RPS: Days
Title: Days (1/1)
Pairing: Ewan/Hayden
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A reflection on days from Hayden's point of view.
Disclaimer: I do not own this.
A/N: A short RPS fic to waste the time away. A kind of sad fic. Reviews are always appreciated.
It’s another Friday night of chips and booze and being alone. The weather sucks, by the way, and the heater is a goner. There’s nothing on the tv tonight except some lame, old drama of a guy falling in love with a girl but she’s in love with another guy.
Typical shit, I know, but I’m crying anyway.
The drama ends with the guy dying just as the girl realizes.
Big bummer - not even dramas end happily these days.
And you haven’t called yet.
I went out to get a cup of coffee on Monday morning at the café just across the street. Ran out of my own usual brand, but that’s okay too. I’ll get some tomorrow.
Didn’t I just say that yesterday?
Doesn’t matter anyway.
It’s raining again. It always rains. My coat got wet when some dude on a bicycle whizzed past me yelling an unoriginal, “Fuck!” I’m literally walking in water, and my shoes are drowning. I don’t care, anyway - they’re all from some departmental store. They cost less than ten bucks in total.
I step into the nearly empty café and I saw your face in the papers again.
Another kid, huh? Lucky bastard - tell me his name when you’ve decided. He looks cute in the photograph.
Just call me, okay? What about sometime soon?
I just want to hear your voice again.
I hate Wednesdays the most. They’re like in the middle of nowhere. Should I miss Sundays or should I look forward to Fridays?
I took a cab to the nearest movie theatre, and just pray that nobody recognizes me. I don’t think they do. I look scruffy, sleepy, unglamorous, and…wait, I’m boring you with details about me, aren’t I? Okay, let’s skip me. People forget about me really fast.
Star Wars is playing again. Don’t know why, but I bought a ticket to watch it, and got stuck between two couple kissing like there’s no tomorrow. Come on, we’re all here to watch a movie, right? We aren’t here to be exchanging saliva, right?
“I hate you!”
“I loved you.”
And you’re showing your back towards me and walking away.
Don’t walk away, please. Don’t walk away. Come back.
But movies are movies and you don’t turn back.
I want to see you again.
On Tuesdays, I’m always getting hangovers. I hate hangovers, and my mum tells me I should just stop drinking all together. But, then, what should I do?
Went around the city to do a bit of sight-seeing. Do you believe that I have hardly been out of my apartment since that bloody premiere? Well, I don’t care what you think anyway.
I walked past a huge showroom full of motorcycles, and they’re all perfect, gleaming machines. I remembered the time you showed me yours, and your offer to take me on a ride.
You were so happy - smiling and laughing as if you were on high. I wrapped my arms around your waist, and you looked surprised, but you didn’t pull away.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel that warmth again.
If I open my eyes, I know you’re not here.
Usually, when it’s Sundays, my brother and I went down to the beach just for some chilling time. It stopped when I got a little too old. I still missed the feel of the sun against my skin and the waves lapping against my feet.
I don’t go to the beach much. Something about it feels all wrong. The way the sand feels beneath my feet; the cheers and laughter in my ears; friends tossing a beach ball around…it’s just so wrong. The beach doesn’t feel the same to me.
For one thing, the color of the sky is the same shade of your eyes.
I don’t like the beach anymore.
This was the first place you kissed me, remember?
This was also the place you told me you can’t.
For all of creation, Saturdays shouldn’t have been created. Saturdays are like the worst damn thing ever to have existed.
I don’t have anything to do on Saturdays. They’re like the most useless day of the week.
You came to my apartment on a Saturday, right? We were a little drunk, too crazy, and completely senseless. We fell into my bed, fucked like teenagers in the summer heat, and drank like mad.
It didn’t matter you were married, or that I’m ten years your junior. We groaned, moaned, screamed, shouted, and grinded, touched, pounded, pumped, stroked, and climaxed. It didn’t matter if you were inside me, or I was inside you. We fucked until we were spent and sated.
Then your phone rang, and it was your wife. She asked you to come home quickly. You apologized to me profusely and got dressed without looking at me once.
Then you told me that you would call me soon.
You never did.
Bloody liar.
My doorbell rang on a Thursday. My doorbell never rings unless it’s the pizza delivery boy. You were standing on my doorstep, looking kind of tired, a little nervous, and as if you never wanted to be there at all. I didn’t invite you in, and you didn’t ask me to.
You handed me a gold ring with a letter rolled up inside it. I know it’s my letter, and that was my ring. It was the only letter I ever wrote to you, just waiting for a reply. The ring, I knew, would have the words, “I love you” inscribed. I sent it to you a couple of months ago. I lost count of the days.
You didn’t have to say a word, and I knew what you meant. All we ever meant were two kisses and a one night stand. I knew it was so stupid to hope for something more when I knew that I’ll never have even a shred of you.
The ring feels heavy in my hand, and the letter feels flimsy. I can’t speak. I can’t shout. I can’t cry. So, I take the letter in my hands and I tore it all up right in front of your eyes. You didn’t speak. You didn’t make a sound. You just watched me do it. The torn up pieces fell to the floor without a sound.
As for the ring…I guess…I could keep it by as a…sign of all my mistakes.
You lean forward as if to kiss me, but I push you away. We’re done now, don’t you get it? Don’t crush me again. But you caught my hand, and press a slow, soft kiss to my lips.
We’re worth three kisses now - and one of them is a goodbye kiss.
I never knew how a goodbye kiss tastes like, but I guess…I know now.
It tastes salty, final, as if the world was coming to an end.
In some ways, I guess it is.
You left, but I didn’t stop you. I can’t go through all that again.
Don’t call me anymore.
I don’t want to see you.
I know we can’t.
Just…leave me alone.
END