for aaron/willow: " i can’t do this to you. " + [ FACE ]
NEARLY A KISS. for @hclyrcller enjoy <3
[ NINETEEN ] : " i can't do this to you. "
Embarrassingly, it took Aaron several seconds too long to register the words Willow had said. All he was able to do was take in the sight of her face, the first real glimpse he'd had of her in months, the way her hair—a different color from the last time he'd seen her—floated across her neck in the warm summer breeze, the way the space between her eyebrows formed a crease as she looked back at him, waiting for him to say something. But looking at her now, he couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't remember how to use his voice.
In fact, looking at her now, he couldn't even remember why they had broken up in the first place.
But of course, that was only a slight blip in his own memory. He knew why they were no longer together, why he had made the decision to let them go even when his own heart was telling him otherwise. Even when Willow herself had been crying asking him not to.
He hated himself, but not enough to tell her to leave.
The way she was looking at him now, he could see that Willow was already wondering if coming here had been a mistake. He wasn't sure what had brought her to the show in the first place, but he did know that when Sam had found him and said Willow was waiting outside, he had found the back exit without a moment's hesitation.
"You can't do this to me?" Aaron repeated, raising his eyebrows. In one horrible second, every bad thought he'd ever had of himself came rushing in and he welcomed them with open arms, allowing himself to be knocked down by a barrage of insults he'd repeated to himself over and over in the middle of the night, reminding himself that the only reason Willow looked as if she was in pain was because of him.
Willow didn't move from her spot on the sidewalk, looking like she was caught between asking him if he had anything else to say and telling him off herself. He would have preferred the latter. Their breakup had been swift and sudden. He hadn't given her a real chance to yell at him.
He should have.
"What are you doing here?" Aaron asked her, stuffing his hands inside his pockets to keep them from fidgeting.
Willow glanced this way and that before answering, casting looks over her shoulder and side to side as the crowd filed out of the main doors on the other side of the building. He didn't know if she was taking her time simply to torture him or because she didn't even know why she had come all this way. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders in a stiff, jolted movement and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was just watching in the crowd. I wasn't going to...I didn't come here to talk, I just—Sam saw me, and he asked, and I thought it would be weird if I said no but I guess it's weird that I said yes, too."
It was weird but he didn't want to tell her so. What he wanted was her, though he didn't see how he would be able to have her again. He'd seen the way her face had crumpled when he'd told her he was breaking up with her.
All those times he'd promised he would never hurt her, and then he closed the door on them. Part of him wondered why she hadn't started yelling at him, and there was another distant, more hopeful voice that said maybe she was here because she wanted to try again.
He could feel the words taking shape on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask her, to show her that he still wanted her, that he hadn't broken up with her because he had gotten tired of her but because of the exact opposite.
Even to his ears, it sounded pathetic.
"What can't you do?" Aaron asked after a few beats of silence.
Willow turned her head to the side, avoiding his eyes.
"Willow," Aaron said, louder this time. "What can't you do to me?"
She mumbled something under her breath, still looking down at the ground.
Aaron took a step towards her. "Willow—"
"Distract you, I guess," she said, her voice high and clear now.
Aaron paused, his hand twitching in his pocket, aching to reach out to her. He couldn't say what was on his mind. It would only be cruel. He had put the expectations and the wants of his manager before her, before their relationship, and he wanted to erase the past so badly but he could see it written all over Willow's face. He had hoped that she had come to his show tonight because she still wanted to see him, but he knew just how sad that was.
To come and hope no one saw her, because it would still be nice to see him.
He would prefer her hatred.
He remembered the breakup so vividly, even months later. How he had put it all on his manager, kept repeating they're saying and they want and they think. As if he had no say, as if he was a puppet who moved along with everyone else's whims and wishes. As if he hadn't already agreed by asking to speak to Willow in the first place, knowing where the conversation would end up.
They're saying it's a distraction to be together now. They want me to focus on the music more than ever now. They think it's a distraction, how much we're seeing each other now. They can't afford to have us be distracted.
She should have called him a coward and forgotten about him.
He wanted to tell her the truth—which was, of course, that she was no distraction but his greatest inspiration and his biggest supporter, that he wrote better when she was around even when his songs weren't about her just because her presence seemed to steady him. He wanted to tell her that he had been a mess since they broke up and that he regretted ever calling her a distraction and for not taking responsibility during the entire conversation, that he was ashamed of himself and how he had acted and that he had broken his promises to her and that she shouldn't forgive him but he hoped she still loved him enough to try. Instead, all Aaron could think to do was watch the way Willow shifted from side to side, hiding her eyes from his and standing in silence because he thought it better to deal with his own hurt than ask her to give him a chance he didn't deserve.
"I'm glad you're here," he said, the words coming out strangled.
Willow raised her eyebrows.
"I don't think I should be here," she said, shaking her head.
She turned her feet slightly like she was about to go and Aaron moved quickly and unthinkingly, one hand shooting out of his pocket to clasp her wrist in a loose grip. She hadn't even turned her body away from him and he couldn't bear the thought of it.
"You don't have to go," he whispered.
Her eyebrows creased again and she shook her head. "I think I do. You're busy—"
"I'm not. The show's over, I want...I want to talk to you."
"Then why haven't you called?"
Her voice cracked on the last word and finally, Aaron saw that very careful expression she had composed chip away. He saw the hurt that was still there and he knew, now more than ever, that he couldn't say all that he wanted to because as much as he wanted to believe it was, it wasn't fair to her.
To tell her how much he cared for her because she had been the one to come, not because he had called or showed up at her doorstep unannounced or begged her to see him again.
"I didn't think you'd want to see me. Or hear from me."
"You're right."
"Then why are you here?"
"It was a mistake, I need to go—"
"I miss you."
And he was saying it anyway, knowing it wasn't right or fair or even decent, because he couldn't help himself. He had never been able to help himself when Willow was around. He was always afraid he was asking more of her than she could offer, or more than she was ready to give him, and it wasn't that he wanted her to agree once again, but he just needed her to know.
"You're not..." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, trying to find the words. "You're not a distraction. You don't distract me. I—I was so stupid for saying that."
"Then why did you break up with me?"
"Because I was doing what everyone else wanted."
"What about what I wanted?" Willow asked. "You cared about what everyone wanted except for me."
It wasn't true, he wanted to say. He hadn't cared about what he'd wanted, either, but he couldn't say that to her.
Aaron stepped towards her and this time Willow turned to press herself closer to his chest. He saw the way her eyes fell to his mouth, how the hurt lingering on her face matched the hesitation. He could so easily lean down and kiss her, ask her to find a quieter place to talk so they might find their way back to each other again, even brush his hand against the back of hers just to feel a little closer to her than he had five minutes ago.
They were standing close enough that he could smell the lingering remnants of her perfume clinging to her neck. In his mind's eye, he could see himself leaning down and touching his lips to the exposed skin there, feeling the way her pulse thudded against his mouth, holding her wrist just a bit tighter so he might feel the pulse there as well and take in the way it quickened under his touch.
Willow's eyes slipped closed and she tilted her head just slightly towards him. He was close enough to hear the stuttered breath she took in
Aaron bent down a little more, only an inch away from her mouth before Willow inhaled sharply and shook her head, but even then she didn't move an inch.
"I can't..." He could still feel her body pressed against the lines of his as she spoke. "I can't do this to you," she repeated.
"You're not doing anything," he whispered. "I should be the one who stops, I can't—"
Willow pulled away from him, her wrist falling from his hand. He felt the loss of her pulse against his skin like a blow, cutting out the haze that had appeared in the corners of his eyes.
"I have to go," she said softly, her eyes returning to the sidewalk below her. "I can't be here anymore, I just...it wasn't a good idea to come."
"Willow—"
"I really hope everyone else gets what they wanted," she said.
He didn't have anything to say in reponse, but even if he had, he wouldn't have said anything.
[ FACE ] : receiver won't stop talking. in an attempt to get them to stop, sender grabs their face, underestimating the intensity of the act.
"None of this is working."
The sound of a balled-up scrap of notebook paper hitting the floor cut through the silence as Aaron threw another draft towards the ever-growing pile scattered around the trash can.
Willow looked over at him from her spot in his desk chair, pausing the way she was spinning herself around in idle circles. "I've seen you have writer's block before," she said with a casual shrug of her shoulders. "You've always come through, haven't you? What makes this time so different?"
Aaron surveyed her carefully, the way she resumed spinning herself around in his chair, her legs crossed in front of her like a child during circle time.
"Not like this," he said finally.
"What's different, then?" she asked again.
Aaron shrugged. "I've just got...nothing to write about. Nothing good enough."
Willow snorted. "You're good enough," she said without hesitation.
He didn't doubt she meant it but Aaron felt something in the pit of his stomach that verged on frustration. Maybe because he knew exactly what it was that was wrong with him now and Willow's steady assurance did nothing to ease his own thoughts because it just wasn't something that she understood.
Not that any of that was her fault. He was the one who refused to talk about it.
But why would he? All he could remember was the way happiness and success and songwriting had come so easy to his parents and while their success might not have been sky high, it had still been enough to fulfill them. He had photo albums in his room that were filled with childhood memories, proof of his time spent on the road when he was just barely a teenager. He'd grown up around musicians, watched them kick their feet up in the back of the tour bus and scribble out lines only to cross them out seconds later and start over a hundred times.
And yet, he couldn't afford himself the same do-overs.
He heard a shutter click from Willow's direction where she was taking pictures of the odds and ends in his room. I'm planning to sell them for when they make a documentary about you and they need to show pictures of your humble beginnings, Willow had joked when he'd asked about it.
Growing up around musicians had also afforded Aaron the ability to be around people who at least appreciated the music more than anything else. His parents might not be world-famous but they had never been happier than when they were performing. He knew that if he spoke to them about any of this, they would tell him none of it actually mattered unless he was loving every minute of it. But how could he love it when he couldn't even write anything halfway decent?
Willow's camera was still clicking away on the other side of the room and Aaron scanned the floor, passing over all the discarded drafts.
"It's like nothing I write means anything."
The clicking stopped and he heard the chair creak slightly as Willow spun back around to face him.
"What are you talking about?"
Aaron looked towards Willow and found her staring right back, her eyes narrowed in both confusion and...shock? If Aaron cast his thoughts far back enough, he could maybe guess that this was the first time he'd ever said anything like that in front of Willow. There had always been the occasional comment, the brief self-deprecating joke that he made at his own expense. But they had been passing moments, always said with a smile on his face or with a casual laugh following soon after. He doubted he had ever said anything serious to her in..ever.
She was still waiting for him to respond. He shook his head, clearing the fog out, and sighed.
"It's like I'm writing the same thing over and over and over again. And all of it is just boiling down to nothing. It's like I can't get any of it to matter because there are people out there who have done it before and they've done it better and if it's already out there, then what's the point in doing it, too?"
Willow pushed the chair closer to where Aaron sat on his bed. "Because if you're doing it, too, it means you've got something different to say?" she offered. "Maybe you're writing about the same things, but it's not the same."
"It is, though. I sit there and I look at the songs we've got and I look at the songs I'm writing and it's like it's stupid to even bother putting something else there."
"Do you feel that way about the songs your own bandmates are writing?"
Aaron scoffed. "No," he said immediately.
"Well, what's the difference then?"
Aaron fell silent and stared at his hands. He had the answer ready and yet he couldn't bring himself to say it. Because it was him? Because everyone was bringing something to the table and he felt he needed to bring more. Because even though he had spent his life surrounded by that love and support that had wrapped around him like a security blanket, part of him had always feared that it had all been so he would be greater than anyone else who came before him. His parents, their band, all their friends he had met along the way and listened to as they told their stories of a life lived and enjoyed—that fear had always trailed after him, it had never gone away. It had been his longest companion.
He felt like he was being held down under a microscope, analyzing all that he did to make sure that they hadn't loved him for nothing.
"It's just different," Aaron said.
"It isn't," Willow argued. She didn't say it harshly or like she was trying to coddle him—instead, she looked at him plainly, like she knew exactly what he was thinking and she wasn't planning to let him wallow.
Like a child, he wanted a moment to wallow, to forget about his own ambition and his own goals for a moment so he could go back to a time where he didn't have to deal with getting over his own worries because no matter how much he doubted, he still needed to push through.
Willow afforded him no such luxury.
"You're talented. You have fans. You have a manager who believes in you. You just—"
"Keep holding myself back?" Aaron interrupted.
Willow's lips twitched. "I might have phrased it a bit nicer," she said.
Aaron could hear the laughter in her voice and tried not to think about why it made him want to smile.
"It's just this thing in my head," he said, unable to keep the words from escaping. "Like I'm just programmed to think it's all gonna go downhill at some point so why bother trying in the first place? Or that no one is gonna want to stick around or wait it out and they're all just gonna give up and I'll still be stuck here. And it isn't even just the fans, it's like I think the guys are gonna leave because it's not moving fast enough and that's my fault, like they're gonna realize that I'm the one holding them back and they're gonna see they can do way better once I'm out—"
"Hey."
Aaron was cut off by Willow, the sharp ring of her voice breaking through his rant before he felt his face being tugged up from where he'd hunched over himself. He could feel the cool metal of the ring she was wearing pressed against his cheek where she held him, but he also felt the warmth from her hands.
She didn't grab him, just held him softly, one hand on either side of his face, drawing him up to look at her like that could be enough to dissolve any worry he had.
Willow's face betrayed her shock and Aaron wondered if she even knew what she was doing when she reached out to him, or if she had simply acted on instinct and didn't know how to proceed. He traced her expression with his eyes, following the scrunched eyebrows to the way her head was slightly tilted to the side, almost as if she was studying him the same way he was studying her.
His eyes caught the way her lips parted slightly and he didn't have time to wonder if she was going to say something and break the moment. He wanted to lean forward but there were also words echoing in his head—not his own now, but reminders from his own friends that it was always a stupid idea to get involved with someone who was affiliated with the band.
He couldn't bring himself to care much about that now.
Before he could even think to lean forward, Willow inhaled sharply and pulled back, her eyes darting towards the floor. Aaron cleared his throat like it could erase the blip that had passed between them.
A moment of awkward silence hovered there before Willow's phone chirped and he could have sworn relief flickered across her face as she snatched it off the desk.
"I think I'm gonna head out," she said, not looking up from her phone. Maybe Aaron was imagining it but her voice sounded more detached.
She left soon after, and didn't say goodbye before she shut the door behind her.