AN: something a little personal to let some steam off
"You know, you could just try harder sometimes. You'll regret this one day."
The words echo in your head, playing on repeat like a broken record refusing to die. They loop endlessly. Each time a little sharper. A little tighter.
You didn't expect that from your sister, only thought she'd understand when you said you didn't want to tag along on an impromptu road trip with just four hours of warning.
Truth to be told, you wanted to tag along when they mentioned it first. Just two days in a city somewhere else, close to the border of a country you've always wanted to visit. Something domestic, something adventurous and different from the lull of routine that had settled heavily atop you while you waited for life to start again.
But they didn't ask then. Didn't bother to include you.
It wasn't their fault, of course. Space issue. A little bit of a messy and sudden timing.
The usual stuff that lets quiet resentment build in your chest like rust on an iron wrought gate.
Still, you didn't let it affect you like it would've when you were younger. You simply went on with your day, made plans with yourself and already settled on your imagery routine.
But then, the invitation came. Four hours before they were to depart, thrown at you when you were half asleep. You declined, too drunk on the warmth of sleep and the softness your dreams left behind.
You thought that was it, until your sister tried to convince you to come along half an hour before they left.
It made something coil beneath the surface. Something ugly. Something sharp. Something that would grow too hot for you to keep under wraps.
Your refusal was curt. Polite even, tinged with sarcasm and aloofness while you tinkered away on something to do. Something to keep your hands busy while her eyes raked over you with scrutiny.
A back and forth ensued–as it always did–and it ended with her sharp words.
They weren't meant to be sharp. At least, you delude yourself into believing so.
But they were resentful. A little exasperated at your behaviour. Like you refusing was somehow a personal issue.
Like you were the problem all along.
Your chest tightened at the words but you let them go anyway. Something rustled in your chest.
But fragile. Unsure. A little too close to guilt for your liking.
You heard her whisper with someone. Something about a once every in a while opportunity. How you didn't even have anything to do.
It made the coil tighter. Like a spring wound too tight, ready to snap.
The heat cranked up, several notches at once. Your throat dried, all breath knocked out from your lungs with one fell swoop.
You could be mean. You could snap. You could pull the rug from beneath everyone's legs and let them fall into the darkness with sharp sadism.
God, you wanted that so badly.
But then you heard another set of words in your head. This time softer.
So painfully careful and sweet it made you close your eyes for a moment.
"I think you're the kindest person I've ever met, even when you don't think so yourself."
"You may think yourself cruel, but you aren't. Not when you grapple with being kind every time, not when you choose to be nice when you could easily let rage win you over."
He had said it in passing then. Casual, like he didn't just turn your entire world upside down.
You don't think he meant the words to be so grande. So sentimental and meaningful. It was one of those quiet observations he occasionally threw your way, like everyone else could see them. But you know they didn't.
He did though, even when you hid behind walls of detachment and security.
You exhale, letting the heat escape your chest before it boils over. Before you can think too hard about it, you grab blindly for your phone and unlock it.
His message from last night sits unread in your notifications. Just a simple good night. Nothing meaningful, but entirely him in all the ways that matter.
You hesitate, just for a second, but then a surge of confidence has your fingers typing across the screen
You: I have errands to run.
There. You'd asked him, the ball was in his court now.
It feels stupid, because you know you probably won't actually go out. It's the same lazy routine from the past week that's been holding you hostage. Days spent withering away on your bed, the occasional burst of productive creativity.
Nothing that lets you actually step out of the house, not even when you desperately want some fresh air.
His reply comes a few seconds later, like he's been waiting for you to text him all morning long. The thought makes something in your stomach flutter. It slowly eases the coil there. Doesn't exactly unwind it, but it relaxes with each moment you think of him
(My) Menace: Where should we meet?
He doesn't ask what you'll be doing. He doesn't note the sudden urge to meet with him when you've been retreating into yourself for days now. He doesn't even scoff at the fact that you most certainly ruined whatever plans he might have had for the day.
And maybe–a small part of you thinks– you won't regret things after all.
Maybe it'll all have been worth it.
Maybe this small act of defiance is you trying harder.
Theodore Nott, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb, Suna Rintarou, Akaashi Keiji, (aged up!)Damian Wayne, Remus Lupin, Blaise Zabini, George Weasley, Clark Kent, Barty Crouch, anyone you want
