Prompted; “hey friend!!! that new EP is just... sOMETHING ELSE. "nightmare" really fucking slaps and just like.. i was wondering if you could write something inspired by that? maybe lynn is wandering california streets at night and bumps into the reader and they end up having a heart to heart?”
A/N: This was was so tantalising that I couldn't keep my hands off it. My deepest apologies for my prolonged absence. I hope this ficlet serves to soothe that burn somewhat. You're all in my thoughts.
Content Warning: Mentions of addiction.
Rain is rare in Los Angeles, even more so in the grips of summer. Whenever short bursts of rain blanket the city, the entire city can practically feel the earth exhale in gratitude, soaking up the moisture with abandon. Windows are thrown open to let out the oppressive summer heat, to hear the sounds of the coming rain, to sit by the open windows and sigh in relief. There is a kind of magic to the way the city falls asleep, even for a little while, only whilst the rain lasts.
Today's downpour is nothing short of historic. As the city lays to receive the gratuitous blankets of driving rain, sidewalks empty as people seek shelter. Entire businesses and shops close for the moment, their owners throwing open every window to feel the magic of the rain, to taste the petrichor. Traffic grinds to a halt and the city sighs a breath of relief as the chaos of daily life slows to a crawl. There is nothing in these short hours but appreciation for the ferocity of life, the strength of its passion, the deep and resounding reverence that the water brings with it.
You cross a deserted sidewalk, head shielded underneath the hood of your jacket, beneath a blinking green light. The light has dampened here, dimmed underneath the slate-coloured sky, and everything in the vicinity is cast in verdant glow. On the opposite side of the street, another lone figure moves to cross, stepping through the sheets of rain as if they don't exist.
The hurry in the figure's steps catches your attention, the slope of the shoulders and the weight curled at the base of the spine. The way the figure's head tilts, the way its hands are stuffed into its pockets. The blood rushes in your ears, a slow crescendo. Just when it peaks, you catch a glimpse of the brown eyes underneath the hood, the glint of a nose ring in the streetlights.
There's no mistake to it. After a two year absence, Lynn Gunn is back in your life.
It shocks you into stillness, and despite the insistent blinking of the streetlight over Lynn's shoulder, heralding the imminently-crossing cars, you find yourself standing completely still in the centre of the road. You watch Lynn's eyebrows crease, her slow blinks, the way her hands flex in her pockets. Memories flood like the rain, in through the top of your jacket and down your spine, down to your toes and right back up.
You think of sunlit mornings, rumpled sheets and skin-to-skin. A heartbeat floating in space; mist floating off cups of tea; succulents in a windowsill; clouds of blown smoke in a bright blue sky. You think of Lynn's smile, the way her arms fit around your shoulders, the way your heart swelled with a feeling so big it must've been the universe.
You think of slamming doors and smoke turned sour. You think of the palm trees lining the road, the buildings in the heart of the city, and the sleepless nights. You think of Lynn, screaming into your face, and you think of you-- screaming right back. You think about the way the pavement felt under your feet as you ran away.
The very next moment, there's a tugging on your shoulders, and you catapult back into the present to feel Lynn tugging you out of the intersection, back onto the sidewalk just as the green light turns red.
"You wanna get run over or something, (y/n)?" She says, and your shoulders immediately cave in towards the heat in her voice, as if it could immolate your bones from the outside in. The anger is there, right in the middle of that fire. Heedless of the flames, you reach forward and tug it around you.
You take a step back. Your tongue feels hot in your mouth.
"Not like you'd care much, right?" You say.
Her eyes glint as she raises her head, something akin to confusion swimming there. Confusion, and anger, and something you can't decipher. Hurt?
"That's uncalled for, (y/n)," She says.
"Is it?" You say, and take another step. It falters, though, like the muscles in your legs can't quite decide whether they should go forwards or back. "What are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you, Lyndsey," She says, and it drips with sarcasm, "How are you? Gosh, it's been so long."
You feel it tug at your heartstrings, the vulnerability that's desperately trying to claw its way to the surface. It's crazy how much her arms still look like home to you.
"It's been two years," You say, cutting yourself off before the rest of the sentence comes tumbling out. The rawness of it crawls up the back of your throat, and you gag.
Her eyebrows go slack, and for a moment, there's a flash of relief on her face, as if things have just now started making sense. "You're still angry at me," She says. It's a statement, not a question.
"I hate you," you say, flame-touched tongue and all, and feel a brief moment of savage pride when Lynn jerks back like you've hit her. The next moment, though regret begins to rush in.
"Why are you being so unfair?" She says, and there's a certain, steely edge to the sound of her voice. It's becoming harder and harder to focus on her in the shifting rain, like parts of her are breaking free and joining in with the downpour.
"Why are you back here?" You retort, and scrabble for a defence, "To rub salt in the wound? To gloat about how successful you've become since you hurt me?"
"I hurt you?" She says, her eyebrows knitted together so close they might never jump apart again.
"Of course you did," You say, and feel a sob well up in your throat, completely ripped free by the surprise of seeing Lynn again, "You left me. When I needed you."
Lynn chokes out a laugh, stunted and ugly and entirely too much. "You ran away from me when I tried to help you. I always told you it was the damn drugs, and you never listened."
"I needed you," You continue, and feel the lump at your throat dislodge and become projectile, "And you couldn't be there for me. Something no person should ever have to go through, and my own girlfriend couldn't even be there."
"You were high all the time," she counters, and you feel the words sink into your skin like knives, "How could I be expected to carry on a conversation with you when your head was consistenly in the clouds?"
"I needed you!" You hurl it at her, tears finally tearing free from the corners of your eyes. You know it was your fault, and your heart knows and your mouth knows, and even your brain. But here, in the rain, your blind pride is the only thing you can hold onto.
The weight of your rainlogged jacket becomes heavy to the point it feels constrictive, and you gasp for breath. Rainwater seeps between your lips and for a moment, you feel the familiar panic seep into your veins. Your fingers begin to tremble and the roof of your mouth tastes the reminiscent, two year-old smoke. The anger has turned to grief, has turned to regret, has turned to panic.
Your lungs hitch once, and then once again, seeking blindly for breath but finding none. Adrenaline seeps into your veins as you stop breathing.
You take another step, back this time, cartwheeling arms and all as the rain takes your balance, toppling over towards the ground. You watch Lynn's body lurch into movement the moment before time stops.
"I'm sorry," You say, finally breaking the silence hanging over the vinyl table, "For making a scene". Over on the other side, Lynn looks up at you. In the bright, fluorescent lights of the diner, you can finally see all the angles to her face, and the circles beneath her eyes, and the glint of her newly-dyed hair.
"It's okay," she says, and cups her hands around her coffee. Her shoulders have lost their iron set, and she looks much more like a drowned cat here than she did out in the street. Her eyes wander out the window, before snapping back to yours.
"I'm sorry," You say again, skin prickling as it dries, "For saying all those things. They were hurtful, and I didn't mean them."
Lynn's eyes turn sympathetic, and her head tilts ever so slightly to one side. "If you didn't mean them, you wouldn't have said them," She says, almost placatingly.
You shake your head, and droplets of water fly from the ends of your hair. The patron in the next booth over shoots you a look, and you twist your fingers together.
"It was the drugs," you say, no longer clear about whether you're talking about what transpired on the street just minutes ago, or whether you're reminscing two years in the past. "I got so paranoid all the time, it was exhausting. And I just reacted all that shit onto you, and you didn't deserve a lick of it. I'm sorry."
Lynn's eyes bury into yours for a second, and the weight of her stare almost has you gasping for breath again, before the moment breaks open and one of her hands reaches across the space to settle across your twisting fingers. The burn of hot skin on hot skin jerks your mind into focus. Your heartbeat sounds in your throat.
There's another moment of silence before-- "Was?"
You nod, and feel her hand squeeze around yours. "I've been sober for two years," You say, "From the moment you left, I swore I'd never touch those drugs again."
Her eyes crease at the corners, golden light spilling from the deep of her irises. Her pride settles across your skin like a warm coat.
"I'm proud of you," She says, and the weight of it is everything you need to liberate yourself. You exhale, feeling like you've been holding your breath for the past hour, and feel your blood sing in response. A smile, ever so slightly, begins to poke at the corners of your lips.
Your fingers tangle with hers, and find it within themselves to squeeze back.
"I haven't slept in weeks," Lynn admits, then, and your gaze flickers to the circles underneath her eyes, "I've tried everything-- sleeping tablets, a diffuser, seeing someone. Nothing worked. And then I thought--"
"Maybe L.A.," You say, finishing her sentence.
Lynn looks at you and nods, and the vulnerability of it breaks across her shoulders. She sinks a little further into her side of the booth, and her gaze drops for a moment.
"I never meant to leave you," She says. You feel it sink into your chest. "It just became too much."
"I understand," You answer, almost immediately, "I was awful. To you, and to everyone. It was completely justified."
"But I still left you to fight this alone," Lynn replies, and you can tell it's weighing on her. For a moment, you wish, more fervently than ever before, that you could take it all back. "And it hurt like nothing I've ever felt to be constantly reminded of that."
"Not as much as it hurt to know that I pushed you away with my own stupidity," You say. A silence falls across the table. For the first time tonight, sucking in the remnants of your broken pride feel less like a punishment, and more like healing.
You squeeze her hand, and watch the effects of it ripple across her arm until she smiles. She looks back up at you.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since-- everything," You say, "I truly am sorry."
Lynn smiles, now, in earnest and in expectation. "You're forgiven," She says, "That's part of the reason I came back looking for you. I think it hurt more to be apart from you than-- well, being back in LA."
It's surprising, despite all the insistence she's given you so far, and you tumble arms wide-open into Lynn's honestly. You find yourself smiling, tongue poised at the roof of your mouth. It doesn't taste like smoke any more, but like hope, instead.
"I've missed you," You say. Lynn's smile turns to joy, turns to relief, turns to love. It's the most beautiful transformation you've ever seen. More than ever, you find yourself longing for it-- for the chance to prove to her that you're better, that you've changed, that you can love her again with the fervour she deserves.
"I've missed you," She says, "And if you'd like to, I would love to try again."
Her hand squeezes yours, and you squeeze right back. Your other hand snakes across the table to meet Lynn's in the middle.
"Me too," you say, and the first beginnings of mending spiderweb across your cracked heart. You wonder how long it'll take to heal.
You look at Lynn, and know it won't be long.
