notes: hi.
I'm not safe around families; never have been, never will be. Love-starved, lonely kids are the same that way: We don't like too much exposure to what we've never had. One hit, and we're junkies. We'll knock up the wrong doors, begging for somewhere to belong.
Gray's little group, though, doesn't feel the way a family should. The closeness is there, bonds palpable, but the calm is missing. They're all a little off-kilter, quiet, tense—after the initial impressions fade, the room practically thrums with dysfunction.
I like them better for it. It makes me hope I might fit in.
Lyon, the white-haired stranger, barely acknowledges I exist. There's a brief introduction, a nod, and then he's back in conversation with Juvia, as if resentful of the brief moments he had to look away from her. He takes in every smile, blink, gesture—and when Juvia laughs, he leans so close to her he nearly falls out of his chair.
Meanwhile, Juvia half-listens to Lyon as her eyes follow Gray around the room.
Gray ignores her so well I can't tell if he even notices.
Me, I sit and sip coffee. Observe. Wish I had a notepad to capture this dynamic of unbalanced longing.
After bustling about his apartment, doling out drinks and snacks, Gray finally settles in a chair across from mine. It's a sheltered little corner we're in—still in sight of his friends, but out of earshot. He holds cookies. As he passes me one, he asks, "So what are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking…this isn't what I expected."
"Which was?"
I shrug. "Dunno, a Mafia meeting? Some gambling? At least a cigarette butt?"
"Sorry to bore you," he says with a smile. "But yeah. These idiots just visit and eat all my food." He gestures toward Juvia, who is inhaling ice cream straight from the tub. "Pigs."
Cheerfully, Juvia flips him off and passes the tub to Lyon. Their hands brush as he reaches for it, which makes Lyon jump and Juvia pull quickly away. I haven't seen anything so awkward since Jellal asked Erza out on a date (only to be attacked with a katana).
Gray watches them too, seemingly with disinterest. "Are they a thing?" I ask in a low voice. "Juvia and Lyon, I mean."
His cryptic response: "We don't really do 'things' here."
"But…he's in love with her."
Gray shrugs and nibbles his cookie. "What makes you say that?" he mumbles as he chews.
"Um, the dude looks like he could keel over any time she does anything." Case in point: Lyon looking in awe upon Juvia as she yawns and picks at lint on her sleeve. "Like I get it, she's beautiful. But you don't act that way unless there's some serious feelings there."
Unhelpfully, Gray just says, "We don't do serious feelings either."
Now I'm huffy enough to put down my food. After all the crap I've pulled to spy on this guy, I'm not about to have my love triangle yanked away by some dodgy responses. I'm an amateur writer; I live for this kind of stuff. All the cliches and silent pining. There's a reason trashy romances line my bookshelves at home.
"Are you in love with her?" I ask, arms folded.
Gray just blinks at me, gives a slow shrug.
"Were you ever?"
"Were you ever in love with Natsu?" he shoots back. His face is still calm, but his jaw visibly tightens.
That's enough to make me fall silent.
It's not exactly a new question for me; people assume all kinds of things about my relationship with Natsu. We're both in love with each other but too proud to admit it, one of us is enamored and the other indifferent, we both just hook up to pass the time…
"I don't know," I admit. "He, um. He used to love me like that. But we changed, he left, and it got all messed up."
"So you don't—"
"It's the only thing we don't talk about."
Gray takes a sip of coffee, face slowly relaxing again. Like my admission was enough to settle whatever nerve I touched. I wonder if this is how he goes about making friends: deflecting personal questions, teasing out secrets, and managing never to give anything away.
But I'm wrong about him. Because, without looking at me, he offers me this: "Juvia asks me if I love her, every once in a while."
"And you tell her no?"
"I don't tell her anything. Like I said. Not good with questions." His eyes remain fixed on his hands. "It's worked out okay so far."
Of course it's worked. I think back to Juvia's big, sad eyes, the matter-of-fact way she said that very few people matter to her. A girl that lonely would never press him and risk losing someone she cares about. Looking at Gray's guilty face, I finally grasp that he realizes that.
Even worse, he exploits it.
"Jesus, Gray." I scoot back, repulsed. "Why would you do that to her? Why not just tell the truth?"
"What truth?" he says defensively.
"I dunno, that you don't like her. That Lyon does. Just explain whatever weird vibe you guys got going here, okay, because she clearly doesn't get it."
"She's not dumb. You," he points out, "barely know her. Or me."
"Look, I promised to be her friend. A friend would get her out of…" I gesture broadly around me. "...whatever emotional bullshit this all is."
Still infuriatingly calm, Gray insists, "She's fine. And I never said that I didn't—" Abruptly, he stops and returns his gaze to his hands.
From someone who acts so steady, the pause is startling. Even more so because Gray glances over at Juvia, looks back at me, and opens his mouth to say something…only to have nothing come out. So his eyebrows knit together, and he says nothing at all.
The silence is broken by Juvia's soft laugh, but Gray doesn't look this time.
That tells me all I need to know.
"So why don't you tell her you do love her, then?" I ask him softly.
He grunts, but gives no confirmation of his feelings. Despite the little insights he's allowed me, I still can't puzzle him out—why he would waste being handsome and twenty and in love with a girl who obviously loves him back. Everyone in Magnolia is crazy, but even the crazy aren't so blunderingly stupid.
"You do dumb things," I tell him.
"I have good reasons."
"That's what everyone says." But I lean back in my chair, tired of asking questions. Who am I to lecture anyone about love or honesty? After Natsu and Loke, I've lost the right to my high horse. I can barely recognize love when it stares me in the face.
"For what it's worth," Gray says, voice low, "I'm glad she has you. And that she's making friends. In case this ever gets messed up."
Oh it's already messed up, I think. And judging from Lyon's puppy eyes, it's getting so much messier. But Gray looks so exhausted that for once, I refrain from speaking my mind.
Instead I raise up my coffee mug, toasting the moment. "To friendship, I guess?"
"To friendship. Sure." Gray's smile is wistful.
I catch Juvia watching us from across the room, intent and curious. Lyon still stares at her; as usual, Gray pointedly avoids looking at either of them. Maybe it hurts less that way, or just causes less awkwardness—I don't pretend to know. One way or another, though, I intend to figure it out.
We clink mugs.
