Work Text:
She’s not serious.
Colson watched as Isla calmly went from their wardrobe to her suitcase with arms full of clothes. He wouldn’t really say she was making a show of packing - there was no flouncing around, or throwing clothes, nothing dramatic - but that was still what this was.
She’s not really leaving.
No, Isla might have said that she didn’t think he loved her, and that she deserved better than a man who only used her for sex and Instagram pictures, but he knew she knew that that wasn’t true. Things may have been a little rough recently, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like her. It wasn’t love, no, but Isla had known he wasn’t the loving type when they’d decided to get together; it had been so obvious that he hadn’t even had to tell her, it was just something everyone knew about him.
She could go through the motions of packing up the small collection of things that had found space in his house, but that didn’t mean she was actually leaving him. She just wanted him to tell her that he wanted to stay - but he wasn’t going to.
Two of them could play this game - and if there was only going to be one winner, then it was going to be him.
She’s going to stop this act any minute now.
Colson smirked, and waited for Isla to call out and ask him if he was going to stop her, or some other shit that would start a fight that she could use as an excuse to come back up here and not actually leave…
…but then the front door clicked shut…
…followed by the sound of a car engine starting up…
…and then the sound of that car pulling out of the driveway.
Bolting upwards, Colson ran over to the window that overlooked the front of the house, just in time to see the back of Isla’s car turn onto the road and disappear behind the tall brick wall that marked the edge of the property.
Isla had gone.
Colson stared at the empty driveway, absently watching the gates slowly close themselves automatically, and tried to process what had actually just happened.
When Isla had first said she’d needed to talk to him, Colson had rolled his eyes but flopped down onto the bed to cross his arms and raise an eyebrow at her. She hadn’t been impressed by his behavior, but she’d gone on regardless - gone on to say that Colson didn’t value her, that he didn’t see her other than to fuck, and that the rest of the time he ignored her completely. Most of it was, Colson would admit to himself, was true…he just hadn’t admitted it to Isla. Instead, he’d rolled his eyes at her again, and told her that if she didn’t like it, then she knew where the door was.
He’d expected her to try and placate him, or at worst snap and leave in a huff to go spend a night at one of her friends’ houses…he hadn’t expected her to start packing. Or to tell him that he had never said that he loved her, or shown it through any of his actions, before shaking her head and saying she doubted he ever even liked her and then stopped talking to him. He certainly hadn’t expected her to actually leave.
But she had.
Colson’s head was still reeling. He was suddenly feeling sick inside, but he pushed it down.
Isla wasn’t actually leaving him. It was fine. He’d go out tonight like he’d planned to, and by the time he woke up tomorrow her clothes would be back in his closet, and her phone charger would be plugged in beside the bed, and her hairbrush would be on the bathroom counter. All of it would be back in its normal place, and they could pretend this little episode never happened. Everything would just go back to normal.
It would all be fine.
Around eleven, Colson realised that he wasn’t sure Isla had taken her keys to the front door, and slipped into the club’s bathroom to call her - heart in his mouth when it started ringing, only to drop to the floor when it went to voicemail.
He couldn’t deny that he’d wanted to hear her voice, but he pushed the want away, and focused on leaving a message:
‘Hey, so, uh…I don’t know if you remembered your keys…call me when you’re setting off to come home, I’ll…um…I’ll come and meet you…I wanna make sure you can get in. So…uh…yeah, speak to you soon.’
He hung up just as two women in skin-tight dresses came into the bathroom behind him. Both of them sent him suggestive looks, but he ignored them completely, not even bothering to smile as he left the bathroom. He had other things on his mind right now - and even if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to fuck to random strangers in a club bathroom when he was waiting for Isla to call him.
The club closed at two, and Colson hadn’t had a call from Isla. He checked again, but there was still nothing: no missed calls, no texts, not even any DMs or fucking emails.
So he called her again, this time in the taxi back to whoever’s house they were going to party at.
Once again, it went straight to voicemail - and even though it made something in his chest feel uncomfortably tight, Colson left another message:
‘So, I guess you didn’t forget your keys, or your staying at a friend’s…that’s cool…maybe you could just, like…let me know? I’d, um…really app-…appresh…I’d be really grateful if you told me where you’re at…I don’t…uh…I don’t wanna worry, you know? So yeah. Let me know. Thanks.’
This time his phone felt as heavy as lead as he put it back in his pocket.
Two weeks later, and Isla still hadn’t called Colson back.
He’d stalked her Instagram - she hadn’t mentioned him at all, but she was all smiles in her selfies: posing with friends, with her dog, and even with a fucking plant. It was all the normal stuff she put up, minus the few selfies she posted of herself with him…and Colson realised that, as far as he could tell, her life was going on as normal, even though he wasn’t in it.
It was a horrible realisation.
Colson wasn’t upset that Isla seemed happy - he was upset because apparently he’d been doing nothing to contribute to her happiness. He kept going over their last conversation - their argument – and it had hit him like a truck.
He loved Isla.
And he’d done the world’s shitest job of showing it.
He’d been too blind to see it, thinking that he just wasn’t the loving type, and that just liking Isla was enough for both of them…but that had been the stupidest thing he’d ever thought. Now he knew he didn’t just like Isla: he loved her.
Loved her, adored her, idolised her.
Isla might just be the love of Colson’s life…but he’d never told her - or acted like it.
But he was going to fix that.
She’d just posted on her story at being at one of the clubs nearby, one that Colson never struggled to get into. She hadn’t tagged the location - she’d been carefully avoiding doing that since she left the house – but he recognised the drink as her favourite from there, and now Colson was on his way there to talk to her.
He screeched up outside, chucked his car keys in the vague direction of the valet, and slid the doorman five hundred dollars to let him cut the line and get into the club even though he hadn’t showered in six days and fucking looked like it.
Inside, the scanned the room for Isla - and found her almost instantly, looking like an angel, haloed by the flashing lights of the dance floor.
She looks like an angel.
Colson across the room before he was even aware that he was moving, stopping just two feet away from Isla as she turned round to face him.
The way her face dropped made his heart stop.
“Isla - ”
“What are you doing here, Colson?”
“I need to talk to you - ” Realising he was having to shout over the music, and knowing that that wasn’t how he wanted to have this conversation, Colson gestured towards the door to the smoking area: “Come outside with me?”
“I don’t want - ”
“Please.” Colson pleaded, and Isla sighed.
She tapped a friend on the shoulder - a friend who glared at Colson poisonously when she turned and caught sight of him - and said something Colson couldn’t catch over the music. Then she gestured sharply for Colson to follow her before turning on her heel and stalking towards the door to the smoking area.
It had been three weeks since he’d last seen her, and all Colson wanted was to take her hand in his as they walked, but every inch of her body language was screaming at him to back off. If he tried to touch her, the best she would do was pull away, and even that was something Colson wasn’t sure he could take. All he could do was follow along meekly until they were outside, and Isla whirled round to face him: crossing her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow at him.
The intent of which was not lost of Colson.
And if it had hurt her when he’d done that to her as much as it hurt him to see her do it now, then Colson had even more to apologise for than he realised.
“So? What do you want?”
Colson swallowed nervously…and then blurted out: “I love you.”
Isla only laughed disbelievingly: “Yeah, right. You love me - and I’m sure that’s got nothing to do with me walking out on you.”
It burned to see that Isla was so convinced that he didn’t love her that she didn’t believe him when he told her he did: “It has everything to do with you leaving. I’m so sorry, Isla, I was a fucking idiot; I didn’t realise how much you meant to me until you weren’t there anymore.”
“Such a shame. For you.”
Colson deserved that, he knew he did: “You can try and push me away all you want - I was shitty to you, and I see that now. I can’t change it though, no matter how much I want to. All I can do is keep telling you that I’m sorry and that I love you.”
Isla looked at Colson with eyes like daggers - ones that felt like they were stabbing into his chest and pulling it apart, trying to get a look inside to see if he was telling the truth. It hurt, but Colson stood there and took it, because everything he had just said was the honest truth and nothing but. If Isla had to stare daggers into his soul to see that, then he’d let her, because he needed her to believe him.
“This doesn’t fix things, Colson. No matter how nice your little speech was.”
“Isla, please - ”
“No, you spoke, now it’s my turn.” Isla demanded: “You made me feel shitty for a long time Colson, and I’m not over that just because you were on your own for less than a month and had some kind of epiphany instead of taking a shower.”
Colson blushed, knowing he didn’t look his best…but he didn’t interrupt. Isla took a deep breath when she saw he was listening to her, and carried on:
“But I have missed you. A lot. Because even though it hurts me, I still love you. So I guess…I guess we could try again.”
Colson was speechless…but that didn’t stop him from surging forwards and catching Isla’s cheeks in his hands, gently pulling her into a kiss. He tried to pour every ounce of what he felt for her into the kiss, hoping she could feel the love he felt for her, even though he was so happy that she had decided to give him another chance that his brain had actually short-circuited.
It would kick back in soon…and when it did, Colson was going to show Isla.
He was going to be the best boyfriend she’d ever had. She would never doubt that he loved her with every inch of his being. Never.
Never.