hurts (v7c2 drabble)
His chest hurts.
Dismissed from Ironwood—James—the General’s office, Oscar only has half an ear turned to the conversation between Ruby and the Ace Ops, or—he doesn’t know who they are. He doesn’t care.
His chest hurts.
The place where he imagines Ozpin’s half of his soul resides aches constantly, now, has since the confrontation in the snow. Below and behind his heart, in the hollow emptiness of his ribcage, a tiny little sphere of misery and self-hatred. No one has noticed it, how it burns when he’s surrounded by them, how it doubles and turns knifelike whenever he hears Qrow’s voice. Oscar doubts they’d care. Well, Ruby would. Maybe.
But he’s not watching her. Neither of them are.
They’re watching Qrow, ambling down the staircase behind them. They’re watching Ironwood—James, always James—follow behind. Oscar’s watching them talk and Ozpin’s watching them embrace and Oscar’s vision goes gold and it’s Ozpin’s heart that rends in two because it’s James and it’s Qrow and he’s close enough to touch them but he can’t and he’s supposed to be there with them and he failed them and ohgods he’s going to break—
“Oscar?”
And it’s over. It’s Oscar and Oscar alone who looks up at her. She looks strangely out of focus. “Yeah?”
She places a gentle hand on his cheek. It’s wet, and cold. “You’re crying,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He smiles up at her. “Just thinking about how we got to where we are now.”
His chest hurts.
