"sy, you dont understand. i would forfeit a 25 second race lead if it meant i got to talk to you again."
. . .
"oh."
in which. . .
sylas comes back into oscar's life, all rippling muscle and perfect grace, and oscar no longer knows what to do with...
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This is our last goodbye I hate to feel the love between us die But it's over Just hear this and then I'll go You gave me more to live for More than you'll ever know
last goodbye • jeff buckley
PLUNGE Volume 0.2 Ink
Mar 30th, 2020
3 months and some days after Sylas Bailey's infamous diving accident, Oscar Piastri arrived at his West London flat and found an off-white envelope resting on his dining room table. He had just arrived home from having dinner with a friend and was planning on calling Sylas, whom he had not seen since early the previous morning, to make visitation plans for the next day.
The envelope had Oscar's name scrawled in inky letters in handwriting, which he immediately recognized as that of his British best friend's.
With a frown upon his face and his phone already poised to call Sylas, he set down his bags and closed the door, locking it behind his back. He then approached the table with near tangible caution, actively willing away the sick feeling deep in his stomach. He picked up the envelope, held it for a long moment, then walked into his kitchen and carefully cut the letter open with a knife.
Disregarding his need for delicacy, he pulled the paper out and unfolded it with rushed hands, abandoning the envelope on his kitchen counter. It was only when he read the first few lines that he stopped fidgeting and went perfectly still, eyes widening with every word they ran over.
Oh no. No, no, no, no.
The panic written on his face was only exemplified when he finished his reading and turned over the paper a few times, trying with growing desperation to discover anything that could dismiss the whole thing as a prank or even a dream. Upon finding nothing of the sort, he cast the paper aside and took three large strides to where his phone was still sitting on the dining room table. His fingers felt large and bumbling as they tried to call Sylas, taking a few unnecessary detours along the way.
And yet, even when he did finally call the Brit, even when he did finally have the chance to run back through the letter while the phone rang in his ear, like anything would change the second time around, there was no answer.
There was no answer the first time, even though the phone call definitely rang on the other end. Then there was no answer the second time, or the third time. And even though a small piece of his heart chipped and shattered each time his phone told him "Sy🖇️" was unavailable, he kept calling. As long as it kept ringing, he kept calling.
That ended up being 26 times. 26 calls until it started only ringing once then going to voicemail. The sound of Sylas' voice was enough to have Oscar actually break down, letting out every tear he had been holding inside as he tried to send a text, tried to confirm what he already knew. He sank against the counter, phone blurry in his grasp and pressed send.
