bloom. : a fireafy fic

Chapter Five

The moonlight crept in through the curtains, reflecting off of Leafy's skin. Firey watched his girlfriend's bare back, her slow breathing moving her shoulders up and down. She breathed slower while she was asleep. She was much calmer. More beautiful.

Recently, she had been looking very worried.

Firey didn't know how to address her change in personality, and simply chose to ignore it. He might make the issue worse anyway.

The past couple of hours happened so fast. He wasn't sure how he got her in bed with him. He wasn't sure how he managed to let him take off her clothes. He wasn't sure how he managed to get himself to touch her, just. like. that.

But he did.

And as he stared at her sleeping form, he didn't want to go to the party anymore. He wanted to stay right there with her, treasuring her.

Yet, deep down, Firey knew that he would somehow, in some way, be disappointed again. This felt like leading him on. He didn't know how to talk to her, and she was making no effort to compensate for him.

He quietly slipped out of bed, taking extra caution not to wake Leafy from her slumber. He pulled on some clothes from the closet, keeping in mind to work slowly and quietly.

He was leaving. He was leaving her behind for a fucking party, and he wasn't telling her he was leaving. A pang of guilt nearly tore his heart in half.

Why was he doing this? Why did he feel so desperate to do this? What was he trying to prove?

He hadn't found the answers to his questions by the time he walked out the door.

He didn't have any answers as he walked to Match and Pencil's penthouse, hugging himself through the frigid air.

He chose a simpler outlet; he just decided not to think about it.

But the second he stepped into the penthouse, the life of the party shot him in the face. Everyone was so happy. Everyone had a friend, or a lover, or a confidant.

His heart yearned for Leafy. He wanted to go back home. He wanted to slide back into bed, tuck Leafy under his chin, and keep her safe.

His feet carried him elsewhere. Straight to the bar.

Pencil was bartending once again. "Firey!" Her face erupted into a large, toothy smile. "Long time no see! It's good to see you're alive!"

"Yeah, hi uh-" Firey gave a quick smile and a curt nod. "Give me the strongest shit you have and double the dose."

Pencil pursed her lips and stared at the counter before pouring about two shots worth of tequila into a glass.

She inspected it for a moment before sliding the glass over towards him.

The ginger downed it instantly.

"Want me to take that for you?" a voice sounded next to him.

Pen was standing next to him, carrying a black plastic platter.

"Yeah sure," Firey explained. He handed over his empty glass. "What's with the platter? And the crazy outfit?"

"Oh," Pen looked down at himself. "Pencil hired me as a butler for the night. I get paid super well!"

Firey squinted at Pen. "Dude, how many jobs do you have right now? I saw you on a park bench!"

"Too many," Pen grumbled. "Anything to pay off my debt."

He balanced Firey's glass on his platter and ducked into the crowd.

Firey called for another glass. And another.

The drunker he got, the less he remembered. Time moved slower and faster.

He called for another glass.

He discovered he made friends very easily.

As he sipped on his sixth? seventh? glass, he found out he was a great dancer.

He staggered over to the bar for another. Pencil gave him water.

He shrugged and gulped it anyway.

The alcohol in his bloodstream gave him a nasty amount of confidence. His newfound friends laughed at his charisma.

He couldn't even see their faces clearly. The whirl of life, the life of the party had overtaken him.

When there had originally been a demon on one shoulder and an angel on the other, they were now merely people. Two drunk people who just pushed him further into trashing his body with alcoholic beverages. He wasn't sure if Pencil was still giving him water, so he chose to no longer trust her. He stole abandoned drinks off of tables and gulped them down selfishly, desperate to live without worry.

Orange eyes landed on Match, who was casually talking to a few people in the living room. He abandoned his friends, pushing them aside, and proceeded forward in his drunken stupor.

"Match," he drawled lazily. The redhead turned towards him, cocking an eyebrow. She didn't look surprised to see him. For some reason, it felt like she had expected to see him. If he were sober, this would have been unnerving, but now, he couldn't care.

"Firey," she greeted him. Her red hair reflected the multicolored LED lights around the penthouse. It looked as if shadows were dancing on her. "How have you been?"

"Totally splendid," he slurred. The reply felt automatic. He wasn't sure if he was lying or telling the truth, but found no ability within him to think about it. He didn't want to think about it. "Thanks for the party or something."

"No problem," Match said, smiling with only her eyes. "How are you and Leafy?"

Firey just stared at her, his pupils dilated to the point where the orange in his eyes were no longer seen. Just black, only the black voids of his pupils. The fire of his irises was replaced with an abyss, full of nothingness.

Match looked back at him. He was aware of how much he looked like a predator at the moment. She didn't look scared, however. She looked something else. And it bothered him. He felt himself stepping forward.

He could no longer realize what he was doing. Everything was a cloudy, dreamy haze.

He vaguely realized he could smell her scent. Her skin was soft. He didn't know how he figured this out.

And after that, he had no recollection of anything.