Work Text:
You loved her.
That was an undeniable truth. It was broken and built on a foundation of lies, but it was love as you understood it at the time.
She was everything.
The one person who still had faith in you when the world was changing too fast and all too soon. And when that changed too, you simply couldn't take it.
At least... Not by yourself.
The frustration as well as the uncontrollable, fiery anger which built and exploded came from your father. You knew that from a young age. Heard it whispered by servants in the hallways at night. Saw it, too, though the sweet moments in between helped you forget.
Your heart came from your mother. You did not know that. Not for a long time. Years that stretched on and felt like forever; there was a hint of remorse when you did find out.
Over the years, you somehow managed to retain both, and so you were when you met Star. Grown up, but still a child. At the time, you thought you wanted to escape the underworld, but you never tried to. Maybe you knew all along that what you really wanted to escape was actually buried deep within yourself.
She was able to relieve the pressure, in a way. Star. Your girlfriend. Your first love. Your... No. Not yours. Anymore.
You loved her. Had loved her. Refused to just let her go. It wasn't fair. You told her so many things, held her hand and whispered into her hair that you wished you hadn't taken after your father. That even though you two were so similar, you hoped you never looked as scary as he did. You didn't think she was listening, but then she smiled and told you not to worry about that. Such simple words, but said so sweetly that they were still ingrained in your mind, even now, and you...
You thought it was going to last forever.
And you also thought you were never going to admit that to anyone.
"Forever" and "never" were such strong words, and it was becoming ridiculously habitual for Marco to prove you wrong. You pretended to mind from time to time. He never pretended to believe you.
Friendship was not something you had ever experienced before. Not in this way, with someone who neither recognised your authority nor had any plans of becoming your future wife. You could mourn the child you had once been, if you didn't still face the struggle of growing up every day.
The way Marco entered your life was certainly... Unexpected. Maybe not nearly as much as the way his presence seeded and managed to make its own distinct mark, but still. You felt it as he carved his way into tour heart. Sometimes, almost literally.
You didn't mind.
Memories seeped pleasant warmth into your bones. Nights spent up, talking as the human sought detail after detail about your world, your life, yourself. Camping trips (like this one). Going out for tea. For coffee. For ice cream. All things which had annoyed you at the time, and that were firmly established as fond memories now. You held his hand, and though you never whispered secrets into his hair, or dared hope for forever, it was enough. For a while.
You lay there now, looking up at the bright but ever so distant stars while Marco slept and you didn't. A while ago, you still felt like you could reach for them from your spot on the ground. The recollection of such a silly belief left a bitter aftertaste that had you swallowing audibly.
You hurt, but not from the poor sleeping arrangements or not having moved since the boy curled up comfortably against your side, blanket tightly wrapped around himself and leaving your skin exposed to the chilly night air.
You hurt from sympathy, because you wouldn't ever know what it was like to love him as he loved you.
No, you only knew how to love him more.
It was funny, because the pain should've been all yours. Not the kind of funny that could make Marco erupt with sincere laughter, as uncontrollable as your temper had once been. The kind of funny that brought tears to your eyes now, witnessed only by the out of reach stars.
Yet, in all of this, it was him who suffered the most. Not you. And you could tell from the look in his eyes whenever your touch lingered, or stopped abruptly, or when your hand paused midway and dropped unceremoniously. You wanted more. Not for the first time in your life, you wished you could be half as selfless as your first nemesis, second love, only friend.
Your fingers carded through overgrown brown locks, and Marco stirred, nuzzling your palm. He said your name faintly in his sleep, and then wide eyes were staring into yours, those unwanted tears no longer a secret as they made your cheeks gleam in the moonlight. He looked, apart from the ruffled hair, as if he had never been asleep at all.
"You're crying?"
His voice was soft around the question. It made your chest tight and an unfamiliar sting returned to your eyes.
"No." You replied meekly. It didn't feel like a lie. The pain reflected in those eyes still appeared much deeper than yours.
"You're crying." Not a question this time.
"Go back to sleep." Not an answer.
He didn't, of course, instead sitting up, bringing his knees up to his chest and laying his head atop them. Whatever he was planning to say next, you weren't ready to hear it.
When he didn't say anything, it slowly became clear to you that you were not prepared for that, either.
You cleared your throat. Opened your mouth. No words came out, and all you got for your trouble was another long, silent stare. What could you possibly say to make this better? You weren't sorry. The affection you felt wasn't going to disappear with the sunlight brought by the morning. There was nothing. Nothing.
Marco smiled. A faint smile, just a slight curve of his lips that barely gave anything away. You tried to read his expression, that smile and those attentive eyes, but before you could find anything there, hands grabbed your shoulders and he said something unintelligible. When you were about to ask what, those vaguely smiling lips connected with your own.
A tentative touch, igniting a firm, cathartic fire within you. Your eyes closed, fingers still entangled in uncharacteristically messy hair, not pulling him closer out of a reverent fear.
"What are you doing?" Your tone was so quiet that the words almost got lost in the passing breeze. "You don't love me, not like that."
Marco's smile grew, bringing heat to your cheeks.
"When did I ever say that?"
You searched your brain for a specific memory, looking up in confusion when you didn't find it. "But then... Why? Why wait?"
"Star."
Of course, you thought, without a trace of resentment. When you didn't voice a reaction, Marco went on:
"She wanted to make sure you'd changed before... Well, you know."
All you could do then was nod dumbly. Guess you did, now.
"I'm sorry."
Marco tangled his own digits in your hair, pulling you down. "You don't have to be."
You were still crying, because you were not fourteen anymore, and those whispered words couldn't fix the tangled mess of feelings bursting in the form of thick sobs that shook your whole body. Couldn't end the pain.
And yet, you realised as Marco's lips connected with fresh tears, and again when you could taste saltiness on your lips, that was what they just did.