'Gimme More' (Charlene and Reese Version)

 [Alternate Text: A header image of a mirror that might be found on a moped or electric bicycle because it's relatively small and circular. It has text printed on its glass that says: 'Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear'. The background behind the mirror is blurred and out of focus, but it seems to be a forest. The title is 'Gimme More' in a black font that's blurred.]

This C Alternate Perspective comes from Chapter 1 of TFS: Book Two; it's what happens prior to the MC re-encountering them inside of Turn the Page.

Within this writing, the MC is romancing R, either their solo route or the JR route.

Note: Before anyone freaks out about a C/R marriage pact, that could partially be C's assumption, but there's more going on. So, please don't freak out, lol! This is C's POV; it's going to strike a few nerves and hopefully intrigue you. I'm excited for you all to learn more! :D

Also, you will be encountering C again in Chapter 4! Yay? Not yay? It’s a fact at this point.

_ _ _

This workout buddy thing is no longer cute…

It's hellish.

(It was technically her idea ages ago.)

While Charlene is no stranger to getting in her required amount of reps or taking a minimum number of steps, this is different. Who wants to get up this early to run around? Apparently, Reese does. (She had thought he normally got up before dawn, so it could be worse.) Still, a small part of her chalks it up to one of those implicit tests the bloodlines, especially the cold Verners, are known for. It's a trial to gauge compatibility or endurance for a prospective partner, friend, or acquaintance.

How much can an individual take?

Tremulous whispers of their dispassionate nature circulate among the upper echelon of Fernweh. Sometimes even the word 'cruel' has been tossed around here and there from her own grandparents, claiming that disposition is simply them. Their heir wouldn't be spared from it, so why would a potential contact be? Never knowing where you truly stand with a member of the family has most people dangling on meat hooks with them or treading across ice of an unknown thickness. It's tense.

It's meant to be tense.

The Verners have cultivated this reputation…

Powerful with the ability to shut out others in an instant, cleaving them away without a word of warning, yet everyone else follows suit. It's why their line hasn't lost any prominence, one of the superior ones that's still entrenched into Fernweh. The Schades can claim the same. It's not like her family snatched up the hospital for the charitable aspect. It's a necessity of life, a way to ingrain themselves from decades ago.

They're on relatively equal-footing.

So, why does this feel like a punishment!

She has nothing to prove to him… Does she?

Reese's jogging stride remains unbroken, hardly challenged, as they switch from the wide paths of the community park into something more developed. Like her, he has in earbuds to make this somewhat bearable. Charlene isn't listening to any music, entertaining herself in a different way by watching Reese's figure—his tight ass hugged by black jogging pants, those strong legs, and then there's the stupid shirt. It ruins her view—her deserved reward—with panels of white that don't make sense in this heat. It's long-sleeved! Who wears that now?

There's only one benefit to trailing behind him.

She also watches his running form with less interest. Sometimes he'll do sprint bursts that almost makes it seem like he's running away from something, although that could be her own boredom adding more reasoning to his workout rigor. They are timed, possibly to a particular song, where Reese just bolts in a way that probably isn't healthy, but damn does it work for him in the long-run based on what's being hidden away from view. Charlene sighs in disappointment.

He normally exercises alone.

It's an important fact that helps with the sweat trickling down her back, the heat wafting from the pavers, and the future soreness. She has made an effort to learn some of his habits; it hasn't been easy. However, the privacy of a solo workout where one's breathless and less put-together must be why Reese prefers it.

Why did he stop running the lakeside and more remote, secluded trails?

That thought goes as quickly as it comes when she spots Reese slowing down for a break, adjusting his pace with care to avoid coming to a hard stop. It's better for one's heart rate. She's able to catch up, re-joining him after a few, long minutes. Reese's gaze remains on a particular street sign that's ahead while he modulates his breathing because apparently Verners don't breathe like everyone else. She would quickly roll her eyes if it wasn't impressive how he's composed, slightly flushed and tastefully sweaty. They also glisten rather than drip.

For a moment, Charlene admires his side profile—what she likes about it and what she'd freely change. "What're you listening to?"

"'Gimme More'," Reese replies. "And you?"

"Nothing that ancient," she teases him. "Your taste in pop music tends to be trashy, Reesie."

"Better it be my music than my attire."

His pale blue eyes barely rest on her after that well-timed retort, failing to deliver a once over as if he's seen enough. It'd sting if Charlene didn't know how Reese can be. There's a hint of a smirk playing at his lips to sap some of the bite; it was a parry to her own words, not a barb. "You know you love it," she counters him, stepping closer to draw focus to the spandex clinging to her bombshell figure. "It's all me."

"I would love the water you misplaced…"

She thought leaving it behind would end things early! Sadly, it didn't.

"I'm sure you can ask '[Surname]'"—that gets Reese's head to subtly turn in her direction, a show of interest—"for some. That's where we're going, right? You made a little route for us?"

"It's a quick stop, yes," he casually answers. "We can then lap the town square, say 'hello' to old snake eyes, and be on our separate ways."

"You shouldn't call it that," Charlene warns him, still smiling faintly at his playfulness, though it soon turns into a smug grin. "I was right."

"This once. Would you care for a mini-race?"

No, she wants a snack and a shower, but when Reese poses that as a challenge like how she thinks he might have once spoken to you, she wants that more. Superlatively speaking, she'd want Reese in her shower and then a different kind of sna—

"Do you need to sit? I can run the block again while you take a moment?"

"I wouldn't worry about me," she waves off his comment, unsure if there's concern or simply pragmatism underlying it. "Let's go on three."

"…1"

"…2"

And then Charlene starts running before counting off the official start, laughing at Reese's scoff before he starts giving chase. (At least it feels like that for a while.) She hasn't expended nearly as much energy as him, which is coming into play now to really push herself—to keep up with him for a time. It's all planned.

Reese shoots her a look, raising a perfect eyebrow at her that she promptly flips off.

It isn't that shocking.

He must find that amusing because he glances back at the sidewalk to curb his reaction, good.

What's not-so-good is the distance between them slowly widening when Reese pulls ahead with something more than competitive fire. It isn't his competitiveness; no, she's witnessed that before in certain meetings and even at a few charity auctions, especially the ones for shelter animals. This isn't a second wind; he leaves her in the dust, stride lengthening out as he pushes off the pavement to reach a specific destination. Her eyes leave him to scan the shops ahead, spotting the tacky, rooster weathervane.

It's still a fair distance away.

Is he creating that distance? For you?

It's like that display at the Memorium—the overt lack of respect in seeking you out rather than staying within the bloodline fold. No one said anything during the aftermath by the obelisk, not to a Verner. Still, it's an odd development, a concerning one for their plans—their real future.

Even his mother should know better…

Charlene exhales harshly, chuckling some under her breath, which hampers her running form.

She'll meet him inside of Turn the Page.

. . .

. .

.

"Second!"

What better way to make an entrance than by barging right inside?

Charlene's view of the store could be coloring how she treats its door as a flimsy finish line set up for her arrival to dismantle. Her arms maintain their victory 'V' formation, knuckles bouncing off the glass as she rushes into your space. Well, it's yours now, right..? Who knows if your grandfather left you anything, aside from the clear potential for mental instability.

"No one calls that out, Char," Reese remarks, drifting in front of where you stand. "It's sad."

Charlene was still trying to locate you within this 'quaint' setting when Reese's move—his buffering attempt—hastens that along. Did she interrupt your private conversation? Her lips nearly quirk. "Finishing has its own merit."

"As does respecting the structure of an establishment, particularly one with air conditioning that you are allowing to escape."

He's calling out her etiquette by applying it to this level of venue? A coffee shop-bookstore hybrid…? Still, it does get under Charlene's skin, earning an exaggerated eye roll alongside her compliance with his request. She barely quells the need to slam the door shut, putting that energy—that force—into how she haphazardly spins back around to focus on you. You're still behind Reese, but she fixes you with a grin that falters when Reese returns her look instead.

His is far cooler, an implicit warning, that she's too well-trained to ignore. How interesting. Her grin hasn't entirely fallen away, still maintained enough to suggest being at ease and without a single care. "All happy now?" Charlene asks.

"With you, it's always the bare minimum."

There's a beat of silence between the two heirs that's full of unsaid communication before they both laugh. It's the perfect way to break that tension, perfectly controlled and tittering. How many conversations have been defused by this simple tactic? She started it; Reese acquiesced to let her behavior slide with a single warning.

They both aren't really laughing.

But she'll be having the last laugh on you.