✮⋆˙ Author's Note: This is like, the first time I've allowed myself to write anything this small and publish it. This one was inspired by @starfireicedemon1 and her cute MC (which is the one described with Zayne). I had this surge of inspiration and angst, it's not like I could have ignored it.
And who knows, maybe I'll write more drafts of it, maybe I'll just let it burn with the no comfort and angst feels. Thanks for reading anyway!
✮⋆˙ Pairing: MC & Zayne x Non-mc! fem!reader
✮⋆˙ Summary: Love isn't fair and while you watch them behind their barrier of coziness, you wish for your heart to freeze, even if it's just a bit.
There is something quite vexing at not being able to properly love someone. You might believe you were born broken or that you just really don’t deserve good things, which is not really the truth and you know it. Your brain knows it too, it’s just being mean to you and… well, you’re letting it.
It’s snowing and you’ve been out for a couple of minutes now, looking inside a cozy coffee, full of Christmas lights and happy couples. There you see the objects of your adoration, of your most pure and genuine love. She is so bright you cannot take your eyes away, her skin is dark like the night sky, her eyes are made of stars and her laugh takes your breath away. Perfection is not even a good word to describe what exactly she is.
Beside her, there you see him sitting comfortably. The doctor with his lush black hair, gentle smile on his lips, hand playing with the ring in hers. His hair is made of coal, his skin the most pure white from the first snow to fall.
The most strange feeling of all? You didn’t wish to be in her shoes or his. No. You wanted to be there as well, smiling with them and maybe, with a ring in your hand as well.
But this makes you broke, defective, doesn’t it? After all, who else loves more than one person the same way and at the same time? His family, traditional… They would never accept it and she probably isn’t into girls anyway.
Looking at them while snow stashes in your hair, you feel the little bumps of people that pass by and grumble about you being in the middle of the way like an idiot.
Honestly? What is the point of denying it? What is to love someone if not looking like an idiot? If you’re able to properly speak or to do anything in front of the one that has your affections, can you truly say you adore them?
Love is but a cruel feeling for it plays and entangles your heart in a web, forcing you to take it out of your chest and give it to the other —even if they never realize it —, just so you can finally breathe again. Love sometimes makes you an extra in your own life, so you just stand there, watching the ones that hold your affection, the two people that will never notice the fragile organ, wrapped in gift paper, left in their veranda.
It’s when you start sneezing that you decide to move, looking at them one last time while they kiss. ‘Maybe I should try to get my heart back and fix it’ you think, shrugging off and starting to walk back home.
