging onto his shirt because he refused to see her, made his heart ache. It was his week with her starting this past Monday, and instead of going to grab his daughter he sent a quick, “I can’t take Scout this week, sorry,” to Diane without further explanation, the explanation being the bruise that starred back at him in the mirror. Bentley was surprised when he saw what it formed into the next morning after the initial hit. Honestly, he didn’t expect Milo to know how to throw a punch but sure enough the deep black and blues on his cheekbone, was enough to prove him wrong. The wound was so loud even as it was now faded into mostly nothing, but it was a constant remind of his shitty actions, causing him to leave Diane on read for much longer than what was necessary. This was not the version of himself that he wanted Scout to see, but the longer he weighed his options, the longer he starred down at the photo of his beautiful daughter that Diane had sent over the night before, the more guilty he began to feel.

It wasn’t until the very last minute, checking the clock repeatedly and the time which Aaron was supposed to be home from work, did Bentley decide to grab his things and run out the door, texting Diane on the way that he’d be coming over. The bruise was nearly nothing and would surely be gone over the next couple days, it would be easy for Scout to miss it. And yet, after receiving Diane’s message and making his way upstairs to his old room, upon arrival was he proven wrong not long after. Instead of responding to Diane’s comment about looking exhausted he simply reached out for his daughter and focused on that instead. He wouldn’t trouble his ex with the fact that no, he hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last couple of weeks, carefully avoiding his brothers presence to prevent another argument. No, he hadn’t necessarily stayed sober thanks to Eden wiggling her way back into his life, at least it wasn't pills, right? No, he wasn’t wearing a beanie to hide the fact that he buzzed his hair only two days ago on a whim, the day he was supposed to pick up Scout , because he hated the person who looked back at him so much he couldn’t stand it. And no, he had not stopped thinking about Diane and the way he had left both her and his daughter that afternoon.

When Scout pushed against his chest he looked down at her with the upmost patience, simply pushing the hair away from her face, and waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Hey, Love bug, why are you giving your mom so much trouble?” Instead of receiving his answer his daughter immediately pushed her face into his chest as if she knew she was guilty of exactly that. “I know Scout, I’ve missed you too,” it was then that he expected her to say it back like she always did or maybe an ”I love you,” but when she looked back up at him, placing her hand under his eye where the remnants of his bruise sat, did his face twist into something else. Her touching it, claiming “Daddy has an owie,” was enough to have him pull back away from her touch, taking a moment to school his face, knowing what it probably looked like from the outside, before he was able to turn his cheek and kiss the tiny little hand that still sat in the air. “Daddy’s okay,” he spoke softly to his daughter as if he didn’t want Diane to hear knowing she would pick up that it was lie. Although, right after, still looking down at Scout as if he was speaking to her, “Yeah, I was just up late last night,” and the night before that and the night before that too, a half truth. It was a lot easier running from his feeling when he wasn't home and alone with his thoughts.

[eggawoo]

　　　　　　　✧　D I A N E　M O R E A U　!

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LOCATION　home　━━━　　　COMPANY　bentley & scout　⇨　cherise　━━━


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Diane didn't say anything at first. She just watched—watched the way Bentley cradled Scout against his chest, the way he reassured her with that soft, careful patience she had always admired. The way Scout curled into him like she'd never doubted for a second he would come back. It should've been comforting, the way they fit so naturally together, but instead, it left something heavy in her chest.

Then he spoke again, his voice low as he reassured Scout, telling her he'd just been up late last night. Diane huffed a quiet, humorless laugh before she could stop herself, her gaze dropping to the fabric of her sleeve as she rubbed at it absently. "That makes three of us," she murmured. The words weren't meant to be bitter, but there was an edge to them anyway.

Scout had been up half the night, restless and fussy, and Diane hadn't fared much better. Sleep had felt impossible with her thoughts running in circles, with Bentley's silence sitting like a weight in her chest. And now, standing here, watching them together, she wasn't sure if his presence made that weight lighter... or heavier.

She inhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts away before they could fester. "I'll be back," she murmured, already turning to leave.

But just as she took a step toward the door, Scout shifted against Bentley's chest, her tiny fingers catching the edge of his beanie. Before Bentley could react, she yanked it off, giggling as if she'd just won a game she hadn't even known she was playing.

Diane froze.

Her gaze drifted, catching the faint remnants of the bruise still shadowing his cheekbone. The words rose to the surface—something sharp, something cutting—but she swallowed them back, exhaling quietly instead. That wasn't what unsettled her most.

No—it was the hair. Or rather, the lack of it.

Her breath hitched slightly, her eyes locking onto Bentley's newly buzzed cut. She took in the change, the way it altered his features, making him look almost unfamiliar. A clean break from the person she'd seen two weeks ago. Maybe that was the point. The shorter cut made his blue eyes stand out brighter than usual. It suited him, in a way, but it also felt like something more than just a haircut.

Maybe she should've said something about it, acknowledged the change, but she didn't trust herself to. So instead, she swallowed past the strange feeling twisting in her stomach, exhaled through her nose, and forced herself to move. "I'll be back," she repeated, quieter this time, slipping out before she could linger any longer.

She didn't let herself look back.



━━━　　T　I　M　E　　S　K　I　P　　━━━



Downstairs, she gathered a pile of dirty laundry, finally reaching for Bentley's forgotten shirt from where she had set it aside the night before. Scout had thrown a fit when she tried to wash it, clinging to it like it was the last piece of him she'd ever have left to hold, and Diane, already exhausted, hadn't had the energy to argue. But now, with Scout preoccupied, she tossed it into the washing machine, pressing the cycle without a second thought.

She should've gone back upstairs after that, but instead, she found herself moving on autopilot—straightening up the living room, folding the pile of laundry she had left out earlier, wiping down the counters. It was a habit, something to keep her hands busy when she didn't know what else to do with herself, when she needed a minute to collect her thoughts. A way to delay whatever was waiting for her upstairs.

The house wasn't silent. It never was, not with a handful of children still playing in the next room, their voices a constant hum in the background. But upstairs had gone quiet, and that alone made her hesitate when she finally made her way back.

She slowed as she reached Bentley's old room, lingering in the doorway.

He and Scout were asleep.

Scout was curled into him, her tiny hands still clutching the fabric of his shirt, her breath soft and even against his chest. Bentley had one arm wrapped protectively around her, the other tucked beneath his head, his features slackened by exhaustion. It had been a long time since she had seen him like this—without that furrow in his brow, without that tension lining his jaw. Peaceful. As if, for just a moment, he had stopped running from whatever had been chasing him.

Something in her chest twisted at the sight, and before she could stop herself, her mind slipped back to another moment like this—nearly six months ago.

That night in December, she had felt stretched thin, barely keeping herself together beneath the weight of everything pressing in on her. Milo had shown her his true colors, frustration bubbling over into ugly accusations when she refused to sleep with him. The words had clung to her skin, settling deep into a place she couldn't quite scrub away, but there had been no time to sit with it, to process, because she had kicked Milo out, and she had been left to manage everything alone.

Overwhelmed, she had caved and called Bentley, needing someone, anyone, to take even a fraction of the weight off her shoulders. He had come over without question, and for the first time in days, she had felt like she could breathe. And later, when she had returned to the living room, she had found them both curled up on the couch, Scout tucked into his chest, both of them sound asleep—much like they were now.

That had been the moment. The moment things had started to shift—when she had begun to let him in again, where the old, familiar feelings had started creeping back in before she could even acknowledge them.

Diane blinked, grounding herself in the present once more. She exhaled slowly, stepping back from the doorway, hesitating only a second before quietly pulling it until it was mostly closed. 'I'll let them rest,' she thought.

She didn't know how long she stood there, hand still curled around the knob, staring at the door as if it held answers she wasn't ready to face.

Then, finally, she turned away.



━━━　　T　I　M　E　　S　K　I　P　　━━━



Diane had only meant to pass by, maybe put away the clean towels into the linen closet. Just something to keep her hands busy. Something simple, something routine. But as she moved down the hall, movement caught her eye—Cherise, sprawled out on her bed with one leg dangling off, phone in hand, earbuds out.

"Hey," Cherise said, her voice casual as she sat up straighter. "Did Bentley swing by?"

Diane nodded. "Yeah. He's taking a nap with Scout."

"Oh." Cherise blinked. "So he's still here?"

There was something about the way she said it—not curious, not quite surprised. More like caught off guard. Like she'd been expecting a different answer and didn't know how to hide it fast enough.

"He is," Diane said carefully. She adjusted the towels in her arms, fighting to keep her voice even. "Why?"

Cherise hesitated. Just a flicker of it—barely a pause—but Diane caught it. The calculation behind her eyes, the split-second decision whether to share what she knew or play dumb. Then: a smile, all easy deflection, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear like she hadn't just stepped on something sensitive.

"Nothing. Just... I mean, Eden said he was with her last night. Out late. So I figured—" She cut herself off mid-sentence, and Diane watched the realization dawn on her face a bit too late. "s**t."

Diane didn't move. Didn't blink. She felt the hit before she could brace for it—sharp and cold and low in her chest. It wasn't jealousy, exactly. Or maybe it was, in the quiet, bitter kind of way that made your stomach twist even when you tried to convince yourself it didn't matter. But she stayed still. That was the rule. She didn't flinch, didn't show it. She just kept her face smooth, like she'd taught herself to do after too many moments like this.

"Oh," she said softly.

Cherise winced. "Diane, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine."

It wasn't. And Diane wasn't even sure who she was trying to convince anymore.

Bentley hadn't mentioned anything about being busy. Not this morning, not last night. Just that he'd been up late. That was all. And it wasn't like he owed her anything—not technically—but the fact that she'd had to hear it this way, in a throwaway comment from her cousin, settled into her gut like the bruise on his face.

A clean break. That's what she had thought earlier when she saw the haircut. Maybe she had been more right than she wanted to be.

"You don't need to explain," Diane said. Her voice was calm. Too calm. Detached in the way she only ever got when she needed to stop herself from unraveling.

Cherise didn't look convinced. She had the decency to look guilty, at least.

Diane shifted the towels in her arms again—not because she needed to but because she needed something. A distraction. A reason to keep moving before the stillness made her choke. "Thanks for letting me know."

"I really wasn't trying to—"

"I know."

She offered a smile. Small. Meant to reassure. It didn't reach her eyes.

And then she turned away, continuing down the hall with steps that were just a little too careful. As if her heart hadn't just been knocked slightly off balance. As if she hadn't just realized how much quieter everything inside her had become.


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THOUGHTS　'eden, eden, eden'　━━━

_______________________________
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[c u p p ii e]

xxxxx




𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟴

The guilt he was feeling over missing his week with Scout doubled when Diane mentioned that she hadn’t gotten very good sleep either. While he was out getting high, running the streets with a blonde who had a knack for getting him in more trouble than what it was worth, just so he could drown out his thoughts for a handful of seconds, Diane was here taking care of their daughter. Bentley wanted to speak on it, apologize, but what was he supposed to say? Nothing felt right, so he kept quiet and simply nodded when Diane said that she’d be back. Although, his silence faltered the moment his beanie was ripped off his head. His hand was quick to grab it back, startling Scout in the process. He quickly looked over at Diane, gauging her reaction momentarily before he looked down to see Scout on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, Scout,” as he spoke he lifted his hand to his daughters cheek, rubbing a thumb over it softly, the beanie forgotten in his other hand. The moment she calmed he lifted the piece of fabric back up, “Here,” it didn’t matter anymore anyway, Diane had already saw what he was hiding underneath, no matter how little he was proud of his actions.

As soon as she stepped out of the room Scout placed her head on his shoulder and suddenly there was the tiniest of yawns, easy to miss if the room hadn’t been so quiet. “It’s okay, Scout, I’ll still be here when you wake up,” he spoke softly to her, a silent bond as if he knew that’s what worried her and kept her from finally letting go. Bentley began smoothing her hair down as he walked around hoping the easy movement would lull her to sleep. This was the first time he had been in his old room since cleaning it out, his heart clenching at the thought that Diane wanted Scout to have it. Or maybe it was just the only room left available in the house and Bentley was overthinking it, letting his emotions do too much as he had been a lot as of late.

Bentley took in everything, Scout growing more quiet by the second, one hand loosening from the collar of his shirt but still there nonetheless, and the other still clenching onto his beanie as if it was a replacement for his shirt that resided some place downstairs. It was only when he reached Scout’s desk, starring down at the frames, pictures of Scout’s early months did he finally decide that he had looked around enough. One peak down at his daughter, the slow rise and fall of her chest, her eyes fighting to stay open, did he figure that maybe laying down with her would be enough to finally have her fall asleep and give Diane some peace and quiet.

When the two of them laid on the tiny bed he had mean’t to be there for only a few minutes and as soon as she was out he’d go down stairs to grab his shirt before heading out; so much for "still being there when she woke back up." But the moment his head hit the pillow he was just as much asleep as she was, exhausted much like his daughter, Scout being the only thing that had given him a sense of calm in the matter of weeks. It wasn’t until a few hours later, did either of them wake up, Scout’s tiny fingers startling him awake as she played with the chain that he always wore around his neck. It was only then did the two of them make their way downstairs and it was only when he saw Diane for the second time that day did he make the sudden decision to ask if he could take Scout back with him even though it wasn’t his week. A part of it was out of guilt, a part of it was due to waking up next to his daughter and simply hating that he had to leave, and the other part was being opposite of Diane and reading that she was exhausted without her even having to say it.

𝗷𝘂𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗳𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟴

It wasn’t until he blinked the sleep from eyes, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings as he ran his fingers through his hair, or rather lack thereof, did he fully process where he was at. Bentley had been staying over at Eden’s place over the last week or so sporadically. It started when Aaron threw a small birthday party for Scout at his place with himself and Eleanor only in attendance which he hadn’t minded initially. Bentley decided, even after the whole incident at the cemetery he wasn’t going to keep Scout away from her uncle, it wasn't fair to Scout. The issue laid in the fact that Aaron asked Eleanor to keep the birthday quiet and specifically off of social media. Normally, that wouldn't have bothered him, in fact it was a nice change of pace, especially since he was taking time away from social media himself, but the following morning he found out that it was done with the intentions of Diane not knowing about the party at all. At this point, Bentley was days away from asking the two of them to Scout's actual birthday party with Diane's family at the fair in the upcoming weeks, and instead of not inviting them and tearing what little relationship was left between the four of them he simply questioned why Aaron couldn’t just remove himself and respect Diane as Scout's mother. This only fueled fire to the argument of keeping things from one another, which lead to specifics, etc. to which Aaron finished by arguing "why are you getting so worked up when that isn’t even your actual family, aside from Scout who I had thrown the party for in the first place?” Needless to say, things had been ice cold in the apartment again just when things had started to mellow out a bit.

When Bentley looked at the time a stream of expletives flew from his mouth as he grabbed his jacket, phone, wallet keys, and only half listened to Eden as she tried to ask him what was going on. “I’m so ******** late!” and that was the last thing he said before he rushed back to Aaron’s place, showered, changed his clothes, actually paid to get a ride to the fair instead of skating because he was running that far behind, and showed up nearly two hours late to his daughters second birthday all because a few bad choices the night before. The moment he made it to the fairgrounds he jogged through the masses, running towards the picnic area where they all agreed to meet at, and he was close, so close, “Save it, I know. I’m late. Where’s Scout?” Bentley asked, irritated and impatient knowing how upset Diane was going to be with him already and more importantly how deeply he just wanted to be with his daughter.