It's not even dawn, and you're crying again.
Which I would be alright with, if it weren't for the fact you're crying because I simply tried to touch your arm. Not to mention this has happened nearly every day.
Repetitively, I try to apologize, "Shulk, I-"
"N-no!" You'd regretfully and sometimes dazedly but always fearfully scream or choke or hiss out.
"I'm sorry for pushing you away again." You'd quietly add afterwards, usually crying again.
And as always, I'd pull away and push down the tears that would angrily threaten to spill. Then I'd blink twice and nod and whisper an apology and an offering of tea and turn on my heel to prepare it. It's routine now.
Except this time, you offer to make it yourself, and when I politely decline you weakly smile and nod through the cold nightmare-born sweat and tears pouring over your clammy-skin body before making some slow, strange attempt to tuck away a lock of hair behind my ear. Your arm shakes the entire time as I smile encouragingly.
I return minutes later to find you curled up in the chair at the desk, wrapped up in a vivid and piercing emerald green quilt, trying not to break down as you stare into empty space. Gently, I place the cup a foot away from the central workspace and stand back as you take it slowly.
After a sip, you finally sigh and speak. "I've been thinking of going on a trip."
Of course, this takes me completely by surprise. "Where to? And for what reason?"
"To..somewhere. So I can fix myself." You answer slowly with a nod of self-reassurance, your blond locks bouncing in conjunction with the motion. "Yes. To somewhere..." You firmly but softly reaffirm.
"Be careful...I don't want you to get hurt any more." I delicately warn him.
You're already lost in your head, no doubt planning out your adventure that'll leave me in the dust.
But if it will make you happy again, then that's alright...It would be wonderful to see you alive again.
I wake up after dawn for once. It's pleasant, but unsettling, as if something's missing-
Right. You're gone...
"No matter. No matter at all," I lie to myself through misty eyes. Soon, they agonizingly and slowly slide down my cheeks. I sigh and wipe them away as I wistfully sit up in bed to pick off a silvery-gold hair off the sheets.
It's noon now. I've been alternating between drinking tea and getting lost in thought.
Even if you were severely afraid of any contact, it was still comforting to have the constant sight of you poring over books or going about in an (admittedly pitying) attempt at keeping up the façade of normalcy, the pretense that we still lived our beautifully golden and crystalline lives of mellifluous love.
The shards that still try to house our affection are poor substitutes for the original glass-like wonder.
It's nighttime. Mere hours. Incomprehensible ticks of time, grains of sand that simply do naught but signal each moment that I spend aching for you.
I miss you. It's all I can think without breaking down, and even so, I'm barely staying together.
I curl up in the sheets and clench my fists and grind my teeth and seal my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. A tear slowly escapes the iron-like vice I've wound myself into. I immediately and begrudgingly release all the pent-up tension into one long sigh. Slowly I drag myself out of bed and stagger across the hallway and collapse into the one you used to sleep in.
It still smells like you.
Slowly, as I turn over and pull the blanket tighter over my shoulders, I sigh again and let out a quiet sob.
Shulk stands in an unknown location, a bag slung over his shoulder. He looks up at the sky and breathes as he gazes at the moon surrounded by the cosmic weave of stars.
For the first time in years, he feels as if he has learned how to breathe again. As if a heavy weight had lifted (mostly) off his heart and dissipated into a smoky cloud of relief.
It's the "mostly" that's beginning to bother him.
For Marth, days stretch into immortal eternities.
For Shulk, days blur into momentary fragments.
Slowly, the sun begins to blaze just as the ocean begins to dry.
After a month, the Altean spends his days in repressed tears.
And after a month, the wanderer spins around slowly, thinking of all he has learned on his journey.
He thinks of his blue-haired lover waiting at the place he once called home and begins to let the sadness of loneliness gnaw at him, too.
Finally, after another month, they both weep for each other, miles apart.
I miss you. The bluenette would cry into his pillow, trying to fall asleep after many restless nights.
I miss you. The blonde would wearily whisper to the night sky as he'd look heavenwards and think of the stars that composed the other one.
Finally, Marth wakes up one day, the day before it would mark one year since he spiraled down from the skies and into the hellish pits of depression. He chooses not to leave the bed, and instead opts to cry himself back into sleep.
It's been a year. Thinks the visionary as he delicately walks inside the familiar home at the ungodly hours of 3 AM. Gingerly, he sets down his bags and looks around at the disarray before deciding to search for his starry-eyed love.
Finally, he finds a tangle of deep indigo blue poking out from under the still-vibrant emerald blanket.
Shulk smiles as he carefully lifts the quilt and climbs in next to his other half. He curls an arm around the bluenette and waits for morning. Surprisingly, it only takes a few moments for him to awaken.
"Shuru?" Came the bleary and wavering question.
"I'm here."
Marth leans forward, his eyes still closed from fatigue and then...sniffed.
"Ah, it's you…" Pressing closer, like a puzzle piece fitting into another, he added before drifting to a more restful sleep, "I'm so glad you're back…"
A/N: this ended up being way fluffier than intended lmao. also the astrological motifs were a complete accident, but oh well. i'm still happy enough with it to throw it on the internet.