August 25th, 1922.
Paris, France.

  Amélie found herself in her office at the Ministry, everyone had gone out to eat something or were patrolling the streets of the city. Her office suddenly felt too gloomy, the dark oakwood furniture, the windows, the light that came in through them from the rainy day outside, the pictures in the bookshelves, everything felt sad for some reason; she wondered why.

She felt sad. Maybe that's why, she thought. It made sense. Ever since Theseus walked away she's felt that way. Sad, confused, hurt...lonely. Even stupid. Stupid for asking him to leave knowing he would, stupid for not chasing after him even if she knew she shouldn't, stupid for loving him and allowing him to walk away from her. Amélie sighed as she looked out the window, rain falling onto it.

She bit her thumbnail when a thought popped in her head. No. No, I shouldn't. Her eyes went towards her desk, meeting her quill in the ink container and a stack of unused parchment paper she could write on. Don't do it. Movement on the desk called her attention, her sight snapped towards the picture in movement. A picture of her and Theseus together at a café, and the memory started playing like a film reel in her mind.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Back when Scamander was staying over at her place after Leta's passing, they decided to go out and have some evening tea at a café near her apartment. There, a photographer that was passing by asked if he could snap a few pictures of them, for he thought they were a lovely couple. At least that's what he told them, when the Aurors tried to correct him, he just placed the camera up and they laughed as he took the picture. He kept it in his suitcase and thanked them before walking away.

Amélie's eyes found Theseus', a short amused pause went by before they laughed the awkwardness and sudden nervousness off. However, Theseus realised the man had crossed the street just to sit on a bench and watch the world move before him.

When they finished their tea, Amélie pulled out of her coat a box of cigars. She lit one up and started smoking.

"That's going to kill you, you know?" Theseus told her back then.

"I do." Amélie said to him before she took a puff of the cigarette, making Theseus roll his eyes.

"Then don't smoke it." Amélie shrugged and exhaled the smoke. "You've always been a stubborn girl." She laughed and threw her arms around his neck, his wrapped themselves around her waist in a second, like a reflex.

  Both realised how quick this happened and their faces were very close, his blue eyes found her red lips and her green orbs observed that movement. Her lips curved into a smile and she laughed, throwing her head back. Theseus smiled at her al laughed too. They were friends, good friends, but just friends. There shouldn't be any attraction, but there was. There always has been, but they elected to ignore it and laugh it off.

  When they had finished laughing, they smiled at each other and their glances met again. She kissed his cheek and he kissed her knuckles a moment later, when their embrace had broke.

  As they walked back towards her apartment, they heard a male voice calling them. It was the photographer.

"Excusez-moi!" He yelled and Amélie turned around, looking over her shoulder. "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle." She stopped and Theseus stopped beside her.

"Oui?" Said Amélie and the man smiled at her as he extended a small envelope. "C'est quoi ça?"

"Une image de l'amour." He smiled at them. Theseus frowned a bit, for he didn't understand what he had said. "C'est une chose magnifique d'avoir ce que vous avez tous les deux. chérissez-le. toujours." Amélie smiled at the man and opened the envelope. Her eyes found the picture of their embrace and the movement of their laughter, her smile widened.

"What's that?" Asked Theseus as Amélie showed him the picture. "Oh, wow." He added with a smile on his face, too.

"It's a picture of love." She translated the words of the photographer, who chuckled as he looked at the Aurors. "Merci beacoup, monsieur. C'est un belle photo." The man smiled and gifted them a formal head nod.

"Au revoir." He said.

"Au revoir." Both said at the unison and the man walked away as they turned around and kept on walking. "You need to learn french." Amélie told Theseus as he kept the picture in the envelope again and gave it to her, laughing.

"I do." He offered his arm and they walked arm in arm all the way back to Amélie's home.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

  Amélie smiled as she could as he thought of that moment, remembering how Theseus wrote on the other side of the paper 'a picture of love you should keep and frame'. And, before she could realise what she was doing, Rosier found herself reaching for the quill in the ink and a piece of parchment, then she started writing in deep blue cursive letter.

  Mon très cher, Theseus.

  It has been a while since you were here. And, like I have said in my previous letters, I miss you dearly. I tend to believe it's ridiculous and stupid most of the time, thinking about it makes me sad.

  Even if I constantly feel like I'm not finished talking when we're finished talking, I know and I must tell you it never feels right to not pick up when you're calling.

  I feel stupid for not answering the letters if you write, or say 'hello' when you call me. Your absence kills me, and I apologise.

  I apologise for asking you to go. I told you to go and you went, honestly, what did I expect? I knew you'd leave only because I asked you to. And I regret it. Because I was about to tell you I had changed my mind, that I wanted you to stay forever despite everything that had happened and despite the words that had been spoken, but I couldn't bring myself to speak those words. I suspect you'd understand how that feels.

  You're the only one that understands what I feel, what it's like to be me, because you and I are the same. At least that's what I think, after all, you know me so well, like the back of your hand. Even if you don't know my favourite type of cereal and we're both different people now.

  I also wonder how did we get here? How did we get to this place where we don't talk? It makes no sense, but it feels like a sign from God that I keep ignoring. I probably shouldn't ignore him. Even if, just like you, I'm not a religious person, I know ignoring Him or whoever is out there isn't the wisest thing to do. So, maybe, I should let it go. Let you go...but I can't.

  Anyhow...it's stupid to miss you like this. And it's stupid to love you, but I can't help it. It's like a sickness there's no cure of. Actually, that's not right. There is a cure, and it's you. But I know it'll take time for that cure to come along.

I guess I just want to say that I'd like to be here, after all, you're the bright summer sun during a stormy day. I miss my sun. I wish you would come back, Theseus. I hope one day you decide to, because I'll be here waiting, ready to open the door the second you knock.

Goodbye, for now.
Truthfully and eternally yours, Amélie.

Amélie signed the paper and found an envelope as someone knocked on her door.

"Come in." She said. The black wooden door opened and revealed Madame Dupont. "What is it, madame?" Asked Rosier as she wrote down Theseus' address in the envelope.

"I came to deliver you this." Said the lady with grey hair. "It's François' report from your squad of scouts." Amélie nodded as she extended her hand to take the reports.

"Thank you." She sighed.

"I suspect they'll be back in a few hours."

"Maybe. However, I believe they'll go home instead. That's what I would do." Madame Dupont chuckled. "Has Jill, from correspondence, come by?"

"Not yet. I think she'll stop by in an hour or two."

"Alright." She grabbed the envelope and handed it over to her assistant. "Could you please give this to her when she comes?"

"Oui, mademoiselle."

"Merci beacoup." Madame Dupont nodded and walked towards the door. "Have you eaten anything yet?"

"No, I haven't." Amélie tilted her head in a disapproval manner.

"Cecile, you have to eat something."

"Have you eaten, madame?" Amélie smiled.

"No, but I brought lunch." She said, pointing at a bag that rested on one of the chairs opposite from her seat. "Pasta and salad."

"Bon apetit."

"Thank you. Now, please, go and have some lunch."

"It's raining and I'm busy."

"Busy? I've only asked you to leave a letter on the correspondence trade, Madame." Cecile chuckled. "You are busy reading that fancy novel of yours."

"Maybe."

"Please, eat something. You can borrow my umbrella, it's by the door." Madame Dupont sighed and smiled at her bossy friend.

"Just because you insist." Both women chuckled. "Would you like me to get you anything?"

"Perhaps a coffee, if it's not too much to ask."

"Not at all. It's a latte with vanilla, am I right?"

"As always." Cecile smiled and walked away.

"I'll be right back." Amélie nodded and started reading the report that had been delivered to her.

"Alright. Leave the door open on your way out, please."

"Of course."

"Thank you." Madame Dupont grabbed the umbrella, left the letter over her desk on the trade, removed her coat from the back of her chair, threw it on and walked away.

Amélie finished reading the report, took notes on it, added annotations, made a copy and wrote back to her agents. When she placed her feedback in an envelope and added a letter exclusively for François, she stood up and grabbed her lunch.

Rosier stood by the window as she ate slowly, watching the rain stop pouring with such intensity, being replaced by a much calmer strength. She placed her food on the desk and poured herself some water from the carafe that rests on a trade by the window's corner into a glass meant for whiskey.

Amélie's mind traveled to London once again as she sat down to keep eating. She wondered what would Theseus be doing right now. Is he having lunch too? Is he eating at all? If he's eating, is he by himself or with someone else? Who could that someone else be? Could it be a date? Would he go on dates? Has he...gone out on dates? Is he dating someone else? Could he or would he do that? Maybe to 'forget about me'? Has he forgotten about me? Wait...he probably did. No, he didn't. Well, he's probably mad at me. Certainly. Hurt, the least. Will he read the letter? Probably not. Should I send it?

Amélie stopped chewing her pasta and her hand stopped playing with the glass of water that rested over the oak wood. She stood up, grabbed the envelope she'd send to François and walked out of the office.

When she had arrived at Madame Dupont's desk, she placed the envelope on the trade and took the letter that was meant for Scamander. Her eyes scanned her own handwriting over and over, reading 'For: Theseus K. Scamander.' continuously. Élie made her way back to to she office, letter in hand. She placed it into her bag and sat back down.

When she took a mouthful of water, Jill arrived, took the trade from Madame Dupont's desk and carefully placed each envelope on a cart she had brought with herself before leaving the now empty trade back on the desk and walking away.

Amélie sighed and finished her food trying to keep her mind from wondering anymore. She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, returned, pulled out a jazz record from the bookshelf and played some music to keep her mind there. Then, she got back to work.

When night had fallen over Paris, she returned to her empty house. Evan was away in school, he had left a few days ago, so she was received by Nauge only.

Amélie made her way towards her bedroom, sat on the bed and took off her boots. She opened her leather bag and pulled out the envelope, then, she opened her closet. Rosier stood on her tip toes to pull from the back of the closet a shoebox. A sigh left her lips when she opened it.

Inside the box were a bunch of envelopes which contained letters to many people, people she misses. Most of them addressed to Thes. Those were the letters she had written but never sent. The newest letter was placed inside, and the box was closed and thrown to the back of her closet again before she closed its doors.

She damned herself for not having the guts to send the letters. If I want him back and I love him so, why can't I just send them? Because he hurt you. Because he can't say 'I love you' when you could say it daily. Because of you're afraid.

She could come up with a bunch of answers to the endless questions her mind formulated, but it would always end up in the same place. Amélie couldn't send the letters because she was afraid he wouldn't write back, it frightened her to lose him. Why risk it? Why, why, why? She'll probably never know.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

author's note:
happy VERY late christmas!

this chapter was supposed to be my christmas present to you, but i totally forgot to punish it. but here is is. better late than never, right?

the next chapter will be up soon bc that's my new year's day present to you. get ready bc it'll be turbulent!

ily all, have a nice one!
-mare.