gt oneshots

fifteen years

"I didn't think you'd come back."
     The way he says it makes me think he's been waiting here for decades, standing on this very ledge and staring out into the distance, squinting against the sun as it dips under the horizon. It burns orange, setting the sky on fire. Our sky. The one we'd watch for hours, sitting together on this ledge. But nights like those felt lifetimes away now.
     For just a second, that orange light catches on his face and it's like I never left. But then it fades, and we're strangers again. The inches between us feel like miles, and his familiar grey eyes don't look so familiar anymore.
     "It's been fifteen years, Cal." The way he says it almost makes it sound painful. He waited fifteen years for me.
     "I know," I whisper, dropping his gaze. "I know."
     Fifteen years ago, I left this place. Fifteen years ago, I left him, right after I made him promise to meet me here every night.
     And I never forgave myself for it, not really. But after everything that happened, I couldn't stay here. Even if it meant hurting him like this. It would have driven me insane to stay. The guilt still stirs in my gut sometimes. It's eating me up from the inside out, excruciatingly slowly. That guilt feeds off of me like a parasite.
     "I thought you were dead," he says, and those eyes of his are sad now. He was angry before. Now he just looks wounded. Tired. Hurt. I feel a rough fingertip brush my side and I flinch away from it like it's red hot. Fifteen years ago I would've let him touch me. Fifteen years ago I wouldn't have flinched like that.
     "James," I say, but he pulls his hand back and pushes it through his hair, lifting up the mess of curls that usually sits over his bad eye. I glance at it for a second. A long, thin scar starts at his temple and tears across that eye, stopping at the edge of his brow.
     I missed his face. I missed his voice, soft but rough. I missed his hands around me. I missed him so much.
     But that's selfish. Because I'm the one who left. I'm the one who put that expression on his face, that wounded animal look. I'm the one who put that betrayal in his stormy eyes. I'm the one who hurt him.
     Before I give it a second thought, I hold my hand out to him. His eyes flicker between my outstretched arm and my face, like he's considering whether or not he wants to take my hand or kill me for coming back.
     To be honest, if I were him, I would've chosen the latter. But instead he closes his fingertips around my hand and holds it. It's been fifteen years since I've felt his hand in mine. Fifteen years since we stood on this ledge together, staring up into the sky as it faded from orange to purple. While he was watching the stars, I used to watch his eyes instead. They were brighter than stars anyway. Prettier.
     "Why are you here?" He says, letting go of my hand. I want to reach out to him, feel his fingers around me. But I don't. I can't.
     "I don't really have an answer for that."
     "Oh, really? You had fifteen years to think of one, Cal."
     His words are like poison. I know he wants to hurt me. He wants to make me feel how I made him feel. And looking up into his dark eyes, I can't blame him for that. But he was always the sensible one. The good one. The smart one.
     "You already know why I left," I say, which probably isn't the response he deserves. But it's the only one I've got to give.
     "Because of Jack?" His brows shoot up. I don't say anything, and he frowns.
     "It wasn't your fault," he says. His hands are shaking and I want to reach out and steady them.
     "Then whose fault was it?" I don't realize I'm yelling until I see him flinch.
     "Not everything is about you, Cal," he spits. "My brother died ten years ago, and all you can do is blame yourself for it."
     I want to say something, but I can't. I just keep thinking back to that day on the bridge. We'd gone there a hundred times before, but this time it was different. Because we'd brought Jack.
    Jack was James's little brother. His annoying little brother, who was constantly begging to come out with us while we were going downtown. And that day, we'd let him.
     Which was our first mistake. Our second mistake was deciding to play a nasty trick on him. A nasty trick which got him killed.
     I still can't get the memory of it out of my head. Sometimes I see it when I close my eyes, or when I'm trying to fall asleep. It hits me and I feel numb right after.
     His body, limp and twisted on the tracks below the bridge. No one could survive a fall like that. And Jack sure as hell didn't.
     "We were kids," James says, and I jump. When I look at him, he's crying. I am too.
     "We were just stupid kids. None of us meant for it to happen, Cal. It just did. And now we have to live with it." His hands are shaking, and when he raises one toward me, I take his finger between my own hands and try to let out a breath that doesn't turn into a shaky sob.
     "I needed you, and you left. For fifteen goddamn years, Cal. Five years after he died." He's looking at me now, and those stormy eyes dig into me like daggers. "But stop saying it was your fault, because we both did it." His voice is sharp, but quiet now. "We were nine. We didn't know any better."
     I don't let go of his finger, just grasp onto it tightly and shut my eyes against the blazing sun. I feel him move a little closer. Neither of us says anything, and I'm grateful for it because I can hardly breathe as it is.
     Finally I break the silence, clutching his finger a little tighter. "I missed you," I sob. "I missed you so fucking much."
     His eyes are shut. There's tears on his cheeks.
     "I missed you too."