Work Text:
Witnessing the end of humanity from your cubicle felt too stupid to be real.
Call your train of thought selfish, but it didn’t feel sad to wait to die among stacks of monochrome paper and miles of scratchy blue carpet. It just felt…underwhelming.
Apparently, a part of you had still entertained the delusion that your death would be a little more—well, significant. Tragic no matter the cause, with at least one person left to mourn you.
But now that the whole world had itself to grieve…it would be presumptive to assume anyone was thinking of you at all.
The news had gone over exactly how the government had probably expected it to; the running, the screaming, the crying, the praying—and the looting, according to one of the last channels on the TV still running. Some skepticism too (although it was harder to argue with a red sky than a blue one), at least after the initial minutes of shock. You could see why they’d waited to the last minute—the last thirty, to be exact—to announce it.
You could see why they’d only let it air once they knew there was no hope left.
Most of your coworkers had escaped the building by the first ten minutes—you didn’t need to be paying particular attention to know that, seeing as how they had all been so loud about it.
“Hey.”
Keyword: most.
Jelena approaches you similarly to how one might a wounded animal; quietly and slowly from the front so as not to startle. You’d be offended if only you didn’t look like one leaning against the desk with your knees held to your chest, eyes staring dead ahead in an effort to avoid the clock.
“You’re not going home?” she asks, tone softer than you know it should be.
You shake your head. “Too far; I’d never make it in time. You?”
“There’s no one waiting for me,” she replies, strands of snow white hair briefly brushing your shoulder as she settles next to you on the floor. “Thought i’d at least keep you company.”
The corners of your lips quirk upwards just slightly now, not seeing any point in holding back. The world had never really deserved her, had it?
It’s difficult to look at the painfully kind person you’ve been avoiding for months—god forbid you be forced to admit how ridiculous your reasoning is—so you keep the silence and turn your head to the window, the air already stifling.
You look through the little square of glass—really, really look—and for a moment you see all of it. The red sun so much brighter than it was ten minutes ago, the black ash already falling, the brown smog, the grey smoke. The ugly sky you’re going to die under.
And in that moment, the end of the world helps you make a decision faster than dating advice sites ever did.
Screw it. Screw the landfills. Screw the fossil fuels. Screw global warming. Screw all the generations that doomed yours to this. You are not going to die without doing one of the only things you never could that you still can; telling Jelena how you really feel. How you’ve really felt for a long time now. Even if you have to do it on the eleventh floor of some dingy concrete box.
You won’t keep running forever.
So you close your eyes and try to take a deep breath. Likely one of your last free of smoke.
“Jelena?”
Three words. It's just three words.
“...?”
It’s only now or never.
“I…I love you.”
A silence falls over the room, and you take it as your cue to continue.
“I love your voice and I love your smile and I love your laugh and I love your frown and I love how you stop to pet street cats even though you know you shouldn’t and I love how you always try to see the best in everyone—the best in me—when you really shouldn’t and I know I should have said it earlier but I thought I would have more time and you were always so—um—everything that I didn’t want to risk it I didn’t want to risk losing you as a friend and I’m sorry but I do love you.”
Not exactly poetry, but…it’ll have to suffice.
With a final exhale, you avert your gaze—not brave enough yet to look her in the eye. Hah. The world as you know it is ending, and what you fear most is eye contact with your crush. If you were reading this in a story, you’d be tempted to giggle.
“I’m sorry if you don’t…” your throat gives out on the words that don’t need to be said to be heard. I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same. “I just thought you should know.”
And then Jelena laughs. It’s a jarring sound to hear amongst all the hysteria, but the familiar melody of it warms your chest all the same. In spite of it, you sit there dumbfounded in the uncomfortably warm air—at least until she takes your hand in hers.
“I love you too.”
.
.
.
Oh.
A thousand questions burn on the tip of your tongue (Why? Why me? Since when? Why didn’t you say anything?), but you know that if Jelena doesn’t push for answers (which she really should), you won’t either. All you have right now is each other, all you have together is now; questions will have to wait for the next life with a blue sky and golden light.
“So. This…this is really happening, isn’t it?” you mutter softly, giving her palm a light squeeze as the clock hand hovers just above the thirty-minute mark. The heat is giving you a headache.
“I’m afraid it is,” Jelena replies, turning to you with a smile. “But hey—at least we have each other, right?”
“You don’t have to fake a smile anymore.”
“I’m not faking—I don’t have to. If this had to happen, I’m…I’m glad it was with you.”
I’m glad it was with you.
Not bad words to die by.
“Me too.”