Natsu is my neighbor and very best friend, who kisses me sometimes when I'm lonely.
He's gorgeous, so I'm lonely quite a bit.
On Saturday afternoon, we're doing our thing: He's drunk on my living room floor, indulging his pyromania, and I'm sprawled next to him with no bra and my lipstick smeared. To the left lie the remains of an Indian takeout feast. I feed him the hot peppers I don't like.
We don't talk much when we're like this; it's our lazy day, after all. Just a sun-filled apartment and cheap beer. I lie on my back, listening to him light matches and watch them burn out. Matches flare like stars when Natsu strikes them, and there's something resonant in the way he does it, again and again, ritualistically and without thinking.
It's ceremonious. It doesn't mean anything at all.
Every once in a while, he'll pause the match-wasting to lean over and kiss me. Quick and hard kisses. Natsu never half-asses anything, even if he's drunk and his mouth burns like spice against mine. Honestly, I think he's just tired; we kiss when we're too lazy to speak, and he hasn't said a word in hours.
Pretty soon his lips are pinker than his hair, and my matchbox is empty.
We take five.
.
.
.
"Oi, Lucy—you up,weirdo?"
"Of course, freak. Like I would ever fall asleep with you here, and let you burn my perfect apartment to the ground."
"I think we should talk."
"Hm, later...You kiss so much better," I murmur, running a hand slowly through his hair. It sticks up at weird angles, looking like some kind of soft, thick cotton candy. Girls would sell their souls for it.
"I mean it." He pulls into a half-sitting position, resting on his elbows. "I got somethin' to tell you, and...don't be mad, okay? Not till I finish?"
"How could I be?" I scoffed. This is me and Natsu we're talking about; he was my first friend, first kiss, the first person who ever loved me best. On our own, we wreck what we like — but we keep us sacred. Always and forever.
"Trust me," Natsu says, eyes dark and missing their normal mischievous glint. "Luce, I'm so sorry, I love you to pieces, I really do —"
"What did you do, moron?" I say fondly. "Eat all my chips? Steal my underwear? If this is about the scorch marks I found in my shower, I already know about those, and believe me I was planning on making you pay —"
"I'm moving out of Magnolia."
My rant halts.
A sound escapes me that's half a choke, half a laugh. "Yeah, right. What did you really do?"
"Lucy," he says, frustrated. "I'm serious."
"Like hell you are. Natsu, I've known you for a billion fucking years." Whatever panic his crazy joke caused me dies down, so I settle back onto the carpet, lounging in a perfect, sunlit spot. "You're never serious."
It's so warm, with the sweet scent of beer and Natsu fever-hot against my side. The perfect moment for sleep, or sex, or food. But he goes and ruins it, pulling away without warning like my touch burns him.
That catches my attention, at least.
"I'm serious," he repeats. "I wish I wasn't but…I found Igneel, Luce, and he's all alone. I just gotta be there, right?"
When I hear Igneel, truth hits me like a piano to the skull: He's serious. Natsu will joke about fire and panties and anything else under the sun; but he mentions Igneel only in mumbles when he's asleep, or the drunken moment before his fist smashes into my wall.
Some things slip away easy, brushed off without a thought. Igneel lingered. He left, but his wreckage stayed. At least Natsu always had stayed, missing the gene that tempted him to skip town without even a note or a kiss goodbye. I thought he had. I'd hoped.
The room goes numbingly cold.
Natsu's eyes are round with distress, hands tucked behind his back as if trying not to reach for me...and I can't look at him, because he is not Natsu right now. Natsu's hands cradle fire, cradle whiskey, cradle me. Natsu's eyes crinkle when I make him laugh. Natsu's lips curve into smirks, or press against mine till air escapes us and all I can feel is heat and pressure and him —
"I'm movin' out," he says, voice low. "But, but I'm not movin' far, just ten minutes away, and I'll be here so much you'll barely even notice, I swear. I, I just — fuck." Natsu tenses, everything on high alert. Every tendon in his neck stands out. "I'm no good with words, but I just don't want you to think that I...that I could ever...not need you, or love you, or leave you, 'cause I need — well you know. It's just I finally found my dad, Luce. I have family now. Or new family — shit, I didn't mean — you'll always be family to me —" He curses, flushes and trails away, fixing me with those puppy dog eyes that I'm never immune to. "But you come first. You're my own. Okay, weirdo?"
He waits for my "yes, freak", the next line of our little verbal ritual. But I make him wait. If he can wait ten years for Igneel, I deserve at least ten seconds to gather up my anger.
Which I do. I summon, stew, and force anger out of every pore. I seethe. I frenzy myself into a blind rage, and prepare to unleash my almighty fury.
Instead, when I open my mouth, I say this:
"You're my best friend, though."
And before I can stop myself,
"Who else do I have?"
And, as if that isn't bad enough, my mouth truly disconnects from my brain and throws this little gem into the already humiliating ruins of my goodbye:
"But I need you."
And it's pathetic, truly. Who am I? Five years ago, I was Lucy Heartfilia, runaway princess extraordinaire. All I ever needed was a good book and my plucky personality to go anywhere, be anything. I never needed a thing from anyone. Never even wanted one.
"Don't be like that, weirdo," Natsu says quietly. "You only ever needed a friend. And I'm here, I'm always here. You can call me anytime if you want, but I wouldn't even bother 'cause I'm prolly just around the corner anyway." He flashes a grin. "You know I can't live without your snacks."
"If Igneel leaves again, though—"
"Gotta take that risk."
"It's gonna hurt, Natsu. He's been gone for so long, does he even know you? He could never stick around before."
Natsu shrugs. "Doesn't matter, does it? It ain't my problem what he does. All I know is what I have to do, and that's to be with him, for however long he's here."
"I just don't want to lose—"
"Never," he says fiercely. He tilts my chin up so I meet his eyes. "I mean it, Luce. Never." Natsu smiles crookedly, running a hand through his hair. "I needed you more, weirdo. Still do. Where else would I ever go?"
Okay, I tell myself, taking a breath. No matter how long I listen to him, it still feels like something breaking. I know I'm being stupid, because it's not like he's falling off the edge of the Earth. He's breathing and beating right in front of me. I could reach out and touch him anytime.
So I do. He's still feverishly warm, smelling like smoke and spice and all my favorite things. Slowly, I trace the lines of his veins, past his elbows, up to his biceps. I trace my fingers around the border of his funny little bird-shaped tattoo—the one we both got on my eighteenth birthday.
We have matching tattoos and matching expressions: smiling, but barely, trying to enjoy the last moments of being Lucy-and-Natsu. We silently toast to the end of a gorgeous fucking era.
"Damn," I say wistfully, hand resting on his shoulders. "It's a shame. You really do kiss good, for a pyro."
"You know you're the maniac to my pyro."
I laugh at the ridiculousness of my favorite cheesy line. And it feels like we might be okay.
Suddenly, a thought occurs to me. "Natsu? If you're moving out, then...who's taking your old place?"
His returning smile is huge, as he leans in close and says, conspiratorially, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Ha. Like I don't keep all of yours."
"Well, you might not know about him, but there's a dude who just walks around all night like some kind of prowler. Only he's not creepy, even though he kinda looks it. He's...an okay guy, actually. Gray Something-or-other. You know who I'm talking about?"
Shiver Guy, huh? So he ended up calling after all.
I smile, but I don't say anything. Shiver Guy is none of my business, not yet. And if Natsu tilts his head, giving me a puzzled look, at least he doesn't push it. He knows when I don't to talk.
It's strange though; he may be my neighbor and very best friend, and he's still here, still holding me. But I already feel the edges of a new emptiness starting to encroach. My apartment feels bigger. The air is so much chillier; I'll actually have to pay for heating again.
I'm out of practice, pretending I'm not lonely. I guess now I'll need to learn how.
