Pink Floyd Preferences+Imagines

Syd Barrett #1

Hello, welcome to my Pink Floyd imagines and preferences book. This is the first time I've ever written something and published it so I hope it isn't too terrible. Anyways I'll try to update regularly and if you have an idea requests are open. This turned out a bit sadder than I'd anticipated. 

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Never before had you felt so lost in your own home. The photos on the wall didn't feel like your own, the clothes on your back felt unfamiliar, and the scent in the kitchen was all wrong that morning. Nothing had been right for a while. Syd had floated only further and further away and you slept each night coated in fear of the day he'd be gone completely. He'd lay beside you and look at the ceiling in the darkness as though there was something there that you couldn't see. It scared you. That look scared you. This horrible emptiness terrified you.

He watched you over the breakfast table with that stupid blank look in his eyes that you had grown to detest. He didn't see you, he only looked through you. Yet your love for him was still strangling you. Crumbs from his toast dotted his shirt and a smudge of jam sat in the corner of his mouth. His stubble had begun to grow out quite a bit and his dark hair had gotten out of control. You wanted to reach out and clean him up, but in the past he'd flinched at your unexpected touches.

"What shall we do today?" you asked. He'd grown to be a bit of a hermit in the months since his departure from Pink Floyd, so every single day you did your best to occupy him in some way. Your attempts seemed to be fruitless. You'd leave him with chores and activities while you were at work and you'd return home to find him exactly where you'd left him with nothing done. He was so depressed and you felt so helpless.

All he did in reply was shrug.

"Well why don't I set up your easel for you?" you offered him. He shook his head. A slow silence crept in then. It wrapped itself around the two of you. Both you and Syd just looking at eachother like you were strangers, like this was a chance encounter on a train or in a cafe.

"Can we listen to music?" he asked suddenly. You couldn't help the wide grin that overcame you as you nodded rapidly at him. Quickly you rose from your seat to turn on the radio for him.

"What sort of music would you like?" you questioned, your fingers resting on the dial awaiting his request for a station.

"The sort that makes you happy," Syd replied absentmindedly. You glanced back to see him looking out the window with his chin resting in his palm, the early morning sunlight illuminating his perfect face. You hummed to yourself as you began to spin through the stations finally landing on one of your favorites. They played mostly string and woodwind music and you found it to be exceptionally relaxing. Maybe it was just what Syd needed on his gloomy morning.

They were playing a piece that consisted of flutes and a harp. It was perfectly whimsical.

"This is very nice," he commented with a slight nod. You leaned back against the countertop and just watched him. He was really there. For a second you even saw the fumbly sixteen year old boy that you'd met while looking for your cat that fateful February afternoon. You were reminded of every moment that led to this one. The midnight I love you's, the hushed voices hiding from snooping parents, the days spent lying in the sunny park together, the gigs in dimly lit cigarette smoke filled clubs, every fight, every kiss, and every single mistake.

Before you could stop them your tears had pushed through every barrier and began streaming down your face as you hiccuped and attempted to swallow them. Through cloudy eyes you saw Syd jump from his seat so quickly that the chair fell backward. The harsh thud made you wince as a sob ripped through your quivering diaphragm. Syd stood before you with his arms limply at his sides and a look of pure confusion on his face.