He’s silent, severely so.
There’s an accusation, a confession, a witness statement to machiavellian misdeeds that’s lodged in the back of his throat — threatening to destroy their peace. August almost professes it, almost ruins his chance at redemption, but he holds it for the sun strikes Bellamy’s face just right, and it reminds him of an abandoned statue in an English garden. He forgets to think, forgets to breathe.
It’s easy to remember why August adored them.
“Are you angry? What did I do?”
It’s just as simple to remember why they deserve their fate.
“I ask of you something simple, and yet you fail to do even that,” August places his hand at the back of Bellamy’s headrest, leans in, and catches their gaze with something dark in return. “It’s no wonder you left me. You’re so easily influenced, so naive. Who was it, Dante? Hector? Sutton? What did they tell you to make you believe you would be better off? Did they say you deserved better? Did they offer to do better?”
The car is suffocating. He locks the door.
“Why did you do it Bellamy? If you wanted my attention you could have asked for it. That’s all you ever need to do. I admit I was cold, but remember that it was you who left me devastated, not the other way around.”
It’s a game of push and pull with Bellamy, a dangerous endeavor that breaks any semblance of decorum. August tucks a stray piece of hair behind their ear. He pushes down the urge to comment on its appearance.
“Just tell me why you did it. Why I found you and [redacted] fucking last night.”
It’s oppressive, the space between them. He wants to close the gap, but it’ll be Bellamy who has to succumb first.
“Don’t you remember what I promised? You’ll always be mine, and I, yours.”
They wanted to cry. Did they truly believe they’d formed a true sense of self outside of their relationship with August? How foolish. They are truly useless without him, and even now they useless to him. So was there any point to them existing, to them being?
“Nothing. They didn’t tell me anything, you know... it wasn’t them,” they deny, desperation leaking from each word, pleading. What exactly they were pleading for, they couldn’t tell. “It was me. Julian got to my head. It’s all my fault.” They choke on the words, trying to suppress impending tears. What would August say if they cry now? They have to hold it in.
“I simply wanted to know if you would fight to keep me, to stop me from leaving,” they whisper in shame, “but you let me go, and that made me think maybe Julian was right, that you don’t need me, and I was only dragging you down. I thought maybe you realized it too.”
A shiver runs through their entire body when he tucks the stray hair behind their ear, waiting for the insult that normally follows. The insult doesn’t come, but the demand that replaces it is just as devastating.
“Just tell me why you did it. Why I found you and [redacted] fucking last night.”
Their head whips up to see his face, to gauge the extent of their former lover’s rage. A part of them knows he has no right to ask them anymore, but in truth, they will never truly escape the chains August had on their heart, their very soul.
“I didn’t fuck anyone last night,” another denial. Please, believe me.
“I promise, August.”
The tears start falling now, and there’s no way to stop them. They desperately reach for his face, trembling hand holding his cheek gently, like they were afraid he’d explode if they weren’t careful.
“I know I’m yours.”
