MYLES HAS GOTITGOINONNNNN

It was when Emily Leila Faucet dumped the remains of her water bottle on Myles’ scalp that his eyes forced themselves open, irritated anger subsequently replacing his initial shock faster than most people could react.

He gasped and coughed, clutching the very edge of his antique wooden desk for support as he shook the water droplets clinging to the blonde ringlets of his curly hair, making him look not unlike a piqued poodle. And from the corner of his eye he spotted Emily’s arms wrapped around her middle, her entire body shaking with laughter at his rude awakening, and he felt the annoyance in him swell up like the perpetually floating balloon he had invented during his younger years. 

He sighed irritably, sending Emily an icy glare, which she promptly ignored, and spat, “Was that really necessary?”

Emily chuckled, and the sound of her laughter rang through the room like the pleasant sound of morning bells. Myles often thought of the sound of laughter as a prime contributor to his mental list of never ending things that hugely irritated him, but Emily seemed an eloquent exception, and this, he testily thought, was thanks to his ever-active hormones that seemed particularly good at not doing him any favors, especially during his work and research.

Emily sat in the seat opposite him and treated herself to a spin before answering him. “You were asleep on your desk. Again, mind. Can’t keep up with that little hobby of yours, Sleeping Beauty, I’m pretty sure you’ve annoyed the hell out of Professor Primate over there,” she said casually, giving his primitive lab partner a thumbs up. Prof. Primate screeched in agreement, and returned to cleaning his fur from unwanted parasites.  At this she raised her eyebrows pointedly, as if to say, ‘See? Even the monkey agrees with me.’

“No matter,” Myles muttered tiredly, rubbing last night’s exhaustion from his eyes, “A quick cup of tea aught to keep me awake for the next few hours.”

Emily smirked. “I know, which is why I brought you some.”

Myles stared at her in surprise, and he felt a rush of gratitude towards her. How was it that she knew exactly what he wanted exactly when he needed it?

“...You didn’t have to do that,” he managed, giving her a small smile. Emily shrugged, and returned his smile with a dimpled one of her own. “I figured you needed it, what with you canceling all our classes because of your research . . . ” she trailed off, eying the papers strewn all over his workspace. Myles detected the faint hint of disappointment lacing her tone, and his heart panged. He had been canceling their tutoring lessons, but his research wasn’t to blame. It was the tingle in his blood whenever he felt her sigh heat the base of his neck, or the glimmer in her olive eyes whenever she outwitted him in one of their many arguments, or that accursed, delightful laugh of hers.

She was distracting him, and Myles had thought that upon getting to know her once their initial meeting he would quickly lose interest in her, but no, she was still here, and contrary to his belief, he would almost immediately feel her absence as soon as she waved her final goodbye for the day . . .

Did that mean he missed her when she wasn’t there?

And if so, then were his feelings for her progressing rapidly everyday?  What was he spiraling down to? What if fate ill-treated him . . . would he ever climb out?

What if she didn’t return his feelings?

Myles gulped and cast that worrying thought away. She was entitled to her opinion of him, and that was that.

Emily fished out a pair of ceramic teacups and a pot, along with cream, sugar and milk, and carefully laid them out on the table . . . and Myles remembered. His cheeks and neck turned scarlet.

Emily caught the reddening of his face, and snorted. “And so the genius remembers!”

He winced.

“I’m... very, very sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible.

“Sorry? Didn’t quite hear that? Could you just repeat that?”

He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat and raised his voice, “I’m sorry.”

Emily leaned in close enough that he could smell her now well acquainted sweet nectarine perfume, and despite of himself, greedily breathed in. Jo Malone, he noted, taking pleasure in her intoxicating scent.

She put a hand to her ear and said, “What? Didn’t catch that! A bit louder, mate!”

Myles sighed. “I’m apologizing for the fact that I spilt tea all over your pants. It was foolish of me and I regret it. Rest assure that the incident might haunt me to the very grave, and if I’m not damned, the afterlife,” he said loudly, crossing his arms in impatience.

Emily stage gasped, and put a hand to her chest. “Oh-my-goodness . . . Myles Fowl . . . Was that a joke? Were you actually attempting at being funny? Is it really the day?! AM I GOING TO HELL FOR THIS?”

As if on queue, Myles promptly rolled his eyes, and Emily laughed, rolling her chair to the center of the room. “You’re an inane piece of work, Emily, and I wouldn’t want you to forget that, alright?” he called, arching an eyebrow at her snicker.

Her laugh faltered, and suddenly a shy smile played on her lips. “I still have your Christmas gift, if you want it.” She tucked a loose strand of chestnut carelessly behind her ear, and without meaning to, Myles’ heart swelled.

He shouldn’t, wouldn’t be too eager this time. “I believe it’s wise to say that you should open it, and eliminate any future prospect of a sure to come accident. Just in case.”

Emily shrugged. “It’s your present.”

Myles grinned.

***

Emily noticed the smile brightening his face, and suddenly the years of prematurity that lined his marble features faded from sight, and the lines on his mouth and forehead disappeared, and for the first time since she had seen him, Myles looked like a proper eighteen year old. The hazel in his eyes weren’t quite as menacing, but bright and affectionate, and . . . well, human. And she wasn’t afraid to say that that look exhilarated her. Maybe it was her ability to buoy up a cynical boy’s low spirits that electrified her, or maybe it was the enormous amount of interest he was giving her, one that veered far from the negativity she was usually used to from him. 

Myles tried to mask his eagerness but she didn’t miss the nervous energy radiating uncontrollably from him... and at that moment Emily found him beautiful, like an abandoned toy that had finally found a playmate. Years of loneliness had lined maturity onto his face, and now she could finally see his true worth.

And she liked it. She liked it a lot.

She made sure to take her time in pulling the wrapped parcel from her bag, and then took great care in unwrapping the present. She made sure Myles was watching her unwrap his gift, taking particular joy in the incessant impatience from the tapping of his foot.  Whatever she was doing was working, and Emily laughed at his pained expression.

Myles groaned. “You’re not serious, are you?” he said in an agonized voice.

She shushed him and continued.

After what seemed like five minutes (and as much as Emily loved to annoy Myles, the boredom eventually got to her as well), the present was wrapperless, and Myles peered cautiously at the item in her hand.

His eyes widened.

She grinned.

“No... that’s- that’s impossible. Even I couldn’t find that...” he muttered frantically, his hand instinctively rubbing his chin. Emily smile widened, holding out the book for him to take.

A while before Emily had met any of the Fowls, Emily had asked her father, an English literature professor who worked in King’s College at the time, for any antique book she could use as a display for their family bookstore. Any old book, but it had to be five hundred years old and no less. Laughing it off, her father assured her he’d do his best, but that the results may come out as fruitless.

“Gunna have to dip into my black market funds, am afraid,” he had joked, his eyes twinkling in good-humored mirth.

Joking aside, Emily had continued to pester her father, insisting that shop sales might skyrocket, and he finally agreed, but warned her not to expect anything worthwhile.

“Whatever it is, I’ll take it!” reminded sixteen-year old Emily, heading out of his office door.

Two years and many months later, Emily’s father returned home with a large book about a man who lived in the golden ages of the Arab world. According to the text, the man had been the inventor of many of the world’s first surgical tools. Emily’s uncle, a successful biologist residing in the Middle East, had given it as a present to Jacob Faucet, and seeing as his daughter loved to read, Jacob gifted the book to Emily, reminding her of the immense value the book was worth.

Then tragedy struck, and she met Myles Fowl. But despite their harsh beginning, Emily and Myles had grown close. So close that Emily decided the book needed a better home, and what better home was there than Fowl Manor?

Myles’ hands shook as he grasped the book from Emily’s outstretched hands, and she could only laugh at the worry lines creasing his forehead.

“Unbelievable . . .” he breathed. He turned to the first page and looked excitedly at her. “The texture . . . The text must be more than five hundred years old! Each page is an artifact for crying out loud! . . .” He flipped a couple more pages, marveling at the detailed illustrations and ancient Arabic text. “ . . . wait until Artemis gets a look at this . . .  I-“ he stopped abruptly, and his eyes hesitantly met Emily’s. “Thank you, Emily,” he said softly, gazing at her with silent wonder.

For reasons unknown to her, Emily felt her cheeks flush, and avoided meeting his intense gaze. “Don’t mention it,” she said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Myles shook his head, and . . . was the space between them closing? He gently took her delicate hands into his, and Emily immediately noticed the size difference. Myles’ hands were one of the longest she’d ever seen. “But . . . you don’t understand,” he muttered, the corner of his lips curving into a lopsided smile. Emily swallowed. “You don’t understand how dear this is to me, really . . . thank you.”

He brushed the line of her jaw with an idle thumb, and leaned in, gently pressing his lips to her cheek.

Emily’s eyes fluttered to a close, and her heart rate spiked.

He pulled away, looking surprised, as if fully aware of exactly what he had just done, and stared at the floor, his face a deep shade of cherry.

She gave a soft laugh, not precisely sure of what just happened. But she felt warm, and that’s all that mattered to her.  

Myles coughed and rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to eliminate any aspect of possible eye contact.

A loud knock sounded from the opposite side of the room, and in waltzed a half dressed Beckett, a ripe green apple dangling from his mouth. Myles growled, and Emily suppressed a giggle. Beckett took a large bite and, whilst chewing, called, “Myles! Mum neejs you! Marque jus’ finished taking m’ suit’s measurements and ‘ow it’s yo’ bloody turn!” He paused, turning his gaze towards the couple seated near (very near, Beckett would later add) each other, and swallowed.

His mouth split into a wide grin, eying their tangled fingers. “Well. Well, well, well. Myles.” Beckett’s grin widened, “It’s been six months but you’ve finally managed to find the courage to make out with your girlfriend!” He whipped out his phone and snapped a shot; Myles looking horrified, Emily a bright shade of red. “I’m marking down history,” he explained, shoving the phone back into his pocket, chuckling.

Myles’ eyes widened and he shot Emily a frantic stare, obtusely denying Beckett’s previous statement.

“Give me the phone!” he shouted, abruptly standing up.

Beckett shook his head and wiggled his hips. “Come and get me, baby!” Emily covered her face.

Grabbing a nearby pencil case, Myles flung it at Beckett’s head, somehow managing the enormous feat of making harsh contact with his brother’s temple. Staggering backwards, Beckett cursed, and looked dangerously at his spluttering brother. “You’re paying for that, brother of mine.”

“Give me the phone!”

“No.”

“Give it!”

“No.”

Myles shook his head. “You’re my bodyguard... Give me the phone! And I’m not paying for anything!” he declared, his long legs dashing towards the door.

Beckett snickered good-naturedly, arching a fair eyebrow. “Bodyguard shmodygaurd. You’re paying for that!” he replied, racing after his brother.

Absent mindedly, Emily’s hand wandered to her left cheek.

What just happened?

“Emily!” Emily heard Beckett call from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” she called back.

“Stay for dinner, alright!”

She laughed.