Indefinitely [dilliam/darkstache] [one-shot]

Goodbye for now, love.

"I...came to say goodbye."
You turn on your heel, and the helpless need to run into his arms floods your system. But you hold yourself; you hold yourself so still it hurts. It hurts to notice how misty his picture-perfect, dark-chocolate eyes are; hurts to see the glimmer of fresh tears, swimming about as though fish in a somber sea, making those eyes far too shiny, far too bright.
Of course William is going off to war. Of course he's going off to war and your not. Your staying because you have so much potential, so you shouldn't waste it on fighting a war! In fact, I heard you were thinking of running for mayor, or something within similar distinctness.

"Ah," you say, your lips contorting into a tight smile. "I see."

William clears his throat. He's here, standing at the doors of your office. But he won't be for very long. No. He has to leave soon; he'll be off, fighting the enemy whilst you'll be here. Attempting to find something for yourself. Law seems the best approach, you just...aren't certain which tree to climb; which branch to hold onto.

"I...I'm sorry, Dames." His words come out quieter than the deathly silence that captivates the room.
You clear your throat. "Nothing to be sorry about here, William. You're fighting for this country; you're fighting for the good of each citizen of our home."
His gaze falls to the floor. It seems that your words weren't encouragement, as you'd meant them. You gulp, take a shaky breath, and lean back against the edge of your desk. He's so far; soon, he'll be farther.

"Well, William, it's been a pleasure," you murmur; you barely manage to keep together. You're splitting at the seams; don't show him. He'll worry if he knows you cannot get a grip.
William chuckles. "You say that as if I'm not coming back!"
Your heart skips a beat. Not coming back. William, realizing what he's just said, falls back into a disheartening silence.
"Well." You clear your throat, at an attempt to free yourself from the toxic tension. "Perhaps you won't."

He opens his mouth, as though to object, his brows furrowed, before his lips fall closed. You turn away, unable to look at him any longer. The soft ticking of the great grandfather clock is the only sound to be heard within the otherwise silent office. Your office. Your office that, now, feels much more of a prison.

"I'll...I'll make sure to write. When I can." William. His words throw a swift punch at your heart.
"And I'll write back. When I can."
You don't have to look at him to know. To know he's smiling; smiling and backing away as he readies himself to leave. You hear it. Hear his smile. Hear his shuffling as he gathers his things. And suddenly, you can't take it anymore. You can't take the tension; the toxicity in the air.

"Before you go, William," you say, "I have something I want to give you." You face him again. He freezes, before, steadily, turning back around to face you.
He gulps, smiles, and nods. "You do? Well, then. What is it?"

It feels as though time has slowed; slowed to a practical stop as you make your way over to him. But, eventually, you're there, standing in front of him. And then, finally, it happens; an explosion of color; a vibrant, fiery cyan behind your eyelids, bursting forth; a firework. It goes as quick as it came. The warmth is gone, and your backing away, your face flushed beet red.
William stares at you. Stares at you with those wondrously beautiful chocolate eyes. You shake your head; your gaze flicks to the ground, to your raven dress shoes. You cannot bear his stare.

"I...I'm sorry, I, I shouldn't of-" you start, only to be interrupted by the return of that warmth; the return of that color, flickering into your gaze, only, this time, it's joined by a fluorescent taffy.
After what feels to be an eternity; an eternity of bliss, of love, of joy, of long overdue emotions that've been pent up, bottled away for much too long; the colors fade as you break off. Your lungs scream for oxygen; your heart pounds pleadingly at your ribcage.
Your foreheads rest against one another; he's gazing into the pools of sea within your eyes. William smiles. A smile worthy of a thousand suns; worthy of a million medals.

"Everything's going to hurt so much more now, you know," he murmurs.
You chuckle. "Of course it is. Although, I'm certain that, either way, the pain would've been unbearable, even without the kiss."
"Yes. Yes, it would've. But at least, I've got something to look forward to once I return."
You flush, adverting your gaze from his. He chuckles, before kissing along your cheeks; along your nose; along your jaw. You giggle; he peers at you, his brow cocked.

Clearing your throat, you explain, "Your tickling me with each kiss, you know."
William's eyes widen, glinting with surprise, before the realization settles in, and he laughs joyously; his mustache, in need of a dire trimming, is the criminal at charge.

And, despite everything; William heading off to war; your sister, Celine, busy with the supernatural, the paranormal, and losing money due to it; Markus, you're dear friend since you were nothing but a babe, far too busy to even chat, what with the movie he's filming; despite everything, this moment still remains utterly flawless; indefinitely perfect.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"I came to say goodbye."
You turn on your heel, and the helpless need to sprint over and throw your arms about him; pull him into you and bury yourself within his sea of coiling raven hairs; floods your system. But you hold yourself. You hold yourself so still, it hurts; hurts your heart. A knife colliding with the tender organ; snapping through the flesh till all that remains is mere scrap; fodder.
Of course Dark, your dearest Darkling, is going on a business trip, far, far out of town, across the sea, to make a deal with the Septic's. Of course you aren't going to Brighton; of course your staying here, at home, without him, whilst he goes off to make amends of some kind.

"Oh," you reply, the corners of your mouth raising into a tight-lipped smile. "I see."

Dark takes a breath, straightens out his tie. He's standing at the doors of your shared bedroom; he's here, he's here but he has to leave soon. Far too soon, in your opinion. You aren't quite sure what you'll do with yourself whilst he's gone. Gone, making amends with the glitch for some peculiar reason or another.

"I...I'm sorry, Wil." His heterochromic gaze dips to the floor as he shifts uncomfortably. His words are quiet; quieter than roadkill. You hear your heart shattering into a million glass shards; feel it collapsing into a hundred billion pinpricks of a once lovingly adorned mirror.
You smile weakly. "Nothin' for you to apologize for, Darky. You're trying to...to make things right between us and the Septic's."

The space between the two of you hurts; physically and mentally. Tears pound at the backs of your eyes; they wish to spill freely; a waterfall of salt, cascading down your cheeks, to the carpeted floor.
And suddenly, everything's too much. And he knows. You know he knows because his aura, his cyan and cherry aura, flares up; the cyan overtakes the harsh cherry-red, leaving only a faint line of the usually ever-dominant color.

He's in front of you; wrapping himself about you; fireworks bubble up, before firing off into the cyan, the cherry, and a harsh taffy. A chill passes through you; winds its way down your spine. And then it fades, quick as it came. You gaze at Dark. You watch as he buries his face into your chest; watch as he squeezes you meekly, his arms wrapped about you.

"I don't have to leave, you know." His voice is muffled.
You shake your head. "No. You should go."
Dark sighs and lifts his head up, to look at you. His eyes sparkle. "What am I going to do with you, Wilford?"
You chuckle, and say, "Leave me here. I'll...I'll be alright."
Sighing, yet again, Dark leans up and pecks you on the lips before releasing you from his frigid hold and turning on his heel. He saunters out of the room, but not before glancing back one last time, a weak smile on his own, pale lips.

And, despite everything, the moment remains; sticks with you as an endearing memory, something to hold, to cherish; something that reminds you of something similar happening once, long ago, in a, now, forgotten time what with how time has played its tricks on you; despite everything, such a moment remains utterly flawless; indefinitely perfect.