𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀. rocket raccoon

【 I N T R U D E R】

CHAPTER 3

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OMNISCIENT

  Rocket got her to move from the couch, standing on her own two feet before begrudgingly moving to the bed. He gave the painful truth of the argument that the bed was comfier than the couch. [Y/n] obliged, unable to bear the pain in her lower back anymore. If the couch hadn't lost some of its stuffing, she could have sworn it was made of rocks. 

  The beds at the Kyln were better than this couch. 

  In the room, [Y/n] took a second to gaze around. She hadn't slept here since the nightmares, afraid that during one of her spasms, she would accidentally hurt her significant opposite. It often happened to be part of her nightmares, leading her down such a road where she couldn't turn back.  

  Rocket walked over to the bedside table, placing the Walkman on a stand. Music still echoed from the small device, turned down to a low tune. A sweet, melancholy tune. Supposed to help her, soothe her aching muscles, and move her mind away from the past. Everything that happened was all too much for her to handle.

  Her head exploded when she found out. Her heart successfully ripped itself from her chest. From that day forth, she hasn't been the same. 

  Except for minor moments, when she gives the occasional sarcastic comment, or challenges people she knows she won't win against. Knowhere doesn't usually have fights anymore. The occasional quarrel here or there is enough. 

  ''He was drunk again.'' It wasn't a question, but an observation.

  Turning over his shoulder, Rocket watched as she sat on the opposite edge of the bed. Her figure slumped over her paws. His features furrowed downward. ''Yeah.'' He answered, backing up her observation. ''Passed out at the bar. Bastard.'' 

  He purposefully left out the part about Quill shouting at him while pointing an accusing finger. If her mood wasn't good now, it wouldn't have been any better if Rocket had shared. Quill wasn't on the best of terms with everyone at the moment. Much like [Y/n]. But Rocket felt a short sense of pride when she hadn't gone and gotten herself shitfaced drunk like the Terran. 

  Then they all would've died. 

  [Y/n] fell back against the bed, arms raising to rest against her forehead. The ceiling was plain and cracked. One large crack met one corner of the room to the other. The words from the song currently playing floated around in her head. Rocket's ears swiveled to the bed, her words were mumbled but she sang the song. 

  The lyrics flowed off her tongue. 

  ''Every time I think about it..'' Her arms fell to the sides. ''I wanna cry.''

  As she wallowed with the lyrics, Rocket removed several items from his pockets. A rectangle with a white panel was the item currently grasped in his paw. His thumb barely swiped over the unmarked keypad, before he thought against it and brought it back into his pocket. 

  She still sang with the song, occasionally raising and lowering a few volumes with the rhythm. Her singing was usually immaculate, the songs imbedded in her head stayed plastered. Quill played them endlessly before Gamora passed. 

  When Quill would sing, she would sing. It was a catchy feeling. By heart, both of them knew the lyrics, the tune, and certain riffs that proved difficult for others but a breeze for them. Sometimes, Quill pretended to play a random instrument in thin air, while [Y/n] continued with the singing portion. 

  Her talent was natural, Rocket knew so. She didn't sing much now. When she did, they sounded a tad bland and lacked character. He didn't know just how much he missed it until it was gone. 

  ''But I tell myself that I was doin' alright.''

  He turned away. Side-tracked by watching her. Even in her deepest moments, at the bottom of the barrel, she still looked flawless. Tired eyes fluttered closed, reaching behind to grasp the collar of his fitted jacket and pull it over his head at an agonizing pace. 

  [Y/n] was turned away, she kept singing with what remained of her shattered heart. 

  ''There's nothin' left to do at night. ''

  How beautiful it was. Her voice, her relaxation. For once, she didn't seem nervous. She lay comfortably on the bed and thick comforters stitched together with different sets of fabrics instead of worrying about her reoccurring nightmares. Dreams of a bad state, cursing those brought down on them. 

  Rocket couldn't resist. Like a siren to pirates, if he knew what both of those were. It was impossible to not turn around and stare. A beautiful tune matched the beautiful figure before him. Her arms were cast askew at her sides, her tail hanging loosely off the edge of the wooden-framed bed. Unmade, haven't been tampered with since that very morning. 

   It took time for Rocket to come to his senses. Days, weeks, months, years. He didn't know what the feeling was in his chest. The random bursts of warmth when she smiled, the sudden jolts of aggravation when someone gave her a harsh comment, whether she knew it or not. The beating of his heart in his tiny chest when she saw her unscathed after a time apart. 

  As Quill described, it was love. He just had to get through the stage of denial to see that. Ever since the Kyln, Rocket has felt the same for her. His feelings growing the more she's around. He cursed himself for it and gave himself silent threats to stop caring for her. It wasn't that simple. 

  He fell. And he fell hard. 

  Maybe she felt the same. Does she get a little pitter-patter in her chest from the exaggerated beating of her heart when he's around? Does her mind explode over the simplest things he does? Does she get sudden jolts of aggravation when someone says something harsh to him? How about the sudden calmness he felt when she came out without a scratch, does she get that, too?

  Rocket never knew and he never asked. Quill said she did, but that was forever ago. When he was sober and knew what he was talking about. 

  The lump in his throat grew ever bigger, urging him to hold back his words. He would seem foolish. Make a mockery of himself as he has done in the past, something he wasn't willing to relive. Especially with her. 

  The sky for her had been dark. Maybe Rocket was as much of a light to her as she was to him? Suddenly, Rocket felt poetic. Like the songs she listened to with Quill. Words about a beautiful girl and a guy who is seemingly too far from her to touch. Rocket was close to her, less than an arm's length. 

  Would they be begging to be in his position? Should he feel pride to be in such a position, outgoing every one of those who Quill looks up to? Rocket couldn't be sure, but that's how he felt nonetheless.  

  It's been too long. Too long without the truth of how he felt. It was hard to admit it to himself, even harder to form the words to speak. With a heavy sigh, swallowing down whatever kept him from speaking, he fully turned to her distraught figure. Distraught but still divine. 

  She stopped momentarily, her head forcing itself against the bed backward to see Rocket from an upside-down point of view. She looked ridiculous, so much so that Rocket smiled and hitched back a chuckle. His worries dimmed. Such a creature wouldn't boast about his humiliation, spreading word to everyone about how foolish he seemed. 

  She would praise him. That's what it came to be. 

  ''Look, I-''

  Rockets' soon-to-be-speech had been halted at the worst moment. The uprising, when everything was stacked on only a few words before reaching the climax. The turning point was the most exciting yet stressful bit. 

  The window crashed in on itself, a man flying through at an ungodly speed. 

  ''Rocket!''

• • •

Crazy on You by Heart

Can't Take My Eyes off You by Frankie Valli