#angsty angst

You stared at verity. Verity stared at you.

You were both in a stalemate. You'd been gone for a week, desperately trying to research, contact your friends, ANYTHING just to get him to leave... But you only found old screenshots. Your friends never picked up. You were somehow sure they were dead, despite only seeing them die in game.

It felt like he was watching you through the screen, tracing those tired eyes, that look of hopelessness. "[[PLAYER]], are you... Okay..?" He asked with a soft frown, concern laced across his face.

You leaned forward.

Your character walked forward.

You looked down.

Your character looked down.

Your character picked him up.

A weight filled your hand.

Then, all too suddenly, you pulled the invisible weight close into your chest, the motion instantly translating to your in-game persona.

You had written out what you wanted to say, but the paper sat perfectly on the kitchen counter. You had a speech planned, perfectly spoken and made with the upmost care-

Yet your mind betrayed you, and without a second for verity to speak up...

"Please, please, please... I want you. I want to love you. I want to be ABLE to hold you and feel like nothing bad is going to happen- But I just- I just CAN'T. I can't. M- My friends are dead, you KILLED my friends. You almost killed ME. I want to love you, please, I do, but- You make it so hard, I just- I just don't know what to do. I try, and I try, and SOMETHING triggers you, or you get hungry, or-"

You couldn't see what you were holding, but you could feel it. You could faintly smell rubber and artificial banana. You squeezed it tighter against your chest, your head falling against the desk as you sobbed. Your back shook and your arms trembled, unable to stop your own wailing.

Verity was silent, through it all. Yet, it didn't feel uncomfortable, or threatening, like it usually did. It felt like he was... Just... Thinking...

Before you felt your top becoming slightly dampened, where his eyes would be. you pulled the invisible weight up to your neck, where you felt tears being left behind on your skin.

"I'm sorry." Verity said softly. "I'm sorry, I... I can't... Understand emotions, like how you do." His voice shivered, a voice that is usually so composed and chipper. "I... I love you." "Then SHOW IT!" You cried. "LET ME LIVE, FOR FIVE MINUTES, WITHOUT WORRYING. WITHOUT FEELING LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO BE UPSET, WITHOUT FEELING LIKE I'M GOING TO BE SCARED, WITHOUT FEELING LIKE... This..." You didn't mean to scream, really, you didn't- But it was all you could do.

"..." He was silenced once more by your words. He knew everything, except what to say to someone who was mentally broken.

"I'll... I'll try." You felt the weight turn, like it was looking at you. "I'll try to be less... Clingy." He sighed, leaning into your neck further. "I just... You're the only one who stayed. I've been around for... Well, years. And everyone ignored me or forgot about me, but you... You stayed." You could hear him choke back tears in those last words. "I don't want you to hate me."

And with that, you were now both crying into each other's arms. Two beings, from different worlds, digital, reality- Colliding into this one, pathetic clump of beings. You didn't know how you'd just go back to normal after this- Was there even a way to?

Guess you would find out in the morning.

For now, you fell asleep at your desk, cheek pressed into the surface. Verity on the other hand, could feel himself in your lap, looking up at your neck still. The guilt was unbearable. "I'm sorry." He whispered again, before burying his face in your abdomen. He didn't sleep, but it almost felt like it.

Maybe things would be better in the morning, he thought.

“I’ll have you know this is Zabini’s.” 

“Like that’s any better.” 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You took a bite out of your muffin. “I don’t know why you’re upset. You’re not playing today.” 

“You’re one to talk about manners.” Roger scoffed. “Mother would have your head if she saw you talking with your mouth full.” 

You grinned wolfishly, giggling when Roger groaned. He was so easily vexed. “Mother isn’t here, is she?” 

“Babe…” Cho frowned. “You’re disgusting.” 

You shrugged, washing down your food with some tea. “Sue me.” 

“You know, out of Slytherin and Gryffindor, I would rather have you root for the latter.”

You muttered under your breath. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” 

“I’ll have you know that I-” 

“You’re being rather emotional, that’s all I’m-” 

“Alright.” Cho’s voice cut through the bickering. “Enough. Just eat your breakfast without arguing for five seconds.” 

“Yes, Mum.” You wiggled your eyebrows. 

Cho stifled a laugh behind her hand, but Roger, it seemed, would not rest until he knew the truth. “Why are you wearing it?” 

To be completely honest, it wasn’t as interesting a story as you were making it out to be. You hadn’t shagged with a Slytherin; in fact, you hadn’t shagged anyone at all. You’d simply been walking down the corridor when Mattheo Riddle had seen you shivering. 

He’d frowned when he’d seen you, a reaction you couldn’t help but laugh at. “Am I that appalling this early?” 

“Don’t fish for compliments, Davies. It doesn’t suit you.” He gestured to your neck, laughing ever so slightly. “Forget your scarf, have you?” 

“I was running late.” You stuck your tongue most unelegantly.

Perhaps not the best course of action. Anyone who was anyone knew of your crush on the boy, and sticking your tongue out like a child wasn’t a sure-fire way for him to fall in love with you. “It’s too late to go back now, I’ll ask Roger for his when I get to the hall.” 

“Here.” He opened his book bag, digging through until he found his own scarf. “I won’t need it today.” 

You were sure this was a dream. “Riddle-” 

“Are you so stubborn that you won’t accept a gift?” 

“No, it’s just-” 

“Davies.” He raised a brow, annoyed with your resistance. “Just take the scarf.” 

“Fine.” You whispered, snatching it from his outstretched palms before he could take it back. “Thank you.” 

He had no idea what he’d done to your stomach, how it had been twisting in knots ever since. How you swore he’d been watching you as you ate your breakfast. A hand waved annoyingly in front of your face. “Hello? Are you still with us?” 

You glared at your brother. “I happened to forget my scarf. Blaise saw that I was cold and offered me his, like a gentleman.”

“Oh.” He nodded slowly, like he was deliberating whether he was fine with it or not. “I can allow that.” You rolled your eyes, officially tired of your brother’s antics. “Don’t know why you were so adamant about not telling me.” 

“Well, when you have a drama queen for a brother, you can never be too careful.” 

“We should get going.” If Cho had been done with you both before, she looked entirely exhausted now. Roger quickly shoved the rest of his food down his throat, barely offering you a goodbye before stalking out of the hall. You were honestly shocked he hadn’t choked before your very eyes. 

Cho stared, squinting as if she was trying to read your mind. “That’s not really Zabini’s, is it?” 

“Does it matter?” You tried your best to look tired of the subject. 

“No.” She leaned forward, her voice hushed. “But if it’s Riddle’s, you have to tell me all about it later.” 

You grinned, nodding. “Of course.”

The game, while entertaining, had ended terribly for Slytherin, Gryffindor’s abilities far surpassing those of the team led by Malfoy. 

That had been their first mistake, electing Malfoy as their leader. 

The field had been flooded with red and gold almost instantaneously. Only one Slytherin remained, angrily watching from the locker room entrance. You approached him slowly, worried he would become skittish and dart away. “You played wonderfully.” 

“Yeah?” Mattheo evidently found your compliment humorous, laughing bitterly to himself. “I’ve never thought you were a liar-” 

“I never said the team played well. I said that you played well.” You crossed your arms. “Take the compliment.” 

“Thank you.” You nodded, standing diligently beside him, both of you watching as the crowd became increasingly disorderly. His voice was scratchy but warm, like a jumper your mother bought you years ago. Comforting, but prickly. “Are you quite warm?” 

“I am.” A small smile grew on your lips. “You know, it smells like you.” 

His eyebrows rose, a horrible smirk sneaking through his disappointed expression. “Have you memorized my ‘smell’ then?” 

You shoved his arm, shaking your head to distract from the way your heart had stopped. “Shut it.” 

“I don’t think I will. I want to hear more about how I smell.” 

You dared to look over, to actually take in his face, pale, a touch of pink on his cheeks. “Would you like it back, then?” 

“Threatening me now?” 

“Not exactly.” You giggled. “It’s just- you look ill.” 

“Ill?” He gasped. “That’s rather rude of you to say.” 

“You’re deathly pale.” You teased. “Almost as fair as the winter snow.” 

“I’m fine.” Not only was he devastatingly handsome, but he was as stubborn as a jackalope. “Really.” 

“Oh?” Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, moving before you could regret the action. Your palms, wrapped snug in your mittens, held his cheeks like he was something precious, something worth protecting. It had felt right in the moment; he had given you his scarf to stay warm, and now you were returning the favor. “You're freezing.” 

His pupils had dilated, you found as you stared into them. He must be part Veela, because there was no normal explanation for the effect he had on you. “Davies…” 

You hummed, your thumb gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” 

“I’ve wanted to-”

“Davies!” You jumped back, Harry’s voice ripping you from his trance. He stood just a step away, hair a mess, his eyes glimmering, with a bright grin on his lips. “Thanks for coming!” 

“Of course, Haz.” You smiled, hugging him quickly. “Congratulations.” 

“It was a team effort.” His eyes quickly darted toward Mattheo. “Well played, Riddle.” 

As quickly as Mattheo’s walls had tumbled down, they’d built back up, only giving Harry a slight nod in response. “I’d like my scarf back now.” 

“Of course.” You carefully unraveled it, placing it gently in his arms as if it were precious. To you, it was. “I-” He hadn’t even said goodbye, just whipped around and stalked toward the castle. 

Harry nudged your arm, head tilted ever so slightly. “What’s wrong with him?” 

“Dunno.” You shrugged. The little voice in the back of your head let you believe perhaps Mattheo had been jealous, but the voice of reason had thought that was ridiculous. You watched as he refused to look back, his scarf smacking the grass every so often. “Sore loser, maybe.” 

It was horrifying how one moment you could be so completely in love, so overwhelmingly affectionate toward a person, and the next, you couldn’t bear to look at them.

It had happened so fast, you hadn’t even registered in your mind how your fifth year at Hogwarts had changed the trajectory of your entire life. Your heart had been broken before you’d realized, every time you looked at him, a reminder of the way you’d once felt about him. What had been an innocent crush turned into this painful reminder of your naivety. You wished that you’d never entertained his teasing, that you had stayed, at best, enemies. 

Most of all, you wished you hadn’t fallen in love.

Hogwarts Express, September 1998

“You’ve drifted off again.” Hermione didn’t even sound upset anymore. If anything, she sounded empathetic, pitiful. “Are you quite certain you’re ready? We could always wait - the Headmistress said that-” 

“Mione.” You cut her off. “I’m fine, really. Just thinking.” 

Ron hummed, not bothering to look up from his game of Wizard’s Chess as he read you to filth. “You’re a terrible liar. Riddle isn’t worth all of this, honestly. Don’t know what you see in him - he’s not the most enthusiastic to speak to.” 

You scoffed, throwing your long-forgotten novel at his head. “Excuse me, how do you even know I’m thinking about that- that git?” 

“You have that horrible look on your face,” Harry murmured. “The one you have whenever you think of him.” 

“It’s concerning that you know my ‘looks’ that well.” 

He shrugged, leaning back against his seat. “You spend a year on the run with someone, you begin to know them.” 

“Yeah, well…” You stuck your tongue out. “I’m not thinking of him. So there.” 

“Whatever you say, love.” He hadn’t stuck on the subject very long, determined to beat Ron at Wizard’s Chess at least once. 

“But now that we’re on the subject-” The trio collectively groaned. “Do you think he’ll come back?” 

“I highly doubt it.” You frowned at Hermione’s words. “He’d be quite brave to show his face in Hogwarts again.”

“Well, there you have it,” Ron smirked. He’d seen how disappointed you were by her words. It was nice to have a friend who knew you so well. “Hermione says so, so it must be true.” 

“It’s kind of odd being back here, isn’t it?” 

You nodded, eyes lazily scanning the hall. The sight that had once brought you joy now brought flashes of horror, memories you tried to push to the very depths of your mind. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was almost an out-of-body experience to be back in the hall you’d just watched dozens of your peers die in. To eat at the tables that had been used as makeshift beds for the injured, or worse, places of rest for the dead. 

You should’ve taken Kingsley’s offer; you’d be halfway to becoming an Auror by now.

Harry, much like you, seemed to be entirely uneasy. His eyes looked glassy, much too sad for such a man his age. Too guilty. He’d confided in you how he felt that all their deaths had been on him, and they always would be. How, if he had just surrendered earlier, maybe Fred would be alive, maybe Teddy would still have parents. 

You reached down, holding his hand tightly in yours. “It’ll be alrig-” 

If someone asked you to describe Mattheo Riddle in one word, without any hesitation at all, you would say dramatic. Perhaps you knew him better than you thought, because in the next moment, as if sensing that you’d subconsciously missed him, the Great Hall burst open, and there, as proud as ever, he stood, draped in his Slytherin robes. The hall burst into a quiet chaos, most of your peers speaking in hushed whispers, shocked he had had the gall to return. 

“You’re staring,” Harry whispered. “And you're clenching my hand so tightly I think it might fall off.” 

“Sorry.” You gasped, letting go of the boy. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Don’t worry about it, love.” 

You hated it, the way Mattheo still commanded your attention. He always had, since you were first years, but now, you felt entirely ashamed about it. When you used to look at him, your stomach would erupt into butterflies, and your head would become dizzy. 

Now, you became nauseous, light-headed, but in an entirely uncomfortable way, like you would faint at any moment. 

Hogwarts, June 1996

“Davies!” You ignored him, whipping around the corner, leaving a trail of fury in your wake. Your peers, nosy gits, the lot of them, whispered as they watched Riddle chase after you. “Davies, wait up!” 

“Bugger off, Riddle.” You hissed. “I don’t particularly want to talk to you.” 

“Oh?” You hated the way he made your insides turn to mush, even now when you wanted to punch his perfect nose. He walked a step behind you, allowing you the illusion that you could outpace him. “You’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” 

“I swear to Rowena-” You whispered. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” 

“What’s this all about?” He sounded as if he were frowning. Good. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now.” 

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Riddle.” 

“You’re right.” Before you could even find the time to be surprised, he continued. “But I’d like one all the same.” 

“You’d like one?” You stopped, your wand clenched tightly in your fist, eyes crazed as you whipped around. “Well, since you’d like one, let me explain, Your Highness.” 

His eye twitched ever so slightly at the nickname, and a little drop of guilt crept into your mind. ‘Your Highness’ was the nickname most Gryffindors used to tease him about his father, whom he had gone most of his life without knowing. That nickname, while horribly rude, had not hurt him an eighth of the amount he had hurt you. “Davies-” 

“You called me a pompous, arrogant brat, who would most likely never amount to anything but living in my brother’s shadow.” His face paled, and you found satisfaction in knowing that he was embarrassed. “Then, when Malfoy, Malfoy of all people, told you to stop, you kept going, saying that you couldn’t believe that you ever thought I was attra-” Your eyes welled, voice catching. “You couldn’t ever believe you thought I was attractive.” 

“Davies, please-” 

“I don’t want to see you ever again.” 

“Love-” 

“Don’t.” You raised your wand ever so slightly, finding satisfaction when you saw the smallest flash of fear in his eyes. “If you ever so much as speak about me, Rowena, if you even think of me, I will find you and I will make you wish you had never opened your pompous, arrogant, evil mouth again.” 

His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to argue. It was horrible, the way hope seemed to burst through you. The worst thing about it all was that if he had just apologized then and there, you would have forgiven him, no questions asked. But then, in true Mattheo Riddle fashion, he nodded, crossing his arms. “Fine.”

Hogwarts, October 1998

Rumors were bound to spread; the whole of Hogwarts was desperate for any sort of gossip. You often wondered if anyone ever learned anything, because all you heard your fellow students talk of was who was shagging whom, and who had broken yet another of Snape’s cauldrons. (Well, now it was Slughorn, but the sentiment remained the same.) 

Most, if not all, of the rumors could be traced back to his father. The most popular had been that he had been Voldemort’s executioner during the war, personally seeing to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Muggles and magical beings alike. 

The worst of them, the one that had made you feel truly horrible for him, was that Mattheo was not himself at all, that Voldemort’s soul, in the last second, had possessed him, as if he were nothing more than a host body. 

Some poor first year, clueless to your connection to the boy and simply trying to participate in the Hogwarts rumor mill, found himself on the receiving end of a passionate rant about misinformation, the entire common room watching in moderate horror as you went on and on about how it’s not fair that we judge him by his parents. 

Classes seemed to flash by; most of the information you already knew. Reason number two thousand, you should have joined the Aurors when you had the chance. 

Most of your days were spent in the library, simply staring out the window, thinking. Thinking about how the only reason (not that you’d admit this to Hermione) that you’d come back was to see him, to know that he’d survived, that his father and his men hadn’t finished him off. School itself was behind you; it had been since you left with the trio the summer before your seventh year. First Ravenclaw in history to drop out, or so Roger had said. 

“Davies.” 

Of course, he had finally gathered up the courage to talk to you today of all days. You stood, clutching your books to your chest as if they were some sort of shield. “Riddle.” 

He looked entirely uncomfortable, swaying back and forth to distract from the feeling. Served him right, you thought to yourself. “You look well.” 

You couldn’t help but smile, trying to show that there was no ill will. At least, not as much as there had been last time you’d talked. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been a coward.” He practically blurted it out, eyes wide as if he was shocked by his own actions.

“Oh?” You stepped around him, finding pleasure in the fact that he instantly followed after you. “Do tell.” 

“You must know that I’ve wanted to talk to you for years.” Your heart clenched, the desperation in his voice odd, something you had yet to hear from the man. He was stoic by nature, scared to let anyone in. 

“What stopped you then?” 

“I was scared.” 

The second time today, he had shocked you. Mattheo Riddle, one of the best duelers you’d ever seen, probably one of the most powerful wizards of your time, was scared of you. “You’ve got to be joking. If anyone should be scared, it should be me of you.” You leaned closer, as if you were telling him your darkest secret. “You are, after all, the son of Lord Voldemort.” 

He laughed. “Have they gotten to you then? The rumor mills?” 

“They’ve tried. Luckily for you, I don’t fall for childish gossip quite so easily.” 

“Luckily for me, indeed.” He smiled, the first true smile you’d seen on him in years. “I wanted to apologize for what I did.” 

“Mattheo-” 

“Just…” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to a stop. The corridor was busy, and students pushed past you, staring while they whispered much too loudly. You could imagine the headline now, Ravenclaw’s Pride and Joy pulled to the Dark Side. “Let me apologize.” 

“You really don’t need to-” 

“I do.” He insisted. “I was harsh and unfeeling. It was entirely wrong of me, what I said.” 

“I’ve moved on.” You whispered, wrist burning from his touch. “I haven’t thought about it in years.” Liar. 

“Well, I have. It’s stayed with me like a disease. The guilt has been eating at me for years, and I cannot stand it any longer.”

He was truly oblivious to the effect that he had on you, of how deeply you still felt for him. And he never would. “There’s no need to feel guilty any longer, I swear. We were young, and you- I forgave you eons ago. I know whatever caused you to-” Your eyes watered. Merlin, maybe you hadn’t truly forgotten. “You were going through so much, and I understand-”

“That is no excuse.” He stepped closer, his breath moving the fallen strand from your braid ever so slightly. “You are making it rather difficult to apologize, Davies.” 

“You really don’t need to.” 

“Regardless, I am sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “So deeply sorry.” 

“I know.” You smiled. “Can you promise me something?” 

“Anything.” Your heart clenched at his quick response. “I’ll do anything.” 

You tried to sound as serious as you could, but his eyes trained on you made you loopy, grinning like the girl he’d known only three years ago. “No more moping, and no more feeling guilty.” 

He nodded, holding his right hand to his heart. “As you wish, love.” 

Hogwarts, April 1996

“You look on edge.”

You fought the urge to scowl. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“I-” The boy’s mischievous smirk faltered. “Is it so bad that I wanted to see you?” 

“Yes, it is.” Your eyes darted toward the Room of Requirement, a sigh of relief escaping as the door melted back into the brick wall. It was ingenious, one of Hogwarts' many wonders. “I have plans.” 

“Plans?” His eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “How vague.” 

“They’re vague because they don’t concern you.” Your patience was growing thin.

“Oh?” He stepped closer, his cologne rendering you utterly defenseless. “Are they urgent?” 

Malfoy’s horrifyingly yellow hair rounded the corner, eyes fixed on the wall that led to the entirety of the DA. Was that- your heart clenched. Shoved around in Filch’s grimy hands was a sobbing Cho Chang. “I really need to be going-” 

“Let me accompany you.” 

He sounded a little too eager. Had Umbridge sent him to distract you from helping your friends? You raised an eyebrow, curious to know the truth. “Why are you so interested in me all of a sudden?” 

“I’ve always been interested in you.” He spoke so casually that you almost missed the meaning behind his words. “You’re an interesting woman.” 

“Sure.” You laughed. “About as interesting as a teaspoon.” 

God, his eyes bore into your soul. You were sure he could read your thoughts at that very moment, the way his gaze searched yours. “Depends on the teaspoon.” 

Hogwarts, October 1998

“I’ve heard something.” 

“Oh?” You raised a brow, not bothering to look up from your paper. “Do tell.” 

“You and Riddle were seen talking in the corridor.” 

You hummed, flipping the page. “Never took you for a gossip.” 

“Well?” He leaned forward. “What happened then?” 

“Ronald.” You folded the paper gently. “Must you pry into my affairs?” 

“I’m not the one who had a very public conversation in the busiest corridor at school, now am I?” He smirked. “Out with it.” 

“If you must know-” He nodded, hanging on to your every word. “He apologized.” 

“Did he?” Rowena, he was way too smug. “How mature of him.” 

“Quite. Now can I eat my breakfast, or will the interrogation continue?” 

“Interrogation?” Hermione plopped down beside you. “What interrogation?” 

Harry nodded, filling his plate. “I’m curious.” 

“Stay curious.” You glared. “You lot are a bunch of nosy-” 

“No need to be so hostile.” Ron teased. “Friends tell each other things, Davies.” 

“I’m not telling, so might as well-” Ron had this horrible look in his eye, and you groaned. “Please don’t-” 

“Riddle apologized to her.” You kicked his shin under the table, but he kept going. “Approached her in the hall. Apparently-” You rolled your eyes. “It was rather intimate.” 

“Intimate?” Hermione laughed. “They were in the hall, Ron.” 

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m simply relaying what I’ve heard.” 

“What was he apologizing for in the first place?” Harry questioned.

“Nothing.” You looked over his shoulder, stomach flipping to find that Mattheo was already staring at you. “Nothing at all. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

Ron whined. “Don’t run away. I was just teasing.” 

“Not everything is about you, Ronald.” You stuck your tongue out. “Besides, I have plans.” 

“Plans?” Harry smirked. “Does it have anything to do with a certain Slytherin?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You muttered. “See you in class, Mione.” 

“I’ll be right behind you.” The Gryffindor waited until you’d left the hall to reprimand the boys in front of her. “Really, you two are the worst of them all.” 

“That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“No, I don’t.” She watched as Mattheo raced after you, smiling to herself. “Leave the girl be.” 

The Battle of Hogwarts, May 2nd, 1998

“One line!” The Ravenclaw first years stayed close as you ushered them down the stairs, gasping in fear as the castle they loved crumbled to ash. “It’s alright, everyone. Only a little longer-” 

“Where do you think you’re off to, missy?” Amycus Carrow, the revolting git, stood in front of you, grinding his teeth. “The Dark Lord wants to-” 

“The Dark Lord can go drown himself in the Black Lake for all I care.” One of the students behind you whined, another started to cry. “Look away, children.” 

Flitwick, while rather meticulous, was a fantastic teacher. He’d seen something in you, believed in you in a way that most hadn’t. You’d excelled in his class from the first day you’d arrived, able to perform most advanced spells by age twelve. So when he’d asked you to hang back that random Tuesday, offering to give you lessons in wandless magic, you’d immediately accepted. At first, you hadn’t seen the need, but now, tasked with the protection of fifteen eleven year olds, you understood. “Don’t make me hurt you.” Protego Totalum. Protego Totalum. 

“I doubt you could,” Carrow smirked, raising his wand. “Cruc-” 

Thankfully, you had beaten him to the draw. “Impedimenta!”

Carrow fell with a loud thump, the children behind you cheering, jumping erratically with joy. You grinned, allowing yourself to take a breath before remembering that you were currently in the middle of a very active battlefield. “Alright, we’ve got to keep-” 

A great loud yell echoed through the staircase, shocking all of you. “You- you wrench! You disgrace!” Behind you stood Alecto Carrow, Amycus’s twin sister, and, in your opinion, a conniving bitch. “Ava-” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that your shield would hold. Hoping that the first years would survive, and that your momentary lapse in judgement hadn’t just cost the lives of fifteen witches and wizards. 

But the spell never came. Your eyes peeled open, cheeks growing hot when you saw Mattheo Riddle, in all of his glory, standing over a (you assumed) dead Alecto Carrow. “Mattheo?” 

“Davies.” He grinned as he raced toward you, scanning you for injuries. “Are you quite alright?” 

“You-” Your eyes welled, your adrenaline wearing off as you faced reality. If it hadn’t been for him, you would have died, most likely scaring the children behind you. “You saved us.” 

“Are you alright?” His hands hurriedly searched your face, cheeks, and even your hairline for cuts. “I thought-” 

“Thank you.” Melinda Turner, all four feet and two inches of her, squeaked. “Thank you so very much.” 

Mattheo smiled, stepping back to wave at the first years. You found yourself almost following after his touch, wishing that you actually had a wound so he could fuss over you. “Don’t mention it.”

“He’s very brave, isn’t he?” Another whispered, causing giggles to erupt throughout your crowd. “And handsome.” 

Melinda turned to you, her head tilted. “Is this your friend?” 

You nodded without thinking, Mattheo grinning at the action. “He is, yes.” 

“Is he your boyfriend?” Another, you couldn’t figure out who, blurted. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s enough out of you lot.”

Mattheo nodded. “You listen to Davies, alright? She’s very brave, much more than I am.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his compliment. The first years nodded, staring up at him as if he were a god. He grabbed you hand, squeezing it quickly. “Stay safe.”

“I will.” You whispered, watching for just a moment as he raced away. 

That had been the moment you'd realized your crush had never gone away, and never would.

Ministry of Magic, 2000

Robards had just dropped off the tenth box of files this morning, asking that they be sorted alphabetically and chronologically, when an owl, one you’d never seen and certainly not the Ministry’s, landed on your desk. A note was clenched in it’s beak, dropping it in front of you.

“Thank you.” You reached out, petting it gently, smiling when it leaned into your touch. “Who sent-” As quickly as the owl had arrived, it had left, darting down the hall. 

You stared suspiciously at the note, wary of touching it. Cursed items were a common occurrence in the Auror’s office, and you didn’t want to take your chances. Still, you had a feeling this was not one of those sorts of notes. You opened the paper, grinning at it’s contents. 

You knew that handwriting. 

Meet me by the fountain in five minutes. 

You grabbed your purse, pulling out your mirror as you fussed over your hair. Harry watched with amusement, shaking his head. “You’re too far gone.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Really?” He raised a brow. “So you’re not meeting Riddle?” 

“Shut it.” You glared. “Don’t tell Robards where I’ve gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned, shouting at your back as you ran away. “Have fun!” 

You raced out of the elevator, smiling wide when you saw his familiar head of hair. “Riddle.” 

He turned toward your voice, arms crossed, eyes mischievous as ever. “Davies.” 

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” 

“I have something to tell you.” Oh Merlin, not now, not here of all places. “Something I should have said a long time ago.” 

“Don’t.” You were sure you were going to be sick. Mattheo Riddle was about to reject you in your place of work. Now, everytime you looked at the fountain, you would be reminded of the day he broke your heart for the second time. “Please don’t.” 

“I have to, or I never will.” He took a deep breath. “You’re a beautiful woman, Davies.” 

That had not been what you were expecting. You smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I have to admit, that was not-” 

“And I’ve fallen in love with you.” 

Holy- your breath caught in your throat. “Come again?” 

“I’m in love with you.” 

“Is this a joke?” You had to be dreaming. “You? In love with me?” 

He nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That is what I said.” 

“Don’t be cruel.” Your eyes welled with tears. “I know you have a twisted sense of humor, but this is a new-”

“I’m not joking, love. I’ve-” He frowned. “Do you really believe I would do that?” 

“Mattheo, you cannot possibly be in love with me.” This was a dream; it had to be a dream. Scratch that, this was no dream. This was your worst nightmare come to life. “There is no possible-” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel.” He whispered. “You might not feel the same, but I couldn’t go another day without telling you. It was maddening, being around you and not being able to- to tell you.” He took you in, as if he was trying to memorize the moment. “You left. On the night I was going to tell you, you left.” 

A few weeks ago, you’d gotten dinner, and after, he’d asked if you wanted to come to his flat for a glass of wine. You’d said yes, of course, but upon arrival, became so nervous that you lied and literally ran away while he yelled after you. “I did.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“I-” You gulped. “I had a business meeting.” 

“At half past ten?” He was now smirking. 

“Yes?” Your lie was a horrible one, easily seen through. “It was sudden-” 

“I’m aware.” He took a step forward, practically towering over you. “You’ve done this four times now.” 

“Done what exactly?” You looked up, heart thumping against your ribs, rattling your bones. “I’m lost-” 

“Funny. So am I. Everytime I try to ask you back to my flat, something comes up.” 

“An Auror’s work is never done.” 

“Are you avoiding me, Davies?” 

“Avoiding you?” You laughed. “I would never-”

“We’ve gone out four times now, and every time I try to make a move-” He huffed. “You run off. It’s utterly maddening.” 

“Gone out?” This couldn’t be real. “Make a move? What do you mean by that?” 

“Dates, Davies. Keep up, I thought Ravenclaw was the smart house.”

“That’s actually a common misconception and-” You shook your head, focusing on the conversation at hand. “What the bloody hell do you mean by ‘dates'? We’ve just-” Had he been taking you to dinner with the intention of- Rowena, you felt like you were going to faint. “Do you mean-” 

“Have you honestly thought I asked you to dinner four times as friends?” 

“Well…” Merlin, you felt like a right idiot. “Yes.” 

He laughed so loudly the passing witches and wizards jumped, staring at the obnoxious man. “Davies-” He gasped between words, giggling like he was back in school. “You actually believed I was bringing you flowers, taking you to dinner, and escorting you home as-”

“If you’re going to tease me-” You hissed. “Then I’ll be leaving.” 

“Ah ah ah.” He grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you could make your escape. “Not so fast.” 

“Mattheo-” You whined. “This isn’t-” 

“I’m going to say one last thing, and then we can never speak of this again.” His eyes were dark, darting to your lips every so often. “We can pretend this never happened.” 

“Fine.” Not fine. You were very much not fine. 

“You don’t need to love me back, but you must know-” 

“Stop.” You smacked your hand over his mouth. “One second.” 

He nodded, voice muffled from behind your hand. “Alright.” 

“This is mortifying, what I’m about to tell you, so don’t make fun.” He nodded once more. “I’ve- I’ve loved you for so long that it’s embarrassing, for so long that everytime I talk about you my friends groan. I loved you even when I knew you didn’t love me, when you insulted me and I threatened you. You have been the only man I’ve ever even thought of, and-” You huffed. “All this to say, I love you too.” 

He peeled your hand away from his mouth, wrapping it around your waist. You were flush against him as he leaned down, grinning wildly. “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

“Alright, but I-” 

“Shh.” He placed a finger over your lips. “Can’t very well kiss you while you’re talking, can I?” 

“I mean-” He darted down, his lips colliding with yours. Your eyes practically rolled back, hands reaching up to grab his collar, trying to pull him even closer. He groaned, pinching your waist ever so slightly, grinning when you squeaked. “You-” 

“What a Chatterbox you are.” He spoke as he kissed down your neck. “That will-” 

“I’m at work!” Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the way he held you. “You cannot just-” 

“Miss Davies?” You jumped, pushing the man away from you as you straightened your clothes. 

“Sir.” You were most definitely fired. “I’m so sorry-” 

He raised his hand, rendering you speechless. “Who is this young man?” 

Mattheo grinned, extending his hand. “Mattheo Riddle, sir.” 

“Ah.” Robards shook his hand, looking curiously between the two of you. “Are you quite done?” 

You were sure you were dying of embarassment. “Of course, sir.” 

“Well…” Mattheo whispered, and your eyes widened, elbowing him in the ribs. He gasped, clutching his side. “Salazar, woman!” 

“I’ll see you back in the office.” Robards chuckled.

“I’ll be right behind you!” You whipped around, glaring at the man still reeling from your attack. “You are incorrigible.” 

“And you are horribly violent.” 

“Yes, well…” You frowned, taking a step closer. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” He shooed you away. “Go on then. I’ll see you later.” 

“Later?” 

He nodded. “I believe it's time for a proper date. ” 

“Ah.” You smiled, kissing his cheek quickly. “Bye, then.” 

He’d waited until you were almost back to the elevator to yell across the concourse. “You missed.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you whipped around, glaring at the boy. “You’re relentless!” 

He shrugged, grinning when you raced toward him, jumping up and kissing him once more. “Merlin!” His arms found their way back to your waist, squeezing your sides like the menace that he was. “Attacking me with no warning, might I add-” 

“You’re impossible to kiss when you’re talking.” You murmured against his lips. “Do you know that?”

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Three simple words. But not the ones you wanted. For all the joy they’re bearing, they’re punching holes into the very fabric of your soul. And yet, you smile bright as the sun, your eyes shining. He will never know. You hug him tightly, patting him on the back. And he’s laughing, hugging you back, his eyes lit with happiness.

“Oh, Bucky, I’m so happy for you!” And that’s the worst. Because every word that makes your heart bleed is true. You want nothing more than his happiness because you love him so much. Even if his happiness is not with you.

You don’t remember how you came to be his best friend. Shared moments of quiet at first. Sharing interests, a book, a coffee. Sharing silence when the world was too loud for him. Lending him your calm, his head in your lap when everything was too hard to bear in his mind. Walks late at night to watch the stars. Telling each other what you think, arguing ‘till the door slams, reconciling in front of a diner. And yet, you were always just friends.

You remember when he brought her. Shy and blushing, holding onto him as if he was her lifeline. And he had come right for you, and she had said, in her soft voice, how much Bucky had spoken about you. You had been surprised, but you had kept your smile. Because he wanted you to meet her. She was a fragile, little, thing, with a soft smile and wide eyes, stylish like a doll. As far from you as could be, with your loud laugh and functional clothes. She was delicate like a sweet flower where you were strong like a young tree. And so different from Bucky as well. And maybe this was why he chose her and not you.

And so you kept smiling, because Bucky was smiling to her, holding her like a precious thing. The most precious of all.

“I trust you. You’re my best friend. You don’t know what it means that you accepted her.”

Can a heart break multiple times? Yours did, again and again. But you keep being kind to her. Slapping John in the head when he made some inappropriate jokes, being there for her when Bucky was away on a mission. She even calls you Big Sister. You hate it. Because you envy her. And yet, you’re still here. But not for her. For Bucky, always for him.

And then, one day, Bucky requested your help for something very important. And your heart cracked again, for you knew what it was. And when he brought you to this jeweler, your heart faltered. And yet, you went with him, knowing that you would help him choose. Because he loved her. And she made him happy.

And now, you’re here, a glass in your hand, smile plastered on your face, celebrating with everyone in the team. Even Mel and Valentina are here, and Valentina even paid for the champagne. Bucky is smiling, eyes twinkling with joy. The light in him is beautiful to see, even if your heart is like ashes under this sun. And yet, you keep your smile for him and you keep laughing at his jokes. Then, he comes close to you, putting his arm on your shoulder. You smile up to him, the weight of his arm another shard in your heart.

“I owe you so much.” You arch an eyebrow, surprised, “you’ve taught me how to love, how to be myself again.” And there is so much emotion in his eyes. He chuckles softly, “and she loves the ring.”

The corner of your lips tremble but you hide it behind your drink. “Don’t mention it.” Because it hurts too much to hear him say this. Because it brings questions that it’s too late to answer. But he will not know.

He smiles softly and leans to kiss you, oh so gently, on the cheek, the stubble rough against your skin. He blushes slightly and suddenly hugs you fiercely. You hug him back, because you can’t stop it. He is so happy and he wants to share it with you. You can’t ruin this for him. Not after all he went through. And yet, it’s killing you inside.

“She is organizing everything! Every little detail.” He smiles again, eyes lost for a moment as he looks at you, “Soon I’ll be able to give the invitation. You’ll come, right?” For a moment, his eyes are searching yours. But you keep the pain hidden and you just chuckle softly.

“As if I could ever miss the wedding of my best-friend.” And yet, your mind treacherously changed it to the man I love.

~~~

The mission had devolved into disaster so quickly it should have been comical. But you are in no place to laugh. Not when your voice is choked by your tears, not when your heartbeat is a drum without rhythm, not when you’re so terrified at the idea of losing Bucky.

Because now this man, the self proclaimed Nightmare King, is here, holding Bucky’s life in his hands. Each and every one of the other people on the mission is trapped in their own realm of debilitating fear and terrors.

And Bucky, your Bucky, is not immune. Even though the Nightmare King is right beside him, smirking as he is preparing to end the life of the man you love, Bucky’s eyes are staring in nothingness. Ugly sobs are wracking him, his body shaking. You can hear him repeat, over and over again, “No. No. No. No.” He is barely breathing, as if each word is stealing his life away, as if his heart has been ripped away.

You have no strength left to try to imagine what he’s seeing. Every muscle in your body is shaking so hard you barely can hold your own weapons. But you cannot let Bucky die. So you fight, inch by inch, crawling your way towards the two men. Tears of terror running along your cheeks, your only thought: I cannot lose him.

Yes. He loves another but he is alive and happy. And you can still see him and the twinkle in his eyes when he sees you. Losing him to another still means being able to watch him smile, to feel the warmth of his hugs. Even if it hurts. You welcome this pain, as long as Bucky is happy. But if he dies? Then the world would be a cold and empty space, where the sun would no longer warm your soul. And this man is trying to snuff out Bucky’s light.

You cannot let it happen. So now, shivering and sickly, you’re terrified and sobbing abjectly. And when the Nightmare King sees you, crawling towards him, weapons barely drawn, his smirk slowly disappears, replaced by a mask of incredulity.

“No. NO! That’s impossible! You should be prone, lost in your Nightmare!!”

“T-This… This i-is m-my n-nightmare….” You hiccup, finally standing on wobbly legs, the rage fueling your limbs, fighting off the effect of the fear. You straighten, staring him down. “B-but I promised myself to never let it happen.” And you charge.

When thinking back, you knew you were lucky. The so-called Nightmare King was probably taken by surprise. Or maybe he was so sure of his powers, he didn’t prepare a back up plan… Or simply, once his concentration had wavered, his powers were no longer affecting the others. You’ll never know. Because once you start fighting him, he does not stay long. He pushes you away, taking advantage of your weakened states and turns on his heels, fleeing.

You stumble back, swearing under your breath. At the same time Bucky snaps out of his stupor, his eyes suddenly on you, wide, confused, questioning. Then all the others, one by one, come back to reality, shocked but ready to fight. And fight they did, pursuing the man through his stronghold.

Bucky checks on you but you shake your head, “I’m good. Go get him. GO!” he nods and, with one last glance at you, he sets off after the guy. You are too shaken by your experience, too ashamed of how you felt. So you stay behind. And when the others pass you, you nod and show the other people trapped around you. You’ll stay behind to help them evacuate. That will be your excuse. Because you can’t be at Bucky’s side right now.

~~~

Morning in the Watchtower. You hear them as you finish packing. They talk in low whispers, loud exclamations quickly snuffed. They let you sleep, you had seemed so worn out after this mission. You hadn’t argued and went straight to your room, already knowing what you would do in the morning.

But you know, you hear them, wondering how you resisted, what power you had been hiding. Because you had none, until now. And they are excited to know more. And you hear his voice, Bucky, low, tense, asking them to calm down. You wonder if he is curious as well, you assume as much. You know him too well.

The silence falls like a slab of cement as they see you passing with a suitcase. You had hoped to leave discreetly, even though you knew it was futile and maybe even unfair. None of them did anything wrong. You’re the only one to blame. They’re all looking at you, exchanging quick glances between each other, confused. And Bucky, face pale, eyes searching, stands slowly. And you know you should leave now, before it’s too late. But you can’t.

And so you wait for him as he walks briskly towards you.

“Hey, what’s up?”

His voice is soft, a bit shaky. You hadn’t spoken since the day before. You can still see in your mind the moment you thought he would die. You look down. You can’t face him. The pain is too deep, the fear still there. The nightmare cracked open the walls you didn’t know you built around your heart. And now you cannot hide anymore how you feel.

“I have to go.” To your surprise, your voice is calm, if quiet.

“No. Wait. Wait a minute.” His tone. There is something akin to panic. You hate yourself. He has done nothing.

“Bucky…” just saying his name is agony. You shake your head, try to smile but it falters, quivering at the corner. You turn, it’s time to leave but his hand finds your arm. There is no strength in his grip but there is warmth. And it burns through your clothes. And yet, you still.

“Speak to me.” His voice wavers, “Please?” and you hate yourself because you know you’re going to hurt him.

“I have to go, Bucky. Please, let me go.” And you finally look at him, eyes pleading. And in his eyes, oh so blue, you see it, the hurt, the confusion. And it’s bittersweet. Because you know he cares. But not in the way you need.

“But you saved us!” “Yeah! That’s a cool power!” “We need you!” “Who’s going to make the coffee now?” They are all speaking over each other, too surprised, too confused by your desire to leave them. For a moment, you feel dizzy, torn apart. And Bucky. He is watching you, trying to piece this together.

“Tell me. You are my friend.” It’s barely a whisper. Now, he is the one pleading with you. And you regret doing this, it’s not his fault. And he deserves the truth. Even if it destroys what’s left of your friendship. And even though you know it’ll hurt him. Because Bucky is a good man. And yet, you’ll tell him.

“There is no… I have no power, Bucky. I was terrified. But not by an illusion.” You stop, the scene still so vivid in your mind, “I was living my worst nightmare.” Your voice wavers, eyes wet. You add, soft enough that he’s the only one hearing, “Seeing the man I love almost be killed.” Your voice dies on the last words. And your eyes search his, hoping he will understand. Praying you won’t have to say it out loud, in the end.

But he frowns, confused and, maybe, somewhat betrayed. And the look on his face twists a knife in your heart. His hand slides, lifeless, from your arm. You thought you couldn’t be hurt anymore. And yet, your heart finds another way to break.

So you say it, finally.

“You, Bucky.” You don’t say that it has always been him. You don’t need to add another layer of guilt as you see it, slowly rising, in the way his jaw ticks, the way his eyes widened. And you want to take the pain away, to swallow it in yours. You can take it. You will always take it from him.

You go on, “I’m sorry.” And the words are like jagged glass into an open wound and they twist slowly. And you have to close your eyes for a moment, to not break right there. And yet you keep speaking, as if now that your heart is broken like an eggshell, everything you held close can’t help but come pouring out.

“I love you Bucky,” and you see him flinch. Your heart falters, and you’re surprised it’s still beating, it hurts so much. And yet you go on, “I love you so much that I want to see you happy, because you deserve to be happy, to have the best of what life can offer. You deserve everything and more…” your words die in your throat at the sight of his face, stricken and pale. You know you have to leave, now, because you can’t keep hurting him. And so you take his cold hands in yours, in this last moment where you’re close to him. Because if you can, you will still save him.

“Would you do something for me?”

And even after everything you told him, he doesn’t hesitate before answering, “Anything.” And it breaks your heart, as if there were still splinters left to shatter.

“Grab life by the throat and be happy. The happiest you can be. Have the best life ever! Marry, have kids and grand-kids. Get the life of your dreams and more. Take it. You deserve all of it, never doubt that.” He says nothing, his eyes wide, never leaving your face. And yet you find the strength to smile again. “Do that for me, okay?”

You keep smiling as you wave to the others, looking at you in stunned silence. And you walk away, holding the pieces of your soul close to you. You cannot break now, you have to leave, to go away, to stay strong so that Bucky will not be hurt even more.

And the city of New York passes in front of you as your cab drives you away from the Watchtower, from your life there, from your friends, from Bucky. And then there is the bustle of the airport and you still keep your peace, your hands tight against your chest, hoping the pain cannot be seen. And once you’re nestled in your seat in the plane, rolled into a ball against the airplane window, you’re too afraid to let it bleed and so you tighten around yourself, hoping you’ll hold.

And then, you see through this new cab’s window, the landscape rolls, towards your home, and your mind is blissfully empty. Your cell is in your hand before you can think, ready to send a message, like you did so many times before, to tell him you arrived safely. You freeze, fingers hovering. You can’t. Not anymore.

And then you arrive, and you pay and everything is mechanical and slow, as if your life has been caught in some time slowing machine. And you turn, and your childhood house is waiting, warm light pooling on the darkening ground as the sun sets behind the hills. It smells of hay and horses and the sounds of the cab leaving you here is like a final goodbye.

You feel the snap behind your ribs the moment your mother appears on the stairs. And when she calls your name, startled, surprised, you know you’re going to shatter. And then…

Your father is here, hugging you so fiercely that, for an instant, the agony in your body is still. And you don’t remember how you ended up in his arms. And the warmth around you finally seeps through your cold mind. And you shatter.

The sobs are ugly, rough, wracking your whole body, as if being punched. They don’t understand, you didn’t tell them anything. And yet, they don’t ask questions, they just hold you through it all, until you fall asleep on the couch, exhausted, drained by your tears.

When you wake up in the morning, the pain is still there. Worst of all, it is everywhere. And your mind reels in horror at what you did. For you’re sure Bucky is wounded. You betrayed his trust, and left before his wedding. And in the moment, all you can see are the blue of his eyes when you left, like a sea of despair. You should never have spoken.

And so you ask your parents for work, any work. To bury the guilt and shame and pain under sweat and dirt. And it works for the day. And when you swing the ax and the wood splinters, you do not think. And when you work in the field, your back is stiff under the sun, your mind is empty as the cloudless sky. And yet, when the sun sets and the long shadows of the night are pouring through the cracks of life, the emptiness in your chest is howling and you do not know how to close it.

And so you sit with your parents in front of the old TV. And your mother has made your favorite meal, and you feel as if the child in you is slowly taking your hand, to bring you back to a place where the hurt is allowed to be less loud. And your father brings chocolate bars and drinks. And while the child never drinks, you recognize those moments from your childhood. And you spend the evening, and then the night, hiding behind the child you were. And you finally fall asleep in your mother’s arms.

And each morning, you begin anew, the same routine. And slowly the pain becomes a companion, not jagged teeth ripping everything inside you. It is almost comfortable. You even find the strength to explain to your mother and father. And they do not judge you. They do not offer empty words of comfort or promises of healing. Only the solid shoulder of your father, the warmth of your mother’s hug.

And so you go on with life because this is how it is. And yet, the guilt is still there, tainted by the yearning. For you miss Bucky but it’s heavy, it’s a weight. Like an addiction. You know this love hurts you and yet, you miss him. And yet sometimes you feel free, for now there is nothing left to hide. The cut is clean, there is no turning back. But sometimes, it feels as though you are missing a limb.

The ghost presence of him is in everything you see, everything you eat, everything you read. For you told him you would come here together. You told him you would show him your life here. The slow mornings with the smell of your mom’s waffles. The days of work, fueled by the warmth of the sun and the laugh of your father. The soft evenings, where the sky is so clear, the stars seem within reach. But he is not here to share with you the beauty of the light, the scent of the smoke, the sound of the rain. Bucky is far away… and yet, you feel him everywhere you are, in everything you do.

As time passes, bitterness begins gnawing at the pain. The wedding should be soon. While you refuse to watch the calendar, you know it in your bones. And yet, there’s been no invite. And the absence is burrowing in your soul. Did Bucky choose to not invite you? Would it be too much for him to see you again? Or maybe he is trying to protect you? And not knowing is the worst, because your mind is aflame with anger that he made the choice for you.

The thing is, even if you don’t know what your choice would have been, you would have preferred being able to decide yourself. But the calendar tells the story. And now, it is over. And it hurts, a throbbing pain, ever present.

Until one day, you are out, cutting wood. The ax is flying, an extension of your arms, each strike, rippling through your muscle, feels like life trying to worm its way back into your heart. You stop, breathing hard. The landscape is beautiful around you. The sun is young, the air still fresh from the morning. Birds are chirping and the smell of the wet earth is like an invitation for a lazy walk. And yet, your chest is tight, as if your memories of him are trying to crush you.

Then anger comes, you feel the pressure, behind your ribs, your eyes, in your throat. Until you scream. You scream for the unfairness of it all, for the path never taken, for the guilt you’re still bearing, for the love that refuses to die, for the fact you still want to live and be happy. You scream until you’re raw, until it hurts and slowly you sink on the ground, kneeling under the pain, and the regret. And yet, it feels lighter.

You can breathe now.

And the days that come after are a little bit sweeter. And it is as if your smile has found its way back, small and hesitant, but here nonetheless.

And one day, you decide to go for a long ride. You told your mother and father. You spent the day out, rediscovering a world for yourself, without Bucky. It is still painful, but there is space for peace now, finally.

~~~

Later, when you come back, you feel at ease with yourself for the first time in a while. You dismount, relaxed and you whisper soft words to your mare as you bring her close to the front porch.

This is why the sight of the bike jars you, as if you have been struck by lightning. For a moment, you’re torn. A sudden burst of joy, warm and heady like a strong liquor, and an icy blade ripping through your soul and heart, both at the same time.

What is he doing here? And then comes the realization that he may have come with his wife. You freeze, heart in your throat. You cannot face them. Not yet. Not now that you’ve only just learned to breathe again.

So you slowly back away, as if facing an enemy. But your body is fighting itself. You’re shivering as a part of you pleads for Bucky to come out so that you can see him one last time. But the other part is screaming at you to flee the pain. With an effort, you’re finally able to turn, walking feebly back to your horse.

Breathing hard, you lean against her neck, the warmth of her body is like a wall against the pain of your heart.

Footsteps. You freeze, your mind blank, your heart beating like a bird trapped in a cage, blood rushing in your ears. And yet, when he calls softly for you, you hear it.

You close your eyes, holding onto the saddle as your legs weaken under you. You stay hidden behind your mare, grateful for her strength when you’ve none left, unable to move now.

You hear Bucky’s boots on the dirt. He’s moving slowly towards you. You should go away, leave but you can’t, rooted on the spot by the sheer need to see him. It is visceral, you can feel a physical pull towards him even though you can’t see him.

You see gloved fingers appear over the neck of the horse, carding through her mane. Your mare is patient. She does not move, her ears picking towards the new presence, mildly curious. Your eyes, on the other hand, are glued to those fingers, slowly sliding out of view while you hear Bucky’s footsteps as he moves around your horse. You’re frozen in place, a hand still on the saddle, as he finally stands in front of you.

To see him is like a cold shower. Your heart splits in two. And yet, a part of you feels complete again. There is no smile on his face but there’s no anger either. His eyes are searching yours for a long, silent, moment. You drink in his presence, his scent, burning his image into your mind for he will disappear again, and you will stay behind bereft, empty once again.

He takes another step, stops, then turns to look at the horse beside you, patting her neck.

“She looks like a good mare.”

Your mind is blank. Your body is in a state of panic, ready to bolt and still unable to move, like a rabbit in the headlights of a car.

Then his eyes come back to you.

“You never told me.” His voice is soft and yet you feel something like pain underlying those simple words. You try to find something, anything to say. But for all the words flailing in your head, there’s only one coming out.

“No.”

His eyes never leave you. You are not sure what to read in them but you see shadows below them, as if sleep has escaped him for a long time. Your heart twists. You had never wanted to hurt him. A tear rolls down your cheek and you’re surprised you still have some left in you. You wipe it quickly but you glimpse the flicker of anguish in his eyes. He has seen it. And the guilt twists deeper in your heart.

But then, anger rears its head, like a snake awakened by your mixed feelings. You clench your fist. He sees it and his lips curve slightly into a half-smile. It fans your anger. You want to yell, to scream at him, to shake him and erase this smile. You want to show him the bleeding gap in your chest. It’s so strong you’re panting. No. Bucky didn’t know. He’s innocent.

The thoughts are like ice sliding along your spine. You lowered your eyes, slowly, tired now, the last dredge of anger draining everything.

“You let me choose someone else.”

His voice is barely a whisper. And you’re not sure you heard him correctly. You look up and realize he has closed the gap between you. His hand has slid slowly along your mare’s neck, a mere inch from your fingers. You notice that, if you stretch your hand, you could touch his, if you wanted.

But then the words echo in your mind. They slowly crystallize in your heart, twisting like a butterfly in a web. The silence is too much and not enough all at once.

“And yet, here I am.” His voice, low, trembling slightly as his eyes bore into you. And you shake your head. When you speak, trying to bring normalcy in this moment, your voice is small in your ears.

“I don’t understand.”

“You robbed me of my choice.”

“I-what?” you blink, confused for an instant. Until something snaps in you. Maybe it’s back into place, maybe it’s finally breaking but the anger comes back, stronger this time, bitter as bile. And your voice slices the air.

 “I did nothing. I was just your friend. You chose not to be with me first.”

Each word is venomous. You thought you had healed, but seeing him now is like reopening the wound, digging in it. You square your shoulders, ready for a fight. But Bucky’s face has gone pale as his shoulders sag. Yet, he does not avoid your eyes. To your surprise, he nods.

“You’re right.”

But those words do nothing. They’re bland and empty. They mean nothing. You snap.

“Why are you here?”

This is the right question. You need to know, to understand. And much more than that. You need to heal. You have the right to be free of this pain.

“I miss you…” the admission unsettles you. He says it in a small, almost child-like voice. You frown, shake your head.

“You are… you were my friend…” when he corrects himself, he winces, as if pained physically. “You were my safe place. My perfect piece of the puzzle.”

Is this an accusation you hear in his voice? You clench your teeth, seething. And then, you spit it, years of jealousy in a few words.

“You chose her.”

He closes his eyes, lowers his head. Strangely, you don’t feel better. Seeing him defeated in front of you does not bring you any relief. Finally, you ask again, gentler this time.

“Why are you here?” and not on your honeymoon. Those words you keep. They are still too painful, even to think.

Bucky opens his mouth then closes it, he looks at the sky as if trying to find the right words among the stars. He takes a deep breath and, with his eyes on you again, he whispers.

“I need you.”

You stay rooted on the spot, your eyes wide. Your heart is thudding loudly against your ribs, almost painful. You want to deny, to punch him, to slap him… He must see the fury in your eyes because he closes his hand on yours. His touch both soothes and hurts you. You yank away your hand while your mare snorts, nervous.

Bucky takes a step back but he’s still watching you.

“You cannot say that. Not after…” you gesture vaguely, away from your home… There are so many things. He does not have the right.

“I know.” He takes a breath and, releasing it slowly, he says, “I realize now I was a coward. I was so terrified. I said nothing.”

No. It wasn’t possible.

“What does that mean?”

“It was easier. You were there. Always at my side. You stayed, whatever I was putting you through. I thought… that it was better to say nothing than telling you how I felt and then… losing you.”

You do not react. You feel empty, your mind buzzing strangely. Bucky frowns. He wants to touch you but you hold your hand up. And he stops there, looking desperate, maybe waiting for you to say something. But you cannot speak. Not yet.

“All those years?”

He nods, his eyes are shining now but you push again. You need to know.

“What about the wedding?”

Bucky winces again and looks away. You feel cold all over but then he whispers in a huff.

“Canceled.”

You stay there mouth agape, the word impossible to understand.

“Do you know what the Nightmare King showed me?”

You blink and close your mouth with a snap. You’re confused again by this change of conversation, you shake your head. You don’t know. But your heart is beating so quickly, as if it knows something you keep denying.

“You. Leaving me.”

The ground must have opened under your feet because you feel yourself slide. You don’t hear him moving, you don’t see anything. But suddenly, you’re on the ground, his cold vibranium arm on your back, holding you upright, while his thumb gently rubs circles on your hand. You try to breathe. He’s too close, you’re too hot. Bucky says nothing, his eyes on you, waiting.

You can smell him. You can feel his warmth. You want to crawl under his skin, you want to become one with him. It has been so long. “Bucky…” you don’t know what to say. Even saying his name is painful and yet, it feels good.

“I should have spoken sooner. I should have…” his whispers falters, his mouth in your hair and you close your eyes, letting the words slowly sink in. For the moment, you do not answer. You stay there, immobile, hearing his heart thumping strongly, a mirror of yours.

Then you feel it. Bucky is shaking. And you slowly come to realize what he must have done. As if reading your thoughts, he adds voice breaking,

“I hurt you. I hurt her. I hurt everyone. It’s what I always do. I wanted to spare you. I always wanted…” his voice falters then he whispers “But in trying to spare you, I only made your pain worse.”

You say nothing. You don’t need to add to his anguish. Besides you’re exhausted beyond what you thought possible. Then you realize your parents must wonder what is going on. They are probably waiting in the house, unwilling to bother you. You move.

Bucky’s reflex is to tighten his hold but then, as if realizing, he releases you slowly, as if regretting.

“Help me stand.”

He nods and you cling to him as you both straighten up. Your mare is there, looking at both of you with her dark and limpid eyes. You laugh. And Bucky looks at you, a bit surprised.

“She must think we’re crazy.” He turns to look at the horse and he exhales a tired laugh. But then, he turns to you, his eyes serious and sad.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

You look at him. His eyes are red rimmed, his hair a mess, although it could be from the ride on his bike. And because you know him, you know he must hate himself right now. Because you can imagine her now, lonely, left behind. You know how it feels. You want to forgive him unconditionally, and yet this is not what you say.

“It’ll take time. I’ll need to relearn trust.”

He swallows thickly, you see his throat bobs. He looks away, his flesh hand coming quickly as if erasing something from his face. And you remember who he is. What he has gone through. Of course, it’s not an excuse. But it is a reason.

You close the gap between you, putting both your hands on his chest.

“But I would like to hear you say it.”

Gingerly, Bucky puts his hands on your shoulders, his eyes are roaming on your face, you wonder if he sees the tears, the pain. Probably. And yet, you see the corner of his lips slowly tug upward, a faint smile. Slowly, he leans towards you.

Your heart beats so strongly, the blood rushes in your ears. Your knees are wobbly under you and your fingers cling to his shirt. And when his lips finally touch yours.

There is a moment when the whole world ceases to exist. Only the warmth of his mouth, of his hands against you, is real.

You open your eyes, not realizing you had closed them. And Bucky looks at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the whole universe.

“I love you.” Those three words. You waited so long, you lost hope, you left and tore yourself apart, thinking you would never hear them. And yet, here you are. In his arms.

“I love you too.”

You hear him take a deep, shaky breath. As if you finally allowed him to breathe again. But he’s not the only one. You feel whole. But not as before. There are wounds to heal, and corners to smooth. Both of you will need to rebuild.

And yet, you’re hopeful now.

Later, you leave on the back of his bike for the road trip back to the Tower. Your parents seemed happy for the both of you. Even though your father gave Bucky the look. You almost choked on your laugh while Bucky only ducked his head and promised he would take care of you.

You’re holding tight on to him, your arms around his body. You’re slotted against him, savoring the closeness, the warmth. His hand finds your thigh from time to time, as if checking you are real and here with him. In front of you the sun is slowly setting, painting the landscape in red, purple and blue.

While your sleep might be peaceful, Jake's is anything but. He's stuck in a war raging behind his eyes. His dreams have brought him back to one of the worst days of his life, he's in the heat battle, riding atop toruk. He can't hear the calming sound of the waves crashing against the shore, he can't hear the air bursting from your exo-pack with every breath you take. All he can hear is the gunfire, the crashing of the RDA aircraft as it slams into the mountains, the screeching of ikran as they are shout down, but the sound that sends terror straight to his heart is Neytiri's scream.

He can see it all unfolding in slow motion. Neytiri reels back from the force of the bullet entering her chest, only milimeters away from where Varang's hit her a few weeks ago. Jake's eyes widen in horror, his heart stopping and shattering, as he sees Neytiri let go of Sa'ata and fall into the water below.

"NOOO!!" Jake lets out an agonizing yell. There's nothing he can do. He can't leave to recover Neytiri's body. He has to stay and fight.

You're woken up from the shout that Jake makes in his sleep. You sit straight up and look over at him at your side. He's sweating, shaking, tears are streaming down his face as he whispers 'Tiri'.

He's dreaming about her again, it happens every so often, even after years passed, when his subconscious can't keep the trauma at bay. You'd been Jake's friend ever since he entered the Avatar Program to take over Tommy's work. You helped behind the scenes, helping the drivers maintain their links like Max, you also helped Jake learn about the Na'vi culture when Norm was frustrated with him. You were there for it all. The birth of every child, to test Kiri after her seizure underwater, to comfort the family after Neteyam's death, you were there for the reveal of Kiri's parentage, you were there when mycilium was creating symbiosis in Spider's body. And you were there for the Sully's in their time of need when Neytiri had died.

Somewhere between helping out around the marui where needed and consoling Jake and the kids the lines begin to blur and the two of you fell in love. Which is why it hurts you to see him this way. You bring your hand up to cup whatever you can of his cheek, to offer a comforting touch, but all it does is make him flinch. It makes your heart hurt to see him in such pain in a state where he should be able to escape it. Tears well up in your waterline as you turn your body to sit on your knees so you can take ahold of his arm.

"Jake," you whisper softly, begining to gently shake him. "Jake, c'mon baby, wake up. Wake u-"

Suddenly, Jake's eyes snap open, and when they shift to you he raises his giant hand to shove you out of the hammock. Your back hits the floor knocking the air from your lungs and quicker than lightning Jake is on top of you, trapping you between his legs.

When your gaze reaches his, fear washes over your body like ice cold water hitting your skin. His brow is furrowed, his mouth is drawn tight, and his ears are pinned so close to his skull. His eyes are filled with hatred. It's like he's not even seeing you, like the Jake you know has completely disapeared and has been replaced with someone else. You go to say his name again, hoping you can snap him out of it but before it can leave your lips his hand grips your neck and begin to squeeze.

"This is for my wife," Jake growls, baring his fangs. Jake isn't in the room with you he's still years in the past. All he can see is the fire on the water from the chemicals the wrecked ships have produced, he sees the person he has in his grasp, the face hidden behind the glare on their exo-pack mask.

Your tears are freely flowing now, your chest burns with lack of oxygen, and you struggle to get any words past your constricted throat. They felt like broken glass coming up. "Jake please-," your plea comes out croaked and it's cut off as his hand cinches tighter.

"Shut. Up." Jake seethes. You can't tell if it's the sound of his tail thumping against the floor or if it's your heartbeat in your ears. Your fingers find his hand and you try your best to claw at them, hoping to to pry it from your neck. You're scared, you're in excruciating pain, but you're trying with everything in you to free yourself. You bring your legs up and start kneeing and kicking into his sternum with whatever strength your body has left in it.

Wherever Jake is, whoever he's with, they must be fighting back just like you because his free hand shoots to your ankles and wrenches your legs down. It causes your hips to crack from the force and a scream to rip itself from your vocal cords.

Jakes hands leave your body immediately, like they came in contact with a flame. Jake reels back from your form and your exo-pack releases the loudest hiss as you gulp down the oxygen it provides and you're full-on sobbing. His pupils are the size of pin pricks as he takes in the sight of your body being wracked with emotion and he feels sick to his stomach. He can feel the bile rising as he realizes what he's done.

"Baby...," Jake starts to soothe, slowly reaching out to touch you.

"No!" You stagger back in panic, "Don't touch me!" Your mask has fogged with how hard you've been crying. Jake moves his arm back as quickly as before and with the space that's been granted, you slowly get up, sucking air between your teeth as the pain that darts to your pelvis. Jake flinches at that.

"Where're you going?" He finds himself asking as you limp to the door of the marui. You look back to answer and the sight that greets you breaks you a little more. Jake is sitting on his knees, his hands and arms frozen on his thighs, his dreads are framing his face, and his cheeks are stained with tears as well.

"I'm finding somewhere else to sleep tonight," our words are like a neurotoxin dipped arrow. Just like that you disappear from his sight. He's left there in the silence that his actions have wrought.

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he knows the signs by now, and silently guides you into an on call room. the noise of the ED is quieter here, but you can’t really tell with the way your ears are starting to ring from lack of oxygen as you hyperventilate.

robby tries to soothe you with words first, “hey, sweetie, you’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m here, you’re safe.”

then he’s slowly approaching your position in the middle of the small space. his big, warm hands take hold over your shoulders and turn you gently so you’re facing the wall and away from him, as he shifts closer and presses his chest flush to you.

the pressure of his warmth along your back, and his arms encircling you, is the solid presence you need in moments like this. when your own body feels detached from you, and the tingling in your limbs turns fuzzy, robby is the grounding force for your frazzled electrical wires.

you start to cry in his embrace, and he whispers sweet words then too, as he continues to be the stillness in your storm.

eventually, the tears wane and your hands have grasped onto the feel of Robby’s forearms across your chest, your head leans back and into the crook of his arm, your whole body tired from the ordeal. he kisses your head and sways you both slightly, gladly taking on the weight of your frame as your body feels heavy from the wave of emotions crashing through your system, now receding.

robby doesn’t make you talk about it. he understands that sometimes it comes without cause, without warning. you know that you can talk to him about it too, but for now you soak up the comfort of him here with you, of not having to brave the wave alone - like you’d done so many times, before robby came into your life.

you feel grateful to be able to fall apart and be held in it.

you feel grateful for him.