psa: Ahhh! I'm sooooo sorry that I haven't updated this series in a while! I'm such a terrible person, lol. I need to get back into writing Nalu, actually though. So this is my way of starting to get back into it. This one is a bit different than the rest of the stories before, but I felt like it was better to stack all my Nalu one-shots into this than just add more to my trashy clutter of stories (lol). So sorry if this is breaking your fluff marathon, but...well here goes nothing.
notes: For FT Angst Week: past. Yeah, I know I'm a day ahead but...when am I ever ahead of the game? Like damn, I'm going to take this opportunity to be early!
more: Honestly this is just my way of lamenting about how I'm addicted to writing in present tense. If I were wittier, I'd say something like, "once you go present, you can't go past," but like…in a wittier way. You get me?
between the lines
"Lucy-sensei," her moderator asks, reading off a question card. "You're my favorite writer, and you inspire me so much. Do you have any advice for someone that wants to start writing?"
Lucy doesn't take too long to reply. She's answered this very question many times in previous "meet the author" events.
"Keep a journal," she suggests. "Write everything that comes to mind. Don't think. Just write. Always have it with you, too. And a pen. Inspiration comes at the most odd times, you know?" She pauses for a moment and then adds, "Here, I can show you mine."
She reaches into her handbag, fingers shuffling through the contents before she finds the soft worn spine of her journal. She lifts her leather-bound notebook above her head, and she watches the audience's gaze follow it.
"I've had this one since three years ago," she explains, waving around her book in the air a bit. "I find myself writing anything from just beautiful sounding words and their definitions to entire paragraphs or outlines of a story. I'm almost out of pages—I'll have to get another one soon."
She brings her journal back down into her purse, but before she completely tucks it away, a request floats over the crowd.
"Can you read some of your stuff from inside it, Lucy-sensei?!" a stray voice asks.
Her eyes widen as she begins to hear chants from other audience members to do the same. She tries to locate the original requester, but soon there are more people asking than she can keep track of.
Lucy looks over at her moderator, who gives her a look that tells her that obliging to this might make for a great marketing campaign.
Lucy gulps and nods to herself before she turns back to the microphone. "Alright," she tells them.
They cheer. She grins. She places her journal in her lap and opens to the middle before she skims through it.
Her notebook is full of life. Her thoughts, her mistakes, the smudges of her pencil, different colored inks of her pens, dog-tagged pages for the ideas she liked best, highlights from when she tried to be organized, the coffee rings when she used her mug to keep her book open while she was on her laptop, the strikeouts of all her misworded sentences, shaky handwriting from when she was writing on a bumpy train ride—everything is laid out in front of her eyes.
There's a reason why she hasn't shared this material. The words that stay locked between the pages are close and personal, and they're different than the fairy tales that she is world-famous for composing. She has never considered exposing herself like this—out loud and unabridged.
But now, she needs to choose something to share.
She feels the tension from the audience's quiet awaiting. She quickly finds something to read—
"Okay then," she says.
...
memories of a happy future
He ages like fine wine but his kisses stay the same.
He melts in my mouth like chocolate, and my tongue still can't tell the difference between his bitter and his sweet.
...
"How's that?" Lucy asks, looking back up.
She receives a sound approval—a mix of awe and admiration—and she can't help the little bubble inside her heart from rising to the surface of her chest and popping in the praise. She smiles wide, her lips stretching tight over her face. She holds her breath. There's a small burn of a fire within her, fueled by their immediate embrace of her raw material.
"Another one! Another one!"
"Alright," Lucy agrees. She honestly can't help it.
She's surprised at the positive reception so far, and there's a sudden thought in her mind that thinks maybe she should consider publishing a select number.
But she quickly tucks that thought away. She looks back down at her book in her lap.
Silence washes over her crowd as she flips through the pages of her journal. She realizes she doesn't remember writing more than half of these, and she can't tell exactly what some of the words are sometimes. Her finger pauses over one of the titles, and she decides to read it out loud without even knowing what will come after—
...
countless skies
I don't remember the first day we met.
My heart beat fast, my mind distracted.
I don't remember our first kiss.
My eyes were closed, my lips were numb.
I only remember you, day in and night out.
Our time is seamless. Look up, we're the sky.
There are no firsts. We just last forever.
...
"Oh, please, one more, Lucy-sensei!"
"Yes, just one more, if you will!"
Lucy looks at her moderator, who nods in approval after checking the watch on her wrist. Lucy turns back to the audience and gives them a nod—to which they cheer—before she stares back down at her writing.
"Just one more then. The last one," she affirms.
She picks the first one on the next page—
...
smoke
They say it's fate that we're together.
They point to our held hands, loving gazes—tell us how perfect, that we were always meant to be.
But this is not fate.
This is one of the millions of chances for love, and one of the millions of tries to make it right.
We are no more lucky than the spark that became a flame. And we hold our breath forever, scared that if we sigh, we'll put each other out.
...
She blinks when she reaches the end of this piece.
She thinks she might have done a better job selecting the last one, but her fans seem eager altogether to be hearing any content from her that they haven't experienced—especially because what she's read out loud are completely different from what they've ever read from her before.
"Who are you talking about in all of these, Lucy-sensei?" a young voice in the back asks excitedly, completely talking over the moderator.
Her moderator opens her mouth to take control of the situation again, but Lucy mollifies her with a subtle hand wave.
Lucy laughs. "Oh, just a special someone," she answers.
She doesn't say anything more and she doesn't mention Natsu's name.
She can't.
If she does, she won't stop crying.
Gasps and ooohs and awwws emerge from the crowd as her audience surmises about her personal life and her love interest. Lucy feels a blush come over her cheeks, but even more she feels a stinging burn aching at the center of her chest.
"He must be dear to you," comments the moderator, attempting to quiet the fans, before turning the attention back to Lucy.
She sees the audience's gaze turn to her. She takes a breath before answering.
"Yes, he is," she affirms. She offers a soft smile, as sturdy as she can muster.
She corrects herself. "Well, he was."
notes: Hmmm, I'll just leave that open to interpretation for you. ;) Muaha. Much love (rather, angst)! Let me know what you think!
thir13enth