Work Text:
(There is no possible way to explain this other than to just say it. I've watched you for a long time.)
Firey's gaze locks onto Leafy, even as the others call for everyone to stab her with knives: his eyes and limbs and entire being remains unmoving. He will not tear his eyes off her for one second—not that Leafy knows, should know, or will ever know. Some weird odd feeling suffuses his heart and he finds himself so desperately wanting to kill everyone right now, and just escape with Leafy. Run away with Leafy. Return to Leafy. Repent for his sins.
But what is he but a coward?
So he watches, out of the corner of his eye, terrified, trying to hide the fact that he is watching; scared of what she will think—scared of what the others will do to him if they find out about this thing they had. Split by the blade of a knife, Leafy's face, and all he wonders is how much longer he had to scream, distract for until he could be the ‘saviour’ that saved Leafy.
(Usually, they did no saving. But maybe he'll be the outlier, the exception.)
So, rash decision. The ends always justify the means.
"I'm stealing Dream Island!" Firey proclaims, with a confidence so shattering; one hand on the island and already running away—that the arena is instantly plunged into an uncomfortably saturated silence. There's no time to check what Leafy's reaction is before he's off and running, running away from his cowardice, the consequences of his actions.
(He thinks, if he were to be looking into Leafy's eyes right this instant, somehow brave enough, with a shocking sudden-ty, to try and hold that binding gaze for more than 10 seconds, for the first and only time; his pupils dialating at the mere notion; he wonders how her gaze, like a knife, will connect with his throat, slice it open; at least he will die and she will survive. It is worth it for Leafy. It is all he can do.)
(But can he be a saviour if he is the one that is the problem? Even if he doesn't know what he has done?)
(That is a lie. He knows what he has done.)
Leafy was always in the corner, in somewhere far away, isolated from society, and Firey watched her, like a cruel game of sorts; he always seems to be the cruel one in these stories. The best memories they had, Firey stored them in the deepest recesses of his mind, engraved, in a fancy font, a poem titled "Love".
It is funny, really. Because in a blink he can change and make an irreversible decision that continues to haunt him to this day and—and he feels like he is the only one still cradling his pounding heart; losing countless hours of sleep over it; regretful; paranoid. How can you love someone and hurt them so badly? How can you claim you love when you only burn?
He says he loves her and then betray yet again; turning the rest of the world on her; and unintelligible sounds and accusations spew out from the others' lips; she remembers nothing he says, but she remembers—down to the bone marrow—every last action he's done.
Leafy feels as if Firey wants her dead. The way he stood and watched from the sidelines as the countless others chased, executed her under their judgemental gaze and while she was sputtering, trying to breathe, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen; he watched. Firey watched and watched and he did nothing to stop or help them.
You know what they say, the saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies, it comes from those you trusted the most.
So when she hears Firey scream that he's stealing Dream Island, she has—well, actually, she doesn't know. She's still processing those emotions. She is also, understandably, pissed. Because Dream Island is hers. That is what she deserves. But alas, she is in a cage. And she can't escape. So much for wanting what she rightfully deserves.
(You know, facing your greatest fear for someone is a pretty romantic thing to do.)
Firey is halfway up the crane.
He is flying up. With absolutely no sense of direction. He's going to take this damn island so he can save Leafy. It's all to save Leafy.
Where did he get all this courage from? Is love such a powerful and compelling thing that it conquers all, including his greatest fear? But if that is true, how come he can't bear to face Leafy again? How come they can't talk, face to face, just one more time?
He drops the island. He kind of has bigger fish to fry right now.
(You're pining like a slapped dog again.)
Leafy stares at Book. She's flipped open to a page with Firey on it. What the fuck.
"What. What emotion are you trying to evoke with that." She says, tone flat. There's no way she can take this right now. The call of someone snaps her out of whatever thoughts she was drowning in, though. She momentarily forgets Book is right besides her.
"Leafy!" he yells. Leafy freezes up, muscles immediately tensing up. She's not ready for this. Pupils shrink and she finds herself running; but Firey grabs her arm.
He can't let this one chance, one divine intervention escape his grasp. He won't let it happen. He's only got one shot at this. He won't let it go to waste.
"Listen—," He's panting. "I'm— I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I banned you from Dream Island and I turned everyone against you and—" He draws in a deep breath. "—What I'm saying is, I don't expect forgiveness, but if you can find it in your heart to ever forgive me, I would owe my life to you." (Well, he figures he kind of already does.)
Leafy doesn't exactly know how to react to that. She blinks, stares distantly into Firey's eyes. The tension in the air could be cut with the bluntest knife. It's thick, heavy, suffocating.
They have a lot to talk about.
(Nothing outruns regret. It is with such a devastating finality that it catches me, stabs through and gets to me with its hungry jaws.)
Regret is a powerful thing. Regret is a compelling thing. But what is regret if one does not break through and defy their cowardice?
(Regret will haunt you until the end of time until you face it head on.)