i can't stop myself from loving you, despite it all / aud

Turns out he had gotten into training camp, and not just training camp too. His father finally got the meeting to introduce him to the young princess, soon to be queen. It certainly was a cause for celebration; his father had taken them out for dinner, along with his friends. They had booked the entire balcony area for the night, and the man had been surprisingly gracious. Whatever had happened between them that fateful night seemed to have blown over, and it seemed as if everything was back to normal.

Well, sort of normal anyway. Cato had seemed more subdued the last couple of weeks. Even his friends had noticed, that he wasn't laughing along to their jokes as much, that he seemed much more distant, more removed from their usual conversations. His father must've noticed, but it seemed as if it didn't matter to the man. Surprisingly, the biggest difference seemed to be that he and his siblings actually got along better. He was sitting with them and the friends that were invited for his celebration dinner, when one of them leaned over in a whisper.

"Hey Cato, isn't that the girl you were into a few weeks back? Dude, I think she's having dinner with Lord Wharton," one of them spoke, gesturing to behind them.

"Oh what was her name again? The commoner right? Elaine? Elsie? Elena?" 

"Elise?" Cassian spoke, his shy voice making Cato look up. Elise? She was here? 

"No fucking way, isn't he married?" one of his friends made a disgusted expression. 

"You don't think she's...you know...looking for a sugar daddy or something, right? I thought she had money; she's in our class you know. Can't believe these commoners, how can she trade down so–" 

"Shut up," Cato snapped, giving the boy next to him a glare as the other kid held his hands up in surrender. His eyes searched the space until it landed on the familiar brunette, hair curled neatly in the familiar way she always tied it back. He felt his heart sink. There was no way she'd actually do this, right? The man was married, not to mention she could do so much better than that. Even if she believed she was only good enough for the old, lesser-known lords, Lord Wharton? Seriously? 

He stood up, his teeth gritted. "Give me a second, I'm going to the bathroom," he seethed. 

"You're not going to talk to her, are you?" one of his friends asked, eyes gleaming with excitement at the coming drama, "you're going to cause a scene if you do, especially if she's trying to get with that guy." 

"I'm not going to cause a scene," his voice was deathly calm as he walked towards Elise, his eyes purposefully avoiding her, up until he was next to her table, his foot catching the table slightly, enough to cause a glass of water fall onto the ground, breaking against the tiled floor, the wait staff immediately moving into motion to fix the problem. 

"Whoops," he spoke, though his tone held no remorse or apology at all. To a spectator, it might've sounded nonchalant, but anyone who knew Cato knew the mocking tone, the sneer in the back of his throat. "You should be more careful with your drinks, Lord Wharton. If it was wine and I was someone else, my suit would've been ruined and rumours might fly." 

It was hard to hold in his anger, especially when she was wearing that dress. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but it felt like a vast betrayal, that she'd wear this dress–the dress she had worn on their first real date–on a date with a lord who was old enough to be her father. 

"What's your problem?" he hissed, the hurt clear in his eyes, "I just tripped, but now that you're here? What the hell? Okay sure, I don't own you or anything, and I guess this means you broke up with me, but damn. Wearing that dress and that bracelet while going on a date with someone like that is low, especially for you." He shook his head in disbelief. 

"You won't even fucking talk to me, and...god Elise, I can't do this," he growled, "I don't know if you're doing this on purpose just to fuck me over or whether you're actually settling for someone like him. He has a wife and you could do so much better than some creep like mister sour face over there, and honestly? I don't know which one's worse, whether you're actually going out with that guy or doing all of this just to get back at me." 

The anger dissipated so quickly, and all of a sudden, he was just left with a look of desperation, of confusion on his face. "I don't understand," he frowned, his brow furrowing. He shouldn't care. He shouldn't be putting his eggs in this basket again, but he couldn't help it. His friends might think they were just some friends with benefits sort of situation, but she meant more to him than that. 

If he couldn't have her, then whoever had her better cherish it. As much as he hated seeing her with someone else, he would've been fine if she had loved them. Perhaps not so fine–in reality, anyone who had her on their arm made him absolutely furious–but better than seeing her like this. 

"Then explain it to me," he was practically pleading with her, "I don't get it. I don't understand why you'd go for someone like him, instead of some other guy in our school, or another lesser lord who's at least your age. I know there are people out there, people who would be good for you." 

He looked away. "You have no fucking idea how much I want you back either," he admitted, "but your father would never let me have you if I lose my name, and it'll take me a while to persuade my father of anything else, and you don't have that time apparently." There was a bitterness in his tone, from how they had left things the other day. "You can do better, Elise. What does he have that other suitors of yours don't?" 

He turned away. "You still have a choice," he spoke, confused and conflicted, "you're not promised to any lord yet. You have a way out. You could go to university, or marry someone else. There has to be something else you can do instead of letting that man make you his plaything. You deserve so much better than this." 

Cato couldn't help but feel immensely guilty for what he had done. He wanted her too. If he could have nothing else but this wish, he'd still choose it right now. She reached for his arm and suddenly, all of this became too much. He pulled her into a hug without a second thought, and perhaps he'd regret it–after all, they were in public and Lord Wharton and his father were very much out there–but he couldn't find it within himself to care.

He was furious, of course, at both Lord Wharton and at her father for practically using his daughter for whatever reason, to attract a customer? To lend her out so a rich lord could have a pretty thing on his arm? He hated this. Hated all of this. There were so many things he had accepted as just part of being in their ruling class, but this was one of the things that had always been unacceptable to him, how easily men like them manipulated younger girls to go along with things, as if they were objects rather than people.

"I'm not angry," he murmured, his head resting on hers, "I'm just...worried. God Elise, I'm worried sick about you. I...I don't want you to be angry with me either, because I couldn't...I couldn't fucking stand up to my dad, and..." How could he explain it? He couldn't find it within himself to talk badly of the Rotherhithe name, to burn that bridge and dance upon its flames. As much as his father could be horrible, he was still his father.

"I know things are...complicated right now, but gods I just want to take care of you," he whispered, "I just want you to be safe, and happier than this. Please, just take care of yourself. I'd hate to see you stuck with a man like that."

It just felt so right, to have her in his arms. She fit him like a puzzle, and the scent of her familiar shampoo–well, the shampoo he had given her weeks ago–made his heart ache like nothing else. He could feel the pain, the frustration, all of it flowing from her, and god, he felt the same. He just wished there was a way they could be together, a way for him to be brave enough to push back against his father.

"Of course," he responded quickly to her request, "I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll see you tonight, I promise." It wouldn't be hard to sneak out; his father probably suspected he'd be with his friends until late tonight anyway, and well, the man was nothing but gracious when it came to his eldest son most of the time.

He was still holding her hands tightly, as if letting her go would mean that everything would end. Pressing his lips to her hand, he finally let her slip away, watching her return to her place, waiting a little bit, before heading back to his table.

"Oh my god, what did you do earlier?" one of his friends asked eagerly.

"Nothing," he replied without hesitation, "Lord Wharton was the one who spilled his water. It was none of my business."

A snicker came from the boys as they understood his words for what they thought it meant, that he had gotten revenge for a bad break up by embarrassing the girl, when that was far from reality. The dinner went smoothly, and soon, his father was leaving first with his family, allowing Cato to spend the night with his friends instead. They had chatted a bit longer, drank more, and eventually, he mentioned something about being tired, leaving the others with a wave, as he found his way to the Monroe Mansion.

It wasn't difficult to sneak past the gate and to the window of Elise's room, climbing up the lattice to see if she was home.

The moment he climbed in, he already had his arms open for her. He would hold her forever if he could. His chin rested on the top of her head as he took in her room. It was so very her, the embroider on the wall, the tiger toy they had won together in the carnival, the collection of shells on a bookcase, the reminders of them, in the picture they took together that still laid on her desk...

He could feel his chest clench as he held her a little tighter. "I'm here," he breathed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm here." 

Was this truly the last time he'd see her? He knew that the summer was short. In a few months, he'd be off to Pyxis, and she'd be going to university or something, or married to some nobleman, only for the two of them to pass each other politely in Vela, make small talk perhaps at some of the events around, perhaps see each other twenty years later at their school reunions, pretending as if nothing ever happened, pretending that at they weren't completely in love at one point of their lives...

He hated that. He hated the thought of life moving on as if this wasn't important in the string of events that the universe kept rushing through. It was hard not let the emotion overtake his voice. 

"I'm glad you kept all of the stuff I got you," he gave her a laugh that sounded a little too damp to even sound like him, "I was scared you'd throw them all away." 

Cato wanted more time. Gods, he just wanted more time. He wanted to talk, to go back to the way they were before, just talking, and joking around, and falling deeply in love with each other, but time was a commodity they couldn't have.

He didn't just want her the way she kissed him right now, he wanted all of her. Her laughter, her frustration, the way she joked about everything, the way she could spin poetry with her words, the way she just understood him, but life wasn't some cheesy love song. Life didn't offer a happy-ever-after, even if she made the stars in his life shine just a little bit brighter.

Cato pulled her in, his own lips meeting hers as she melted into his touch, and he was picking her up, sitting on the edge of her bed as she sat on his lap, his own hands reaching to her face, gently holding her as if she was something precious, something he couldn't live without, as they slowly parted to breathe.

"Elise," his voice held a thread of pain in it, knowing the fate of their relationship, "gods I love you so much. I never want to be away from you." They had joked plenty, that one day, they'd be married in their own relationships, or widowed when they were older, and spend the rest of their lives on the beach with margaritas. It never occurred to him that he really might have to wait forever to see her again, that the rest of their lives would simply be fake hellos and small talk.

"I don't want to lose you," he buried his head in her shoulder as he held her tightly, too afraid that the moment he'd let go, he'd lose her forever.

Cato found himself comforted by the softness of the hair his face was buried in, the smell of her, the softness of her hands in his hair, and he stayed in the warmth of her embrace. When she spoke, he finally looked up, his green eyes holding back whatever emotions he felt that threatened to pour out like a waterfall. 

He looked confused. "There's nothing to forgive," he murmured, still holding her close, their faces inches apart, "you've done nothing wrong. I just...I should be the one apologizing." He was the one putting her in this position, he was the one who couldn't let her go even though they were in this limbo space, tied together yet unwilling to move forward or back. He was the one trapping her here. "I hope one day you could forgive me for not being able to say anything that night." 

He looked away. If only he had been braver, if only he could be braver. 

"If there's anything I could do for you," he whispered, "anything you need, please let me know. I...I'm stuck right now, but I swear, I'm trying. I'll figure this out as soon as I can, I promise." 

"I will," he promised quietly before their lips met in a soft embrace, the gentleness preceded the hungry desire to love her. Everything else melted away when he was with Elise, and this was no exception. Her lips against his, her hands pulling at the shirt he wore until he was undoing the buttons, tearing it off as he slid her nightgown off her shoulders, has hands running along the soft skin of her arms, as if trying to memorize every small detail, every mole on her skin, every texture, every detail, as they slowly descended onto the bed.

He had spent weeks, tracing the lines of her body, memorizing what she loved, what left her wanting more, what made her gasp and call his name. This was all about her. This was all for her. His hands began their familiar path, mapping out the expanse of her body, traveling across the hills and valleys of her form, his soft kisses down her neck and collarbone were soft and gentle, walking the edge of desire as he held her, like something more precious than anything else in the world.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, "let me love all of you the way you want."