Work Text:
Her hand still quivers when she reaches out to him. She thought that would have stopped by now, now that he's moved on.
She wishes things had never turned out this way - silence. Words crash against her lips, but none of them manage to make it past her tongue. She's had countless conversations with herself in the mirror and late at night, with nothing to distract herself. When she lies awake, into those disheartening hours of the morning, the darkness holds her and reminds her of what has been, and what will never be.
When they are together like this, she prays that one thought - one question - would have the courage to escape her indecision.
"Remember that night?"
She doesn't really have to ask it. She already knows the answer, but three months have passed, and neither of them have mentioned it. In a few fleeting moments, she's seen it in his eyes - the way his face tightens, his lips pulled taught together, and his eyes flickering between her own - that he's thinking about it. But never a single word.
She breathes with intent, and she senses his arms clenching against his torso, leaning forward against his knees.
His breathing imitates her own, and she tries to make herself comfortable beside him. She hasn't been able to relax in his presence for a long time, and it proves a struggle to loosen her shoulders, despite their disobedience.
"It's freezing out here."
He exhales again, and she swears she begins to see a cloud of mist rise into the air.
"You didn't have to come out here."
Their dynamic is difficult these days, contrary to how they used to be.
It used to be easy. Anger comes easy to her, and so does affection. It was always one or the other, and never in between.
She hates not being able to express her thoughts or feelings to him now. He's supposed to be the one closed to her. She never had a problem giving him a piece of her mind, or complimenting him when he was uncharacteristically sweet.
Ever since that night, things changed.
"Can we..."
Again, her throats holds hostage her thoughts, and her voice dies completely.
His eyes don't stray from the sky, searching uselessly for stars through the clouds.
Starting over, she clears her throat, and sits up rigidly. "How have you been?"
The inquiry seems to come as a shock to him, and she meets his eyes as his head turns to her.
"Me?"
She huffs. No cloud of mist forms between them. "Do I look like I'm talking to the pavement?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he looks toward the ground, almost as if he's debating whether or not the sidewalk will reveal it's current status.
"So?"
He inhales, his shoulders shielding his neck. "I'm fine."
Her eyes hold over him, waiting for a tell, but nothing comes. He slumps backward, resting his elbows against the step behind them. His legs extend outward, grasping for nonchalance.
She nods in response. "Oh."
He has the audacity to smirk, cutting the tightness in the air. "What? We're you hoping for a different answer?"
Quickly, she shakes her head. "No. Not at all. It's good you're fine. That's good."
"You don't sound pleased about it."
Her head won't come to a stop, still swaying back and forth, trying to cover her disappointment. She knows he is lying - at least, she has her suspicions.
"I don't care."
It has always been obvious when she tries to lie. She had never learned the skill, unlike him - his natural talent.
"Well?" he prods, and her body stiffens when his knee embarks towards hers, brushing almost playfully together.
Her eyes narrow. "What?"
There's something in his eyes that sparks a fire in her chest when they roll upward. "Well, how are you doing?"
Lying to him is useless.
"I..." Her fingers drag nervously over her shins. "I've been better."
She meets his gaze again, unwavering.
He nods before clearing his throat. "Yeah. I gathered that."
Three months, and she's still reliving the same night over and over again. Most of the time, it's unintentional. But right now - sitting beside him outside in the middle of the night - brings waves of familiarity over her.
"Is it weird that I can't get over it?" she asks, making sure he can't see her reddening eyes - leaning her head down so her curls will drape over her face.
His leg twitches. "I don't know."
"Seriously. You've clearly moved on. I've tried to, but I can't. What's wrong with me?"
Through the strands of hair shading her eyes, she watches his body straighten, sitting up beside her.
"That's what you think?"
She blinks. "Huh?"
His tone isn't soft. He sounds peeved. "You honestly think I've moved on." It's a statement, not a question. Shaking his head, something akin to laughter escapes his lips, but it is void of amusement.
"Haven't you?" He's done a good job of hiding it.
His eyes lock onto her. "I can't believe you!"
"What did I do?"
But he doesn't answer. "Never mind. Just-" he pushes up from the step, moving to leave - "whatever."
She stands in a panic, meeting his height, and blocking his escape route. "You haven't moved on?"
His hands form fists over his hips in a gesture she has never seen him take. Silence builds between them, enforcing her wariness.
"Why would I have?"
The question boggles her.
Inhaling past her constricting chest, she shrugs. "You don't act like it bothers you."
His response is quick. "Then I guess you don't know me like I thought you did."
More than anything - more than the last three months, more than years of arguing, more than every insult he's ever uttered - those words hurt. They dig into her chest and twist, bleeding her dry.
Painfully, she holds back a gasp.
"You're right. I don't."
Her fists clench around the cuffs of her sweater. She cautiously steps backward, up a step.
Realizing his error, his arm lifts, reaching out in a plea. "Wait."
Why should she? Biting her cheek, she glares at him, still turning away.
"Casey, hold on."
The sound of her name catches her, and against her anger, her feet stay in place.
She hears him step up, stopping below her.
"I didn't mean it like that."
Her body turns without her permission. "I hate this."
"I know. I know you do."
"Can't we just go back to the way we used to be?" she offers, hopefully. "Please?"
But he shakes his head. "You know we can't."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to."
She can't tell if he's being honest, or he is just playing with her feelings, like he always does.
"Why not?"
His hand scrubs over his face before he groans. "Because I can't just pretend it never happened."
"You've been doing it so far."
"No. I've been ignoring this." His hand gestures between them, and he looks at her pointedly. "I know this is how you'd act, all weird and standoffish."
"Me?" Her arms cross defensively. "I've been the one acting weird? You're the one who avoids me at all cost."
"Because you won't stop looking at me like..."
When he doesn't finish his thought, she raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Like I've ruined your life or something."
Her breath draws in sharply. "Ruined? You didn't ruin my life."
"You sure gave me that impression."
"Only because you started acting weird!"
"I only started acting weird because you wouldn't talk about it!"
"Me? I wanted to talk. I've wanted to talk to you every single fucking day."
"Then why didn't you?"
Opening her mouth to bite back, a dog barks in the distance, and her throat swells shut. Realizing the hour, and scolding herself for letting her volume get out of hand, she shuts her mouth, trying to recompose. She stares deeply into his eyes, and for the first time, she sees pain.
"I don't know."
She could slap herself for being so selfish. All this time, and he was hurting as much as she was.
"I want to talk about that night," he breathes, and his hands drop into his pockets. "If you'll listen."
Her chest throbs, and so do her limbs.
Nodding, she takes a step down, and they resume their previous positions, knees to their chests on the bottom step.
She curls her hands under her legs, holding on tightly.
He exhales deeply once more before parting his lips.
And she lets him talk.