Work Text:
and one day, i am gonna grow wings
a chemical reaction
hysterical and useless
Leafy can almost feel the vibrations of the door to Dream Island slamming shut in her face again. The way the floor shook when Firey turned back on their friendship; the way the gates oh so ominous when she was on the outer side of it—just how small she looked and just how angry she was at how she was so tiny. Leafy can almost remember the exact thoughts that were running, sprinting, swirling in her head: thoughts of surprise, sadness, jealousy, frustration, rage. She can almost feel the burn of the numbers on the keypad of her phone when they bounced back just as hard as she pressed them down; furious tears fighting to come to light, stinging as they came down one by one. And, her distress at the fact that she was actually crying over this, she shouldn’t be crying, she shouldn’t be doing this at all, this shouldn’t be happening to her—
— then, Leafy’s strangled, bit back cry of relief as the Announcer picked up the goddamn phone, the petty satisfaction. Leafy can almost touch the paper slips in her hand again, the scratchy, uncomfortable sensation. It was surprisingly painful. Paper’s supposed to be smooth, isn’t it?
Then, the chase and the dread that followed: she’s a horrible person, she should’ve just accepted that Firey didn’t feel the same—they weren’t friends, they weren’t anything at all. Then, the justification when she was all alone, with nobody to judge her or reason her to think differently (think more empathetic, like she has to, but Leafy was, is stubborn,): it wasn’t her fault, Firey was the one being petty, she was worth something.
Leafy can almost see, again, the violently purple grass and the harsh, cold, unfeeling transition of human to metal (to something you’re not, but, you really are). She can almost lie her head on the ground, brush her hands through her own dirtied and greasy hair and pretend someone was thumbing through her hair—pretend someone was there with her, someone still cared. Leafy can almost see the sickening yellow sky, taunting and threatening in it’s brightness; something that’s acting like it’s more cheerful than it is, since yellow’s always been a peaceful color to her. Leafy can almost relive the disgust (for whom? Leafy can almost suffer, again, the confusion).
Leafy can almost sense the warmth of the newly risen sun on her bare skin. The forget-me-not blue sky, the aroma of blooming flowers rising out of the ground. The faint, but pleasant sound of bird chirps fading away the more she walked to where the crowd was. New beginnings, she’d said to herself. You’ll be able to leave it in the past. He’s obviously already done that; you can too!
Fuck that, Leafy screamed internally upon seeing Firey again. Leafy can almost experience, for the second time, all the emotions she’d bottled down into a deep pit in her gut coming alive again. The white-hot flame flickering to life in her head, in her eyes and her body and her mind and her soul telling her to push the matter, to get answers; to reopen old wounds she didn’t know were ready to be reopened. Leafy wasn’t a surgeon by any means, and that fact was apparent by how much she was crumbling to pieces in front of her greatest turmoil, and how much adrenaline was rushing through her bones right then—forcing her to say all the things she said.
Leafy wasn’t ready to hear it.
To hear his words.
Her wounds were gushing and bleeding, and it wasn’t just the lava consuming her through it’s mighty puffs of smoke: digesting her lungs slowly but surely, but the white-hot fire eating her out from the inside, repeating the mantra that Leafy wasn’t right . This wasn’t a new beginning, and now she’s right back to where she started—ruined reputation, ruined psyche, ruined everything.
“Go ahead! Let’s never talk again!” Leafy did what she did best: run from the situation. It was being the bigger person, really.
“Fine!” was all Firey said in response. No, wait, I’m sorry, no hint of anything that could’ve pointed to the fact that he felt remorse.
Leafy was utterly and completely broken.
Leafy is utterly and completely hopeful.
That one day, she won’t be as broken as she was before.
The slow process began when the roles were reversed: Firey stole Donut’s diary, and they got through it. They got through it. They got through it. That, in itself, is proof; Leafy’s on the verge of healing. She’s not a surgeon, sure, but maybe the pressure on the wound helped to lessen the pain. Maybe it helped it heal.
She still doesn’t know what to feel. Firey gave a good argument, but it’s been years. Years of feeling like she wasn’t enough, like she wasn’t what she was supposed to be. An amalgamation of all the worst traits someone could have, disguised under a thin veil of humanity.
Yet, she says, “Sure.”
It’s one step.
It’s going to be okay.
Leafy’s going to be okay.