Archive of Our Own

That night, there was no one there to hold me through the cold. I leaned into the fire despite its cries. I winced with it as my palms began to ache from the heat, and I eventually withdrew them when it came to be too much. Even that made me feel guilty; like I’d failed to stand witness to the destruction of something I’d once found almost beautiful.

“Is everything okay?”

I immediately leapt from my seat on the cold tile, reaching for the holster on my hip even though it wasn’t there. The muscle memory was only slightly less humiliating when I saw who the voice belonged to.

Spencer stood with his hands up in feigned fear. He laughed, with his eyebrows high and his smile wide.

“I surrender?” he mocked when he confirmed that I was holding nothing but blankets and pajamas.

“God, Spencer. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he snickered.

I ignored the fact he clearly wasn’t apologetic at all because I didn’t want him to leave. That was the same reason I forced myself to fit as small as possible on the loveseat in the remarkably quaint Alaskan lodge.

Spencer followed exactly as I’d hoped he would, taking the seat beside me and the corner of the blanket that I offered him. A silence stretched between us along with the fabric, and as uncomfortable as it was, I didn’t really want that to end, either.

There was too much to say, and I was so tired.

“It’s late,” he interrupted per usual.  

“You’re still up,” I retorted with my own subtle scoff. I could feel his eyes roaming over me as I stayed with my knees tucked close to my chest and my nail kept tight between my teeth. I tried to resist the call of hazel and honey.

But I was weak, and he was beautiful.

When I turned to look at him, his attention finally settled on my own restless, tired eyes.

“You know me,” he mumbled pitifully, “I can’t sleep when I’m cold.”

I should have sent him away then. I should have offered him my spot on the couch in front of the fire or offered him another blanket rather than myself, but I didn’t. My body was crawling over to him on instinct, seeking out the source of comfort and heat that it had wrapped itself around for so many wonderful nights.

Spencer didn’t resist my offering at all. He wrapped his arms around me and only pulled me closer. My head dropped against his shoulder like it was the first time I’d had a chance to rest in weeks.

In a way, I suppose it had been.

After a few moments of unsteady heartbeat rhythms and riotous, tiny explosions of worn down wood, Spencer spoke again. His voice was quiet, and his hand not wrapped around my waist found its way to my thigh beneath the blanket.

“… Do you remember that time we stayed in bed for four hours straight after we woke up because both of us refused to go turn the heat up?”

It wasn’t the memory I had been expecting, but it was a pleasant one, nonetheless. It immediately brought a warmth to my chest that came out in the form of lighthearted laughter.

“Yes, I do,” I hummed, basking in the warmth his hand provided even through the thick fleece lined pants I wore, “I won, too.”

“Did you? Because as I recall, rather perfectly, might I add, I ran away with the blanket.”

Any air I had that might have been transferred to words was instead spent on more laughter. I wanted to close my eyes but knew that I would be overcome with the image of him bolting out of my bedroom drowning in a queen sized comforter wrapped around him like a cape.

There were a lot of things I wanted to say; things from that day that I wanted him to remember. I wanted to draw attention to all the different ways we’d tried to keep each other warm before he resorted to blanket thievery.

But I shouldn’t have been talking to him about things like that. Not anymore.

We had ended things for the third time, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t let it happen again. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him, per se. There was just something about working this job with someone you loved. It made things… complicated.

I turned to look at my ex-boyfriend the same way I’d always done before. I caught my reflection in fiery eyes and took special note of the gentle curve of his lips as he memorized my face for the umpteenth time.

“So, if you ask me, I won,” he concluded.

“You’re so stupid,” I snorted in response. I tried to look away, but his hand shot up to my face so quickly that I barely had time to miss its presence on my leg. He brought my attention back to him like he’d actually needed the extra time to take in each detail he deemed important.  

“You never seemed to mind,” Spencer whispered while continuing to read each minuscule shift of my face, “I bet you even miss me sometimes.”

“I do,” I said, and I hated that I wasn’t strong enough to lie. “A little more often than sometimes.”

I hated myself for moving closer to him knowing damn well what would happen. That I would give into him the same way that the fire and the water turned to steam and ashes. I would let myself be consumed by the things I felt for him when I knew that it would only end in my own self-destruction. Again.

I’d met someone else, someone who might be able to handle me without combusting. Someone who wouldn’t have to see me at work every day and wonder when I got so good at lying, and what else I might have made up.

There was another man at home. A man who never made me feel like this.

Spencer’s nose bumped against mine, but his lips stayed a fair distance away. He never had been the kind of man to take the things he wanted. It was one of the things I loved most about him.

The tension, the yearning, the love. Palpable and poisonous.

I moved closer to him, then, too. I felt the familiar scratch of stubble against my cheek and I wondered if he refused to shave because I always loved the way it looked. I wondered if his breath hitched because he thought I was going to kiss him, or because he thought that I wouldn’t.

My hand came to rest against his face the same he held mine, and the next time that I breathed, his name came with it as naturally as the air itself.

“Spencer…”

“I want to kiss you,” he immediately replied, and I felt the force with which he spoke. He was quiet and shy. Begging for what he knew he shouldn’t have.

When I didn’t say anything, he started to close the already non-existent gap between us. But at the very last second, just before I was able to feel the softness of his lips, I pulled away.

“Don’t.”

I felt his heart break, shattering to pieces as I continued to hold him. His jaw clenched to stop himself from speaking the words he knew he shouldn’t. Our faces were still close enough to feel the sweet heat of our breath, and our eyes never once left each other.

“Not like this,” I pleaded, “Please.”

There was never a time where I could look into his eyes and see anything other than the truth that lay behind them. The unadulterated passion he felt for the things and people he loved.

“Okay,” he said, because he knew I wouldn’t allow him to tell me that he loved me, instead.

I wouldn’t let him say what I wanted to hear, so he showed me the only way he knew how.

“Come here,” he whispered as he shifted our bodies until we were side by side, laid facing the fire and intertwined however our limbs would allow.

At first, I stayed facing the fire, basking in the heat on my face that felt colder without him. But the colors danced behind my eyelids and reminded me of his voice, which soon morphed to his laughter that I always cut off with another kiss. I turned to face Spencer, instead, and he happily accepted me with open arms and a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

That night was the first time in a long time that I’d actually been able to sleep without a nightmare of a burning house. Of flames engulfing memories that I’d desperately wanted to keep reliving.

I dreamed that I was in his arms, listening to the crackling of fire and thinking of nothing other than how sometimes things that are bad for you are worth the pain.

——————————————————

I’d always heard the phrase ‘if you love them, let them go.’ It was often paired with images of birds set free to fly, promising their return if they’d ever been yours at all. I’d understood the sentiment behind it; it made sense. You should want someone you love to be happy, right?

But as I watched (y/n) that night, her happiness only hurt. I could try to convince myself that it was because it wasn’t genuine, but some of it was. Deep down, I wanted her to be happy — I did. I just didn’t want to watch it happen with someone else.

How was I meant to let her go when she was always there, parading her newfound muse before me like I’d meant nothing to her?

Then again, it wasn’t the right time to be asking myself self-serving questions. I could convince myself of nearly anything in the state I was in. I was already halfway through nursing my third drink, which I’d only gotten away with by somehow convincing the others present at the party that they were virgin drinks.

I think that (y/n) knew the truth, though. She was a smart girl. Smarter than most people gave her credit for. That was why I’d figured that she was also acutely aware of my current strategy of spending as much time as possible with her new little boyfriend to force her to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

It’d barely been a week since that night in front of the fire. I could still feel her breath on my cheeks and her hand over my heart. I could smell her perfume mixed with wood smoke and desire that had soaked through my skin.

I would drive myself crazy, I knew, clinging to someone who’d shown me time and time again that we weren’t right for one another. But there was no way to explain the feeling I got when she looked at me, even when it was tainted with suspicion and fear. Just as she was doing then, glancing over to me and her paramour between each sentence spoken.

“Is everything okay?” the man beside me asked.

He wasn’t the one I wanted to be asking me. Still, he’d asked, so the least I could offer him was an honest answer of, “No, not really.”

“I felt that,” he awkwardly half-chuckled. If it was his attempt at keeping the peace, it was poorly maintained. If anything, the sound only pissed me off more.

“I doubt it,” I countered, hoping that it would end the conversation. I had been the one to start it, but he didn’t have to continue it. I knew he was aware of my history with (y/n). If he was any bit as charming as she’d described him, then he should’ve known that his efforts were wasted.

Didn’t seem to stop him, though.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” I sighed.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw him bite his cheek. I wished he’d bite his tongue, but the liquor I’d been relying on to get me through the night seemed to get the better of him, too.

With one pathetically blatant step closer, he leaned forward on the bar in an attempt to make eye contact with me as he asked in the most hostile way possible, “Is there anything I could do to make you hate me any less? Or is just going to be like this forever?”

Forever. What a joke. As if he’d be around that long.  

He didn’t seem to appreciate my taking it as the joke it clearly was. He certainly didn’t appreciate my laughter, nor the way I clarified with a smile, “I don’t hate you. I pity you.”

“Why’s that?”

I took time to consider my answer. I looked at the man in front of me displaying all the signs of arrogance and toxic masculinity that (y/n) spoke so ill of in everyone else. I saw myself in them a bit, too, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.

I could’ve been the bigger man. I should have. But it was just too tempting, and the alcohol poisoned my veins that all led back to an already broken heart.  

“Because I think we both know…” I started, quietly at first and only barely raising when I realized, “It should’ve been me.”

“What?” he balked.

Standing straighter and somehow managing to laugh through the liquor induced haze of memories, I repeated, “I said… It should be me.”

He didn’t answer at first. He just stood there, staring dumbly and stunned like I’d announced some grand revelation rather than the truth we both knew.

“Seriously?”

“What, do you think I’m wrong?” I challenged before demonstrating just how seriously I took this conversation by turning away from him. I downed the rest of the drink beside me, taking pleasure rather than pain out of the sting in my throat. It distracted me from the one in the tired, bloodshot eyes across the room. Eyes that hadn’t closed properly since the last time I held her.

“I mean, she clearly disagrees,” he said during the worst possible thought.

“Right. Of course she does,” I laughed, because I had to. There was no other combination of words to describe how absolutely ludicrous the notion was.

It was so obvious to me then, how differently things had been for them compared to us. There hadn’t even been a ‘them.’ It was just him being granted a few restless hours with a woman who’d only wanted to relive memories of someone she was too proud to call.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and I decided it was proper form for me to answer.

“Because you know her so well, right?” I barked as I stood, “You know how she— how she smiles different when she’s sad but she’s too scared to admit it to anyone, even herself? If you don’t, take a look across the room. It’s the same smile she’s been wearing for your benefit all night.”

The stupid bastard actually looked, too. I couldn’t tell if it was his attention or the sheer volume of my voice that drew her attention, but I could feel her eyes burning into me all the same.

“Did you even notice? Do you even care? Do you know how to take her pain away? Would you do it even if you did?” I shouted, not caring about the ever closing proximity between us that led to a firm hand against my shoulder.  

“Calm down,” he ordered. As if he had any control over me. I could imagine he’d treat her the same.

But she wasn’t the kind of woman to break herself into pieces to be more palatable. She was a force of nature, a wonder of the world, all around too good for someone like him.  

“You don’t fucking know her at all! She doesn’t love you! She never loved you, and she never will!”

Although the music continued in the bar, the rest of the chatter died out. Everyone she loved bore witness to my unraveling, however regrettable it might’ve been.

I just couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop seeing the hatred and rage in his eyes that looked so much like my own.

“You… You were just convenient. You were there, so she let you try. But you’ll never make it.”

Was I actually seeing another person’s eyes, or was it just the reflection of my own? Had I rubbed off on him, instigated him and drove him past the breaking point because that was just what I did to everyone I touched?

“Yeah?” he bitterly laughed, “You wanna bet?”

I didn’t answer, but he took the smirk I wore as consent to try.

And I smiled as his fist made contact with my jaw. I laughed, too, as my body stumbled backwards and knocked over tall wooden stools. The commotion continued to crumble, chaos breaking out as several hands of strangers and friends alike grabbed hold of the two of us and pulled us apart.

But I hadn’t tried to stop him, and I certainly wouldn’t hit him back. Especially not when (y/n) was there, watching with wide eyes dripping with frustration at the stupid things that lesser men resorted to.

“I don’t need to bet shit,” I said with smile, “I already won.”

I broke free from the hands first, wiping any residue of him from my skin and turning away before he had the chance for any pathetic retort that could come to mind. I didn’t want to hear it. I’d heard enough from him in the few, unfortunate moments I’d been forced to interact with him.

So, I left. I exited the humid heat of the bar and took in a deep breath of frigid air. I hoped that it would do something to end the fire still burning inside of me, but the oxygen only seemed to fuel it.

There was only one thing I could think of that would help, and I wouldn’t have expected it to happen.

But it did.

“Spencer!” she yelled just as the door slammed shut behind her.

I turned to find her, running towards me with nothing but a sheer cardigan and her fury.

She looked so beautiful, even if I wished the exchange could’ve been under different circumstances.

“You came,” I said, but her shrill cry overlapped to make the most discordant sound.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Me?” I shouted back, feeding logs to the fire and hoping it would swallow us both, “What’s wrong with you?!”

“Don’t you dare make this my fault!”

“What— am I supposed to just ignore it?!”

She’d almost responded but cut herself off. She bit her tongue, but bitter, sarcastic laughter dripped from her mouth like venom. Combative eyes met mine and only grew more insistent in their stubbornness.

But then it fell, ever so slightly. Her shoulders dropped and her breaths became deep, albeit broken.

“Why can’t you just let me be happy? Why is it that if you’re miserable, I have to be, too?” she whined, and it sounded like a hammer to what remained of my heart. “This is exactly why we broke up, Spencer. Don’t you remember?”

How could I ever forget? I thought to myself before realizing it had been a rhetorical question. But this wasn’t like those times where it was just the two of us. Those fights had meant something, because they were driven by genuine emotions.

This, though…

“This is different.”

“Except it’s not!” she cried with tears in her eyes.

I tried to wipe them away like I always did, and she almost let me. I was only a few inches away when she finally flinched back, clenching her eyes shut tight enough that a few drops broke free.

That was more painful than the throbbing in my cheek could ever be. She didn’t stop there, either, continuing to make blows with her words even as she struck my hand away from her.

“You think you know everything, a-and… and you know what? Maybe you do. Maybe you’re right about everything.”

I’d wanted her to say something similar so many times, to admit that what we shared was undeniable no matter how hard she tried. But I didn’t want her to say it then. Not like that.

And I think that was the point. When her eyes opened again, they roared like the spitting flames from the last time I held her. My lungs filled with the blackened smoke of her as she slurred the words that I’d refused to admit to myself.

“But sometimes even things that are right… shouldn’t be said.”

I realized it then. I heard the strain in the voice of the woman I loved, and I felt the pain light anew in my chest. I saw teardrops sizzling on skin and breath breaking into vapor in the air, demanding to be seen in its fervor.

She had been right — about everything.

“I’m sorry,” I tried just as she started to walk away.  

“It’s too late, okay?” she yelled over her shoulder, just to turn around and repeat it loud enough that I might believe her for once, “It’s too late.”

——————————————————

The Virginia air was calm and quiet; a stark contrast to the party happening inside. It was too cold for us to all sit outside, even with the fancy outdoor heaters. I didn’t mind. I sort of wanted a chance to escape from the socialization.

I wanted to listen to the breeze whistling through frail branches that had survived another year still standing. I wanted to look at the moon and wonder what it must be like to rely on another to experience the light.

It only took me a few moments to realize that I hadn’t been the only one with the idea.

Spencer stood at the far edge of the balcony, only visible to those who truly wanted to escape. I waited at the corner, peering across the way for one of the few, rare opportunities to see him as he truly was. When his mask fell away and he was able to breathe again.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed, staring at the man watching the moon above with a similar affection as I had, but it was long enough for me to feel guilty. Guilty for having not announced my presence and worked to rid the tears that teased his eyes and threatened to fall.

At first, I did nothing to announce my presence beyond one firm step into the light. Spencer glanced over, but then turned away like the sight of me had scorched him.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, choosing instead to acknowledge my presence with an awkward, tight-lipped smile and a nod. When I stepped closer, though, he managed a single, pitiful little word.

“Hey.”

“Wow… Avoidance,” I said before sucking in air with a sarcastic wince, “You know what that means.”

“I do,” he answered.

I was immediately brought back to every time he’d ever considered my explanations as a challenge to his intellect, but then let the memories go with a deep breath out. I watched the concern float away as a small misty cloud of vapor.

The relief I’d felt was immediate, and apparently shared by the tense man beside me. Slowly, his shoulders lowered and his fists that had been wrapped defensively around the balustrade started to loosen.

“You can tell me anyway,” he conceded with a heavy sigh, “I bet it’ll feel better coming from you.”

Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t what I’d said.

“I think… you are upset.”

“About what?” he said like he’d actually cared to hear my answer. Per usual, I planned to disappoint him with my own simple way of speaking about complex feelings.  

“Because you miss me,” I said, drawing out the vowels and swaying closer to him with every syllable. The laughter started and ended before he spoke again with the comfort of our arms pressed against one another.

“Busted,” was all he said.

The two of us leaned forward at the same time, with elbows and arms resting against the barricade to the rest of the world. As it so often happened, he looked to the moon, and I looked to him. I stared at the statuesque visage and wondered how I’d ever been able to look away.

But then he turned to me and I remembered just how intimidating soft hazel eyes could be.  

“I’m sad, too,” I announced to distract from the embarrassing display. I played it off with a dramatic sigh and an unnecessary explanation of, “For the same reason, just the other way around.”

“Thanks for clarifying,” Spencer said with mercy. He accepted my obvious attempts to laugh away heavy hurt and paralyzing fear.

If I’d looked at him, I might’ve seen that he was hiding, too. But I didn’t. I stared down at the ground below, basked in moonlight, and I wondered why people made up the lie that the night was inherently more romantic. The way I saw it, it was just a way to hide in the shadows. An excuse to rely on later when you regret what you said in the cover of the night.

It was unfortunate, really, for that thought to be followed by Spencer’s voice saying the one thing I’d been dying to hear for so long.

“I’m really sorry about before.”

Our eyes met and stayed stuck, mesmerized by the dare for one of us to speak and ruin it like we so often did. To be offered a flower and respond with a knife. To spit smoke and turn to ashes.

Something about that night, though, felt different. Maybe it really was that we were just tired. Maybe we really did miss each other that much. But that night, with the moon bearing witness, Spencer offered me his first white flag in forever.

“You were right,” he said, and I couldn’t believe that I’d heard the words, much less what immediately followed. “I was miserable and I just… thought that sabotaging your relationship and making you miserable, too… might make me feel better, somehow.”

“Did it?” I asked.

Spencer answered so quickly, and nearly bursting with a laughter laced with self-hatred.

“No,” he croaked, “Definitely not.”

I chuckled, too. The sound somehow felt foreign and familiar, like it’d been what we were always meant to be but haven’t done in ages.

It felt too nice to question it anymore.

“Well, I guess I can’t be too mad at you,” I conceded with hands in the air. Spencer still wanted to question it, though. I couldn’t blame him, either. Lord knew how we loved to fight.

“Why’s that?”

Knowing there was no other way to gain his trust than the truth, I gave it to him without reservation. I tossed my pride aside and offered my condolences in its place.

“You weren’t the only one sabotaging things,” I admitted. And to my surprise, it felt nice. What followed, however, felt less so.

“So… what I’m hearing is… that I was right,” he teased.

Spencer snickered in his usual devilish way, swaying closer and bumping shoulders just enough to make me miss his warmth.

It was enough to make me laugh, so I responded in kind, “Watch it. You’re on thin ice.”

Whether it was muscle memory or another way to signal the end to the fighting, that brilliant, beautiful man wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer. I ignored the urge to run and instead gave in to the desire to stay. I chose to be happy, knowing that it might all be temporary.

Because it was worth it. Despite the challenges we’d faced, I’d never wanted to give up on him. I’d wanted to watch the moon with him with the same fervor and intimacy as we’d watched the fire.

After all, what was moonlight, if not the reflection of a fire that demanded to be felt and returned all the same?

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too.”