frey and dylas angst por favor??
When they first started their relationship, Frey knew it would be difficult. About a month in, though, she realized that she had had no idea what was in store.
Dylas was quiet, but there were days where he would go completely silent. He would never be home during the day, nowhere to be found. Frey once found him back at the place he’d turned into a Guardian. Since then, she hasn’t been able to find him–like he’s actively avoiding her.
Those days, Dylas wouldn’t turn up until late, when Frey was asleep. Sometimes she wanted to pry, wanted to ask why he did this all the time. Whenever she worked up the courage, though, he would only huff and turn away and become cold again. So Frey stopped asking.
Then she couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone else. Someone else from the present or the past that was keeping his attention.
When they lay in bed together and he snored gently on the other side of the bed, Frey stared at the wall, her chest aching. She trusted Dylas. She really did. But he was obviously hiding something. So what could it be?
It came to blows one day when she had just come back from an adventure. Frey couldn’t really remember what had happened during it–it was all a blur of exhaustion and thirst and pain.
As soon as she got out of the hospital–during which she only saw Dylas once–Frey went searching for him, and found their bedroom empty.
He didn’t show up at all that night.
The next morning, he walked in as she woke, and all of the pain and rage finally bubbled up in Frey’s chest, and she called him out.
“Where are you going? Why won’t you talk to me? Why don’t you even look at me?”
Dylas glared at her, and it hit her like a knife in the chest.
“I’m looking at you, Frey,” he growled, barely containing his anger.
This only spurred Frey on, and she poked him hard in the chest.
“I’m gone for weeks and this is what I get?” she asked, tears cropping up in her eyes, “You don’t even show up to ask me how I am, or spend time with me when I come back home? You don’t even care!”
Dylas reeled back, eyes wide.
Now, tears streamed down her face. She turned away, swiping at her cheeks angrily, as he stared at her back in stunned silence.
“Is… is there someone else?”
“Wha–Of course not,” he protested, stepping closer. Frey glanced over her shoulder at him, and saw how avid his face looked. It caused a bit of hope to grow in her chest, but she tried to stamp it down.
“Then why do you avoid me sometimes?” she asked, turning towards him with her arms wrapped around her.
Every moment his lips remained closed, Frey’s heart fell.
Then he took a step forward, his head bowed.
“Sometimes… I don’t feel like I’m here,” Dylas murmured, “Like I’m… back in my time. Like if I go searching for the people I knew back then, they’ll just… suddenly appear somehow. Sometimes it feels like I don’t belong here.”
Frey pressed her hands to her eyes.
He doesn’t belong here? Does that mean he doesn’t belong here with her, either?
Dylas seemed to understand her thoughts and gently grasped her arms.
“Frey, I’m sorry,” Dylas coaxed, his blue eyes full of regret and anguish, “I didn’t know it bothered you this much. I… I tried not to let it get to me. But I can’t help it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frey whispered, lowering her hands to curl them in the front of his shirt. Her green eyes pleaded with him. “You know I know what it’s like to miss people, Dylas. To feel like I don’t belong. I don’t belong here, either. I don’t know what happened to my family from before–or if I even had one. You don’t think sometimes that I want to run away and try to find what I left behind? But I don’t, because I’m happy here, and I love you.”
Dylas’s face was etched in pain and he drew her into his arms. Her face pressed against his chest, her shoulders shaking as she tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to pour from her lips.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Frey.”
Over and over again he murmured his apologies, each one as heartfelt as the last, until Frey’s eyes were dry and swollen. Still they refused to let go of each other, and Frey summoned her voice, scratched and faint.
“Talk to me next time,” she murmured, “Please, Dylas. Next time… just stay with me. Let me help you. Promise me.”
Dylas closed his eyes, bowing his head to press his lips atop her hair.
