from @corpsebasil on tumblr
tw: fluff, breakups
K A I R O S - the perfect, delicate, crucial moment;
( this one is a bit longer than the ones i've published before) - c < 3
he doesn't speak when he gets into the car. his eyes are bloodshot, the skin under his eyes a little puffy and dark, and his nose is pink with emotion. seeing him like this makes my heart twist— i can hardly bear seeing him in pain.
"i'm sorry tim." is all i can say.
his girlfriend, some stupid, convincing bitch, cheated on him, and he walked in on it. he told me the story shakily on the phone, his voice cracking when he asked me to come pick him up. it made my stomach sick.
"yeah," he mumbles, and props his elbow on the window, leaning his head against his hand. "thank you for getting me."
"anything," i say earnestly, and i hope he believes me.
he's been my best friend for years. since we were small, it was 'timmy and (y/n)' this, and timmy and (y/n)' that. we were a great duo, if i do say so myself. that's all we've ever been, though. just friends.
my eyes shift over to catch him sniffling, his eyes watering up even more. my heart literally hurts, and i struggle to form some sort of thought that could be comforting in this situation.
"she's not worth it," i start. " you're such a great guy and—"
"if i was such a great guy, she wouldn't be fucking someone else." he interrupts, and i wince at the harshness of his tone.
there i go, saying the wrong thing.
"no it's just," i continue, trying to save my argument. "you're so smart, and funny, and, well, you're hot, if that's any condolence at all—"
this time he interrupts with a sharp exhale, before angrily saying, " just shut up, (y/n)".
annnddd there i go again .
i cringe at myself, the blatant annoyance in his voice causing my throat to tighten. i was only trying to help.
as if he can read my mind, timothée looks over, spotting the hurt expression on my face. he sighs gently, and sniffs, before reaching over and grabbing my hand. his hand is way bigger than mine, and soft, his finger intertwining so easily between mine it's like it was meant to be.
"i'm sorry, (y/n)," he says sincerely, his green eyes almost turned blue from crying. "please don't be upset."
i smile weakly and shake my head a little, turning my blinker on to signal onto my street. i glance over at him for a moment, and he smiles gently, but i know it takes effort. he's trying.
"no one ever means what they say when they're hurting," i respond, my tone soft, and squeeze his hand lightly.
when he squeezes back, i ignore the tiny zolt of butterflies the action gives me, because being anything other than a supportive friend would be stupid and selfish.
"we're here," i say, as we pull up to my house, and i park.
once it turn the engine off, it's silent again, and i had almost forgotten he was still holding my hand. my fingers twitch involuntarily, and he glance down at our hands, then up at me, then lets go.
my cheeks warm up a little, but i don't say anything, just cross my arms over my chest, lean my head against the back of my chair.
"(y/n)?" timothée says, a question in his tone, and i look over to him, spotting his expression so raw and full of emotion it makes me dizzy.
something about him is constantly getting to me, and i have no idea what it is.
"yes?" i reply, my voice quiet.
he stares at me for several moments, and odd look in his eyes— something he's never given me before.
"i, um," he starts, and my heart beat quickens, unsure of what's happening.
before i can read into anything, he visibly changes his mind.
his cheeks tinge pink, as if something embarrassed him, and he exhales sharply, turning his head away from me.
"lets go inside." he says, and opens his door, stepping out.
instead of waiting for me, he simply walks around the car, and to the front door. i watch as he lifts up my mom's plotted mint and picks up my house key from underneath.
watching him be so casual, looking as if he belongs here just as he would at his own house, makes me feel a way i've never felt before with him.
he unlocks my front door and turns around, giving me a little wave and a goofy smile, before charging into my house, leaving the front door open for me.
the emotion that feels me from head to toe makes me sick, and i force it away, clenching my jaw tight— i can't look at him like that.
as i struggle for even breaths and open my car door, stepping out onto the pavement, a million 'what ifs' wind their way into my head, already starting to complicate things and i'm not even inside yet.
i suppress them all, but one solid thought refused to be pushed away.
it's thought that would end of haunting me throughout all his next relationships, all of his heartbreak, anything and everything into eventually we grow apart and move away and everything is over.
i know it's going to hurt me, but when the thought rises, i don't block it out.
what if he and i weren't just friends? i think to myself, as i walk up to the driveway of my house.
what if we were more?
