Gold was late again.
He almost always was, nowadays. And when he returned, the scent of perfume would cling to him like a second skin.
Silver wasn't blind. He could tell Gold was cheating on him. The signs were laid out in front of him like an array of dazzling jewels. But when Gold looked at him with those molten amber eyes, Silver became unable to confront him.
It was pathetic how much he needed him, the boy who evidently didn't give one iota about his feelings. Without him, Silver didn't feel whole. He felt empty, like he was reverting to the boy in the Mask of Ice's clutches. The hollowness consumed him and tossed him around like a rag doll in the wind, leaving him gasping for breath. So he stayed, even though it was breaking his heart.
The door swung open as Gold walked in. Silver didn't turn around.
Why was Gold still coming back if he didn't love him? Probably because he didn't want to hurt Silver that badly, or was afraid of how he'd react. In the end, it just got his hopes up.
Love was wonderful, beautiful, yes, everything the poets said it was. It was amazing and lovely and made people radiant. But that only applied when the other one loved back. Love for him was torture and unfulfilled desire.
He was just a fling for Gold, one that the other boy felt too guilty to leave. The first kiss was just an experiment to check his sexual orientation. And it looked like he'd found an answer, or he wouldn't be cheating on him with girls, would he?
He should've expected this. After all, life loved to torment him.
Gold touched him on the shoulder and the look of concern on his face was so gentle that Silver nearly cried.
Silver was an emotionally distant boyfriend. He didn't talk about how he felt, smile when he was happy, or cry when he was sad. After knowing him for five years, Gold could read some of his nonverbal cues, but it was still hard.
Silver never expressed any affection. It was always Gold who kissed him, Gold who took his hand, Gold who hugged him. Silver just let him do it. He never responded.
What the hell was he still doing here? Silver was too sensitive to reject his advances after the Team Rocket/Giovanni fiasco, so he was basically trapping him in a relationship. The guilt was overwhelming, but he wanted to stay so much. The problem was that it was overwhelmingly obvious that Silver didn't love him. Silver just didn't want anyone to hate him, including Gold, so he was afraid to push him away.
Recently, Silver was looking unbearably fragile, like he would shatter at the slightest touch. He was always sitting at the kitchen table when Gold came in, and if he went near, then Silver would flinch. It was heartbreaking to see how unhappy he was around him. How unhappy he made him.
Gold had started cheating on him about three years before, but it wasn't for the usual reasons. He loved Silver—if anything, he loved him too much, loved him with a passion that consumed his heart. He cheated because it helped with the pain.
He cheated because it made it easier to forget. He cheated because it was easy to imagine that the hair was Silver's crimson locks and the voice belonged to Silver, that it was Silver there, and not some random woman. It was easier to pretend Silver loved him.
Silver was falling apart, little by little, day by day. Being so close to Gold yet so far was killing him, and it showed. His metallic eyes were dull and lacked life. His clothing was rumpled. His hair was a tangled mess.
The worst times were when Gold came back drunk, smelling of beer and something sickly sweet, and kissed him. He would pull back immediately, sometimes in the middle, and apologize before going upstairs to sleep it off, leaving Silver longing for more than he was given.
Silver knew he looked feminine, maybe even pretty, with his long hair, delicate features, and slim build. Gold had simply mistaken him for a girl, then recognized him. That was all. None of it was real. Gold didn't love him.
Telling himself that didn't stop his heart from racing at Gold's touch, or from cracking when Gold let him go. It didn't stop him from collapsing on the cold tile floor and bowing his head, letting his red hair fall over his face like a crimson veil. Those days he always slept on the couch. That is, if he could sleep at all.
If he was with Gold, he would fall more in love with the dark-haired boy, and it hurt more when he wasn't there, that he was cheating. If he wasn't with him, then he felt like a living corpse, numb and frozen. There was no way for him to win.
They said that life wasn't fair. They never said it was this cruel. Silver wouldn't have been so heartbroken if he hadn't caught a faint glimpse of happiness.
There were a lot of times when Gold hated himself, but the feeling was always strongest when he made drunken advances towards Silver. He shouldn't be forcing himself on the other boy. That was cruel of him, taking advantage of Silver's insecurity. But when he was drunk, he found it almost impossible to control his desperate desire to be near Silver. He wanted to hold him close and never let go.
In the end, it was a vicious cycle, since he drank in the first place to drown out the pain in his heart, the dull, persistent ache that throbbed constantly, reminding him of his unrequited love. He didn't want to feel it anymore.
So Gold would go out once a month and get drunk and come home, stumbling up the stairs and collapsing onto the bed. The alcohol and sleep would consume his memories and destroy time, letting his unhappy mind rest for once.
After one particularly bad incident, Gold came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes, in order to get a glass of water. He found Silver asleep on the couch and sat down in front of him.
Gold liked watching Silver sleep. In the land of dreams, the anguish that ravaged his face during the day was absent entirely. He was free of the haunted look that appeared in his eyes and broke Gold's heart. His breathing was regular and even, almost comforting in its soft rhythm. Sometimes he even looked happy.
Silver was in a relationship with someone he didn't love and Gold was in a relationship with someone who didn't love him.
He couldn't help but wonder who was it who got the short end of the stick.
The next night it was Silver who was watching Gold slumber, sometime past one in the morning. While Gold slept, the cocky smile was replaced by a gentler, almost shy expression leaving him looking as innocent as a child.
The gentleness there was real. Gold was secretive about it, but it was present in the concern he showed everyone, the vague trace of kindness that made Silver fall in love with him. It was probably the reason Gold was still with him.
Watching his chest rise and fall, Silver made his decision. If Gold was too kind to leave him, then he would do the leaving. He would set him free.
Then he looked at Gold and his resolution faltered. Whenever he gained something, he lost it soon after. He never got to love anything for very long.
Blue was taken away from him when she moved several regions away to be with her boyfriend. His father died less than a year after he found him, killed by his fatal illness. And then he had a small glimpse of what it would be like to have a relationship with Gold before everything went to hell.
He didn't want to leave. He was sick of being lonely, of nights spent despairingly under the unsympathetic moon. But what other choice did he have?
They said he did have one, but not really, because neither of them could survive like this. This was killing both of them with guilt and pain. In the end, letting go of him was the only thing he could do to make Gold happy.
Silver got into bed and pulled the covers over him. He wanted to fall asleep next to Gold one last time.
The other boy rolled over and smiled, still deep asleep, reaching toward him and pulling him close. The warmth of his arms was comforting and he let himself relax into the hug.
These touches were intoxicatingly addictive, more so than any drug. They were tender and sweet, like the flickering light cast by a fire, like a soft breeze that sang through the hills. They were what really broke his resolve. They made him feel loved.
Silver could've sworn he heard Gold mutter his name.
In the morning, Gold woke up in an empty bed, his hands clutching at air. When he felt the lingering warmth beside him, a wave of happiness washed through him. Silver had slept there last night. Recently, he'd been spending every night on the couch and none with him.
He breathed deeply, trying to take in some of Silver's scent, that faint hint of oranges that was constantly about him. But something was off about it. As he went downstairs in search of the redhead, this uneasy feeling increased. There was a sense of melancholy premonition about the house that made him afraid.
Then he spotted the letter resting on the kitchen table, sitting at Silver's much-loved spot. His name was written on the outside in a familiar scrawl. The contents of the note were everything he'd feared and worse.
Dear Gold,
I love you. But since you don't love me, I guess there's no point.
Silver
Dimly, he was aware of the tears that slid down his face and dripped onto the floor, glittering like little jewels. But what prevailed in his mind was the torturous silence that reigned over the empty house, the house that no longer held Silver.