Work Text:
“you peel oranges horribly.”
the sun had painted the sky—the summer blues being over shined by the hues of tangerine and gold. he was sitting in a chair in their shared dining room, legs slightly spread, as he clawed through oranges. the sweet tangy scent of citrus wafts through the air, their fresh amber tears splashing onto his brown forearms—a scowl immediately decorating his face. “i peel them just fine,” he mumbles, practically throwing the peels onto their rounded table.
your shoulders gently shake, eyes gently closing as wrinkles appear near the edge of them. you are sitting on the table itself, sitting far too close to the vase of flowers—flowers that you pick from the garden you spent hours perfecting. they are not the brightest thing in the room, despite the vivid vermilions and violets that gently caress one another—you had decorated their home personally, and you had always enjoyed colors.
you press your thumbnail into the fruits supple skin, it’s slightly rough texture tickling the tips of your fingers—your lips gently curve into a delicate smile as the skin finally gives in. the fragrance that already took control of the air had intensified, and his sensitivity gently twitched because of it. his eyes are also narrow, noting the perfect circles of orange skin that you peel, and the fact that no sunburst juice taints your own naked forearms. “alright, wise guy,” you whisper—eyes fluttering close as your dimples become more evident as your smile continues to stretch. “whatever you say.”
“i peel them great .” he stares at the orange that is in his palm, odd indentations around it, the white inner skin still clinging onto the citrus fruit—seeds gently sticking out. so, when you offer a slice of your—perfectly peeled—orange, he doesn’t reject it, only taking it with a huff and a slight scowl.
you don’t say anything about it, though your quiet giggles that gently erupt from your throat say enough. you were quiet for a few seconds—you were never quiet—so, miguel looked up, his eyes strained on your delicate form perched upon your wooden dining table. “do you remember?—” your voice is soft, full of warmth as your eyes gently turns towards him. “—when we were younger, we would play a game with the peels.”
he does. he does remember—the two of you, youthful skin still intact, would sit in your porch with a bowel of your mothers stolen orange between the two of you. the power of nature overpowered the sweet citrus scent—in those memories, all he can remember is the scent of grass and the sound of your shared innocent laughter.
they would try to make characters, animals—practically anything out of the peels. they always failed. he couldn’t help the smile that managed to crawl its way onto his lips. “we were terrible.”
“you were terrible.” you corrected, which was a lie . “i was great.”
“yea right.” he scoffed, leaning forward and planting a kiss on your knee. your hand, sticky with the juice of the orange, gently ran through the dark chocolate strands of his hair. “mi vida—i just washed—”
“i’ll wash it for you.” you said, cutting him—gently lowering your upper body and placing a delicate kiss on his head. “te amo.” you whisper softly.
“te amo también,” he whispers back.
“te amo más que a nadie en este mundo.” it’s so casual—the way you say it. he doesn’t think that you understand the weight of the words that you had uttered.
“you don’t mean that.” he replies swiftly, sitting up. his eyes are sharp, his mouth gently curling downwards in a familiar motion as his hands lie atop of the table.
you don’t laugh, only tilting your head to the side, a frown of your own taking place on your face. it was out of place—you were different from him, always laughing, always giggling, always happy. it looked wrong to see you frowning. “i do,” your voice is still soft—your brows are furrowed, as if you don’t understand. “i do mean that.”
“that you love me more than anyone else in the world?”
your lips curl up into a smile. “yes.” you breath. “i—i enjoy loving you, i love loving—” your smile stretches even wider at your words. “—you. i think—i think it’s the best thing ive ever done.”
he was silent for a few moments, tilting his head away from you as he found the table more interesting. he follows the natural swirling of the wood, of the various colors of brown that gently melt into one another. “i find it scary,” he says after a moment of silence—feeling his breath get stuck in between his lungs, his palms having a thin sheet of sweat lay over them. “loving you.”
he can feel your eyes bearing straight at him. “why?”
he licks his lips, feeling his tongue dry. still, he urged it to curl—he urged it to get the words out. “because loving you means losing you.”
“loving me means having me—” you corrected, but you were wrong, leaning forward and gently placing one of your hands on his shoulders. your eyes were wide, watery and ready to spill, as your lips quiver. you were always easy to cry.
“no.” he shakes his head. “it means losing you—it—it means one day, im going to have to live with the fact that im going to live more by myself than i am going to live with you.” he wants to do laundry with you, wants to wash the dishes and bump hips, wants to fold the clothes and make his side of the bed, and stare at your sleeping form as you hug the pillow—pretending it’s him. he wants that—he needs that—he can’t have that.
your teeth gently sink into your bottom lip, as your hands fall into your lap. “you don’t enjoy loving me?” your voice cracks near the middle of your words, lips quivering.
“i do,” he reassures, standing up—ignoring the way the chair screeches against their flooring—gently placing his hands by your hips, staring down at you as you stared up at him. “i—i—i do, i do enjoy loving you. it is—it’s the best thing i have ever done.” he echoes your words. he leans forward, gently connecting your foreheads. your sticky fingers gently caress the sides of his face. “i—you are everything to me.”
“you’re everything to me, too.” you nuzzle your face closer to his, if even possible, eyes fluttering close. he could count the amount of eyelashes you have.
he licks his lips again, his hands traveling up your sides—cupping your cheeks just as you did his. “but i—but i think it’s going to eat me.” he whispers, terrified. “i think the love i have for you is going to eat me alive.”
“but that’s what love is, isn’t it?” you always manage to leave him speechless. “it’s this—it’s this thing that devours us—it—it’s taking control.” you couldn’t help giggle, fingers gently digging into his skin as your head gently tilted back—eyes fluttering open, even as tears watered your cheeks. “it’s kind of like a parasite, ain’t it? love?”
he breathes. “yea,” he says. “it kind of is, isn’t it…”
you pull back completely, your hands hovering over it before gently taking them off of your face—interlocking your fingers together. the mere size difference between the two of you is simply astounding. “i enjoy loving you,” you repeat your earlier words. “i will always enjoy loving you—the love i have for you, it is going to eat me whole.” you stare into his eyes. “i am going to let it.”
he does not envy others who find love. he does not envy the shared laughter, the shared memories—of curling up on the corners of the couch, of fingers finding and longing for one another, of the shared secrets, of everything. he doesn’t—because he knows what love does.
it will leave you utterly happy and utterly heartbroken.
he is sitting at the dining room table, and the chair beside him is empty, the flowers in the vase are dying—your garden is dying. despite the fact that you tried so hard to make the house seem alive, the once bright colors seem muted. the throw pillows on the couch, that fluffy creamy blanket, is no longer used. dust collects in your bedroom. he sleeps in his office instead.
he stares at the wooden table—his finger gently tracing the natural swirling of the wood, eyes blurring. the various browns melt into one another. he misses your sweet laughter, he misses your honeyed melody of a voice. he misses you—all of you—you.
because he is going to spend more years alone—than he did spending the years by your side.