For every apple that falls down from a tree, the branch from which it falls from flicks upwards, away from the apple. When the apple, guided by gravity, lands, it imposes a downwards force onto the ground beneath.

The ground, in return, imposes an upwards force onto the apple. Sometimes, the upwards force stops the apple and lets it rest on the ground. Other times, the upwards force stops the apple by crushing it. It depends on the height from which the apple falls; it depends on the gravity of the situation.

When an apple falls from a tree, it never falls far. An apple is unable to move and can’t deny it fell from a sickly tree, even if it doesn’t want to admit it. A tree is unable to lie and can’t deny its height crushed its own apple, even if it doesn’t want to admit it.

For every tree, its apples will have equal and opposite reactions towards it. This is factually true, as true as the ground that awaits beneath.

She drifts into the room where she knows her beloved will be, and glides straight towards his desk. Seeing that his earphones are plugged in, she approaches him instead from the front where she knows she’ll be easily visible, and quietly perches atop his laptop screen with that patented smile of hers.

“Hello Steora,” Merethel removes his earphones and smiles. His voice is missing its characteristic playful lilt, but his eyes still shine like stars at her. He pulls the chair next to him out for Steora and says nothing more.

She notices, of course.

She does slide into the seat she was offered, but she doesn’t immediately unpack her books to settle and study. Instead, she fixes him with a look that says—

“What’s wrong, Merethel?”

“Um...” his eyes drift to his books. He scoffs. “Would you believe it? My dad’s gone again.” He pushes a textbook aside for room to open it. “Some things really never do change.”

The hurt in his words swim in her eyes, and she nuzzles him like a cat.

“I’m sorry.” she says, sympathy coloring her tone. “Did he tell you where to? Oh, um. Sorry, I probably should have asked if you wanted to talk about it first...”

“Oh no, don’t apologise,” Merethel smiles. “I appreciate you asking. Thank you. I do know where he’s going. Rio, of all places. He went there earlier this month for some work meeting. Last night, he was suddenly called to fly back there.” He sighs as gently as he flips through his textbook’s pages. “And there’s not-a-word on when he’s coming back.”

Steora listens to him as he weaves his worries, and she wraps an arm around him in response. Merethel leans against her.

“But anyway,” he starts, “How have classes been so far for you? How’s the school?”

“School is as school always is~” Her favorite phrase. One she’s always fallen back on when there’s nothing remarkable.

(Or when she isn’t particularly willing to divulge details, but today is not that day.)

Merethel tucks her hair behind her ear. “Look at you. It hasn’t been a year since you’ve moved here, and you’ve already settled in well! I’m glad.” A chuckle. “I hope you don’t miss France too much.”

“It’s hard to miss France when you’re right here with me,” she quips, a smile playing at her lips, mirth and adoration dancing in her eyes, blink-and-you’ll-miss it as her expression knits into one of pondering. “About your dad — I guess that’s just how his new job might be?” she suggests. She is trying to tread lightly, like one would when they are trying to avoid the one creaky staircase, like one would when they are trying to avoid the wrath of a guardian.

“I guess so. Well, it is how his new job will be. He told us he’ll leave once every few months with no word of return,” another scoff. “And he’s still trying to pretend that all is fine and dandy and normal. I can get used to him disappearing for long periods of time. Ten years is quite the count, after all. But getting used to him acting like that? Ugh. Isn’t it easier to just... not act? God, it’s tiring.”

Steora closes her eyes as Merethel combs through her hair, and a pleasant sigh escapes her lips. When he stops to rest his head on the desk, it is her turn to smooth his bangs, careful and gentle as she brushes her fingers against his forehead.

“You think he’s putting up some kind of act?” her question is genuine, tone curious rather than sharpened like an attack.

“Oh god, I hope so,” he laughs and closes his eyes at Steora’s gentle fingers. “If he genuinely thinks that everything will be normal and all right, he is truly delusional.” He opens his eyes. “Hm. Maybe ten years did do a number to his head. Who knows. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Or maybe he wants it to be true, Merethel,” she says, softly. “Ten years without you, Hrodwyn, or Hygd. That’s a lot of years,” she murmurs, pulling away to actually dig at her books, this time.

Merethel stays silent. Only the flipping of pages respond to Steora. Then, a sigh.

“Ugh, I hate that you’re right. Not you-I don’t hate you-but I just—” he sighs. “I don’t want this to be normal. I don’t want any of it. We were all doing well without him, and then he suddenly drops by and everything’s thrown off balance. It’s so—”

Merethel resorts to a grumble and opens his notebook. There are calculus questions to be solved. Steora watches him glare at his equations.

“I know,” she says softly. 

In the storm of his anger she knows that she can always hold on to one certain thing: that he loves her. This she knows as an unwavering truth, and it lets Merethel’s vitriol-laden words slide off her back like water off of a duck’s.

“Even if he didn’t mean to be that way, that’s still how it is,” she says as she frowns at their calculus homework.

“Ugh, I guess...” Merethel grumbles.

A moment passes. Steora turns to look at him, eyes pleading this time.

“Meretheeel. I’m a theater kid. I don’t need to know thiiiis.”

Merethel can’t help but break into a smile. He pats her head. “I know, I know. Just this semester left, and you’ll fulfil all the math credits you’ll ever need to graduate. Here, let me help you.”

“Why are the numbers together with the worms noooow. When I was a kid the numbers stayed numbers!” she whines as she watches him untangle the problem. “Then they got with the letters and that was bad, and now they have squiggly lines and my brain’s going all squiggly tooo.”

Merethel grins. He scoots his chair closer to Steora. He knows they should be quiet in the library, but to hell with that. He’ll help squiggle calculus out of her head onto scrap paper. “Oh! Speaking of the semester, how’s the musical production going? I’ve only ever passed by the hall, but it’s sounding pretty good so far — especially you.”

Steora’s face takes on the colour of roses.

“Ehh-that-how would you know that!” she punches him lightly. “Dumbass,” she says without a bite to the word.

Merethel makes a mock-gasp and dramatically clutches his chest. “Ah! Well, I guess I’ll have to let the cat out of the bag—” he pauses, then clarifies the idiom, “—I’ll have to spill my secret.”

“If you’re going to be that dramatic maybe you should be part of production, too,” Steora mumbles as she buries her face in Merethel’s shoulder.

Merethel laughs, one hand hugging her while the other pats her head. “I could use some extra-curricular credits. I don’t have enough of those, and universities sure are fond of them.”

Steora mumbles again, burying her face even deeper. “Well? So what’s your secret?”

Merethel beams from ear to ear. “I recognise your singing voice, you know. It’s hard not to when you sing to yourself at random. It’s good!”

“You do listen!” she says, half accusingly, half jokingly. “Could have told me earlier.” She leans on him with a smile, then laughs a little. “That’s so embarrassing. I’m just singing without really paying attention to it, you know!” Ahh, all the times my voice cracked because I wasn’t ready...

“Well, don’t stop! It’s wonderful. Singing while helping us with chores back home makes you look like a princess.”

“Fineee. I woon’t. I’ll sing more when I help out at yours,” she boops his nose.

“Yes, do sing more,” Merethel takes the boop with a closed-eye grin. “Because one day, maybe I’ll be your prince on the stage.”

Steora looks at him with a grin. “So you’ll work on the production with me? We can always use more hands~”

“Ah, hm!” Merethel makes a show of looking up to think. “That’s quite the commitment. But as long as you’re there, I’ll consider it.”

“Only consider? I’m not enough to make you say a yes?” she says teasingly.

“Ha-ha. I don’t know if I have the voice for it. Granted, I can always join the stage crew instead. It’s way too late to join the cast right now, anyway.” 

“Stage crew is an option,” she giggles. “Whatever you’re more comfortable with. You’ll get to hear more of me singing!” she says, as if to sweeten the whole prospect for him.

“You can always visit us more often too, seeing I don’t know when my dad will be back.”

Her smile softens. “Even if he were back, I’d come if I’m free and you asked me to.”

Merethel tilts his head curiously. “You would? Really?”

“I would,” she hums as she continues to cosy up with him. She adds with a cheeky grin, “So long as you’re there.”

“...We’ll see,” Merethel sighs, content with his girlfriend sinking into his side. But it doesn’t last long — Steora feels him straighten and hears him clear his throat. “All right now, we have calculus to do. Which other questions did you need help with?”

Steora grumbles, but acquiesces as she points out the question she has trouble with.

The conversation fades into the tedium of everyday high school life, the worst struggle for the time being whether or not a calculus question is correctly answered in the answer sheet; whether or not Newton’s Third Law would apply to this particular physics question.

If only it were all this simple.