Title: After Every Time
Author: LetTheWordsFlow/AkaYuki2106
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: fem!Netherlands/fem!Canada
Summary: Madeline thinks that maybe good change isn't that good at all.
Soundtrack: "Za każdym razem" by Jula
Warnings: Angst, slight reference to sex, potential reference to self-harm/suicide
Info: Because sometimes I get scared about the future and express myself through depressing fics about my OTP, and if that doesn't make sense, good.
XxxX
She's smoking, and Madeline knows the stench will cling to her skin, embedded in her clothes, as strong as if the two had been twisted together, rather than separated by layers of skin and time. She collects the drinks, feels the cold twist through her skin, feels each droplet of water running down the sides, feels the harsh slip against skin as she hands one over to Elke and the space between them as they stand side by side, unsure what to do next. In her peripheral vision she sees Elke remove the cigarette from her mouth, drop it onto the asphalt and her eyes follow the curves of Elke's legs as she grinds the butt underfoot, squashing it under one heeled boot, and isn't it unfair, how Elke can carry off such boots flawlessly, can walk and run as if she was born in them, and when Madeline tries she looks stupid and ungainly and damn Elke and her graciousness, but isn't that an old argument?
Elke looks at her like she's something new, alien, and she can feel her eyes catch against the delicate curve of her waist and slide down to the shortness of her skirt, before skating up to brush past her chest to the cold face in front of her, nearly as tall with the added height, eyes colder than once they were, face more closed, a different girl to the one she knew before. She stands with her hip cocked, the skirt tight to accentuate her curves in 2D and 3D and her head is cocked, lips slightly plumped, and she looks at Elke with a cool intensity that once upon a time, would have set her skin on fire. And isn't it wrong, that she should look and act like that? Shouldn't she be in hoodies and bootcut jeans, worn and faded from years of use, and shouldn't there be that old maple patch on her hoodie, and shouldn't her skin be natural and her eyes soft violet, and shouldn't she stand straight and hunched up, hands in her pockets and body curved around itself, reflex memory from years of making herself unnoticeable, and shouldn't she flush bright red when Elke turns her attention to her, not gaze back like she means nothing anymore? But isn't that an old argument, from back before she changed?
Eyes lock for less than a second and maybe once sparks would fly and Elke would smile and Madeline would flush and her lips would part and she'd lick them nervously and Elke would take a deep breath and curl her hands more tightly around the drink and with a softer smile lead them off, but all that happens now is that Elke's eyes drop and Madeline has no reaction, no puff of breath nor roll of eyes nor any acceptance whatsoever that Elke, Elke, is deferring to her, knowing that she has no right to demand control, not here, not now. All that happens is that Madeline juts her head a little and Elke looks up, ostensibly to catch her eyes, but jarring at the expanse of skin exposed beneath her neck. She catches herself and moves her eyes up, seeing behind Madeline the few boys eyeing them up, eyes clearly drawn to Madeline's curves and soft self-confidence, and isn't that strange, isn't that wonderful, that it should be Madeline, shy and soft, to attract their eyes, not Elke, all hard corners and bedroom eyes and smiles that promise more than they're worth, and isn't that odd?
She nods to them, subtly, the way they used to when guys would check them out, and in giggles and in soft touches they would clearly but quietly show that they were all kinds of not available for you, motherfucker, but now Madeline turns, and outright looks at them, and the smile that spreads across her face is anything but the shy, innocent smile that used to beam back at her, and she swings her hip out a little more and sips her drink, and she's looking back and is she Elke's equal now? Attractive but not attracted and used to using her figure as a way to manipulate people, used to sliding out of things at the last second, and is she anything like Elke, still hung up on the one person who meant more to her, still hung up on the one person who didn't see her skin but the person inside? She doubts it, because Madeline isn't as fucked up as Elke is, no way she can be, so maybe she has just grown up.
Madeline shakes her head and "let's go" breaks her concentration and they're heading off, the sway in Madeline's step noticeable and beautiful and maybe she does hang back a tiny bit, to stare at the curve and the sway, but it's only a second before she notices and she says nothing, does nothing, just walks.
The bench is hard and Elke can feel everything, every nerve ending, from the broken wood that nudges against her thighs to the spirals of wind against her cheek to the way Madeline's eyes linger on her neck, and she feels it's only fair that she does some of her own staring back, and so they linger a while, eyes caught on each other, and the rest of the world dwindles away and she doesn't care, neither of them care, what other people might think, because they have enough to worry about between the two of them without adding others to the equation, and it's nothing like before and everything's changed.
"You've changed."
And wasn't it just like Elke to charge in, to lay her issues on the table and say "Here I am. Deal with me."
Wasn't it just like Elke to try and avoid the subject?
And she can't quite restrain the anger that bubbles up and the acid slides into her voice and makes her words bitter as she speaks, "Yes. I did." And she can't be blamed for the anger that whispers in her head, you disappeared for five fucking months, not a word, not a whisper, not to me, not to anyone, and nobody knew where you went and then you turn up without a word at my door and beg for somewhere to stay the night and when I turn you away you come back an hour later knowing I can't refuse you and am I not fucking allowed to change when the one thing holding me together decides to disappear and am I not fucking allowed to adapt, to become something that protects me, because without you I can't be shy and innocent, and without you I can't discover me any more than you did, peeling me apart and gazing in, but when I tried to look at you you pulled away and pulled walls in front of yourself, and am I not fucking allowed to be try my hardest to be okay?
But she says nothing, restrains her storm of anger, and Elke swings her head back and looks at the grey sky; breathe puffing out in soft sighs.
She doesn't say anything either.
Madeline's eyes catch at her lips and she remembers the taste of them like it was yesterday, and she can remember the feel of lips against skin and soft cotton against her back as Elke took her apart and every heartbeat, every kiss, every soft breath, could have been the last but it wasn't and then it was.
Elke looks at her, eyes catching and sticking and how does she still take her breath away, after all this time, how does she make her heart stutter and her breath catch when by all rights she should hate her, so why is she constantly curving into her? Why is anger already sliding into forgiveness and why is she wishing, hoping, that maybe things can go back to how they were before?
"I loved you. Once. Before you changed."
And maybe things will never go back to before.
"I know. I understand. I would have been the same. But I can't love this Madeline. This isn't my Madeline. I'm sorry I came back. I'll get out of your hair tomorrow."
"Will you ever tell me?" and the words catch and stick to her throat but somehow Elke still hears and she's silent and then
"Maybe. One day. But I can't. Not right now."
And then the tears are clawing their way up her throat and the sickness settles in her stomach and she puts the drink down before she drops it. She can feel the feeling leaving her limbs and the distant rushing and wasn't she supposed to be okay now, wasn't the change supposed to stop this, because if she was the new her and was okay and didn't panic she was okay but if she was new and the panic came back then what was she but someone different, and she can feel her heartbeat, impossibly slow, and when her voice comes out it is slow and sluggish and the world seems very distant today.
"Never?"
"Never."
And the affirmative is like telling Madeline that she is not who she is and maybe this was all a waste because no matter who she is she will never be good enough for Elke to stay. She was soft and shy and innocent and Elke still left and when she grew up and became herself she always hoped maybe that Elke would return and maybe she could love her again because clearly this was what Elke wanted, this cheap imitation of herself, attractive but not attracted to anyone because she was still so hung up on Elke, would always be, would never be herself again because Elke took most of them when she left.
So her voice is broken.
"Because I changed?"
"Because you changed."
Because no matter who she is Elke took the bits of her that matter and all she has left is an empty shell, skin and bones and smile and scent, and the curve of her hips and the heel on her boots and the way her teeth rest softly against the curve of her lower lip when she smiles because all of her that matters is caught up in Elke and sits soft against her heart.
Elke gets up to leave and this is enough, this is all she can take, she could call her back and say that she loves her still and kiss her and maybe make her pretend she is good enough, or she could let her go and never see her again and each alternative seems better and worse than the next and really she is nothing with or without her. She reaches up as Elke walks past her, catches her wrist, and her voice is broken and her eyes are heavy and it's a miracle Elke can even hear her at all.
"Was it a good change?"
And Elke's voice is caught in her throat, and when it escapes it is soft like honey and bitter like vinegar and everything Madeline hates and loves.
"Yes. It was a good change."
And on a hard bench in an empty park and curled up in a soft bed and standing out looking at the autumn air and wondering how high her apartment is and in the line of pastel pills lined up against the bathroom counter, Madeline thinks that maybe good change isn't really good at all.
"After every time there are more of these words, by which I suffer.
After every time, more deeply, I still come back for more."