I Love Katseye

Rating: M | Word Count: 678 | Status: Complete

TW: Implied Violence, Implied Canonical Torture/ Death

Fiyero Tigelaar was always great at grand entrances. Always knew how to make a statement. How to craft the perfect first impression. It was his only defense, after all, from the swift cut of judgement, the sharp sting of disappointment. He could never avoid the scrutiny, so why bother trying to shake it off? He embraced it, let the gaze of a hundred eyes swirl their way to him—like flies to honey. Flies don’t care if what’s inside is rotting, as long as it smells sweet. It was easier to think this. Every little pinprick of attention feels less like an invasion if you pretend it’s something you want, something you ask—no, demand—for. 

But even that only lasts for so long.

---

Fiyero is horrible at goodbyes. Absolutely miserable at them. His preference was to slink away, slip into the night unnoticed, unwatched, unsearched for. Make no ties, leave no baggage. This was the way that served him, all these years. 

If you don't let yourself get attached to things, it won’t hurt as much when you lose them. At least that’s what he thought. 

He can’t even look at her, that’s the problem. 

No.

The problem is he wants, so desperately, to look at her. Could never stop himself, since they met, but right now, in this moment, looking hurts. Looking feels like admitting that he needs to memorize every feature of her face, commit it to memory before it’s too late—

He’s only human. He does look. 

He is filled with a feeling at once so full and so hollow. A wave of contentment filling his chest, and the rapid pull of a tide as it washes everything away. 

The warmth of her skin. The bright joy and wonder in her eyes, when she finally let herself believe. The sweetness of her kiss. The promises he made. 

That’s the worst of it. He made a promise and now he knows, as certain as the sun beating down over their heads, the bead of sweat trickling cold and cruel down his temple, that he cannot keep it. Cannot keep any of it. 

There’s so much he needs to say. So much he hasn’t even been able to make her understand. 

We will be together always.

He wants to say: You’re the only one who’s ever been able to make me care about anything. You’re the one who made me realize what’s worth fighting for. 

He wants to say: You deserve the world. And I’m sorry I can’t stay long enough to give it to you. All I can give is this. 

He knows he cannot say anything he wants to say. 

So he just allows himself to look at her, one last time, attempts to carve the likeness of her face in his mind. 

Put on a brave face, soldier. His father’s words echo bleakly in his mind. 

Go, is all he can say. Now.

She is pleading with her eyes, and for one terrible moment, he nearly breaks. But Fiyero has already promised himself he would be brave for both of them. He has to do the brave thing now.

He lets her go. He doesn’t let himself watch her fly away. Doesn’t let himself think it’s the last time. Doesn’t say goodbye. 

---

Fiyero is horrible at goodbyes. 

He eyes the red dew glistening on the dried out corn husks, wondering where she is. Wondering if she got somewhere safe. Wondering if she will know, after everything, how sorry he is for breaking his promise. 

The sun is setting. The deep red dew drops dry out, turn black and sticky in the fading light. It is starting to hurt less.

He thinks he can sleep now. 

The first stars blink awake on the horizon. 

Goodbye, he thinks. You know me better than anyone.

Goodbye, his head falls, tired of looking up. You were the first real, true thing that ever mattered. 

Somewhere, in the very far distance, he can almost swear he hears her calling his name.