He holds out the small box with an apologetic smile taunting his lips, threatening to break through the terrifying ice barrier that had imprisoned them both in separate worlds, far away from one another. It’s sort of funny really, that things could have turned so tortured after being perfect all this time. It’s a gashing wound, constantly being prodded, and poked at as though nothing is real, as if it’s only his imagination.
But it’s not his mind playing horrid tricks on him, he knows that. He knows that because if he were living in a dream, rather than this unexplainable dimness, knocking him over as if he’s nothing more than a row of ten pin bowling balls falling into the dark of the gutter as the ball hits him from either side, he would be able to run away, and draw himself from the life that was causing him nothing but anguish. So he hides behind the barricade that is set between them, grimacing at the sight of the boy before him, with startling blue eyes, reminding him of the torment that circulates deep within him, pulling and tugging at his emotions as though they are nothing more than a puppet on strings.
The box is small, like a dead weight in his palm, so he stretches his arm further forward, whispering a muted, ‘take it, please,’ as if the three simple words would dismiss the pain he’d been living for the last year. As if the pain wouldn’t be real if the words were spoken.
But apparently the pain is real and he’s the one suffering through the constant agony that draws him into darkness; a darkness so sinister, and overpowering that he could see nothing more than the man he once (well not once, still) loved and his perfectly tanned skin stretched beautifully before him.
Liam hates it really; he hates the feeling of being suffocated as days continue to pass, and the feeling of hundreds of pins jabbing into him from behind, forcing him further into the moments he never asked to endure. He hates knowing that things were once so damned perfect, and now they’re fluttering away, escaping the foreign darkness that settles over his world, and his world alone.
And maybe, possibly, Louis’ world too.
‘No,’ is all he hears, his grip tightening around the box that still hasn’t left his palm, ‘I can’t take it back. It’s yours.’
But he doesn’t want it to be his, and the feeling of having it tucked away in the depths of his bedside table leaves shivers clawing desperately at his back, almost as if they too understand the pain the small velvet box is causing him. ‘Please.’
Silence settles, leaving each to stare aimlessly at Liam’s palm, unable to escape the jolts that flutter in the pits of their stomach and flourish with uncomfortable flight, as if telling them not to give up. Reminding them there is more than the pure hatred that lingers for far longer than it should have.
But neither can see past the gloom that is spread before them, and it’s nearly impossible to attempt to break the wall of regret that is built solid right between them, banishing them from a touch which once could have been so innocent, so overwhelmingly familiar, yet now could be thought of as nothing more than painful, or even agonizing.
‘Louis I… I can’t keep it,’ Liam says once more, his voice turning into a pained whimper, a stunning melody beneath the tender mood that floods around them, drowning them each in a whirlpool to powerful to escape, ‘I need you to take it back. Please.’
Emotion flows quickly over Louis’ features, and he gives the Wolverhampton boy a look of adherence, his eyes crinkling, reluctant to break the promise he remembers making with Liam years and years ago; unable to walk away from the one thing in his life that leaves fireworks breaking through his skin, and heating him with something so far inside of himself, that even he can’t explain what it is. He sees stars, his mind transforming into a jumble of purple and pink clouds – like sunset – and all he can see before him is Liam; with gorgeous brown eyes, and a smile so alluring that he can’t help but find himself falling quick to the knees every time he spots him.
‘I don’t want it to seem like it was nothing Liam, I want it to mean something more than the end,’ Louis whispers needily; mind racing with colours of the two boy’s past, a past he can’t help but relive as the box is pressed further towards his chest, desperately trying to escape its current possession.
He sees colours of blue, like the ocean they once visited during their first year together, enlightened with rays of sun sparkling against the deep blue shimmer of the sea. And then he sees the purple of the winery Liam had taken him to on their four year anniversary, couples who all were ostensibly in love surrounding them for an entire weekend, as they sipped from champagne flutes, the clinking of glass flooding their ears.
Then he sees darker, more demeaning colours rush through his vision, blocking the sight of Liam desperately passing him the box momentarily, and instead replacing the boy he adores with flashes of emerald, like Harry’s eyes, and soft curls the colour of chocolate. His eyes blink, urgently trying to flee the images, wanting nothing more than to see the yellow, the light that Liam makes him feel inside, not the shadows of a boy who ruined everything.
And despite his pleas to make the moment less dreadful, and escape the ache that is pounding harshly in his chest along with the beats of his heart, the look that is through Liam’s eyes lets him know that it’s over, because Harry with his ongoing torso, and long, slender fingers constructed a barrier between them each a year ago, blocking them both from one another’s worlds until they were nothing more than acquaintances, who had once been something more.
‘It’s our life, in this box,’ Liam murmurs softly, his voice breaking into shards – as if glass – wrapping his fingers gently around the purple of the small box, running his thumb soothingly across the softness the velveteen holds, ‘and I can’t live knowing this is laying beside me in my nightstand every time I go to sleep. I can’t.’
‘So it’s really the end,’ Louis says, almost unable to believe it as he reaches forward, taking the box from the other boy’s hand, and looking upon it with a sense of shame so futile, that he has to take a step back, and raises a sleeve to his eyes, the cerulean glistening with soft tears, trickling a small trail down his cheek. ‘Is this over?’
Liam stares at his feet quietly, palms finally falling free to his sides as they no longer hold promise in their grasp. ‘This has been over for a year,’ he murmurs, voice a tumble of passion, a vortex of emotion, ‘I need to move on.’
So he walks away, his body visibly shuddering as uncontrollable hurt takes him over, and pulls him into a never ending state of obscurity, sending him spiralling backwards into a world of despair, and heartache, as if he is reliving the past all over again, and witnessing his boyfriend cuddling another on the floor, pressing into a boy who wasn’t himself with whimpers parting through his lips, back arching from the ground.
Because over time, Liam learns how there is time for departure, even when there is no place to go.
