These blinds
And it's your very own words, your very own promise that brings you to your knees a mere two weeks later. You'd been doing really well keeping your distance from Lena and all mentions of her. You had steeled you heart, stowed away your soul, pushed all your yearning into the deepest recesses.
You were doing so well, so so well. No fly-bys, no thumb hovering over your phone to call, no checking to see if there's anything at all from her. You've barely thought about her, most thoughts of her banished along with that yearning in your heart, the throbbing of your soul at the mere hint of her. You were doing so very well that you're now failing so spectacularly.
You don't know if it's the drawn blinds, though it possibly, likely, definitely, is, but you're suddenly angry. So very very angry. More angry than you've ever been since this whole "Kara is Supergirl" reveal with Lena. Angrier than you were through her confessions of revenge, angrier than you were at having weapons aimed at you, angrier than hearing about her working with her brother, angrier than the numerous times you'd apologized and she'd shut you down.
And you swear it's not a fly-by. A straight path is the shortest route, and you've put out two fires, averted three muggings, all on three hours of sleep and a full work day and a half running around the city. So no, your taking the shortest route home, despite the fact that it's past the L-Corp home base is in no way a fly-by.
But the moment you lay your eyes on those damned blinds, there's a torrent of blood rushing to your head, so loud, a raucous cacophony of fury running through your veins, that you it takes everything in you not to blast your way in. The breaths you take as you hover outside barely work and all you accomplish is to not shatter the glass and those damned drawn blinds separating you from her.
Your anger dissipates the second you walk in. In your anger you had not listened for anything, not checked if Lena was even in, but never, not ever had those blinds ever been drawn, and really, how dare she, how dare she draw them? Had you not done exactly as you'd said? Had you not given her space? Had you not given her time? Had you not left all the decisions up to her? Had you not already let her hold all the power?
But there she is, slumped against the couch, empty glass of scotch on the rug mere centimeters from her fingers and the insurmountable pain that always accompanies the knowledge of how you've hurt her claws its way to the surface, threatening to break you right where you stand. You say her name, soft and reverent, an ode, a song, a prayer.
"Lena." Louder, firmer, she doesn't stir.
"Lena." Again, the desolation you feel creeping up as tears fall unbidden from your cheeks as you see the same on her sleeping face marring porcelain skin in the dim moonlight.
Again, "Lena." Soft again, fervent. You kneel next to her, your breath catching, and you will yourself to stay quiet, you will the despondency to abate.
Your hand hovers above her, unbidden, and before you know you're doing you're cupping her cheek, desperately praying she doesn't wake so you can have just one more moment, just one short moment, to love her in the darkness. It'll be enough to get you through this, through all of this, you know. It must. It must. Because you won't lose her. It isn't an option.
At some point, Lena will forgive you. Lena won't hate you.
It's your most paralyzing fear, the absolute most paralyzing of all your fears, up there on the tier of the Earth meeting the same fate as Krypton. Yes, losing Lena Luthor is akin to losing an entire world. It's losing your world.
So yes, this will end. This must end. Because there is no way you're going to lose her.
"Lena," it's a whisper, a prayer wrapped in a name. Your heart constricts painfully and you banish all rational thoughts and concerns of are you even allowed to touch her and how furious she would be if she knew, to the darkest abyss. You can't change the past, you can't control the future, but in this moment, in the moonlight barely filtering in through those damned drawn blinds, you have her. And you'll take it even if it's selfish, you'll take it even if lasts no more than a few heartbeats.
Any heartbeat where you have Lena Luthor even if it's only in the dark, even if she doesn't know what she's giving, even if it can potentially break you further despite having done so well the past weeks, is not something you can ever turn away from.
"I'm right here, Lena." It's a promise you make her again. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." It's barely more than a whisper but you mean every word. "Whatever you're feeling, whatever it's saying, I'm right here. I'm right here and I just… I just need you to see me."
A/N: Not sure where any of it is going but it's really kinda fun trying to figure it out.