It's getting old (I'd kinda like it if you'd call me)
...
Hold me, console me and then I'll leave without a trace
Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe
Love; A feeling toward another person that naturally attracts us and that, seeking reciprocity in the desire for union, completes us, brings joy, and gives us the energy to live together, communicate, and create.
Heartbreak; A lack of the feeling and affection that certain things generally inspire.
Love comes in a thousand and one forms.
You feel it when you see a new sunrise, eat your favorite food, watch your favorite show, enjoy your hobbies. Love is something you've always felt; you're a person who loves life, loves people, loves yourself.
Since you were a child, you've been so empathetic toward others that they used to tell you it was your superpower: to sense what others feel and multiply it if they're happy, to take their sadness and store it within you to give them your love and ease their sorrows, which always worked. There wasn't a person, animal, or plant that didn't feel rejuvenated after being by your side, all because of your incredible bleeding heart that made the world beat.
And when you grew up, you wanted to find love in other ways, more intimate, romantic ways instead of the platonic ones your social relationships had been until now. For someone with a full heart, it was difficult to find someone who made you feel butterflies in your stomach, who made your face warm at the thought of his face, who made you excited to hear his name, who made you brace yourself a little more just so he would say something to you.
You were in love with the idea of love; you've never cried over a bad breakup or rejection. While you've been through them, you've managed to overcome them because before loving someone, you love yourself with security and complete confidence.
That's why, when you met him, you thought the search was over: attentive, kind, affectionate, thoughtful, protective without being possessive, trustworthy, honest, and, if we're talking about appearances, truly attractive.
You fell hopelessly and completely in love with him, with the man who whispers sweet nothings in your ear on nights when you couldn't sleep due to stress, with the man who wakes you up in the morning with a latte and two sugars, with the man who knows your favorite flower and what food you like.
You fell so in love that you chose to ignore the signs until it was impossible to do so anymore.
Because he had already loved like you barely loved, he loved a woman with as much strength and passion as they describe in poetry books, he dedicated every sunrise, every sigh, every tear, and every joy to her, the path that defined his life was for her. You only arrived when the cracked wall that protected his feelings had broken.
Well, that night you accompanied him to a work meeting, you saw in his eyes the look he didn't give you, you saw the sparkle, the blush, you felt his breathing change, his body tense and relax at the same time, you felt his body winged against yours but his heart within hers.
And love began to sour and fall into heartbreak.
You'd never felt like this before; a feeling so… painful, raw, that tears you apart inside and makes you want to scream, vomit, and cry all at once. Of hate, of anger, of sadness, of confusion, of shame, the questions you never asked yourself before now plagued your silences: Is it because she's prettier? Is she more feminine? Is it because of her voice? Do you talk too much? Are you too sweet? Are you too much?
At first, you didn't let it affect you, discourage you. After all, every relationship has its weak and strong moments. Maybe this is one of those moments, maybe this is just a bad storm that will bring its sunny day…
There is no one worse blind than the one who doesn't want to see. You didn't want to see that your flowers stopped appearing at your apartment, but on her social media, there was a new one every day—with him tagged—you didn't want to hear how her calls lasted for hours, you didn't want to feel the emptiness when it was time for lunch while he accompanied her to eat during her break, you didn't want to accept that your love was dying.
- No! - you find yourself crying in the arms of a friend, who at this point doesn't know what else to do for you - He loves me, he loves me! He's just confused because he's thinking about her, but he really wants to be with me! He has so many feelings for me! We can go and ask him! Please… -
-… - What do you say to someone dying of love? To someone who doesn't want to see that there's nothing left to hold on to? To someone who chooses to pretend instead of accepting?- You have to understand, honey, he's chasing her, and you're chasing him, but who's chasing you? No one -
Maybe it was the tiredness, the tears, the annoyance, but that phrase connected your brain and your heart, made them accept that you no longer felt love. That from all the love you gave him, there was nothing left for you.
Just as you saw the signs of his departure, he saw yours, perhaps too late to stop you.
For a man who controls the cold, he never felt it sink into his bones until he noticed the hot chocolates stopped coming.
The mid-shift sweets, the encouraging notes in a lunch that never appeared on the table anymore, the smell of sweet vanilla perfume with a hint of cherry.
He'd like to think he noticed when your things were no longer in the closet, when the dishes in his kitchen where you liked to bake cakes for him were no longer there, or when, little by little, his side of the bed was getting colder.
He'd like to think he noticed when your things were no longer in the closet, when his kitchen was gone, the dishes where you liked to bake cakes for him, or when, little by little, his side of the bed grew colder.
He was wrong, he admits now, wrong to think you wouldn't notice how his mind traveled to another dimension, one where she was by his side, a what if as his present faded in real time. It wasn't until you invited begged him to the café where you liked to spend lazy afternoons that reality chilled him to the bone.
"I want to end this," you say calmly, like someone who long ago stopped feeling something, anything, just a tone that sounds like acceptance, perhaps a sad relief.
The worst part is that he can't ask why, why end things, why separate and let go of such a sweet relationship. And Zayne has the answers to all of that, he is the answer to all the questions.
- I'm sorry - he manages to say, even he can feel his voice cracking - For leaving first -
He sees you nod, serene and peaceful, with the sun kissing your body as if comforting you with its warmth, while he freezes in the shadows - It's time for me to go -
And as he watches you walk out the door, walk down the street, and disappear into the crowd, he suddenly realizes how cold summer can be.
Painting is the language of the soul, art the true way in which any living being can communicate.
That was always Rafayel's mindset, who day and night painted what his heart sang, what his soul yearned for, what God demanded within him. At one point, the muse that had inspired him for so many years changed shape; it was no longer that bitter memory where the first pearl slipped from his eyes; it was now a new canvas where the colors shone pristine and resplendent.
What happens, however, is that sometimes old paintings contaminate the new.
He never made excuses; in fact, he admits it—without pride, with nothing but regret—he admits that he allowed old feelings to resurface, that while you were waiting for him at the beach house, he walked with her at the fair, and while you were praying, he gave his blessing to another believer.
It wasn't until he saw his dried and cracked paintings, his unfinished canvases, sketches that never made it out of pencil and paper that reality hit him like a raging sea wave; when he searched for your books among his shelves, your shoes next to his, that old cardigan he let you wear even when the seams came out, you just sewed them back up.
- I won't let it be ruined, it was yours for a long time -
When did it stop being yours?
It never stopped being yours, it just got lost in nostalgia and oaths that faded with time, it drowned deep in his heart and only resurfaced when you invited him to your new apartment—simpler, smaller, more you without him—to say goodbye.
- I'm no longer your inspiration - you say, as if it were a given, as if you'd already given up - And that's fine, let's leave things alone -
- But I don't want to leave you - He's a King, a God, a supreme being worshipped, and yet he lies at the feet of a human, begging for mercy and redemption - I swear my songs are only for you, my art is only for you, my sculptures and portraits are only for you -
You were so benevolent that even now you are the one who comforts him - Once, Rafayel was, no longer, let's let go before the damage gets deeper -
Damage, he hurt you, the purest and kindest soul he's known in millennia. He hurt you and only realized it when he was left adrift in the middle of an ocean of people.
Since that day, there isn't a human being who hasn't cried when seeing the art of a repentant artist.
The weight of a crown always weighed on him. Thousands of lives depending on him made him feel suffocated, crushed. The gravity of the galaxy became less bearable with each passing step.
Many times he waited, endured, telling himself that it would all be worth it in the end when his home returned to its primordial glory and the love of his life was back by his side. But meeting you was like experiencing, for the first time in many years, what it was like to breathe, to have the air fill his lungs completely and to feel calm.
For him, for whom rest was his way of freeing himself from the burden, you were the place where he could truly close his eyes and sink into a dreamless sleep, where he ceased to be everything the universe demanded of him and simply became a man, a man who snored between arms that protected him like shields.
But Xavier is a sword, Philos's sword through and through, and he unwittingly broke his own shield.
When he saw the queen who once shared his throne, he was weak before the past, before the memory of what they once were and the thought of what they could be. He traveled into space, among the planets, toward the Sun, but even in King of the Galaxy, he can burn before the unflappable fire of the true galactic King.
When he realized you were gone, that his home was gone—again—that your blankets were gone from his bed, nor the stuffed lion he gave you on your first date, nor the toothbrush in the bathroom, he did what he does best: seek and conquer.
But the human heart is not a land to be fought over with swords and horses, trust is not a banner to be hung on the highest tower of a castle, lost love is not a crown to be reclaimed and placed as legitimate. Everything he knows how to do, everything he is, he lays bare before you, who went to the trouble of bringing the clothes you took out of habit, surely washed at any laundromat because they don't smell like your fabric softener that soothed him so many nights.
- Stay - his tone, always low, seemed to echo in his apartment, which suddenly felt larger without your things decorating it, but you just shook your head, like a mother does when she explains to her son why she must leave him with someone else.
- I can't do it - No more, there's nothing more to do - But I hope you find what you're looking for -
He won't, not when the thing he worked so hard to find closes the door in front of him and walks down the hall until he hears nothing but her sobs. It's been a while and astrologers still don't know why a meteor shower occurred out of nowhere.
He's not a man, he's a dragon, and a dragon doesn't ask, it takes.
That's how he ruled for years, many years; in a selfish world, the selfish triumph, even when the road is lonely and the days are the same, even when the gold ceases to shine and the jewels cease to be beautiful. Sylus is a dragon, faster in the air, stronger on the ground, powerful wherever his presence rests, he has never hesitated when faced with a decision; that's how he has maintained his status and wealth.
But with you, that changed, suddenly, he wasn't taking as he always did; he was asking as he began to learn.
With her softest touches, her simplest words, he stopped expecting servitude and began to give it, and far from feeling humiliated or diminished, he felt seen. Finally finding an equal, someone who walks beside you instead of pulling on a chain to follow, finding calm when all you knew was chaos, finding in your words more value than any wealth humans could give away to earn your favor.
But no matter how much he pushed it aside, he's a dragon, and a dragon is never tamed, it's wild.
When he found in her the adrenaline that one day drove his life, the sensation of running with death, of feeling fierce, conquering and subduing, he forgot the life that had welcomed him with such peace as he'd never felt before.
And perhaps he'll never feel it again, that's what dawned on him when he entered his home and was greeted by only silence. Wounded and exhausted, his legs about to give out any second, his breathing quickened, and blood staining the rugs you had chosen with such enthusiasm, he understood that something had changed.
- She's not here, boss - How long has it been since Kieran spoke so formally to him? He did it in the early years, then only on important missions, but now there are no missions at all, just a void he himself created.
- But it's better this way - Not because of your absence, but for your own well-being. The time you were in the twins' lives meant they found a mother they never asked for but always needed, a sister when they needed one, a friend to unburden themselves to, a colleague, a companion, a family. They are loyal to Sylus without question, there's nothing they won't do or say for him, but you're off limits, their loyalty to you was stronger than their loyalty to him.
Even Mephisto acts more aggressively, cackling angrily, his hand itching when he tries to take it, and one day, he appears with a letter tied to his paw. It's your handwriting, and it's not very long, because you never liked to muddle things around and always be direct.
“I couldn't look at you anymore, not because I was afraid of falling for you again, but because I fell for you. You'd become someone I don't recognize, that's why I'm leaving sooner. Don't look for me, don't send the boys or Mephisto to find me, even if I don't want to see you again if I want you to be happy and find peace.”
That was it; there was no dramatic goodbye or tears on the paper, just a reason and good wishes. But for Sylus, that piece of paper became his most coveted, most protected, most valuable treasure.
Not because it shone, or was powerful, but because it taught the dragon how to be human, and the human learned to lose everything.
It sounds like an excuse, but after going through so much in life, love is something Caleb doesn't know how to properly feel.
He loved once, intensely, dangerously, and that love hurt the one he most wanted to protect. The day he realized it, he decided to step back for her safety and watch her from afar, protecting her from the shadows while he plans how to make his entrance more natural, more strategic, but not invasive.
Then you came along and changed his trajectory, you and your patience, your comforting words, your healing presence, your hopes and trust.
You were a breath of fresh air, a compass, a moral guide that shaped him into the best man he could be, the man he wanted to be for you. During the time the fleet sailed in deep space, Caleb was attentive, careful, but firm in his leadership. He was the man he promised himself to be for someone else, but whom you had brought to solid ground. You are his solid ground, where he always longed to land and build his life. A big house, white picket fences, a dog and children, a life once impossible to imagine was now an option.
It wasn't until the ship touched down that the Caleb he was stayed in the fleet and the monster he fought so hard to drive away returned.
Returning to it was easy, a straight path to an old house, full of memories and nostalgia, a comfortable routine his memory knows; But you can't live on memories or build a life in the past, and soon the cracks in her house brought it down.
By the time he realized what he'd left behind, you were gone. Time away from the platoon, a temporary leave of absence, and a request to a new team—nothing more was said to him, and he didn't ask for it. He knows everything he did and didn't do. He's the reason you're no longer in the place you loved most: the universe.
That's why he wasn't upset when all he got from you was an audio-recorded message, the last time you'd ever speak to him.
- I'm sorry for leaving you like this - you apologize even now when he's the one who bears all the responsibility - It's the best thing for me, Colonel. Even though we're no longer partners, I wish him success in his missions and that he always finds his way home -
But he won't, not when you're gone and he can't reach you.
