send me a 💔for a heartbreaking au
my muse breaks up with yours
sometimes things can progress in funny ways. you get a job you didn’t apply for, you find treasure just lying around, you stumble into an old acquaintance on a random spaceship, you start dating a kid you could almost be the mother of. okay, maybe that last bit is not entirely true, but she still feels that way sometimes, what with the cook’s youthful face, his innocent demeanour and his usually bubbly personality.
the thing is, harper never used to consider ephraim having any qualities she could come to appreciate in a more romantic way. but then they started talking. one conversation led to another, as did one subject to another, and once they found a base of common ground - her little brother, one of his best friends - the stories seemingly just kept spilling out and bit by bit they started to form a certain understanding and appreciation for each other.
no one warned her that getting drunk with the cook one night would cause him to take her up on all the flirty comments she’d ever made to him in one single swoop. no one warned her that she would be okay with that. heck, no one warned her that she was going to wake up with a major hangover only to find someone’s limbs entangled with hers and her face tucked almost too comfortably in the crook of his neck.
and let’s face it; she didn’t mind. he sure as hell didn’t seem to mind either.
so she went with it, because why the hell not, right? that reason she should have known. the restlessness stayed away for a while, but not long enough, definitely not forever. the chef is not necessarily too little for her to be satisfied with, but she is simply just too much for him to handle. or maybe she doesn’t want to be handled. it doesn’t necessarily have to be his fault. or anyone’s.
no, it’s probably her fault. she should have never started with any of this to begin with.
so there she stands, in the door opening of the kitchen, looking at the way he is stirring whatever is in his pot to cook for dinner tonight. when he temporarily turns a little and catches her in the corner of his eye, his face brightens, and it already tightens the cavity of her chest, knowing that the bright smile he sends her way will disappear in a few moments only. that the slow and painful downfall of ephraim kim’s happiness will be her fault and hers alone.
since she doesn’t instantly step closer, nor return his smile, it seems as if he already realises something isn’t entirely right, a small frown of worry creeping onto his face. not worry for himself, but worry for her. worry that something might be wrong with her, that she might not be okay. she almost snorts at how stupid this entire situation is. at how big of an idiot she apparently is. but she holds back the almost bitter sound, and instead finally pushes herself into motion, slowly making her way over to the counter.
she doesn’t jump on it, doesn’t lean in to try and give him a kiss, and she knows he’s aware that something is truly up when he doesn’t even try to close the distance himself like he normally might have. she allows the sigh that is lodged in her chest to make it past her lips and watches the way every little bit of the young man she came to know slowly gets folded away behind a carefully constructed mask of near-neutrality.
“it’s not working out, is it?” he asks before she can say anything, and she’s suddenly torn between feeling relieved and feeling like an absolute bitch for the fact that he realises this before she has even opened her mouth. that somehow she must have been so obvious to him that he is now assuming straight away what the problem is before she has even given a clue.
“it’s alright,” he continues on after a moment, and she flinches as if he shouted the words out of nowhere rather than simply speaking them. “i know i’m not much, not enough for someone like you.” he doesn’t say it like an insult - at least not one directed at her - but somehow it hurts her all the more because of it. but what can she say? that it’s not true. it is, though. kind of. and of course she can reassure him that there will be someone who will be more than satisfied with him, who will adore him and love him till he won’t even remember whoever came before, but that would sound like a cheap excuse more than anything else right now.
so she stays quiet, then after a moment shrugs with what she hopes is apology written over her features. and ephraim looks at her for a moment longer, as if he’s hoping for her to add anything else to his words - or perhaps to contradict him - before he takes hold of the spoon again and stirs the food once more.
“i made your favourite,” he says then, cheerfulness so fake in his voice that it almost physically hurts. “i’ll have you a bowl ready in a minute.” she wants to tell him not to bother, but the food is almost ready anyway. so she stands there, like a suddenly misplaced part of the furniture, until eventually a bowl with food is reached out to her.
he doesn’t quite look her in the eyes. she doesn’t quite try to make him.
“i’m sorry,” is all she says when she turns away to go sit down at the table.
she doesn’t think they speak again before he leaves.
