Title: Alone Among the Sleeping
Word Count: 440
Rating: K+, for language.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters herein contained. I only own the text.
So I know that in the Avatar universe, they probably don't have any expletives. Whatever. So more angst, since this is a collection of angsty drabbles. Inspired by the song Dear Angel, by April Sixth.
I love you, he whispers to the darkness. It is warm and comforting, but it doesn't whisper back. I love you so fucking much. How the hell was I supposed to avoid it? Huh? How do you think I could have not fallen in love with you? A soft grunt from behind him is the only response he receives. Accordingly, he is silent, running a hand through his messy hair exasperatedly, leaning his elbow on his knees. He glances quickly over his shoulder up at the bed, where the quiet sounds of rest are being emitted at a steady rate. He looks back down and tangles his fingers in his hair again, his palm resting against his temple. He glares at the floor for a while before his gaze fills with desperation and despair, and he has to blink away tears.
Fuck you, he mutters, voice hoarse. Fuck you all and your perfect relationship and the fuckers who love you together.
He sighs and stretches his legs out, leaning his head back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, no advice comes from that quarter. His uncle's voice, however, begins to echo in his head, saying something about 'grasping love when it is offered'—some bullshit he didn't listen to at the time and doesn't listen to now. Love could go up against the Fire Lord tied up and naked, for all he cared. And maybe blindfolded too.
He snarls softly, trying to stop the tears again. He can't remember the last time he cried—well, he can, but he tries not to—and he will not now. Not even in face of the worst pain he thinks exists. I love you, he whispers again, more brokenly. The person in bed shifts and rolls over. He gets up slowly, looking both lovingly and angrily down at the other person. I could kiss you right now, he muses. It would be so easy, just to mark you as mine forever. But his soul, heart, fucking morality saves the other, and he settles for closing his eyes and leaning close. They are only an inch away, and he can feel their breath mingling. And that, he knows, it the most he will ever get.
Resignedly, he moves away, and straightens. I will not cry. I will not love. I will not hurt him. It becomes his mantra, as he devotes his energies completely to a cause not truly his own and an end he cannot have a happy part in. And at the end of it all, he's still alone.
I will not cry, his voice echoes around his empty shell.