Chapter Text
Atlas
Paisley, Scotland, March 22, 1938
It was just after eleven o'clock in the morning, and strangely enough that day the sun stood high over the small village of Paisley. The usual gray sky had given way to a clearer light that warmed the rooftops and made the breeze feel almost pleasant. The streets, especially the main one, were bustling with people: shopkeepers calling out from their stalls, wheels of carts grinding over gravel, children laughing as they ran, women exchanging greetings at the corners. Paisley, at that hour, was brimming with life, and everyone had already started their day. Everyone…except Atlas Crane.
He was still sprawled in his bed, breathing heavily through his mouth. He was a striking young man, nearly twenty: tall, with slicked-back blond hair and a charming face. His personality, though, was far less polished.
There were numerous clothes spread on the floor, and the room smelled faintly of woman perfume and smoke. Next to Atlas lay a beautiful brunette, sound asleep. They wore only their underwear, the sheets tossed aside. She was probably someone he’d met the night before in a club.
All of a sudden, a voice echoed from the floor below.
«Atlas!»
It grew louder and closer, until it became a door handle rattling.
«Atlas! Don't tell me you're still asleep!»
The girl next to him jolted awake, and began to shake him off his shoulders. «Wake up! Your mother’s here!»
Atlas first opened one eye, trying to figure out what was happening. «What?»
The girl pointed to the door, which handle kept rising and falling repeatedly, accompanied by Atlas' mother's screams.
«Fuck.»he muttered. «Get dressed, and quickly.»He leapt from the bed and grabbed the first pair of pants he saw, nearly tripping as he pulled them on.
«I’m awake!» he shouted back at his mother, a cigarette already between his lips.
«You better get moving. It’s after eleven!» came the sharp reply.
The girl scrambled for her clothes, scattered across the floor. «Didn’t you say your parents were leaving this morning?»
«That’s what they told me.» He flicked the lighter. «You stay here. I’ll let you out once they’re gone.»
«But I–»
She didn't have time to finish, as she saw him disappear out the door.
At the bottom of the stairs, Atlas’ mother was waiting for him, arms crossed, face like thunder.
«Where were you last night? You reek of alcohol. And I heard you come in after three again.»
Atlas brushed past her. «Morning to you too.»
«And don’t think I don’t know you’ve snuck some girl into that room–»
«I’m nearly twenty.» he retorted. «What I do is none of your business.»
«You live under my roof! You want freedom? Get a steady job. Settle down with one of those girls you chase every night. Maybe then you’ll afford your own house and your own hours.» She followed him into the kitchen. «Look at your brother! At your age, he already had responsibilities.»
Atlas lit the cigarette, ignoring her tone.
«Did you hear me?» she snapped.
He exhaled smoke slowly. «Every word. But you say the same thing every time. I’m not like you. And I sure as hell won’t end up like Dad.»
That one hit the nerve. She reached for a slipper to throw at him, but he had already splintered out the door. He was running down the street, a big smile on his face and the wind ruffling his blond hair.
The town didn’t love him, he knew that. The elderly gave him long, judgmental stares as he walked by, but it didn’t really matter.
If for them living meant marrying someone they didn't even love just for convenience, starting a traditional family and then working everyday until death…they might as well not live at all.
—
Laurent
Livingstone, Scotland, March 22, 1938.
The morning was gray and still, the wind tugging at the branches of the trees surrounding the Sinclaire estate.
Laurent sat curled up on the stone bench in the small enclosed garden, notebook resting on his knees, pen poised but idle. His brown hair fell messily over his forehead, glasses slightly crooked. The silence pressed around him, broken only by the occasional bird and the distant rustle of leaves.
He tapped the pen lightly, staring at the page. The words he wanted wouldn’t come, and his mind wandered to the city beyond the estate walls. Glasgow University–his biggest dream–seemed impossibly far. A world he longed to reach, though his father’s strict rules made it feel almost forbidden.
Laurent thought of the weeks spent inside, the afternoons when he had been told to “sit quietly and learn to behave like a proper boy.” The memory stung faintly, like the echo of his father’s disapproval still lingering in the corners of the house. He clenched his notebook in his lap, imagining the narrow, winding streets, the crowds, the laughter not monitored or controlled.
A soft crunch of footsteps made him glance up. Inès was approaching, her dark hair catching the pale light, her steps measured and confident. “You’ll catch a chill sitting out here,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she stopped beside him.
“I needed air,” Laurent murmured, closing the notebook with a soft snap. He tucked it under his arm, fingers lingering on the worn cover.
“You’ve been thinking about Glasgow again, haven’t you?” Inès asked, sliding down beside him onto the bench. Her sharp eyes softened as they met his. She didn’t need to speak the words aloud–she already knew.
Laurent hesitated, then nodded. “I hope my father will let me go,” he admitted, voice low. “I can’t resist here much longer.”
Inès gave him a small, knowing look. “You might have a chance. You just need to play your cards right. And I’ll help however I can.”
He let a faint smile escape, feeling lighter for the first time that morning. “Thanks.”
She returned the smile. “Remember, sometimes the smallest risk brings the greatest freedom.”
She stood, brushing the dust from her skirt. “Come in. Lunch will be ready soon.”
Laurent stayed seated a little longer, watching the gray sky shift above him. A flicker of hope warmed him, fragile but real, a light he hadn’t felt in years. The wind tugged at his hair, and he let himself imagine a future just beyond the estate walls, where he could finally be the person he wanted to be.