Disclaimer:
Ishan: So…just to be curious…how long is this torture going to last?
Me:…..well, the fic is eight chapters long, so….
Ishan: WHAT?!?!?!
Me: ……..give and take a few hundred chapters…..
Ishan:….it's give or take.
Me: No, people always say 'give' and 'take'. I don't know why, but that doesn't change the fact it's only eight chapters.
Ishan: But people say give or take.
Me: No, they say both.
Ishan: Yes, but they say 'give or take'.
Me: No, they say both….
*Feel*
**********************
Don't even say 'I love you' no more
'Cause saying how we feel is no longer allowed
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Shayera rolled over in her bed. She couldn't fall asleep. Even if she could, she wouldn't be able to stay that way very long. She'd grown too accustomed to sharing the bed, feeling John's hard muscled chest on her back, his comforting arms wrapped around her, his steady breathing beating down on her neck…
Frustrated, she rolled over again, then decided to get something to drink. Throwing her legs over the bed, she opened her door with light whoosh and hovered slightly above the floor so that her walking, light as it was, wouldn't wake anyone.
She moved through the halls slowly, passing first through her own wing that she shared only with John, then through the others' wing as she had to, to reach the kitchen. Throwing open the refrigerator door, she remembered bitterly how she and John would share late-night snacks that often ended up turning into nothing short of a field day and the semi-angry shouting of Wally or Diana, or sometimes even Clark, as they had woken them up with the noise.
Pouring a glass of milk, she looked around the cabinets for the stash of sugary cookies they tried so hard to keep away from Wally, but like J'onn's precious Oreos, Wally always managed to track them down…much to the annoyance of the others. That man had to be part bloodhound or something.
The cookies, once she found them and settled down at the breakfast bar, just didn't taste as good as they usually did. They left a bitter sweet taste in her mouth, the same kind she had many mornings when she'd eaten something unusually sweet the night before then emptied it into the toilet, recently. And the milk just didn't taste right either….
Giving up, she put back the cookies, poured out the rest of the milk, and floated back to her bedroom. But not before stopping at the door to John's bedroom and taking a look inside. He was sitting on one the side of his bed, bare shoulders moving slightly as if he might be crying, head bowed, hands holding his head as if he might have a terrible headache.
If this had been about five months ago, she would have been in bed beside him, and he probably wouldn't be awake right then anyway. Even if he had, and he were actually upset, she would be sitting up with him, telling him how much she loved him, and everything would be all better, just like that.
Or if it were her, he would be comforting her, letting her talk until she started feeling better, and then they would talk about how they felt, and then, corny as it sounded, everything would be perfect.
Not anymore.
God, she wanted nothing more than to feel his arms pulling her close again, his breath whispering sweet things continuously into her ears, the constant attention she never tired of…
And, unbeknownst to her, she probably, no, almost definitely, could have had it all back, if only she were willing to listen…
Sometimes they didn't give Wally all of his due credit, sadly, because Wally had been right.
For once, he'd actually been right when he said that the two people who loved each other the most were too damn stubborn…and in predicting that that would be their undoing.
But hadn't he also said that fixing everything, and mending what they had, if not making it better than before, was simply a matter of their character?
But more than anything, right then, she wanted so much to run in there, and cuddle up beside him, and tell him that she loved him, and hear him say how he felt too.
But that wasn't allowed anymore…