sirius gets jealous when someone looks at remus for even half a second too long, so remus grabs his pouty face, tilting it upward, smiling a little, as he says says âyou know.â
P2 to this, semi-angst (?) also apologies for the late post, exams and temporary disinterestâsorry if this isnât written well enough, it was rushed for the sake of posting :(
Itâs been eight months, sevendays and twenty-one hours since the two of you broke up. But why bother countingâinstead, it shouldâve been considered good riddance on his part.
He shouldâve seen this coming, or rather, the both of you did see this coming, but alas, thereâs no use of mending whatâs truly broken. Like shattered glass, heâd only get injured in the process.
He should move on. You were an experience, a fine one in his eyes, but as the saying goes, all good things come to an end.
Or so he thought. A spark, once so bright, and something he considered had passed once again blazes brighter than it ever didâstronger, with reverence and this time, the determination he displayed in the field, if not more.
With his new found resolve, where logic and emotion clicked, heâd finally caught up with what heâd been avoiding for his own sakeâthe sick, bitter truth he reduced to face in the eye.
Because he knew heâd crumble in an instant if he ever came to terms with it.
Youâre not yourselfâis something that he realizes after a while. When he means a while is the eight months, seve days and twenty-one hours and maybe twenty-two minutes. But hey, whyâs he counting?
Sure, heâs seen some slight twitches but surely, surely youâd go back to how you always were; sweet and perfectly humanâyou provided the emotional aspect he lacked. It was balanced, atleast in his eyes.
But very much to his dismay, it appears heâs pushed you to the brink of your own demise. Because of him, he's left with nothing but a husk of who you were.
It killed him to go home. He remembers when heâd gulp down all the worries that had unfortunately crept up and confirmed themselves.
But rather, having to see what youâve became because of him.
Aching and sore from training, thereâs nothing more that appeases him than just seeing you waiting by the door, a warm smile that he swears gives him a tinge of energyâeven on days where he doesnât deserve it, you still act sickeningly tender with him.
By then, heâs greeted with nothing but the back of your sleeping form in your shared bed. At times you are awake, you brush him off with a quick wave and some half-assed smile that never reaches your smile if heâs lucky.
Some days are worse than mostâsure, maybe he does end up letting his own frustration soil and murk what pure feelings he has for you. Too enwrapped by his own stress to notice how you felt.
And all heâs done is brush it aside, because surely, youâll be fine by tomorrow then.
How wrong he was; look where he is now because of his so called genius. Trapped within the luxurious apartment complex above Madridâs beautiful sea of lights and yet, the only person he truly considered his solace wasnât here with him to admire the sight.
Even by then, heâd only be admiring you. He finally admits that yes, he was utterly enamoured by you. But then again, how can he ever take you back?
The painful recollection of slump of your shoulders when he decides to walk past you rather than to fall into your loving arms. How your voice falters when he responds sharper than he shouldâall these quirks, something he shouldâve noticed, something he shouldâve fixed.
The worse one is probably when you stopped seeking his presence in bed. Youâd always been a sucker for physical closenessâof course heâd know that, considering that you always had your hand latched onto something of his.
Though ever since, youâve started sleeping strictly at your part of the bed.
When the two of you went out, youâd immediately grab his hand, maybe tug his sleeve if you felt lazy to reach his. And heaven forbid how much you slobbered yourself over him when he had a free moment.
But by then, you were nothing but a phantom in your own home. Instead, you inch farther, made yourself seem smaller, invisible even. Parting before the ugly.
And thatâs when he finally picked up on it. Just now of all days. The realization isnât how those rom-coms display it; loud, unnecessarily dramatic. Unlike those, the actuality occurs in a sense of shunning silence, to a point where he canât hear his own monologue.
But to Sae, whoâd been used to hearing your cheerful voice about whatever would soothe him, a calming balm to his internal lunacy;
âI saw a teal crystal on my feed. It reminded me of your eyes!â youâd beam.
âYou think we should get a cat? You act like one anyways, it can keep me company while youâre busy.â youâd ask.
âWe should go to this cafe! I made sure to check the menu, they had that tea you liked!â youâd smile at him.
âWhyâd you go to practice? Itâs raining and you couldâve gotten sick! And no, I donât care if you couldâve just practiced indoors, damn it!â youâd nag him.
Now all he hears is the white noise of trickling rain against the window. How ironic, he thinks, how the rain only appears by the time heâs readying himself to whatever turmoil heâll experience.
Maybe this is what they meant by delayed mourning.
The soft drizzle is what wouldâve caused him to go home early, and by then, you wouldâve told him about it. Wouldâve been the most interesting highlight of this tepid dayâif you were still here, that is.
The realization that you were the only thing that grounded him. The warmth along with the almost endless love you gave. How selfish heâd been, so much that he couldnât value what he had, what you had.
Though, then again, what could he do?
You left. The memory marks itself at the back of his head, a reminder of what heâs lost.
You packed every bit of love you had to give and left himâ the apartment is back to its minimalistic, dull and lifeless glory. A blank slate that he couldnât customize even if he wanted to. No matter the amount of color, decorations or whatever clutter could ever replace the homely vibe you gave it.
He remembers your last words. Something along the lines of âIâm sorry.â was it? Just how ice glazes over, itâs blurry. The only shards he can grasp is your sillhoute, lingering and giving him one last smile before the door closes.
He thought you left by then.
Though, you paused afterwards; just a few minutes, maybe hoping to see him chasing after youâbut alas, you thought you expected too much and then, with a sigh, you left.
Now all he can do is stare back at the sour memory, reminiscing and sizing everything he couldâve done to make you stayâto at least look his way, because nowadays, just scrolling by your posts on his feed was enough.
Because if it meant going back to you, heâd ruin what happiness you had left after him. That meant having to be the cause of your sadness. And of course, he wouldnât want that for you.
Sure, he is selfish, but not to such a degree. If having to witness fragments of your happiness meant having to watch from the side, then so be it.
If you want to come back, he wonât hesitate to welcome you with open arms, to get a grasp of your body and never let go.
Gosh, he misses you. He shifts, uncomfortably as he runs a hand down his scalpâhell, he even started wearing his bangs down out of habit.
Poor, poor Sae. Doesnât matter thoughâitâs his fault anyways!
Again, Iâm so sorry for the late post!! I hope this satisfies you enough,,, pls do request other characters my blog is just the Itoshi brothers rn ahhh,, đ„čđ„č
Jeremy is filling one of their favorite handmade vases â one of Jeanâs â with water, about to put flowers in it, when, by sheer accident, one clumsy movement is enough for it to slip from his hands. The sharp, unpleasant crash of glass shattering against the kitchen tiles echoes through the room. Jeremyâs stomach twisting with a sudden rush of fear tangled with guilt as he drops to his knees, hesitantly reaching toward the broken pieces.
âJeremy, Iââ Jeanâs voice comes from around the corner, already edged with concern. Jeremy is on his feet in an instant, turning toward him, the words catching and breaking on his lips. âIâI didnât⊠it justâ it slipped, and IâŠâ His wide brown eyes, full of raw fear and guilt, lock onto Jean as he approaches, immediately asking if heâs hurt. Jeremy instinctively steps back, but it doesnât matter, he still ends up pulled into an embrace, a brief, checking kiss pressed to the top of his head. The look on Jeremyâs face is enough to make Jean worry even more, so he asks again, taking Jeremyâs hands in his and pressing gently against his knuckles. "Are you sure you didn't cut yourself? Are you okay?â He lifts Jeremyâs chin, trying to catch his gaze, the one Jeremy is so carefully hiding, and the reason becomes clear at once in the redness of his nose, the tremble of his lips. âGod, JeremyâŠâ Jean pulls him closer, tucking his face into the curve of his neck, but Jeremy doesnât hug him back â his hands hover awkwardly near his own waist, as if heâs afraid to touch. âItâs just a vase⊠whatâs wrong?â Only after a few uneven breaths does a quiet, fragile voice reach him. âYou really liked it⊠and I did too. You spent so long on it, and I⊠Iâm so sorry.â
Jean gently lifts his tear-flushed face, brushing away another tear from his cheek as it falls. âI did like it,â he says softly, âbut Jeremy, no vase will ever matter to me enough to be more important than your tears, understand? You donât have to cry over something like this. Itâs just a piece of clay, love.â
