Forest Fires-Lauren Aquilina // he was almost in love. she was almost good for him
Warren Worthington iii x Reader
A/N: Idk the audio post format was just too much for me it was really unaesthetically pleasing oh well. I’ve linked the song etc, and feedback on this drabble thing would be great also @kurtwxgners have some Warren
“Since when are you moving?” Warren’s voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the silence nonetheless, the words leaving ripples of tension in their wake. You shrug lightly, the slight gesture heavy with feigned nonchalance, trying to maintain the façade of neutrality, but the atmosphere has shifted, the quiet of his apartment becoming oppressive rather than tranquil. You feel his eyes tracking your movements carefully but you can’t quite meet his gaze.
“Since a while back. I told you I was going.”
“You didn’t say it was permanent. I thought it was just a visit, or whatever.” The tension in the room is mounting as a note of hurt creeps into his tone. You still can’t meet his gaze.
“I guess I didn’t think you’d care this much. It’s not that far away. I’ll still show up now and then,” you say, keeping your voice as uninvested as possible, trying desperately not to think about the last time you saw him. A memory flashes across your mind, rendering you momentarily speechless. A cool night, full of volatile possibility. The warmth of his arm around your shoulders. Wry smiles and awkward excuses. You had been fairly certain that you were more invested in whatever almost-relationship had existed between the two of you. You’re less sure of it now, but you’ve made your decision. It’s too late to stay. It’s too late for him. “You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” It’s hard not to let any resentment colour your voice, but you think you manage it. You turn away, looking for a way to leave the conversation without causing any further damage, but you feel his hand on your shoulder, tugging you insistently around to face him, and his stricken expression is enough to make you tense up, anticipating some kind of confrontation.
“But why? Why’re you going?” He presses, the grip on your shoulder tightening slightly as if to accentuate his point. You cast a helpless glance around the room then back to him, meeting his stare evenly.
“I’m not doing anything here. I never meant to stay this long,” your voice is gentle, even as an unfamiliar light sparks in his gaze. “Warren, there’s nothing here for me.”
“What about me?” The question is barely more than a whisper, his eyes intense and unreadable as they burn into yours. His hand slips down a fraction, his thumb brushing across your clavicle to rest over your pulse, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat, so much calmer than the ragged tempo of his own, beating wildly in his chest as he takes in your resolute, almost serene expression, the underlying hint of a question-or a challenge-in your unwavering gaze. “I’m here.”
“So ask me to stay.” Warren recoils almost imperceptibly at your words, but doesn’t look away. You take a steadying breath, reaching blindly for any kind of courage to continue, because you’ve already started, so you might as well keep going. “I might, you know. If you asked,” you say, softly, eyes still locked on his, waiting for a reaction. The silence and the stillness stretches on for an eternity, and you give him a sad little smile. “But you won’t,” you continue, one of your hands creeping up to wrap gently around his wrist, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “It’s okay, I’m not-I-” you break off, and for the first time in the exchange, you look away briefly. “I know you, Warren. I know what you’re like. It’s okay.” You sound like you’re trying to reassure him-to comfort him, and it feels all wrong, because he can’t quite articulate the exact manner of the tension between the two of you, but he can tell something’s hurting you and he can tell he has something to do with him, and he still can’t bring himself to say anything. He just gazes impassively at you, dissatisfaction blatantly stamped across his face as you sigh lightly, slowly pulling his hand from your shoulder and letting it fall to his side as you step away from him. “Take care of yourself, okay?” you say softly, giving him one last inscrutable smile before walking to the door, closing it quietly behind you and leaving him to try and make sense of all the ways in which this is his fault.
