zai

If you stayed like that long enough, you could imagine you were still sixteen and not afraid of the world or of yourself. You'd still feel the sunlight hit your legs through the curtains as they hung off the edge of Tashi's bed.

You'd still smell the perfume you gifted her permeating through her pillowcase as you lay and wait for her to get ready for school. You'd still hear the soft rustle of her brush being dragged through her hair and the sound of the radio playing softly, her voice softly humming along to whatever song was playing. You'd still feel the softness of her bedsheets beneath your fingertips.

You'd still be there with Tashi, you'd still be in her world and her best friend, and things would still be perfect.

It doesn't work when you try to do it now, because every time you squeeze your eyes closed, they'd sting from exhausting and all you'd hear is the sound of voices overlapping and champagne glasses clinking against each other. All you'd feel is the material of your dress beneath your sweaty palms and the headache settling right behind your eyes. All you'd smell is Tashi's mother's perfume that made your nose burn. And all you'd see was her. The once dreamlike images now akin to a nightmare that plagued your mind.

Her hand placed on top of yours startles you and wakes you from whatever reverie you found yourself in. "You okay?" she asks with a soft smile, voice edged with concern. You only nod, sparing her a small smile. "Just tired," you say, voice barely audible amongst everyone else's. She nods in understanding hand that is still on top of yours giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Almost over," she sighs, hand retreating to smooth over the non-existent wrinkles in her dress.

True to her word, the rehearsal dinner had soon wrapped up, and everyone had retreated back home to get some rest before the big day. Tashi's mother had left you with a hug and a squeeze to your shoulders, almost as if she could tell you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, her smile the kind you give to someone you pity.

You had every intention of spending the night wallowing in self-pity and dreading everything that the morning had in store for you, but before you could even make it to your hotel room, Tashi had asked you to join her for a quick nightcap. And you couldn't find it in you to deny her, so you only gave her a small smile and nod in agreement before she was dragging you away.

Currently, it feels like you're sinking into the plush seat of the barstool, headache only intensifying as the minutes slipped by in the company of Tashi. You've been sitting in this hotel bar for a little over an hour now and somehow neither of you have mentioned anything about the wedding, an unspoken agreement to keep that topic on the backburner as you kept yourself entertained with miscellaneous smalltalk.

In the end it's you who decided to break the ice, a slow sip taken from your second (third?) vodka cran before you're gathering the courage the utter the words that have been plaguing your mind.

"I can't believe you're getting married, Tashi." The words taste somewhat bitter in your mouth, and you have to stop yourself from outwardly grimacing when you say it. She only smiles at your profession, a perfectly manicured finger absentmindedly tracing the rim of her half-empty glass. "I know," she says softly, shaking her head in slight disbelief, "I can't believe it, either."

A short silence falls between you, and it becomes more and more suffocating as the seconds pass (maybe you only feel that way because everything has felt suffocating recently).

"Do you remember how much we used to talk about this? 'Bout getting married and having kids?" she asks after what feels like forever. You find it in you to smile at the memory, and you nod. "Of course I do. We had our whole lives planned out in detail by the time we were twelve." She laughs at that, and the sound makes you smile the first genuine smile you've spared anyone in a while.

It feels so good to be able to laugh with your best friend again, after what's felt like forever. It's not Tashi's fault though, since you've been punishing yourself for weeks on end, not allowing yourself to find any joy in such a beautiful moment and in return causing no one to want to be around you much because of your seemingly constant bad mood.

It bothered Tashi to no end because it seemed like you weren't happy for her. As if you couldn't care less about her wedding and like the whole event was just a big inconvenience to your life at this point.

She watches as you call the bartender and order yourself another drink, sparing him a small smile when he eventually places the new glass in front of you. Almost half of it is gulped down in less than a few seconds. She tries not to let her concern show so outwardly, but she's been so worried about you these last few weeks. The way you seem to shrink in on yourself, your attempts of avoiding her (well, only as much as a future maid of honour can avoid the bride) and this unbearable weight you seem to constantly be carrying with you are all so unlike you.

"Are you okay? Are we okay?" she asks as she watches you take down the rest of your drink in a few gulps. You frown a little at her words, a ball of anxiety already forming in the pit of your stomach. God forbid you throw up in this bar right now. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't we be okay?" you ask, hating the way your voice already sounds so small and uncertain.

She shrugs, fingers continuing their journey around the rim of her glass. "You've been acting kind of weird these last few weeks, and I can't figure out why." Your stomach twists again, mouth suddenly very dry and almost unable to utter another word. You shrug, mouth pulling together in a pout as you shake your head absent-mindedly. Tashi knows you well enough to know you only do that when you're about to lie or when you're about to cry. She can't really tell which one it'll be this time.

"I'm fine," you persist, "please don't worry about me, I'm okay." There's an attempt at a reassuring smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. The words hardly register to Tashi, and she only gives you an unsatisfied look, making it clear that she didn't believe you. "Is it Art? Don't you like him?" You scoff before she could even finish the sentence and before you have a chance to stop yourself, immediately regretting it when you see the way her brows furrow at the sound.

You didn't like Art, but you can't say it's because of something he had done wrong. He was a nice guy, always treated you respectfully the few times you've been in his company, and he's even tried to get to know you better (attempts you've politely shot down each time). He was an outstanding man in all honesty, passionate and driven, sweet and madly in love with Tashi. So, you really had no real reason to not like him, not when you knew he'd love her unconditionally and give her everything she's ever wanted and ever will want. It doesn't stop you from harbouring a deep resentment towards him, though.

"Art's fine," you say softly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, "he's a nice guy, I do like him." Tashi's shoulders deflate a little at your words, a soft sigh leaving her lips in relief. "Good," she says, smiling, turning her hands in yours to hold it better. "I was just a little worried about you," she says, thumb rubbing over your hand, "You were so happy about the wedding at first but now it just seems like you couldn't care less."

The guilt sits deep in the pits of your stomach, poisoning you from the inside out. How selfish must one be to deny themselves in sharing in the joy with their best friend because of their own jealousy and anger? Your feelings weren't her fault, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it was, that she was the reason you felt the way you did. She wasn't, it was simply you not knowing how to handle your emotions.

"I'm sorry, I'm just—" the words are stuck in your throat. You don't want to lie to her, you know she'll know if you try to anyway. But what are you supposed to say? I'm sorry, I've been sulking because I can't stand the thought of you getting married, and I hate your fiancé because I think he'll take you away from me?

"I've just been tired," you settle on after a while, sparing her another unconvincing smile. She nods, hand still tracing the rim of her glass. You watch as her engagement ring catches the light, almost taunting you from where you sink further and further into the plush barstool. It tells you how you'll never have her the way you want, how she's already given herself fully and wholly to someone else, and the thought makes you feel dizzy with a grief-like pain, eyes stinging as you shut them tightly once again.

When you open them, she's looking at you with so much concern in her eyes, so much care that you almost close them once again. "Promise me you're okay?" she asks, voice so soft you could sob as her hand rises to gently rub between your shoulder blades. You only nod; you think you might actually sob if you tried to speak right now. She still doesn't believe you; you can tell by the way she looks you over with something dangerously close to pity, but she leaves you be for now.

She sees the way your eyes drift down to your empty glass, and at once she's snatching you up and escorting you to your hotel. You'll barely remember getting in bed; the softness of Tashi's lips against your forehead and some sort of goodnight whispered against your skin the only memory that will accompany you when you wake up the next morning.

Tashi goes to sleep with a heavy feeling in her chest, heavier than anyone getting married should feel. It's not the usual butterflies, the anxiety you'd except most brides to feel, instead it's an ugly feeling that settles in her chest like bile getting ready to rise up her throat.

He wants to go over to your desk and ask if you're okay, but as soon as the idea enters his mind Lois is throwing a few stacks of paper onto his desk followed by a plethora of questions, and after that Jimmy asks him to help edit an article he's been working on and then Perry calls him into his office to get on his ass about whatever it is that's bothering the old man this time. And the rest of the day is like this; running around office like a headless chicken while he catches glimpses of your gloomy face.

It's late afternoon when he finds a bit of free time in the chaos. A big chunk of people had left the office by now, just a few staying behind to catch up on whatever work they still had to finish, you and Clark being a part of that group. Quietly he makes his way to the coffee machine, whipping up two cups of admittedly mediocre coffee before he's making his way to your desk. Wordlessly he places on of the cups next to you, and when you lift your head it's clear you've been crying at some point, eyes still slightly puffy and red.

You thank him, but it's so soft and small he wouldn't have heard it if it wasn't for his super hearing. He nods, turning to leave and give you some space, but he's barely two steps away before he's turning back around to your desk. He pulls a chair from one of the empty desks and takes a seat next to you. He's silent at first, but he sees the way your hands seize their typing, waiting for him to say something, anything.

"You okay?" he finally settles on; eyes focused on your profile. He watches the way a small sigh leaves you before you're turning to face it once again. "Is it that obvious?" you ask with a sad smile that doesn't reach your eyes like it always does. You look so sad, and it makes Clark's chest ache painfully. He so badly wants to make you feel better, wants to take whatever pain you have and make it disappear, but he honestly has no idea how to do that. He tries anyway.

"You can always talk to me about it, if you'd like" he says after a short silence, "I've been told I'm a great listener." Your smile is more genuine this time, and it makes his heart stutter a bit, immensely proud of himself for making you feel better, even if it's just for a little while.

"If I do that both of us will be in a bad mood," you say, finger tracing the handle of your mug. Okay, you don't want to talk about it, that's okay. Clark could still try and cheer you up, he wasn't giving up that easily.

He only hums in understanding, eyes drifting to the computer screen that illuminates the side of your face. "Do you still have a lot to do?" he asks and you mimic his movement, glancing towards your computer.

"Oh, no," you say half-embarrassed, "I technically finished my work forever ago, I just didn't feel like going home yet. I've been reading old emails and playing solitaire." You laugh, but you can't help but cringe internally at how sad that sounds. If Clark shares the sentiment, he doesn't show it, and instead he shifts a little closer to you, as if he's about to let you in on a secret.

"Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?" he asks, and you shake your head wordlessly. "Maybe we could go check out that new place that opened across the street," he suggests warily, hand pulling at the knot of his tie. His eyes shine with quiet anticipation, and it makes your heart feel a little lighter. "I don't know if I'll be the best company right now, Clark," you say, ever the pessimist. "I don't mind," he quickly retorts with a shrug, "like you said...I don't wanna go home yet either."

You want to say no but you also don't; the thought of your cold empty apartment making your stomach turn uncomfortably. So you relent and agree to join him for an impromptu dinner. And Clark, sweet Clark has to stop himself from jumping from his seat in excitement, instead giving you a tight-lipped smile before he's gathering his things and helping you gather yours.

He chooses a booth at the back of the small restaurant, right next to the big window that displayed the restless city outside. He watches silently as your eyes track the cars speeding by, eyes unfocused and glossed with a layer of unshed tears. Still, he doesn't push and instead fills the silence with awkward renditions of his day (even if he knows you had spent the whole day with him) and jokes that surprisingly pulls smiles and a few huffed laughs from you. He manages to pull you out of the self-deprecating hole you dug yourself into and by the end of dinner he has you almost back to your bubbly self.

Afterwards he walks you home, even after you had insisted you were okay taking a cab. He walks the few blocks with you, carrying your bags in one hand and the rest of his things in the other, and something about it felt so painfully domestic, so right, that you find yourself spilling your guts about your sour mood before he even has to ask again, words coming out like word vomit. Wordlessly Clark listens, taking in every detail about the argument with your parents that morning that had managed to ruin the rest of your day completely. He listens as the anger and frustration once again consumes you as you recall their words, and later the sorrow at how much their words had hurt you.

By the time you reach your apartment complex you had emptied your heart completely, shoulders feeling lighter than they had been all day now that the world no longer weighed on them. Clark's still quiet next to you and realize that you had essentially just dumped a shitload of unwanted information on to him, probably ruining his mood and the rest of his night. But when you look to him, a string of apologies already on the tip of your tongue, you see the way he spares you a shy smile. You can't help but return it, the first smile for the night that actually reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks ball up.

"I'm sorry for dumping that all onto you without warning," you say with a small wince, giving him an apologetic smile. He waves you off with a loud dismissive scoff, shaking his head before he carefully places your bags on the ground. "I don't mind at all," he says as he rises to his full height, "if it made you feel better I'm glad I could help."

The curiosity had gotten the better of Tashi, and she had looked you up, watched and analysed a few of your matches. You were good, no one could argue that, but you were so clearly directionless. Solid technique, yet still a bit janky in places. You knew what you were doing, but you lacked the confidence to execute yourself to the best of your ability. Tashi knew she could train you, trim you down and have you running circles around all your peers. She's done it before, and now she wanted to do it again.

She had managed to contact you and offered you a chance to take you under her wing a mentorship of sorts. She didn't really know why she felt so compelled to help you. Maybe because she felt bad for you, maybe because she saw your potential or maybe because she saw parts of herself in you. Maybe she just needed something to take her mind off of her fresh divorce, have a chance at feeling like she was achieving something again. It was most likely all of the above.

You thought someone was playing some cruel joke on you when you first saw the e-mail from her, but it seemed too official and professionally laid out to be some kind of prank, so you took the chance and agreed to meet up with her. Just to satiate your own curiosity, you told yourself, just to find out what exactly she wanted from you.

You had agreed to meet her at a small cafe just out of town (that day, you had forgotten to ask her why she was in your hometown. You hadn't realized she took the flight just to see you) and she hadn't beat around the bush about her intentions with you. "I like the way you play," she had said as she stirred her coffee, "but I know you can do better. I wanna help you get better."

"Am I gonna have to pay you?" you had asked sceptically, "because I'm in college, and broke." She hadn't smiled, only shook her head and gotten closer to you like she was getting ready to tell you a secret. "You don't have to pay me, just let me help you play."

And help she did. Soon she had turned you into a household name, helped you move up the ranks at a speed that once seemed impossible. It wasn't easy having her as a coach though; she was tough and unforgiving and definitely pushed you so hard you thought of giving up multiple times, but it wasn't long before you were tasting the fruits of your labour. Just the word that former tennis superstar Tashi Duncan was now coaching some twenty-something year old nobody had you gaining a newfound popularity not only on campus, but on the court too. She trained you well, and it showed with the multiple wins you were reigning in, soon leaving you eligible for much bigger tournaments and events.

One of those wins—arguably one of the biggest wins of your career at that point—had been the catalyst for the shift of your relationship from mentor and mentee to something else. Tashi had organized a little celebratory party for when you win (yes, she truly had that much confidence in your ability and in her training), inviting all of your close friends.

It really wasn't Tashi's scene though; she barely knew anyone, and she wasn't into big parties like she had been when she was younger. But she stayed anyway, just to keep an eye on you and make sure you weren't going too hard, you still had training the next day after all.

You were thoroughly enjoying yourself it seemed, eyes glossy and dopey as you listened to one of your friend's ramblings. You were nodding along to whatever she was saying, but your eyes were trained on your trophy as it stood displayed in the centre of the room, the overhead light catching it perfectly and making it shimmer almost enticingly.

You couldn't take your eyes off of it from the very moment it was placed in your hands, heavy and pivotal and so real. You looked so proud of it, so proud of yourself for obtaining it and Tashi couldn't help the similar smile that stretched across her lips as she watched you.

When your eyes caught hers from the other side of the room, your smile seemed to double in size, cheeks balled and eyes in squints. You quietly excused yourself and then made your way over to her in determined yet slightly wobbly steps, smile never leaving your face for one moment.

"I thought you left, couldn't find you anywhere," you said, voice soft and airy like you were floating on some cloud. "Just had to get some fresh air," Tashi smiled softly, hands clasped in front of her as she lightly swayed on the balls of her feet. You let out a soft "Oh", nodding in understanding before you scooted a little closer to her.

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me Miss Duncan," you said after a short while, eyes struggling to meet hers before they drifted down to your heeled feet. You didn't catch her grimace at the title "Miss Duncan"—she was just glad you weren't calling her Misses Donaldson anymore. "Well, I'm not done with you yet," she said, hand gently lifting your chin so your eyes met hers again, "this is just the start." She nodded and you followed her movement dumbly, nodding along to her words with a small hum of agreement.

You couldn't help but be a little starstruck every time you were this close to Tashi. She had her hair slicked back, accentuating all her beautiful features. A dark green dress that sat so perfectly on her you had no doubt it had to be custom made. The warm light hit her skin so perfectly, made her beam underneath the usually unflattering yellow gradient. You admired her, that's what you told yourself. You admired her a whole lot, so much you've been breaking your back trying to please her, just to see that almost-there smile and receive that nod of approval.

"I am so terrified of you," you said in a voice so soft Tashi almost didn't hear you. The words had her eyebrows rising in surprise, mouth hanging slightly agape. "Terrified?" she asked with an uncertain laugh. She knew she was a tough coach, maybe a bit intimidating to most but she didn't want you to be terrified of her. Yes, she wanted you to respect her, the same way she respected you, but she didn't definitely want you to be terrified of her.

You nod at her question, swallowing like you were getting ready to confess a crime. "You're amazing, I mean you're Tashi Duncan," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and she tries not to preen under your praise. She's only human after all. "And I was so shocked when I saw you wanted to coach me because how the fuck do you even know me? But you do, and now I'm playing so well and it's all thanks to you because you're so talented and skilled and—" a dreamlike sigh leaves you, "so beautiful."

Tashi's stunned for a few good seconds. You're definitely well past tipsy and your inhibitions have been lowered to hell. She's trying not to take what you say to heart, but you're looking at her like she hung each star up in the sky herself. She's just drunk, and you're not gonna entertain this any further, she tells herself. She realizes she's probably been quiet for way too long, so she spares you a glance that feels way too much like pity, and it makes your stomach churn a little, a foreign feeling forming in your chest.

"You're cute," she smiles, hand softly holding your cheek. Her thumb rubs across the apple of your cheek a few times, back and forth before she's pulling herself away with sudden intake of air that she puffs out as she straightens herself to her full height. "Don't stay up too late, alright?" she half-warns you, tapping your cheek softly like you were some petulant child, "you still have practise tomorrow."

"You're leaving?" you ask, voice whiny, even to your own ears. She gives you a small nod, and before she's gone, she turns to you once again. "You don't have to be terrified of me," is all she says before she's making her way through the crowd, leaving you standing there with a melted down drink in hand and a heavy feeling in your heart.