A Train Ride Home

Memories Part 1 Chapter 3

New story part!!! Sorry it's taken so long, writers block :/

As always I don't own any of the fairy tail characters.

I may have kinda created my own version of where Sabertooth is... And gave Sting a hobby... Okay maybe I took this and ran with it... Oh well.

As always, enjoy!
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"Fuck," he swore, punching the wall. Why hadn't he seen it earlier, why was he always so stupid and impulsive. Too drunk to realize what was right in front of him. He wanted to scream, to yell at the unfairness of it all but he knew it would do no good, it wouldn't bring Rogue back. Laying his head on the table, he sulked, thinking about what he had missed out on. That shy smile, the way his dark hair fell across his eyes. How his face lit up at the sight of one of Sting's pastries. No, he hadn't done that in a while. Not since joining the guild. Sabertooth was not the place for teacakes and éclairs, crème brûlée and succulent tarts loaded with fresh picked fruits. He hadn't so much as touched a baking utensil since they had killed their dragon parents. His love for sweet treats had died with them. The pair ate at the guild and on the road, Rogue providing the rest. The shadow dragon slayer had always been the better chef of the two. Still, he couldn't help but remember the look of pure bliss painting his features as he took the first bite of the blond's latest creation. The hours of work finally paid off, with a single smile. Sting longed to see that smile once more, those crimson eyes bright with excitement. Rising from the table, he shuffled into the kitchen and began to root through the cabinets, searching for pans he had left behind long ago. Hidden deep within the cupboard over the oven, the white mage found a sealed container. Pulling it out, he stepped off the chair and set it on the kitchen table. Once done, the blond took off the lid and started rooting through its contents. All his pots, pans, tins, whisks, measuring cups, spatulas, piping bags, they all were there, in perfect condition. Each piece had been delicately wrapped in cloth, as not to damage anything. The wooden spoons had been oiled, the bowls washed and polished, everything shone like new, waiting for the white mage to get to work. It was him. He had kept all of this, even when Sting had discarded them, discarded his life, discarded him. And the white dragon slayer could not thank him enough. He had one shot to get Rogue back, and he wasn't going to screw up a second time.
"Thank you," he whispered, starting to unravel his materials. "Thank you."
***
He toyed nervously with the ribbon as he walked, every possible thing that could go wrong running through his mind. What if he wasn't there? What if he didn't forgive him? What if, after years of disregard, he no longer knew him? Shaking his head, he trudged on. He couldn't think like that, he wouldn't. The path soon ended, leaving the boy at a clearing overlooking a lake. A weeping willow bended over the water, providing shade from the sun and a place to sit. From its branches you could see the sun set over the city, radiant reds, oranges, and purples streaking the sky. Rogue sat alone near the trunk, his dark hair swaying in the breeze. It was he who had found this spot, a small-secluded area to escape the responsibilities of life.
"Hey," Sting called, his voice barely above a whisper. He stood a couple feet behind, unsure of what to do. Rogue turned, his crimson eyes soft with sadness. Red markings betrayed the tears that had fallen. Without a word, he gestured for the other to come sit. Setting the box down next to him, the white dragon slayer carefully lowered himself to the ground; scared any sudden movement might scare him off. They sat in silence for a time, watching the sun sink lower and lower into the sky. As it neared the skyline, it darkened to a deep orange, staining the blue sky reddish hues. Gathering his courage, the blond picked up the box and set it gently in the others lap, gesturing for him to open it. Rogue looked skeptical, but untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside sat a fresh strawberry tart glistening orange in the setting sun, surrounded by petit fours. His favorite. The dark mage looked on in disbelief, delicately touching a finger to the teacakes, as if to make sure they were real.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I'm still an ass, I know this can't make up for what I've done or what I've put you through but please. I love you. I know it's probably too late and you don't have to like me, but please, at least let me make it up to you," he said, toying with bits of grass. Before he could register what was happening, a pair of soft lips caught his in a kiss.
"It's okay," Rogue murmured, pulling away. "You're still an ass for what you did, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."
"I love you too." He could see the light in his eyes, that look of bliss he had missed so much. Gathering the shadow dragon slayer's hand in his own, they looked on as the sun set over the city, and in that moment he decided that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.
"Sting?" Jolted from his thoughts, the blond turned to find a concerned looking Rogue.
"You okay?" the dark mage asked.
"Fine," he replied, smiling softly to himself. "Just remembering the first time we kissed." The other turned almost as scarlet as his eyes, and he couldn't help but laugh.
"You know you love me."
"I still haven't forgiven you for being an ass."
"Maybe this'll help," Sting said, pulling him into a kiss. The dark mage turned a whole new shade of scarlet, causing his boyfriend to laugh and grab his hand. As he trailed behind the white dragon slayer, only connected by a hand, he knew he wouldn't change it for the world.