GENERAL NOTES: "Reflect, reflect, reflect, reflect -- forget."
SIDE NOTES: a bunch of drabbles about Berlice based on Fall Out Boy's Save Rock And Roll album in track list order.
this is so stupid
FIRST INTERLUDE ; THE PHOENIX
doesn't it feel like our time is running out?
Maybe it’s because when they first started um…you know, dating -- Berlioz desperately wanted no one to know (ever) at that point in time. Now that he thinks about it, that must have been really unfair.
It might’ve even hurt her feelings a little. Now that he thinks about it. She probably misunderstood his reasons for being so discreet about -- about them. (Why is it still so hard to say?) She could’ve interpreted that he was ashamed of her or embarrassed by her or even that he couldn’t be seen with someone like her.
Berlioz severely hopes she knew him better than that. Now that he thinks about it though, she might not have.
Now that he thinks about it.
He should really stop thinking about it. He wants to even, but all he can seem to do is reflect.
He turns over onto his back and stares up at the bare ceiling of his bedroom in the dark.
Reflect, reflect, reflect, reflect -- forget.
That’s what he needs to do. Forget. If he does that everything will be fine. They might even go back to normal.
i’m gonna change you like a remix / then i’ll raise you like a phoenix
He narrows his eyes at his last passing thought. Normal sounds pretty lonely. Maybe he should just go visit. But that would make everything so messy and he can’t. He can’t can’t can’t can’t. What would people think if he just ran into the hospital and said “Alice, are you okay? can I help? I really missed you, you know. I didn’t mean to take so long I just couldn’t make it out. I’m really sorry, Alice. Mon dieu, I’ll do anything to help you now I promise. What can I do? Can you play games? I’ve never been any good at chess because I thought it was boring but I’ll play with you if that’s all they have. I’m sorry I took so long. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what to do but I had to come and say I think I might be --”
He bolts up so fast in bed he gets a little dizzy. He swallows hard and blinks rapidly for a few moments just trying to sort things out. It’s eerily quiet tonight, probably in the early hours of the morning by now and he’s just been up thinking about things he really needs to forget.
Berlioz shakes his head and slumps back onto the pillows. He’s going to sleep now. In the morning, he’s going to forget. For real this time.
“-- in love with you, Alice. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “
put on your war paint
In the morning, he takes a quick moment to decide what he’s going to do if anyone asks about her.
Alice? Which one is that again? Oh right, of course. The poor girl that got hauled off to the hospital. Mon dieu, that’s too bad.
Yeah. That will work fine.
The following afternoon he has to do just that with Marie. It’s almost hard, actually. He’s usually pretty good at pretending not to care. Mostly because he’s not usually pretending.
Fuck, this is so difficult.
He realizes in the midst of the day that this could be considered really, excruciatingly selfish. It’s too bad he’s decided not to care anymore, he can be as selfish as he wants.
Word must have gotten back to his mother, and merde, he can only think of this going in one spiraling direction when she says “Berlioz…? I heard about your friend Mademoiselle Alice. I’m so sorry, Berlioz. Have you been doing alright?”
Berlioz, honestly, kind of wants to die a little when he replies, “Alice? Alice who?”
the war is won / before it’s begun / release the doves / surrender love
The main thing that bothers Berlioz is that he can’t figure out why he cares so much about one stupid girl. And what she thinks and where she is and who’s she’s with and what she’s doing and why she isn’t here with him.
This sucks.
His follow up question; why does it hurt? And why is it so unfamiliar the way it does? Not like a smack or a hit or a scratch from one of his sibling feuds. But like, in his chest? It feels really condensed, kind of heavy. Actually, it’s really heavy. This sucks.
He keeps thinking just that -- this sucks. This sucks. T h i s s u c k s. But what can he do? Berlioz already told everyone he can’t remember who she is.
She… He freezes. Merde, what’s her name?
She she she she, she she, she she… He starts panicking -- like, really really on the verge of freaking out. What’s her name? Her name? Berlioz knows it too, he swears he just knew it. Where did it go? Her name, her name, she she she is --!!
“Mon frere?”
His gaze snaps upwards to see Marie across the room, looking at him with a concerned expression. It makes sense, on the outside his actions probably looked questionable. Worrying, even. He stands up straight, swallows once, his eyes dart to the corner. “I’m fine.” He says quickly, he feels like he has to say that for some reason.
Out of the corner of his eye he sees her nod slowly, then she crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one side. “Have you gone to see her yet?” She asks, clear irritation cuts through her words.
“Who?” He asks desperately. It’s not like he’s actually pretending this time but he really, really doesn’t know. What’s her name? Say it, say it! Say it so he can just remember already and stop freaking out over nothing.
“You know who. Alice.” She practically spits at him, but he’s too relieved to care.
Alice.
He could almost hug his sister right now. He lets out a sigh and shuts his eyes tight. Alice. Berlioz pictures her on the beach and then in his living room and then at her holiday party. “Mon dieu.” He breathes out. It’s okay, he remembers.
“Um, hello? I am still here you know.” His sister whines her way into his mind.
“Go away.” Berlioz snaps at her. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.
“Ugh!” He hears her stomp away.
surrender love!
In the end it’s just hopeless.
He can’t even manage to forget her for a short period of time how is he going to do it forever? Attempting it would be stupid, so Berlioz decides to give up. He actually just can’t forget.
Or, more accurately, it appears he doesn’t want to.
