seasons. : a fireafy fic

chapter twenty

(a/n: continuing my love of making cursed ships)

After that night, things were much too different for Leafy's liking.

Too many things had gone wrong between the two of them, and conversations were no longer the same.

Every time they met up, Firey could no longer look her in the eyes.

Leafy never knew what to say to him.

The comfort they once felt between each other had sunken into a pit of awkwardness, sorrow, and guilt. Neither one of them were brave enough to bring up the circumstances of their dynamic, at least not yet.

And once again, that was the case today.

She watched his actions carefully in the cafe as he prodded the cup of hot chocolate in front of him miserably. He didn't look like he wanted to be here. His eyes were downcast, the flame of his eyes were dull, like nearly extinguished embers.

He looked up, and noticed her regarding him.

He clicked his tongue and pressed his lips into a tight line. He looked back at his cup for a few heartbeats before looking back up again, his expression tired and uncertain.

"Snowball said you should get checked for Seasonal Affective Disorder," he told her, his voice quiet.

Right, psychology major Snowball. This was pretty off topic, but she chose not to bring that up in conversation.

"Maybe," she replied. It would explain her symptoms of sadness, stress, and irritation during the colder months, but she didn't have a reason for a diagnosis. Not yet, at least.

Firey didn't say anything else. He turned away, and started watching the people in the window walk by, rushing to get out of the coldness of the snow.

She watched him carefully as he did this, his eyes flickering between the people walking by. The steady rise and fall of his body as he breathed. The ever so subtle glints of the diamonds on his earrings, catching the light as he moved with the life of his body.

This was killing her.

She needed to know if this was fixable.

"Firey," she began, her breath hitching in her throat. She fidgeted with the black mittens covering her chilly hands, her own cup of hot chocolate forgotten next to her.

He slowly turned his attention away from the scene of the window before meeting her eyes.

The boy in front of her said nothing, as he always did, and as she was familiar with.

She didn't know what to say.

Between his expectant gaze and her own beating heart, her mind rushed to look for a way to articulate what was going on.

Unfortunately, her grasps for the right words seemed fruitless, and she sat in front of him, watching him, her face full of dismay.

Firey offered no help. He seemed to also be struggling with his own mysterious thoughts, unable, or unwilling, to verbalize what he wanted to know and what she wanted to answer.

It was her turn to look outside, now.

The snow outside was not beautiful. Compared to its pure white form only days before, from when it was freshly fallen, the snow now was dull with the gray of dirt and gravel. Craters from the footsteps of pedestrians littered across the surface of the cold, white blanket, interrupting the perfect cleanness with holes of dirt.

She looked back towards Firey, who was still looking at her.

"What happened to us?" Her voice was faint, almost nonexistent with the sounds of the cafe. They were infinite, once. Now, they were filled with craters similar to the snowdrifts outside.