Beyblade Oneshots and Imagines

Goodbye Home [Enrique Giancarlo]

you could think i was dead and i wouldn't be surprised. i wrote this for enrique but its not that specific.

angst

unedited

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"Hey!"

You call me with that melodious voice. I smile at the way my name rolls from your tongue. It gives me butterflies. Your lips turn up when you see me smile. Seeing your eyes twinkle is enough to make my day, turn my mood 180.

"This seat taken?"

I shiver and pull my sleeves down, trying to cover the goosebumps on my arms. You are unaware as you sit beside me, your knee pressing against my thigh, your gaze on me. Your arm is hanging behind my chair, brushing against the nape of my neck, so suddenly. You don't do anything. You just watch me so fondly, like I am the whole world; a piece of art for you.

"Bored?"

You appear at the most perfect times. You read me like I am the holiest scripture. You stand there, before me, almost in my reach. Almost. But I am satisfied watching you enact your funniest stories. I am laughing, my stomach hurts. I hear every word, every chuckle, every time you groan. You are laughing, words barely forming. Your hair is like gold under the sun and each freckle on your face visible. Your eyes are like two brilliant sapphire stones.

I am convinced you are holy. Maybe, you're an angel descended just to give me a slice of heaven. Or a forgotten God of a pantheon, enriching my life.

"I am famished! Got something, love?"

I freeze. Love. It's a dangerous word. A risky word. But I am too gone to care. Your smile is infectious as you examine the lunch. You pull me in a hug. You say you love me. I shouldn't hold you to it. It is, of course, because I am your best friend. Because I care for you. Yet I hold on to it, anyway.

"Do you have a partner for the dance? Will you come with me?"

You take the seat in front of me, turning it around, leaning on it. You are confused, I can see it, clear as a day. You could take any girl you wanted to the dance. But then you'd be tied to her – one person. That's not how you live your life. You are an aloof soul with no ties. I should be aware of it.

And yet you've asked me. Of course, I wouldn't hold you back from having your fun. I am your best friend, after all. And that's what friends do, right? Help each other. So, I swallow the feeling of doubt. I say yes in a heartbeat.

"You look pretty, love. So pretty. I—"

I should push you back. You're wasted. You're heartbroken, probably. But you can't talk – that's how intoxicated you are. All you do is hold me by the waist and press me against my bedroom wall. Your lips – they feel so soft, so hot against mine. Your hands aren't rough or calloused, I realize when you use them to pin me there. There's no time for you to explain, but you're shaking like a leaf.

I can push you back. I know you'd listen. I know a sober you would want to be pushed back. I am not who you like.

But I have craved this for long. I am too selfish, too gone, too broken and too much of a coward to say no.

I kiss you back, helping myself to the bottle of tequila throughout the night. I won't remember this tomorrow. Tonight, I'll let myself go with the flow. Tonight, I let the guilt peel off of me like the dress you take off of me.

"I am sorry for that day, love. I was so drunk; I didn't realize I was acting on my physical impulses. I'll never take your benefit. Will never touch you, unless that's what you ask of me."