A/N: This was supposed to be much longer than it turned out to be, but I didn't want to screw it up, so it's just a drabble.
This is my OTP, btw. Like, my official!OTP.
Can't help what you fall in love with. They're just so perfect.
Thank you for reading! Enjoy!
He dreams of her.
He imagines her return as he loses himself in the reflection of the window; sees her bright blue eyes that catch in the sunlight as she smiles down at him. He hears her as she laughs—laughs, at something he says. It sounds like the rain dancing down the glass.
He wants to spin straw to take his mind off the endless span of time that stretches longer with every step that takes her away from him, tries desperately to forget for just a second, but it's useless. He doesn't touch the wheel.
His heart bursts and shatters all at once, so stunned because he was sure he'd never see the sight of her again, but so consumed with regret that he knows he can never forgive her for this. He can no longer preserve the memory of a wonderful maybe that never was; can no longer toy with the fantasy of what could never be. She strides towards him with an air that reeks of misconstrued intent, and it scares him.
He's not a cursed man—he's a blessed one.
She speaks of love, as if he doesn't understand, but love is no less complex to him as it is to any other man. It's how he knows to embrace the beast and lie; to tear his own heart out with nothing less than a condescending smirk and an inane giggle from his repertoire. He does it for her, and he's fine with that.
Except she doesn't believe him, and he hates her for it, because then it's all for nothing. Despite his callousness, the cruel words, the lying—she can still see the man inside him. The horrible, despicable excuse of a creature he's tried to bury so deep under this limitless power.
He considers breaking the teacup, just because he's angry and it's there. He can't decide whether or not he's disgusted or grateful when his hand refuses to let go of the thing. He's misses her so much already, misses everything he could have had. He just can't bear the thought of losing this, too.
Now he gazes out of his shop window, watching as the frozen town continues to wake from its indefinite sleep. He can see his old wheel in the reflection of the raindrops, decrepit and useless as it rusts away. He twists the flawed teacup over in his hands unconsciously, caressing the worn china that's long-since lost its most basic luster. He memorizes the feel of the chip as it catches on his fingers when he runs them over the jagged brim, and he remembers.
This is all that's left of her now.
But he still dreams.
Disclaimer: don't own.