Disclaimer: This will never ever be mind. End of story. I'm not debating any farther...
Hello, all... It's been a while since I posted anything. It's amazing what your life being turned upside down can do. I've had so much to do that I've barely had any time to write. But, I did manage to write this, and there should be updates for three of my stories coming sometime soon. Anyway, this is a bit different from my usual stuff, apparently, but I hope all of you like it. Please, don't forget to review on your way out!
He was always there. She had never really noticed that before.
It was not as if he did not have better things to be doing – he did. He always did. And yet he chose to spend his time watching over her, even when she didn't notice.
Life was empty when he chose not to take the time to speak to her anymore. It was a reality that both of them were acutely aware of. Neither of them liked it, but they lived with it.
They were forbidden – Beka knew that. She always had. She liked him, but there was no way that either of them could do it. He was the Rogue. She was a Dog. That was their line and their downfall. There was nothing that could change the people they were. There was nothing that they would ever want to do to change themselves or each other. If they weren't like they were, then they would not be so attracted to each other. They would not be as close as they were.
Beka would never admit it to anyone but herself what she saw when she looked into the dark brown eyes of Rosto the Piper. He was a good man, she knew. He was a caring person. But he was also a hard man. He played by his own rules. No one controlled him. No one ever would. Rosto would rather die than be controlled. He was independent of everything. He was everything she had sworn that she would never be with. But yet, she still knew. She knew that he wouldn't leave her behind like so many others could. No one loved her like he did.
He was always there, always by her side. He never wavered, even in the face of another challenge. He never left her when Dale had broken her heart. He had stood there, patiently waiting for her to realize that he was the one she had wanted to be with, not the blond bank courier.
Rosto had never failed to be there when she needed him. He was her friend. He loved her more than he could say. He knew that it was bad for him, and yet he did it anyway. He loved Beka Cooper like he had never loved a woman before. He refused to admit it to himself or to her. Admitting it would be weakness, and the Rogue could never be weak. Weakness was death.
They saw each other often, passing on the streets multiple times daily after their shared breakfast with their mutual friends.
Things never changed. Rosto had his routine, Beka had hers. It was nothing they could change. He rose, dressed, and went about his business every day the same way she did. They just chose to ignore facts like that in favor of leaving themselves protected from all of the vulnerabilities of love.
When she thought about it, as time passed, Beka knew that Rosto would not leave her alone. He had had so many chances to do that, so many instances where she had made one too many mistake or where she had pushed him away one time too many.
Still, he stood there and took it as if nothing mattered to him. She could barely believe that he was still standing there five years after she had thrown herself into Dale's arms in Port Caynn.
Now, she regretted it. She regretted that she had not seen it until now. He had not given up on her, nor had he grown distant. He had grown older, a bit colder, but he still loved her.
There was grey threading his white-blond hair, despite that he was not yet thirty years of age. Frown lines creased the skin around his mouth where there had been none but a year ago.
This was when she knew she loved him. The older Rosto, no more mellow than the man who had come to Corus to find entertainment, was so cold. He had been alone for so long.
It hurt for her to see it now. It had always hurt, but she had never noticed it. She watched him sometimes, but he was never forlorn. He barely spoke some days. He was not the same as he had been, though he had not changed anything about himself.
He was still vain. She was still proud. He was still selfish. She was still reluctant. He was still the Rogue. They could never be because of that. She hated it, but she knew. They had run to the end of their road and there was no turning back.