Posted in Headcanon

If only it’s love

It would be easier it was love, he thinks as he stares at his reflection mournfully. Then he wouldn’t dread going back to their table and face his lover.

He’s not in a  bad relationship of some sort, not at all. His relationship was the best he could ask for. He had the best lover, one that doesn’t mind his quirky personality, his weird habit, or his occupation as a painter. He adores his lover too, both the hard edges for public and the soft sides that only he could see. They have been in this relationship for five years, and he even went as far as presenting a silver band to his lover seven months back, bonding them in an engagement. They’re happy.

But of late, he’s been feeling restless. He’s second guessing everything in their relationship, all those sweet words and caring touches he gave, the affection he showed, and the promises he made. It’s not that he doesn’t mean them, because every single thing he did was genuine.

It’s his motive that he was unsure of.

He thought it was love. It sure as hell feel a lot like love, for all he knew. It could pass as love, if it’s not for the tiny glitch.

The simple and harsh fact that he’s not afraid of losing his lover, he’s just afraid of being alone.

And everything he did, all the efforts he poured into their relationship – even that engagement ring – was all done just to assure that his lover would never leave his side. He did it because he was obliged to, because he need to do it or he might face the possibility of a break up. Tonight’s dinner was not an exception. Tonight, they were supposed to celebrate their fifth anniversary, and he was determined to figure things out, once and for all.

Only to find out that his fear was right. That it wasn’t love, it was fear of being alone that drove him all along. He doesn’t crave for this relationship, at least not in that genuinely selfless way his lover does, but he simply crave for the companionship that his love offer. And it sicken him, to realized that he had used his lover for his own interest throughout the last five years. That’s why he left to the bathroom, as casually as possible.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly. It’s not fair, he knows, if he keep going with this relationship of theirs. It’s not fair to bound his lover to him when he could never give away his heart, the one thing that his lover really wants from him. His conscience tell him to break this off, to set his lover free.

The problem is, he don’t think he can.

He don’t think he can survive even just a day of being left alone in the cold, without his lover to care for him and make everything better. And he know, he knows that he would never found anyone that could fill the gaping hole his lover would left. He don’t think he would be able to survive the aftermath.

He was still debating with himself about the best course of action when he walks back to their table, even after he sit down and pick up where he left off.

“You’re okay?”

He looks at the hand over his, and his eyes trails up towards the worried expression, with fondness and adoration evident in those brown orbs. And he knows, he knows he would never be able to let this man go. He’s too selfish and too greedy to do so, to let anyone else own the perfection in front of him.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’m okay. As long as I have you, I’ll be okay.”

It isn’t love, but it will have to make do.

 

 

 

À la mort,.

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Author:

An emotionally invested enthusiast of pop culture. Apathetic by design. Aesthetically offensive and eloquently candid. A sentimental heathen.

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