OMG. I'M SORRY. I'll update.

Eventually.

Right now, I'm writing Late Anti Valentines Day shit.

OH.

YES.

The Title is from Remembering Sunday by All Time Low, which... was so inspiration. Not all of it, but...

dedication: Lulu, my forum buddy/ ff mommeh.

summary: loving her was a tragedy.

Prompt: tragedy

character/pairing: leopiperjason

It was wrong on a million and seventeen levels, but hey, everything about you was wrong. Full. Stop.

'repair boy' she calls you, and you'll never be anything else but the best friend, the grease monkey who watches everyone else get their happily fucking ever afters, another person in a list of a million who will never matter because no one loves the best friend, right?

So, repair boy, watch from the sidelines as the girl you're (oh-so tragically) in love with gets swept away by the hero, her own personal knight in shining fucking armor. After all, the tears on your face evaporate too fast from the flames, don't they?

(after all, he's the hero and you're the repair boy- was there ever a chance? no.)

But the fairytale life messes up sometimes and (your? you wish, pal) Ms. Perfection falls on occasion - yes, even the mighty must break or some shit like that. So stumbling up the stairs to your apartment, 21 and half drunk, sobbing her eyes out, does she first really crack you.

(except it isn't a crack, not really- this was the first shatter, and how many times can you repair yourself?)

You know it's wrong (the mantra thisiswrongthisiswrong plays in your head all night), but you forget that, for just a moment, as she gasps your name and fists your fully opened shirt.

(it's selfish, you know, but don't you get to indulge just once?)

It was betrayal to him, you know and anyways she was drunk and she makes it very clear it was a mistake that would not be repeated.

(and outside, the window shows the pouring rain)

And it's just rubbing in his face when Jason asked him to best man in their wedding.

But, no matter how hard everything in you is screaming, you nod.

(it's been raining a lot more often lately)

The night of their wedding you fake a smile, and you crack jokes, but all you wanted to do was tell them you object.

(isn't this tragic? you should've known better, after all, because no matter how different, she still has the heart breaker genes)

It's okay, repair boy, lock the door and scream, nobody'll hear over the rain.

But still, she haunts you like a ghost.

Her lipgloss, her smile, her choppily cut hair, it seems to follow you around.

(and then there's the dreams)

I don't mean to be a bother, but have you seen this girl? She's been running through my dreams, and she's driving me crazy it seems.

and the alcohol is right there.

Sometimes, you hate him.

You really do.

He's your best friend.

("Leo... No. I love Jason, and that's that.")

"We'll always be friends, Leo, but just that; friends."

you really hate Jason sometimes.

He remembers that last day, the one before she became so fucking smitten with Mr. Perfect.

It was a Sunday, musky and they were sitting on a bridge, just laughing.

"I want to fly one day- on my own," she said randomly.

"Me too."

It's about 200 feet to the bottom of the creek you were over.

I didn't think much of it then, but it's starting to all make sense

Jason shows up at your apartment

(a complete and utter mess)

"she's missing," he tells you, as the storm rages on.

and your. heart. stops.

neither has to say who 'she' is.

They just need to find Nico di Angelo.

And quick.

it turns out you don't have to.

they find her at the bottom of that same creek.

and then you break down

(I want to fly.)

It's really fitting.

She always wanted to fly.

You lock the door, and you, and fall to your knees.

That memory- he should've known.

Damn it, he really should've known.

(I want to fly- on a bridge, over 200 feet above the ground?)

(I worry about myself, Leo. I think I'm losing my mind.)

It rained all day.

Maybe it was selfish, to leave Jason alone, but he remembers that day.

("I want to fly.")

("Me too.")

He landed next to her.

I guess I'll go home.

Years later, Aphrodite reflects on the tragedy that cost her a daughter.

and she almost regrets it.

(almost)

loving her was always a tragedy.