The One Left Behind
I decided to write a companion fic to @mooniewestwood's Nicest B/W Soulmate AU + @kingofanemptyworld's Nice POV of that This is specifically Wrecks POV! Please read the other parts Warning: Onesided Wreck/Nice (kind of) + lots and lots of angst Fic under the break!
It had been weeks. No texts, no calls, and no new public appearances. Nothing. It was agonizing.
Wreck knew that his relationship with Nice wasn’t ideal. In fact, some might say that was an understatement. But he couldn’t help it. Nice was his soulmate. The hero was the one who gave him all the beautiful colors and the one who stole his heart. Wreck was sure that, soulmate or not, he would have fallen in love with Nice either way.
He knew that Nice didn’t love him. He had known since the day that he had drunkenly told Nice that his eyes were a gorgeous shade of blue, one that reminded him of clear skies. He should have given up when he was told that his eyes were grey to Nice. Should have let go when he realized that while Nice was his soulmate, he wasn’t Nice’s.
But he wanted the now-hero more than anything. Wanted any scrap he could. No matter how pitiful it was, he was desperate.
So he gave Nice everything.
Everything that he was belonged to Nice. His time. His loyalty. His future. All of it he gave to Nice so that the other man would let Wreck stay by his side. For years, wherever Nice went, Wreck would follow. Even when the idol became a hero, Wreck joined to be his villain. He didn’t care that he had to play nemesis—it wasn’t real anyways—as long as Nice was still within reach.
As long as Nice still held onto the leash around his neck, Wreck would stay as close to him as he was allowed.
But the longer the two of them stayed contracted to Treeman, the less they saw each other. Their contact dwindled until the only thing he would get from Nice were simple texts, and calls from Miss J when there was a new scheduled fight. He couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch as the hero slipped further and further away from his fingers.
He couldn’t say anything when Moon was newly signed to Treeman. Could say nothing as their ‘love story’ was being told by the masses. Could do nothing but watch as Nice and Moon became the ‘perfect couple’.
It was fine because Nice still needed him. Still responded to him when he texted and picked up his calls. Still needed Wreck to play his part as the villain to his hero. He knew he couldn’t have Nice all to himself forever, but as long as he was still needed, then he’d take the scraps he was given.
But it had been so long since Nice had responded to any of his messages. He’d tried everything. Calls, texts, emails, calling Miss J. Nothing. Not a single word from the hero, and it was starting to drive Wreck mad.
He could do nothing but eat, drink, and sleep his days away. Checking his phone every other minute so that he would not miss a call or text—anything. It was the road to insanity, he knew, but he didn’t care. Nice was his soulmate, the only one he would ever love. He had already given the other man everything, his sanity would just be something else that he would hand over willingly.
Days passed by in a blur. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Until one day, something changed.
Wreck was lying on his couch, blankly staring up at his ceiling as the TV played in the background. He didn’t have the will in himself to move, and there was no reason to anyway. A deep-seated emptiness had settled in him, seeping down to his bones. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, nor when the last time he had eaten was. None of it mattered to him.
One blink to the next was the same, his mind numbingly empty. He did nothing but stare at his grey ceiling as the lights of whatever show or news outlet from the TV bounced off it. He was sure that he’d really lost his mind now.
…
Grey?
His walls weren’t very colorful, he knew, but the television usually lit it up with bright, flashing colors. Were they playing some black-and-white footage or something?
It was this that got Wreck to sit up and—
Grey. It was all Grey. His walls, his couch, the TV—everything was grey.
No. No, no, no—nonono—
It couldn’t be. He must have really lost his mind. There was no way that everything was grey. He was probably hallucinating. Yeah. That’s right. He’d fully gone insane. That had to be it. It had to be.
Because if he hadn’t lost his mind—if he wasn’t just going insane from days of nothing—then that meant that Nice was dead.
Nice couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. Wreck was still here. If one of them had to go out, it was going to be Wreck. That was how it was supposed to go. Nice was supposed to use him, take him apart, until nothing was left, and that was ok because Nice was his soulmate.
Nice was his soulmate, so he couldn't be gone.
His lungs felt like they were being crushed. No amount of air was enough. He felt like he was suffocating. He was drowning, and he didn’t have the energy inside of him to move.
Nice couldn’t be dead.
It would be all over the news, wouldn’t it? The death of the 15th-ranked hero wasn’t something to be brushed over. Miss J would be in a frenzy right now. She would be calling for damage control. Nice couldn’t be dead with no notice.
His eyes raced around the room. Everything was grey, grey, grey. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted his colors back. He wanted Nice back.
Snatching up his phone, he frantically called Miss J. Every second that the phone rang felt like an eternity. It was only when the line connected that Wreck felt like he could breathe again.
“M– Miss J?” His voice was shaky, breathy as he greeted the blonde woman on the other side. “I just wanted to ask… will I be able to see Nice soon? There haven’t been any fights between us recently and–”
“You won’t be needed for the next week.” She cut him off. “Nice is currently going through intensive training to prepare for his big break into the top 10. No one is to contact him during this week. Am I understood?”
A week. Another week. He clenched his teeth. “Yes. I understand.”
“Good.” And the line disconnected with a click.
He felt sick. That empty feeling was back, but ravenous. It was eating at him from the inside out.
First, his vision goes grey, and now Nice is in some sort of solitary training? Without Wreck? That had never happened before. They’d always train together, from their idol days to their signing with Treeman. They couldn’t be good partners, good enemies, if they didn’t know how the other moved and fought.
Something was wrong. Something was horrifically wrong.
No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the truth was staring right at him. Wreck didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to acknowledge it. But no matter how much he didn’t want to, it didn’t change anything.
His soulmate was dead. Nice was dead. He was dead, and Wreck wasn’t there when he died.
His eyes burned. Tears left hot trails on his cheeks as they ran down his face. He could barely breathe, broken sobs escaping from his lips even as he tried to cover his mouth.
Nice was dead. His love was dead. The man that meant everything to him, that he had given it all to, was dead.
He died and took everything with him. The colors that Wreck had both hated and loved. His heart that would never be whole again. He had been robbed of saying goodbye.
All he had left was a washed-out, monotone world that offered him nothing. Not a single thing that mattered now that Nice was dead.
As he drowned in his misery, he couldn’t help but think—maybe if I hadn’t met Nice, I could have been happy.
But he knew he’d do it all over again. Drunk on a poisoned love that was never meant to last. He’d come back over and over again like the dog that he was.
Even if it meant that Nice didn’t care enough to let him say goodbye.