A/N: Another one. Obviously, song doesn't belong to me. John Mayer wrote it. He's pretty good at things like that. Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, either. But if you want to make believe it does, go for it. Sometimes, I do. In my version, certain people don't die.
Promt .003: Ends
…Slow Dancing in a Burning RoomIt's not a
silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This
is the deep and dying breath of
This love we've been working on
-John Mayer, Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
…
He'd been trying for weeks now to get her to listen, and frankly, he was tired. He was tired of the cold shoulder, the reserved glances, the promise of "We'll talk later." And then watching her slender form retreat from the room.
But this was it. He was done fleeing the subject, avoiding confrontation. The second she entered the room that Thursday evening, he was there, his arms folded across his chest. She gave him a quizzical glance as she slid off her coat.
"Oliver?" Those eyes that had so often penetrated his skin and seen straight through him, those beautiful, honey colored eyes were looking up at him with a mixture of distrust and apprehension. When had they come to this?
"We need to talk." She moaned and put her purse on the table by the door, rubbing her forehead.
"Come on, Oliver, I'm tired."
"So am I." He retaliated. But not sleepy tired. Emotionally exhausted. Drained.
"Tomorrow." She tried to brush past him but he seized her shoulders quickly.
"No. Tonight." She glanced down at her heels and then shut her eyes, rolling her head back so that her neck popped.
"Okay. Let me change." He hesitated, his grip on her shoulders loosening but he didn't let go. She rolled those beautiful eyes. "I'll come right back. I promise." He nodded, and she stepped by him, walking briskly into the bedroom. He followed reluctantly, peering into the room as she unbuttoned her silk blouse, tossed it on the floor and searched in the drawers for a T-shirt.
"What?" She finally asked, not looking up. "Don't trust me?"
Nothing was closer to the truth.
"That's not it." He lied. "You're--" It would have been so easy to let the word beautiful slide off of his tongue, but then he would just make this worse, this…
"I'm…?" She pulled her hair into a bun, tugging a pair of boxers on over her slender legs, pulling a long tee over her head.
"Nothing." She paused, studying him for what felt like the first time in a long time.
She followed him out into the living room. He hated the formality of this. It was as if they were two opposing kings, each guarding their own castles, carefully calculating each other's moves and watching with anticipation as their foe circled them.
However, she was willing to sit and stare behind her defenses, while he was the one that had to finally take the plunge and attack, try to make it past her barriers and walls and expertly trained army.
"Tea?" He offered as she climbed into his chair. She shook her head. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit that she knew all too well. So this was it, then. He took a deep breath and finally just blurted out what he'd been dying for weeks to say. "Angelina, you know just as well as I do that this isn't working. This isn't what it used to be." The words that he'd rehearsed so many times felt hollow on his lips, and she looked at him, still, unblinking.
Stoic and strong to the end.
"I can't - I can't even hold you anymore." He managed, only stumbling over the first bit. "I know you can see this…it's…we're…"
She looked down, away, into the cream colored carpet that he'd loved and she'd hated when they'd first looked at the apartment.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ol." She replied. He shook his head in exasperation.
"Oh, come on Angel! You may be able to lie to me but you can't lie to yourself." With a heavy heart he watched tears gather in her eyes.
"You don't want to make this work?" Her voice got progressively higher and he watched as she messed with the pillow, her fingers winding in and out of the fringe around the edge, just as they would to his hair at nighttime when she was singing him to sleep. He looked up at the ceiling, put his hands on his hips.
"Darling, I've been trying to make this work for the past two months! But you're skirting around the problem! You know we're just prolonging the end of this!" She shook her head and he heard a soft, willowy sob come from her mouth.
"No."
"Yes." He whispered back, kneeling down in front of her, pressing her hair back from her forehead. "You and I, we're--I thought…I wanted to be with you forever." She jerked away from his hand, hurt floating across her features. He'd seen it so many times before that he recognized it immediately. The slight opening of her mouth, her widening eyes, eyebrows furrowing as she attempted to figure out what she had done to deserve what he'd just thrown at her.
He was almost through the drawbridge, now. He was getting so very close.
"You don't want to be with me." It wasn't even a question, now. How could he explain that that's all he wanted? To be with her.
But not like this. He would rather try and survive without her than be miserable with her.
"I don't--I'm not…" He didn't have to finish. She cocked her head to the side and he watched tears slide from the corners of her almond shaped eyes, the cinnamon colored skin of her cheeks already starting to redden.
"You're really determined to end this aren't you?"
The force of her words caused him to start and he swallowed hard.
"Yeah. Before we cause more damage than we already have." She nodded and hung her head and he moved away, suddenly wondering if this was the right thing to do.
He loved her, damn it. He always had and he always would, but wasn't this best? They were only hurting each other, with each fight, each glance, each carelessly carried through action. He was just as guilty as she was.
"I keep hoping…that if I close my eyes, this will all just go away." He heard her mutter behind him as she slowly stood and wiped her eyes. "And it's just you and me and we go back to the beginning and start over." He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected this at all.
He'd expected screaming, and cursing, and broken china. He'd expected tears and slammed doors and scratching.
But never, in a million years, had he expected her to just lay down her crown at his feet and utter the words, there, love, you win.
"Maybe…" He approached her slowly, cautiously. "Maybe after we take some time…" She gave him a watery smile and nodded.
"Yeah. Maybe." But for some reason the words sounded fake, and more like, "Goodbye" than anything else.
He gathered her in his arms, completely shocked at the fact that she held him back, just like she used to. Her fingers digging into his sides to press him closer, her face pushed into his chest. His chin reached the top of her head and he rubbed her back soothingly as her frame racked with sobs.
"I love you, all right?" He whispered.
Why had it come to this, why had it taken the drastic measure of his words in order for her to even hug him like she used to?
"I love you, too." She murmured, lifting her face level to his. Their noses brushed, their foreheads leaned together lightly.
And then he crushed his lips on hers and she retaliated, both of them kissing each other with an eagerness and a solemnity that was not unlike a wife seeing her husband off to war.
Suddenly, it was over, and she pulled away, wiping her mouth and smiling through her tears, that were now slowly drying.
"I'll get my stuff out tomorrow, okay?" She whispered, holding her hand out. "Just give me one more night with you." He nodded and slid his fingers into hers, exhaling.
"One more night."
When he woke the next morning, she was gone. And pinned to the pillow was her engagement ring and a note that read: Thank You.