Inspired by: Tear in my Heart by Twenty-One Pilots
This is the pre/sequel (?) to "Visceral", but can be read as a standalone
All characters other than Avalyn belong to NBC Hannibal.
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peripheral nervous system: n. a division of the nervous system that connects the brain to the body's organs and limbs.
peripheral: n. incidental, of or relating to the edge of something, an outlying or outer placement.
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Matthew often wonders what it would feel like to be dead.
Not that he wanted to be dead.
He'd lie awake at nights, in his bed, and just for a moment he'd close his eyes and imagine that he was in a box underground. There was no sound, no light, no smell or touch or feeling. He'd quiet all the buzzing, dark thoughts in his head, and lie there, and think. He'd seen it so many times before. People who, in their last moments, try to accept the thought of eternal sleep.
Sometimes he felt lonely. Nobody knew who he truly was; he had made sure of that. His medical records had been altered, evidence expunged from the papers and forms. But often he had found himself wishing that he didn't have to return home to an empty and dark apartment and a cold bed. He just wanted…acceptance. Not understanding, but acceptance.
A car drove by outside, the headlights briefly shining through the tops of the curtains, and his eyes flashed open as the sound of the engine receded. The illusion was gone. He was still in his bedroom. Not dead. But, maybe, dying.
A soft sigh escaped him, and he rolled over.
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He'd been waiting so long for someone like her. She was everything he wanted. Everything he didn't deserve. She was a vision of innocence, walking down the hallway towards him, and he felt something warm fill his chest when soft doe-brown eyes flitted shyly towards him and her cheeks flushed pink.
She made him feel empowered, but at the same time so very humbled. Her sweet affection and bashfulness made him want to protect her so badly from everything bad in the world. He ignored the voice that reminded him that he was the bad in the world. Because, couldn't he just have something good, something perfect for once?
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He had never felt more serious in his life than when he had held her in his arms and told her that he loved her. She couldn't leave him, and he wouldn't let her leave him. He had never needed someone as much as he needed her.
She looked ethereal in that one moment as those three words slipped from his mouth. Her eyes shone with tenderness. She was going to stay with him, and he would protect her and love her as long as she needed.
Selfish, selfish boy.
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He's always awake before her, which makes her so adorably frustrated. Once, she thinks he's still asleep from the way he's breathing, and she grins before moving to kiss him. Just as he felt her breath ghost across his collarbones, his eyes opened and he deftly flipped her over, pinning her wrists to the bed and kissing her soundly. Then he started tickling her.
"Aaaahhhh, Matthewww!" she shrieked in delight, squirming under him as he ran his fingers down her sides. "Matthhheewwww!"
He finally released her, and she darted out of his grasp like a rabbit, standing on the other side of the room. "C'mon, Matt. Let me change." She pouted.
He grinned and sat back on the bed, sighing a little in contentment as Avalyn tugged off her pajamas and put on underwear and a fluffy oversized sweater. She tripped when she pulled on her black sweatpants, and he watched in amusement as she swore and wrestled with the piece of clothing, before finally winning.
"I missed Sundays with you," he murmured aloud as she walked back over to him and pecked him on the cheek.
"I did, too," Avalyn said quietly.
/
At midnight, when the moonlight makes the scarlet seem like ink on his pale skin, he stands next to the bed, naked, head tilted to the side, observing his little finch sleeping under the covers. He wonders what he'd do if she woke and saw the blood on his skin. A smirk appears on his face as he imagined how pretty she would look; her soft, doe-brown eyes would widen, and her pink lips would pop open. Such an innocent little finch, she was. Something dark and faintly nauseating, though, twists in his stomach at the thought of silencing her, of killing her.
He couldn't hurt her. He could never hurt her.
He turns and leaves the room to go shower.
/
Her brother died that week. Jackson had been fighting cancer for two years.
It feels strange, to have thought of death for so long, to have witnessed it with joy and amazement, and then to see it so heartbreakingly close. He had never been that close to Jackson, but as Matthew watched silently while Avalyn stood still next to the freshly-planted gravestone, he felt an unhappy quietness fill him. Tears, mingled with the rain, were sliding down over her nose and falling to the ground. She hiccupped, and then reached up to wipe at her face with her sleeve. Her whole body seemed to tremble in terrible, terrible anguish.
Matthew ran a hand though his wet hair, and finally walked over towards where she stood under the tree, the fallen leaves sliding underfoot. He stood behind her, staring at the grave, at the cold finality of the marker. A man lay under there, in the ground. Sleeping.
She sniffled a little, and then turned, looking at him, puffy and red eyes staring into his. Another tear slid down her cheek, and she seemed to collapse, wrapping shaking arms around his chest.
"Don't leave me, Matthew." Her voice was a hoarse, crackling whisper, almost unintelligible under the pounding roar of the rain.
He stiffened a little, but slowly circled his arms around her soft, warm, tangible body and pulled her just a little closer.
"As long as you need me, I'll be here, finch."
"Then stay forever. Stay forever." Another hiccupped sob escaped her, and she folded into him, tears soaking into his shirt as she cried from feeling so alone.
He couldn't lie to her any longer, so he said nothing.
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Matthew lays awake until he hears her breathing even out. She snuffles softly, unconsciously reaches for him when he slips out from under the covers. Her brow furrows when she doesn't find him, and he watches her warily until she rolls over again, cuddling instead with his pillow.
He dresses quickly, pulling on his swimwear underneath his clothes. Avalyn's sleeping soundly now, pressing her cheek into his pillow and breathing quietly. When he's packed, when all the evidence in the house is cleared and he's ready to go, he steps back into the bedroom to look at her one last time.
The thin shaft of moonlight cuts a clear line across the bed, illuminating the curve of her body on the mattress. He kneels next to her, closes his eyes, and breathes in, smelling vanilla and almond and love.
Something inside his heart aches faintly.
As he walks down the hall, walks further and further towards his fate and farther from what he's wanted, he lies to himself that she was nobody, that she was nothing special. They didn't deserve each other. He was a hawk, and she was just an ordinary little finch. But the truth is, she was the only one who made him laugh and smile and feel happy and whole. She was the only one who saw through his darkness and knew him. He had loved her.
And he's going to miss her.
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"Hands in the air, where I can see them," the man says firmly. His hand doesn't waver when he speaks, and Matthew sees the determination in his gaze. But he's not gonna die today. Matthew looks up, towards Lecter, and smirks a little. He shrugs, and slowly raises both arms.
And then Lecter yells, "He's got a gun, Jack!"
His smile drops, and he moves to say something, but it's too late. He hears the sound of the trigger being pulled, and then a loud bang. Something terribly hot and painful hits him in the chest, and he falls backwards, arms outstretched. He hits the ground hard, and it hurts so much. It hurts so goddamn much. Everything seems too bright and too real. His breath escapes him in harsh pants, and soon he's choking on his own blood. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
Matthew.
His vision blurs, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The thick taste of iron is filling his mouth. Blood, dark and viscous and red, spills from his lips and from the bullet hole in his chest. He's dying. It feels terrifying, but at the same time, so peaceful.
Matthew. I love you.
Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. He looks for her, even though he knows quite well that she isn't actually here, because he wouldn't have let her be here. But he'd like to see her one last time. He wants to feel her touch, see her sparkling brown eyes. And then her voice becomes deeper and darker, more recognizable if he had been standing in the cement halls of the hospital.
Matthew, kick the bucket.
His green eyes find the object in front of him, rusted and covered in blood. He can do this, for Mr. Graham. He can fulfill their agreement, he can still end this. But even if he did survive this, he won't be able to return to Avalyn anymore.
I wish you could see me like this, little finch. Like I truly am. A monster, a murderer. Then you'd know better than to fall in love with me. You'd know better than to do this to both of us.
Don't cry for me, pet.
Matthew swings his foot back and then kicks the bucket out from under the Chesapeake Ripper.
My heart, is my armor,
She's the tear in my heart;
She's a carver,
She's a butcher with a smile;
Cut me farther,
Than I've ever been.
Twenty One Pilots – Tear in my Heart