#au:death

on starry nights, always i miss you

Sometimes in the irony of the world -- where the weather might echo sentiments riddled in relative apprehension -- Roseanne Park found herself unable to share it’s cruel sense of humour. In all fairness, her sense of humour had declined dramatically after a series of tumultuous events that all but ended her life.

For a life without Song Yixing didn’t seem like a life worth living at all.

She was wrong, of course, and was constantly reminded of that fact every time she looked into her son’s face, little Finley; who looked too much like his father -- a feat she only realized after seeing her husband’s face first thing each morning to start her day ceased to be possible. Dark eyes alight, always -- with what, she wasn’t quite sure, but they shined like the sun, the moon, the stars and everything in between.

Needless to say, Rose never looked up at the sky to find her heart blooming into ridiculous proportions anymore. No, the stars had lost its appeal; even the endlessly beautiful one that decorated the ceiling of their bedroom. It now laid bare, the spell died when he did, and it was a shot of reality that she didn’t needed to feel, the feeling too raw and too strong for the then newly widowed woman. Her world had fallen from such great heights. and her in her selfishness would never forgive him.

Seated like this in his old greenhouse ( the cacti in the corner blissfully quiet, the fluttering leaves and petals swaying lightly to a breeze that did not exist ), the twilight did not soothe the anger and hurt in her heart. It had been close to two years now, and the golden haired girl still refused happiness; to her there was no happiness in a world where Song Yixing doesn’t exist in. Her heart had been broken before, and this time it refused to be thrown back together. 

“Song Yixing, you complete arse.” 

As was common with broken hearted souls, Roseanne spoke clearly to the empty mist-- voice steady ( but angry ) with eyes thankfully dry ( for now ). 

“I needed you to stay... We both need you to stay.” 

Eyes shut now, his copy of Ovid sitting on her lap laid completely forgotten. She let her golden hair tumble over her lashes, carelessly hiding a rolling tear from a figure she pretended was there all along. For can’t she pretend that he’s been a coward and ran off somewhere the way he did that once? Can’t she pretend that he’s off somewhere without her ( but still blissfully fine ) and would perhaps puck up the courage to come back? 

( Never. He wont come back now. )

“You coward, Song Yixing.” 

And the waterworks started. Once the dam is broken, it became increasingly difficult to patch back up. So tonight, Roseanne Park will spend quite a bit of time amongst the roses he had grew in her name. 

“My darling...” 

Broken. Oh so broken. 

Once, Yixing promised that he would kill anyone that made her cry. Perhaps that’s the reason why he’s gone.

“My darling, I thought I was going to be fine... Fine without you- maybe... be happy again.” She struggled to find the words, for there are none to fully express the shards that were permanently stuck to her already fragile heart. “But every time I came close i thought of- ...o-of you and how you should be here... with us--” 

Her sobs had overcame her words once more, it was too difficult to continue. So Roseanne sat sobbing in the silence, clutching her heart in her hands, his Slytherin-green jumper still warm and soft between her fingers -- it was as if he was there just yesterday with it on. 

“Oh god- you selfish pig!” 

Silence, sobbing -- she did not know what else to say but the obviously loud fact in her beating heart. 

“I love you.

I miss you.

I wont ever forget.”

Her sobs grew softer with the deepening night, her heart calm -- but still strongly aching; for she was sure that there is no cure for her severely broken soul. 

“Mother?” 

Rose turned towards the entrance, and for a split second she saw the same features that she was just envisioning, the perfect features of the love of her life in perfect replica. Finley Song is the boy with her heart now, he is all she has.

Hasty fingers began to wipe tears haphazardly off her cheeks, forcing a neutral smile to bloom across pale lips, pretending that everything ( absolutely everything! ) is well and exactly the way it should be.

“Darling thing! What are you doing up? It’s awfully late.”

He walked closer, with brows furrowed and lips pouted. 

“I noticed you weren’t in your office... so I figured you might be here.”

Nine year-old Finley Song grew up far too fast, considering life without a father and a mother who’s hardly in the right frame of mind most of the time. He is already too mature, too soon; and Rose blamed Song Yixing yet again for the flaw on her otherwise perfect little boy. 

“I'm just reading.” Painfully forced smile in hand, she rose from her seat and caught her son around the shoulders. “Let’s get you back in bed, we have an early day tomorrow, hm?” 

Knowing eyes and silent nod, Finley Song held his mother a little longer, small fingers on the small of her back and a twinge of pain in his own heart. But this had been the norm, sadly-- and he had grown used to his mother’s quiet disappearances, the way her eyes dulled and her cheeks glowed with breathless heartache. And he could do nothing.

It wasn’t as if he could bring his father back from the dead. Not from the already diminishing memory he had of him. 

“C’mon Finn, let’s get a cup of tea before bed, yes? It’ll knock you out in no time.”  

Rose had turned on her heel and walked out of the greenhouse so fast that Finn hardly had time to respond to her question ( he could distinctly heard a quiver in her voice, that he chose never to address ). But instead, he let small fingers trail across the spines of stacked notebooks in his father’s spidery writing.

A pause.

Guiltily darting eyes.

A final swift movement of a disappearing journal. 

Finley Song stayed up later than he should that day, even after finding his mother crying in the greenhouse. He had a flashlight under his covers and his father’s notebook on his lap. A desperate attempt to get to know the man who had hurt his mother so. 

The man who used to have his eyes, the small curl of his lips.

The man he would strive to overcome.