Chapter Text
Day 1: 14th of December, 2025
Colin coughed as more dust mites floated up his nostrils, wondering how on earth he managed to pull the short straw this year when he was normally so good at avoiding it.
Well, you’re normally not even here to pull a straw, his annoying conscience piped up and he frowned, feeling immediately guilty. The last few holidays he had only arrived a few days before Christmas, when everything was set up and everyone had already arrived. This was the first December in ages he had actually rocked up a full twelve days before Christmas, along with everyone else, and he had missed it. The full Bridgerton Christmas Experience™.
So fine, he would stop complaining and find the “good Christmas star”. To be honest, he agreed with his siblings, the one they had found was subpar at best, dull and lifeless in comparison to the one they normally used- all sparkly and glimmery. But that was before he was the one sent into the storeroom to find it.
“Ooof,” he puffed as he shifted another heavy box. How did they have so much stuff? They were barely here except at the holidays, and yet the Aubrey Hall storeroom was stacked to the ceiling with boxes, furniture and drop cloths. Most of the time he forgot it existed, only entering when he needed a good hiding spot as a kid or when he’d go looking for Pen because all of the socialising got the better of her.
He grumbled as he opened another box and rummaged through pineapple themed party supplies- plastic cups, paper plates and crazy straws falling over his hands as he searched. It was likely not in the stuff from Eloise’s tenth birthday party, but he’d be damned sure he wouldn’t be double-checking boxes either. He felt the cardboard bottom of the box at his finger tips and sighed. Nope. Not here either.
He moved the box over to the searched pile and regarded the stack of unsearched territory still to go. Outside he could hear his siblings chattering and making hot chocolate, and he cursed this bloody star. Maybe he could buy a new one? He dismissed the thought even as it came up. His siblings were far too annoying to be satisfied by that (he knew because he would be the same if he wasn’t the one tasked with finding it).
Deciding to employ logic (for once), he approached from the far side, figuring it might have been quickly stashed there when they were packing away last year. He wanted to go back in time and find out which lemonhead (Gregory) had packed it separately to all the other decorations and the tree and punch them (him).
Maybe it wasn’t the logical choice, maybe it was the lazy choice, because Colin didn’t hate the way he could sit on the old chaise by the window while he searched the boxes near it. Supplies were stacked up around it, with a tiny gap where his feet were that he realised with a chuckle Penelope had probably made during her frequent visits to decompress.
He was probably the only one that knew she did that, and he liked knowing this secret, it made him feel closer to her. In previous years, he’d realise he hadn’t seen Penelope for a few hours, and slipped away when no one was looking to the storeroom. Sure enough he would find her, curled up behind the boxes, hidden from the doorway, reading a book by the window. She would look up and smile, sneezing sometimes from the dust, and he would grin. Sometimes he would climb in the tiny gap to join her, and they would gossip and debrief about the family circus so far. Other times he would simply walk in enough to see that she was in there, give her a wink then leave again, leaving her to her quiet time.
The first time he’d stumbled upon her by accident, seventeen at the time, and looking for something that could reasonably serve as a tool for poking a frisbee out of the big oak tree outside. He’d been rummaging around when he’d heard a voice clearing and jumped, immediately assuming it was a ghost. But no, it was just Penelope- sixteen- blushing and poking her head over the boxes with a guilty smile. It was her first year spending Christmas with them, and it seemed her face was stained a permanent shade of red. He’d asked what she was doing and she’d explained she needed some quiet, rushing to reassure him that it was nothing against his family, just that she wasn't used to it. Colin believed it; the rare occasions he’d visited her home, it had been like a mausoleum, quiet and cold. He’d waved off her explanation and grinned.
“You don’t have to explain to me, Pen, trust me. I feel the same way too, and I was born into it.” Penelope had smiled in relief and he spotted a butterfly net, an old birthday present that had been discarded almost immediately. He grabbed it and said;
“I’ll leave you to your quiet time…sorry to disturb it.” He smiled apologetically and she shook her head.
“Oh, you don’t count Colin, I never need a break from you.” She said it like it was obvious before immediately turning bright red like she hadn’t meant to say that. He was glad she did though, his head growing fifty times bigger. He knew he was closer to her than Eloise, he knew it! Seeing she was about two seconds away from taking it back out of sheer embarrassment, he promptly dumped the butterfly net and squeezed through the box to sit next to her.
“Great,” he said, plopping down and reaching for the book in her lap. “What are you reading?”
Penelope had smiled so hard then that he felt giddy, and he felt so special, knowing that he was not part of the world that she needed to escape from. What an honour.
Now, ten-ish years later, so much had changed, and yet some things had not. Still Christmases at Aubrey Hall, but now there were nieces and nephews underfoot, and significant others. Bickering siblings, but now with grown-up jobs and calls with people named John or Judy in the next room from time to time. Still Penelope and Colin in the storeroom, but Colin actually had stubble to shave now, and Penelope didn’t shrink into herself like she once did. Instead she sat, confident in herself, laughing at the jokes they told freely and not like she was waiting to be scolded for doing so.
Colin shook his head, realising he’d been staring into space and refocused at the task at hand.
The fucking star.
He leaned over the arm of the chaise to where the in-built shelf held another box. He wondered if he could get away with rummaging from this awkward angle. He leaned further, precariously reaching his fingers into the box to see if he felt anything star-shaped.
“Fuck,” he swore as he knocked the entire box on the floor. He looked down at the mess in between the chaise and the wall, wondering if anyone would notice if he left it like that. Penelope would, he thought with a smile, the idea of another holiday of stolen moments in here delighting him. He sighed, pulling the box to the side so he could cram its contents back in.
He was just adding the last of the dusty 2010 Happy New Year novelty glasses (seriously they needed to throw some shit out) back in the box and putting it back where he found it (still no star!) when he felt it catch on something, stopping it from sliding in. He frowned, checking the contents weren’t too high for the little alcove, but no, all the NYE crap was below the neckline of the box (boxes definitely had necks).
He wondered if something was catching on the bottom, but he couldn’t feel anything when he felt along the base of the box.
Getting increasingly frustrated, he pulled the (goddamn motherfuc-) box out, put it next to him on the chaise and checked for what screw or nail or demon was stopping him from moving on with his life. He couldn’t see anything, though, and he contemplated finding a new home for the box, but it was becoming a matter of principle now. He would not let NYE 2010 win!
Running his hands over the bottom he did the same with one side of the alcove, then the other. Oh, there we go. The panel closest to the window, on the left, didn’t sit flush with the wall. He smiled in satisfaction (he was a genius), and gave it a smack to push it back in. It sprung back out again immediately, but whatever, he wasn’t a carpenter. He pressed it in while juggling the box, closing it enough to slide the box back into its spot.
He heard it spring back slightly when he took his hand away and there was a dull thud behind the wood as it did.
Great, now he’d broken the house. Christmas is cancelled, guys, Colin demolished Aubrey Hall while he was looking for a Christmas star. Yes I know we spoke about not leaving him unsupervised but we just looked away for one second….
Colin gingerly pulled at the panel as his brain chattered away in the background. Oh, it was just a book, not the foundations of the house. That was good.
Then he paused.
A book in a wall….
That was pretty unusual. He peered in there, realising the panel slid open easily. Inside was a worn leatherbound journal of some kind. He pulled it out, a cloud of dust coming with it and he coughed again.
He really shouldn't be getting so distracted, but he was bored and tired and also probably ten years old inside, so a mysterious book in the wall was far more interesting than some Godforsaken star that had apparently evaporated in the last year.
It was thick, and well-used, the edges jagged and its covers dusty, the outline worn. It was bound with a pen tucked between the strap and the book. A pen. Disappointing, so not from the olden days.
He wondered how excited Pen would be when he told her about his discovery, the treasure sitting just inches from where she curled up so many times. Maybe it was from the old owners.
He carefully opened the strap, the leather soft from age and use. Opening the cover he smiled when he saw butterflies and hearts scrawled on the blank flyleaf. Cute. A kid’s journal then.
The first page was full of big loopy writing, kind of familiar, and he studied it, trying to place it. One of his sister’s? The date — 14th of December, 2014, was scrawled across the top of the page, and he did the math in his head. They were definitely here then. He focused on the words, trying to decipher which sibling he would get to embarrass with this finding.
I’M GOING TO DIE.
I love it here and I’m so so so grateful that Mrs Bridgerton (or Violet as she says I should call her, but I don’t know, it feels weird) has invited me here but…. It is stressful. This is why.
Colin felt the biggest smile spread over his face as he realised with glee he was looking at the writings of a (more mathematics, hold on, fuck) a…sixteen year old Pen? This was the best day of his life. He wondered if she even remembered it was here. He read on eagerly.
Both of them were sentimental by nature and loved going back over old notes and letters between the two of them from high school. They both had matching stacks in their rooms, from when they wouldn’t see each other as often at school. They’d exchange them at the end of the week secretly when Pen came over to see El, and it was a habit that never really went away, especially when he went to university, and then she did. The letters waned as they got older, but they referred to them often. They loved laughing at their dramatics, their clunky turns of phrase, the things that used to bother them. Finding new Pen fodder was like finding a literal gold mine in his opinion. Even when she was young she was a brilliant writer, enthusiastic and witty, and he couldn't wait to pore over this with her.
He briefly wondered if he should wait, before dismissing it. It would be fine, he’d just read a little bit anyway.
Reasons why the Bridgertons being the nicest people alive is actually terrible:
I’m not used to it. They keep checking on me, and offering me things? No one tells me that I’ve had enough, or teases me when I don’t speak much?? I know this sounds like a champagne problem, but it honestly makes me even more anxious. Like I’m waiting for them to realise I don’t fit in with their perfect brood. I feel like a cuckoo bird, taking up too much space, soon to be realised for the imposter I am.
Colin gulped, not expecting to be hit by so much emotion so early on. But, unfortunately, it made sense. He often forgot how different Pen’s background was, especially when she literally glowed with warmth. But he remembered now, how when she’d first been invited for Christmas with them, how she’d jumped at every loud noise, sitting on the edge of her seat. Nowadays, Pen sat as relaxed as any of them, here by choice and not just because her wretched mother chose to celebrate the holidays with her sisters who studied in France, and “couldn’t afford” to take Penelope. But it had taken a long time for her to get to that stage, and he hated very few people as much as he did her parents for teaching her that her light was anything but a miracle.
He frowned and kept reading.
I don’t know how to be normal. They’re all so normal…or rather….they’re themselves, and they’re okay with that???? I don’t even know who “myself” is, and I feel like I’m wearing like thirty costumes at once and can’t move my arms. I keep expecting someone to be like…who are you? But they don’t, because they’re nice. They just let me be all weird and awkward and pretend like I’m not stumbling over my sentences and blushing every two seconds. It’s exhausting being around people who are so happily themselves when I don’t even properly feel like a person yet, let alone myself, whoever that is.
This was not as fun as he had thought it would be. He’d put it back. Maybe not even mention he’d found it. Penelope had come so far, but he swore he had just as much love in his heart for the blushing teenage version as he did for the woman she’d become. He was curious about the last point on the list though, he would just read that and then that was it, he promised himself.
Colin Bridgerton is so hot that it should be illegal. What the hell is his problem? Walking around like he’s not the hottest boy I’ve ever seen? It’s ridiculous. I’m trying to exist and not implode and he’s just AHHHHHHHH!
Oh. Well. Never mind, he thought as a grin spread across his face. This was DEFINITELY fun. He had no idea she had thought he was attractive, not really. Maybe it had crossed his mind once or twice, if he was honest, but he had brushed it off as teenage ego. Mostly he just attributed her blushing around him to her regularly scheduled blushing. It was flattering, and put some warmth on his skin to know she thought of him like that, at least once upon a time.
He smirked to himself. If he played this right he could drop this exact language over the dinner table and recreate that shade of her cheeks exactly. But no, he would be nice. He would put it back and pretend it never happened.
It's just…
Did she say what she found hot about him?
This was ridiculous. He was twenty-eight years old and looking for compliments in a teenager’s diary. Crazy work.
But still.
He closed his eyes, trying to resist, but one eye surreptitiously opened, peeking at the page in front of him.
Anyway. It doesn’t matter how attractive he is, I’m not here to be distracted from my nice normal holiday by his stupid blue eyes and stupid curly hair and extra stupid tanned skin. No. Waste of time. He is my friend, and friends don’t perve on friends…i don’t think. I don’t know for sure, I’ve never had a guy friend before and the only person I can ask is Eloise, which I obviously WON’T be doing. So the jury's still out. Will keep you updated. Anyway I better go before I’m missed, I love this little hiding spot, it’s perfect.
His cheeks sore from smiling, he went to turn the page when he heard a click of the storage door opening.
Jumping in alarm, he quickly stuffed the journal and pen into the little crevice in the wall, impressed with how invisible it was once it was in there. He swallowed, hearing footsteps as he tried to look casual as he heard Greg’s voice.
“Colin? You in here?”
He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual.
“Um, yeah. Yep. I’m here.” he replied, just as Greg appeared around the corner, eating a gingerbread biscuit. He realised what a perfect spot for sneaky journaling this was, there was no way anyone could come in without him getting at least twenty seconds notice.
Greg stared at him, sitting, apparently doing nothing on the chaise behind a pile of boxes, and looked unimpressed.
“Were you sleeping?” he asked, and Colin frowned.
“No! I was just taking a break. There’s forty thousand boxes in here and no organisation system to speak of,” he snapped.
“Oh… yeah. About that. We found the star already, it was in a pile of tinsel.” Greg grinned sheepishly and Colin glowered at his younger brother.
“And when did you make this discovery?” he asked through gritted teeth, and Greg shrugged, taking another bite of the cookie.
“I dunno, just after Penelope got here, I think? Honestly I think we all forgot you were-”
“Pen’s here?” Colin cut him off, jumping to his feet.
Greg looked at him blankly.
“Oh yeah. Penelope’s here as well,” he said through a mouth full of biscuit as Colin did his best to untangle himself from the surrounding boxes. He couldn’t believe he’d missed her getting here, she wasn’t supposed to arrive until the evening.
He strode past Gregory, plucking the rest of the cookie from his hand as he did and shoving it in his mouth.
“Hey!” Gregory protested but Colin was already out the door, mouth full but smiling at the thought of his favourite person somewhere under the same roof.
“Pen!”
Penelope spun around from where she was standing at the kitchen bench, filling Violet in on her latest work project when she heard Colin’s voice from behind her.
“Finally!” she said accusingly, a massive grin spreading across her face. “I’ve been here for an hour.”
Colin shook his head, face grim but eyes sparkling as he made his way across the room. He looked the same as ever, curls tumbling over his forehead and a slight scruff on his face. He was wearing jeans and a sweater, and looked kind of… dusty? Was he playing in the attic?
“Not to be all middle child about this, but my family hates me, I think,” he explained as he reached her, pulling her into a hug and then spinning her around as she gasped, then laughed.
“Hmmm, I think Violet would strongly disagree with that,” she countered as he put her down, and saw Violet nod as she continued rolling out dough on the benchtop.
Colin grinned.
“Well, whatever, they didn’t tell me you were here so they’re dead to me. With the exception of you, Mum, of course,” he added as Violet rolled her eyes and shook her head. “They also sent me on a wild-goose chase in No Man’s Land,” he said, raising his eyebrows and she chuckled. No Man’s Land was what they called the storage room, and where they frequently rendezvoused for mid-Bridgerton holiday briefs and gossip sessions. That explained the dust.
“Poor you,” she pouted sympathetically at him, infusing as much condescension into her tone as she could manage. “Have you thought about running away and making them all miss you when you’re gone?”
Colin’s eyes widened.
“I was literally just putting all my belongings into a handkerchief to tie at the end of a stick??”
Penelope smirked. She’d missed him enormously.
“Well don’t forget to pack your mittens, it’s cold out there,” she advised, slipping her arm around his waist as they began walking to the sitting room, and nearly sighed in relief when his arm came up around her shoulders.
“Thank you, Pen, I won’t. You’re the only one who supports my dreams,” he said, sighing dramatically and she grinned.
“I know, baby. Why don’t you get us a cider and tell me all about it,” Penelope smiled at him cheerily, insanely happy to be back, doing what they did best again. How easy it was to fall into their rhythm like this once again.
Colin got ready for bed, exhausted but happy. It was so good to be back here, with his family. With Penelope. Eating and drinking and putting that stupid star on the tree. His siblings getting drunk and competing at karaoke (which was traditionally not a competitive thing, but they managed). Their partners watching with amusement, wondering what the hell they’d married into. The kids sitting around decorating cookies with Mum before being taken to bed one by one as they fell asleep with icing around their faces. And Pen.
Pen.
Pen, who sang along with them now, not a sliver of shame as she dueted Breaking Free with Hyacinth.
Pen, who insisted on helping washing up, even when he came and lifted her out of the kitchen forcibly, only to find she had scurried back in there when little Edmund came to ask for help unwrapping a candy cane.
Pen, who laughed free and with her head thrown back when they huddled in the corner, regaling each other with tales from the last few months, Colin emptying out his mental catalogue of stories he knew she’d love, and filling it with hers.
Stripping off, he got into bed, all warm and fuzzy. He wished he could feel like this all the time, he thought begrudgingly. It wasn’t like he didn’t like his job, but he was getting tired of travelling so much. And if he stuck around more, it would be a nice side effect that he would see Pen more. He’d been thinking about it more and more lately.
Not that that was a big enough reason to come back to London permanently, of course. And besides, they stayed in touch consistently. More than he did with anyone, really. But it wasn’t the same.
He rolled onto his side, mulling. He’d been mulling a lot lately. Maybe Pen would have some insight. They could talk about it in No Man’s Land, he thought with a grin before his half shut eyes snapped open.
The journal.
In the excitement of seeing her he’d completely forgotten about it. He grinned again as he remembered her teenage spiralling over him. He hadn’t decided if he would tell her he read it yet. He probably should.
Suddenly, he realised he had shoved it in haphazardly, and not at all the way he found it. He doubted she even remembered it was there anymore, but still, if she went looking for it and saw it thrown in like that she might panic. He would fix it, it was the right thing to do. And if he happened to see some more teenage writings, then so be it.
No, he wouldn’t do that.
He would just make it nice and leave it like that, he told himself as he snuck out of the room. Oh, hang on. He quickly went back and put his robe on. There were kids in the house, after all, and they didn’t need to see Uncle Colin in his boxers. Plus it was colder downstairs.
Quietly he headed down the stairs and towards the storage room, the house dimly lit with Christmas lights. In the storage room it was dark though, and he was glad he brought his phone, flicking the flash on. He made his way to the chaise, pulling out a box so he could slide in more easily.
He knelt on the chaise, shining the light so he could see the panel, pressing on it slightly and catching it as it bounced open with his finger. Holding it open he reached inside, finding the journal and pulling it out, and sighed, glad he had. Sure enough the strap was twisted and not properly secured, the pen barely tucked in.
He took a steadying breath, sitting back on his heels as he unfolded the cover once more. He glanced over the page he had already read, because he’d already read it right? No extra badness from that.
He smiled, reading it again. He liked the image of young Pen coming in here, face drawn in concentration as she wrote her thoughts down, hair falling in her face. The way she would quickly stash it, looking up with a red face when he entered. He wondered how many writing sessions he had unintentionally interrupted when they were young and chuckled. She never seemed displeased when he visited her (and he supposed now he knew why), but he had to think he’d interrupted some trains of thought over the winter. The journal was pretty full, so obviously she’d managed nonetheless. Although he wasn’t sure how she’d found the time. Maybe she snuck down here at night. Another adorable mental image.
Beyond the entry he’d already read was the following day, the 15th of December. He bit his lip, pondering. He scanned the page, smiling at the capital letters and underlinings. So dramatic, his Pen. Even if he didn’t know it at the time. He liked that even when she’d been flustered and shy around them, she’d still been the same fiery girl underneath, the one he knew so well now. She said she didn’t know who she was in the last entry, but even if she didn’t, she was certainly Penelope, even then. Even if she didn’t realise it yet.
His gaze wandered across the page, almost absentmindedly, and he sighed. He wouldn’t. He was tempted, but he wouldn’t.
He attempted to prop his phone against the chaise arm so he could use both hands to tie up the journal but it slipped off the velvety surface and onto the floor with a clatter. Swearing, he leaned down, scrabbling around for it in the dark since it had landed flashlight-side down. Knees still on the furniture he leaned down, supporting his upper body with his arms on the floor as he looked upside down for his stupid phone.
Click
Fuck, the door. Someone was coming in, and he was half on the chaise like a reluctant labrador who had been told to get off the furniture. Footsteps came closer as he tried to walk himself back on to the chaise, lifting himself so he was kneeling again just in time for a light to come around the corner, exposing him.
“What the fuck?!”
Penelope at least had the presence of mind to whisper shriek, something he couldn’t say he would have been able to do had the shoe been on the other foot. He cringed sheepishly.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised in a whisper, hands up in a “my bad” gesture. Penelope looked at him with bewilderment, about to ask what he was doing there when her gaze fell on the open journal in front of his knees in the little torch in her hand’s warm light. Trust Penelope to have found the world’s most aesthetic flashlight.
“Oh shit, shit, I’m sorry Pen, I found it today and I didn’t know what it was and then I put it back and then I came back to try and put it back nicer but I promise I wasn’t going to read any more of it, I know this looks so bad, Pen, shit, I’m so sorry, I was hoping you didn’t even know it was still here…”
He was babbling, voice coming out quickly and hushed as Penelope watched him with wide eyes. He trailed off when she didn’t say anything, cursing himself. Fuck. What an invasion of privacy. He would never be curious about anything else ever again in his entire life.
“How much did you read?” she asked quietly, face still passive in the dim light. He furrowed his brow, confused when she didn’t go straight to murder.
“The first entry only, Pen, I swear…”
Pen chewed her lip for a second before setting her torch down on a nearby box (that’s how you did that without cocking everything up, Colin thought to himself wryly) and walking up to the chaise where Colin was still kneeling like an idiot. She picked up the journal, turning it so it was facing her and opening the first page, scanning her eyes over the entry. He thought he saw a twitch in the corner of her mouth, but it was probably a trick of the light, her hair casting shadows on her face.
She looked up at him.
“Oh, yes. I remember this one,” she said simply and he squinted, trying to read her.
“I’m sorry, Pen,” he said again, guilt surely sending him prematurely bald as he spoke. “And you don’t need to feel embarrassed, we all have dumb crushes when we’re kids…” he was babbling again, but he needed this to not be weird. Please, how could he make this not be weird?
Penelope didn’t say anything, just smiled slightly.
“That’s okay, I’m not embarrassed,” she said, finally, and he nodded relieved.
“Good, I’m so glad. You shouldn’t be,” he reassured her. He watched, confused as she handed it back to him.
“You want me to put it back?” he asked dumbly. Of course she did, why was he acting like it was his first time interacting with another human being?
She smiled again, like she had a secret, and it looked positively mystical in the dim light.
“No, you can read it.”
Colin wondered if she hit her head on a doorway, like a doorway for a mouse or something.
“What?”
“Read it,” she shrugged. “If you want. I wrote that stuff a long time ago, and it’s funny.”
He squinted, wondering if this was a trap.
“No, Pen, that’s okay. It’s private.”
She shrugged again.
“Not really. You know me pretty well already. I doubt there’s anything you don’t already know.”
“Well I didn’t know you had a crush on me when we were kids,” he countered without thinking, and was relieved when she only looked amused back, instead of smacking him upside the head.
“Okay, so read until I don’t have a crush on you anymore,” she replied teasingly, almost like it was a challenge.
Colin looked down at the book in his hands. He was tempted as hell, he had to admit, but he also felt like this was crossing a line somehow. Like even if she gave permission now, she hadn’t written it knowing he (or anyone) would see it one day, which felt important for some reason. He was very confused, to be honest.
Penelope reached out and put a hand on his arm.
“Look, I’m not going to force you to do anything, obviously. But if you want to, I don’t mind. In fact, I would love you to. There’s lots of good stories about us in there, and I know you love that stuff.”
Well, that was true. And she said she wanted him to. His already pathetic resolve basically evaporated into water vapor. She read him like a book, smiling triumphantly the moment she won him over. She crouched down for a second and then she was back, holding out something.
His phone. She gave him a knowing smile as he took it.
“Goodnight, Colin,” she said, grabbing her torch from the box and leaving him kneeling on the couch, open journal in his hand, surrounded by boxes.
Colin went back into bed and stared at the journal where he’d laid it on the bedside table in the dark.
He was tempted to read it now, but it was late and he was tired, and weirdo that he was, he wanted to savour it.
Read until I don’t have a crush on you anymore she had said, and he would respect those parameters at least. Realistically, he had no way of knowing whether that gave him one page or ten. He would save it for tomorrow. A little early Christmas present to himself, from Penelope. His favourite kind.
Was it weird he was so excited to read his best friend’s journal? Probably. But he couldn’t help it. She was his favourite person and his favourite author. This was his holy grail.