One-shots

It's been years since he's left. I remember the day like the sky remembers the order stars are aligned in, clear, exact- just like the emotion inside me as I was watching him walk away.
I don't know if I felt like a blizzard or a sea infected by drought but I didn't care- I was well aware of the fact I was growing emptier with every footstep carrying him further away from me.

I was a child, but I knew how to love.

It's been years since he's left. When I'm laid in bed at night, I sometimes still feel like his fingertips are crossing the skin of my hipbone, but when I open my eyes I realize it's just the wind and he's not there beside me.
It's been years since he's left. My shoulders still feel cold because his arm isn't around them, my lips dry, abandoned. I sometimes wish he never happened, but then I dig my nails into my forearm and curse myself for even thinking about it. It's worth it, I tell myself, the pain's worth it.

It's been years since he's left. Every time I walk beside our old school, I think I see the familiar glimpse of dark hair, pale features- cigarette between chapped lips and a signature pout in the corner of his mouth. I sometimes allow myself to relish the ignorance and embrace the memories, the ones of him pushing me against that same wall and kissing me urgently; the ones of him crossing his fingers over my neck and whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
And then something breaks inside me when a flash of realization crosses the front of my brain and I remember the gleam the tears in his eyes had when he told me he was leaving.

It's been years since he's left. I find myself thinking about how I felt back then when I could actually feel. I remember the way his arms held me after I gave myself to him for the first time, how he told me he loved me so many times I almost felt disgusted by that stupid little phrase.
And when I remember that, I breathe a bitter laugh and internally scold my own stupidity- it's so idiotic that the phrase he made me hate so much is now the only one I want to hear him whispering into my ear when he thinks I'm asleep.
It's been years since he's left, and I'm still here, breathing in the winter air mixed with cheap tobacco and wishing I were somewhere else. This place hasn't changed at all.
His brother still works at the comic book store; his best friend is still the assistant in his father's workshop. Mr. Chapman still tortures high school kids with his idiotically long life lessons; Bob’s mom is still the biggest gossiper in town.
It's like he's never even existed.
He promised he'd come back. I didn't believe him. I still don't.

It's been years since he's left and I still haven't found a new place for a quiet smoke, and I wasn't sure if that was because it was cozy here or simply because I was too attached to the painful memory to let it go.

It's been years since he's left. People don't talk to me so much anymore, mom says it's because they're just people and people are afraid of broken people. She knows how I feel. It's been years since dad's left, too, and the painful glitch her eyes get when she looks at me staring into space shows just how much she hates the fact the world treated me with the same shit it treated her.
I sometimes wish to just take all her suffering away, but I know that means mine would have to vanish, too. And I've grown so accustomed to it that I'd rather embrace it and hold on to the pain of loving him still, even after all this time, than let it go and settle for average.

Because I've never been meaning to stop, he's just too much to drop and I feel like I'm betraying both him and myself even thinking about it. Some call it masochism. I sometimes wonder if they're right, or I'm just pliable.
It's been years since he's left and I can still feel the tears prickling in the corners of my eyes when I remember him kissing me for the first time, in this exact place behind the library in the park. I can still taste the mint of his chewing gum, the sharp Marlboro Reds flavor he carried around all the time and the metallic edge of the soft scab in his lower lip that I gently captured between my own two.

It's been years since he's left and at times like these I just feel like I'm hallucinating whenever someone's long, black hair takes a gleam of the moonlight and the sound of their boots is heavy enough to reverberate familiarly while they're walking towards me. I don't usually pay much attention, only hurriedly light another cigarette- not sure if to calm down, forget or ignite the longings.

"Didn't think you'd move the spot anywhere else," a familiar voice croaks out and I freeze almost as much as the water in the nearby creek has a few days ago. And then, the moment's over as quickly as it came and I'm strangely calm, taking another drag of my cigarette as if my life depends on it.

"It's the only thing I have left," I admit, staring into the dark that is his figure and trying to decipher if this is real or my mind is just playing tricks on me.

I lose focus when he starts to move and his boots carry him towards the place I'm sitting at, the scent of his ragged coat filling my nostrils and reminding me of just how much I missed the comfort it provided.

"Mind if I bum one?" He points his finger at my smoke and I wordlessly hand him over the pack. He takes it, silent, and I know exactly how much of a drag he's taken just by the sound of him releasing it. "Your hair's gotten longer."

I sniff, the cold filling my sinuses and relieving my headache a bit. "Yeah."

He's silent for a moment. "How's life? Met the man of your dreams yet?"

I laugh dryly, not sure if I want to cry, punch him in the face or pathetically beg him to hold me until I suffocate. "I'm not going to answer that. What about you, famous artist, found your other half yet?" I try not to sound bitter but I come off as exasperated anyway, which he probably notices as his posture tenses up.

"Our relationship is... complicated."

I honestly didn't think I'd be so hurt by the thought of him being with someone else. But it hurts, it hurts like a bitch, biting through my brainwaves and wrecking my entire body. "I bet it is," I manage to huff out but the words aren't meant to sound so small or weak. I don't want to show him that I'm still helpless for him, but I know I'll fail.

When he drops his cigarette to the floor mine is already squished underneath the sole of my shoe. I refuse to look at him; I know I won't be able to hold back if I do, so I just keep staring into the distance hoping he'd leave soon.

But he interrupts me, he grabs my chin and tugs me closer to him, and the familiarity of it all is so huge that my hands are quicker than my thoughts and they curl around his wrists before I can command them not to. His kisses are warm and they feel like rain against my dry cheekbones while his hands on the sides of my face are almost firm enough to promise me that he might never let go.

"Wait," I pant against his mouth, savoring the flavor of his breath hitting my upper lip. "No. Don't you, uh, have a complicated relationship with someone to uphold?"

I can see the smirk he's giving me in his eyes, vaguely feeling the curl of his lips close to my own. "What would you call this, if not 'complicated'?"

And I know I shouldn't let him rule me like that, and I'm aware of the fact I shouldn't give him everything I have and let him break it down again, but it's been years since he's left.
So I kiss him, needfully and hungrily and painfully, showing him that everything I feel for him is tragic beyond belief. But as his fingertips put my hair away behind my ears and then find their way back down towards my waist, the cold inside of me crashes and burns just like I did that time ago.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," I tell him. "Even after all you've put me through; there still isn't one single cell inside my goddamn body that doesn't love you with everything it has."
And he smiles, his nose bumping into my cheek as he kisses me again. "You're still mine, aren't you?"

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer even though it feels like mission impossible. "All yours."

I feel like a fool for being so naïve, so young and lost inside the dizziness he creates in my head but I don't care- he's there, he's mine and nothing beats the feeling of his words following his hands on my skin. "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Notes

Heavily inspired by 5SOS's 'Amnesia' and, you guessed it, blink's 'Every Time I Look For You'. I don't even know what this is. Sue me.

And yes, I know it's not mentioned who's who, but I do believe it's pretty evident the entire thing is from Frank's point of view and the guy he loves is Gerard.