a cold shoulder at closin' time
Vesper could argue. Every part of him strains toward it for a moment, pulled by the instinct to drag the truth out of the wreckage between them and lay it bare, to tell her yes, used me, because that is how it felt to be torn out of himself and hurled into her need with no warning and then dropped back into silence sharp enough to cut. He could tell her how the six seconds she’d clutched him in passing had been so fucking insufficient he’d felt the absence like a cracked rib every time he breathed. He could tell her how he’d searched the crowd only for her, how his mind had already been fraying from too much wanting, and how watching her kiss someone else—that someone else—had taken whatever thread he’d been hanging on by and snapped it.
He could confess that something in him had shattered that night, something he’d never known was fragile until it lay jagged inside him, shifting every time he moved. He might have said every one of those thing, except it's then her thoughts surge, unguarded, bright, devastating, and his telepathy doesn’t allow him the mercy of ignorance. It lands inside him with too much force to brace for, a quiet confession she doesn’t speak aloud, the words she stops herself from saying curling through the centre of his mind with a clarity that robs him of breath.
I loved you.
His eyes widen, not much, just enough for the world to tilt in the space of a heartbeat. His inhale is soft but abrupt, a hitch like he’s taken a blow straight to the sternum. For a moment, he stands suspended in the weight of it, in the way the truth rings through her thoughts without hesitation, without calculation, without any idea he can hear it. It settles under his ribs like a brand, and the ache that follows is too vast and too sharp to hide from.
And gods, he knows he could fix this. He could walk straight into that confession and build something out of the ruin. With her mind laid open by accident, he has every tool he needs to thread his way through this disaster and reach her, to soothe every cut he’s made, to pull them both out of this downward spiral. He could do it—even now—as long as he’s willing to do it with borrowed knowledge, with her most private truth held in his hands without permission.
But at what cost?
He has every reason he did before, every fear about the weight of her emotions pressing into him through the gift he never asked for, every warning he’s tried to give her about who he is and what he can’t be. And even if the way she feels isn’t love—if it’s confusion, or intensity, or the kind of longing that feels like love until it’s examined under real light—he hears it exactly the way she feels it, raw and terrifyingly honest. That alone gives him more reason than he’s ever had to stop everything here, before he hurts her even worse by trying to be the man she thinks she’s naming in her thoughts.
Something deep in him cracks, the soundless kind of shatter that leaves a body upright and breathing but somehow not entirely whole. He feels the break in full, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t let any of it show, because if she sees that fracture she’ll step into it, and he’ll let her, and it will destroy them both. So he does the only thing he can: he makes himself into something she can hate.
With no change in his stride, no backward glance, no sign of hesitation, he begins to whistle as he walks away—soft, tuneless, careless—like none of this mattered, like she hadn’t ripped him open with a thought she never meant him to hear, like he isn’t leaving behind the one person who ever came close to knowing him. It’s the cruelty of a farmer driving off a faithful dog with shouted insults so it runs far enough not to come back in an effort to keep it safe; except Vesper doesn’t raise his voice. He just crafts a lie of indifference in the simple, casual lilt of a whistle, hoping she’ll latch onto it with enough fury to burn the last of her feelings clean. He keeps walking, each step steady, each note easy, while something inside him breaks and keeps breaking in the silence in between.
~FIN
He could confess that something in him had shattered that night, something he’d never known was fragile until it lay jagged inside him, shifting every time he moved. He might have said every one of those thing, except it's then her thoughts surge, unguarded, bright, devastating, and his telepathy doesn’t allow him the mercy of ignorance. It lands inside him with too much force to brace for, a quiet confession she doesn’t speak aloud, the words she stops herself from saying curling through the centre of his mind with a clarity that robs him of breath.
I loved you.
His eyes widen, not much, just enough for the world to tilt in the space of a heartbeat. His inhale is soft but abrupt, a hitch like he’s taken a blow straight to the sternum. For a moment, he stands suspended in the weight of it, in the way the truth rings through her thoughts without hesitation, without calculation, without any idea he can hear it. It settles under his ribs like a brand, and the ache that follows is too vast and too sharp to hide from.
And gods, he knows he could fix this. He could walk straight into that confession and build something out of the ruin. With her mind laid open by accident, he has every tool he needs to thread his way through this disaster and reach her, to soothe every cut he’s made, to pull them both out of this downward spiral. He could do it—even now—as long as he’s willing to do it with borrowed knowledge, with her most private truth held in his hands without permission.
But at what cost?
He has every reason he did before, every fear about the weight of her emotions pressing into him through the gift he never asked for, every warning he’s tried to give her about who he is and what he can’t be. And even if the way she feels isn’t love—if it’s confusion, or intensity, or the kind of longing that feels like love until it’s examined under real light—he hears it exactly the way she feels it, raw and terrifyingly honest. That alone gives him more reason than he’s ever had to stop everything here, before he hurts her even worse by trying to be the man she thinks she’s naming in her thoughts.
Something deep in him cracks, the soundless kind of shatter that leaves a body upright and breathing but somehow not entirely whole. He feels the break in full, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t let any of it show, because if she sees that fracture she’ll step into it, and he’ll let her, and it will destroy them both. So he does the only thing he can: he makes himself into something she can hate.
With no change in his stride, no backward glance, no sign of hesitation, he begins to whistle as he walks away—soft, tuneless, careless—like none of this mattered, like she hadn’t ripped him open with a thought she never meant him to hear, like he isn’t leaving behind the one person who ever came close to knowing him. It’s the cruelty of a farmer driving off a faithful dog with shouted insults so it runs far enough not to come back in an effort to keep it safe; except Vesper doesn’t raise his voice. He just crafts a lie of indifference in the simple, casual lilt of a whistle, hoping she’ll latch onto it with enough fury to burn the last of her feelings clean. He keeps walking, each step steady, each note easy, while something inside him breaks and keeps breaking in the silence in between.
~FIN
you were beggin' me to stay 'til the sun rose
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
