Title: Yellow
Rating: K+ for mild references
Summary: He continues to avoid your eyes. "When I first saw you, I thought, 'Hey, look; a star.' That was my first thought," he finally says, slowly, thoughtfully.
Alright, I succumbed; I turned this into a collection. I know, I know; "Dude, you can't even finish a story, and you're creating a collection!?" But they're oneshots! They're easy! They're fun! They don't have to connect at all! Forgive me, don't kill me, pleeeease ~
"Sometimes, everything just seems so hard."
His voice is so, so soothing. You lean against him and let your head fall on his shoulder, nestled into the crook of his neck. He doesn't move, but he doesn't need to; the two of you understand each other. The two of you are both outlaws, both bound to misunderstandings and accusations. Nobody sees the souls underneath the mistakes. Nobody sees the good intent behind the misfortunate.
"Yeah, but at least we have each other," you murmur, closing your eyes. The two of you are sitting atop the highest building in New York City, hidden in the shadows, watching the twinkling lights beneath and wondering at the lives of normal people.
A girl who can control the earth, and a thief. It's sort of beautiful, you think.
"Where are you going to go next?" he asks. He reveals no emotion in his voice, but you've learned by now the signs: the little adjusting of his body to make you more comfortable means he cares about you more than you will ever know. With Jason, it's never about the tone, it's about the words, and the fact that he showed you the tiniest bit of his heart just by asking after you.
By asking where you will go, he's asking if you will be okay, and whether the two of you will be together tomorrow. It's his way of telling you he loves you.
"I'm not sure," you admit. "Maybe I'll stay here. With you," you add hopefully. You don't look at his face, you refuse to; you'll wait on his words and his response. But he's quiet, and you begin to worry; perhaps he doesn't want you around after all? Perhaps he thinks you're a freak, too?
"I'm leaving New York, Terra," he admits after a long pause. You freeze for a second, and then jump away from him, shocked and aghast and confused. You pull your knees to your chest and face him, embracing your legs, like you're trying to curl up into a ball, trying to protect yourself from the daggers the man you love is sending your way.
"What?!" you cry. "I thought this was your home."
"No," he shakes his head, "I don't have a home. My home is myself. My body. My voice."
"Then where do I fit?" you ask, desperate to know that somewhere in his plans of the departure, you belong.
He looks away and stares at the moon. "You can barely see the stars," he says softly.
"Don't," you say, your voice hardening. The stars. The accursed stars. He's paying more attentions to burning balls of gas than to you, a living, breathing girl he once called beautiful. You are furious. You trusted him, believed in him. You told him he was your future, that he made you feel whole, that he reminded you of sunshine and grass.
And he's leaving.
He continues to avoid your eyes. "When I first saw you, I thought, 'Hey, look; a star.' That was my first thought," he finally says, slowly, thoughtfully.
"What's that supposed to mean," you spit.
"It means," he finally turns his head and looks at you, "you caught my eye. But look," he tilts his neck way back and points up at the sky, but you don't look away from him; you're memorizing everything about him. His eyes, his hair, his skin, the way his body moves so fluidly, the quirky rise of his eyebrow whenever he's trying to make a point, the finger that tilts your chin up when he wants to kiss you, the nose that he drags along your cheeks in foreplay.
"You can't see the stars in these city lights."
You blink once, then twice. "So, what you're saying is..."
"Is that I've lost interest," he says casually.
Your entire body reacts; it spasms, it spins out of control, and you rise to your feet. You can feel the space behind your eyes burning, and you know they're blazing yellow; you don't know what's going on outside of your own body and mind, but right now, you don't care; this boy hurt you.
So you want to hurt him.
"But I love you!" you scream, shrill and angry and, though you try to force it down, still very desperate and very broken.
Your entire body releases a feline rage and power, until you notice that the air is suddenly chillier than it used to be. Slowly, the crackling energy fades from the space around you, and you can see again. You look around. And then you start crying.
He's gone.
"I hate the stars," you mutter, kicking at a rock by your feet on your way down from the roof.
