No disclaimer. This, technically, can be interpreted as Danny Phantom fiction. But the problem is, it's real, real, and it's painful to watch. Therefore...no disclaimer.
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I observed. I watched. I listened. I laughed.
They were friends, friends of mine who were destined to be together. Perfect complement with each other, acting on it, while I could only watch and dream and envy them their love.
I watched, I listened, I followed. I laughed with them, through dips and valleys and over hills and mountains of their relationship. Probably closer than they would have liked. Almost stalkery, but that's just like me. I...liked him, very much; his well-being was practically my sanity. She...is one of those whom I cared about, the most, in a non-romantic or non-sexual way. What better thing than for them to be with each other?
Then something happened, and I was not there to see it. All I can do is observe the reactions.
She says, "I don't want to talk about it."
He said, "It's water under the bridge." - Although I misheard, and actually thought he said, "War on the bridge," which seemed nonsensical. Then, "It helped open my eyes for the next relationship," quietly, "What to avoid so as to not destroy me emotionally next time."
He moved away. I see him once or twice each week. She is quiet, hurting, on pain medication. When we see each other, (which is often) for I try to stay near, it is silent. She buries herself in other friends, drifting away from me, for I inadvertently remind her of him. But I have nowhere else to go, so...
I asked him to come back, once. He came back, brought new friends with him. Introductions over, we talked and chatted and laughed, but all the while he and she avoided each other's eyes, and the tension between friends of friends grew so strong that even I felt it. With a jaunty smile, he caught my eye, rose, and with his friends, left.
There are times when he comes to see me, alone, but I care enough about her that those moments, where we once were close, become stiff and awkward. And he leaves, sooner or later.
When they meet in school - it is rare, but they do - they laugh and talk and meet each other in the eye, but there is no emotion behind their glazed gazes.
It is ugly to watch. It is raw pain, and agony, and two past friends trying to cover a hole of hurt.
They're not together anymore. Never will be.
They're not excessively cute anymore. Never will be.
Our souls, our lives, the lights in my life and in all of our lives, have...dimmed.
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Scribere jussit amor.
korel.c.