And I’m split in half (But that’ll have to do)
In the end, she’d seen it coming.
In the end, he’d felt it like a train that couldn’t stop in time.
In the end, there were ghosts of people who were lost and ghosts of people they never got to be, people who had never existed and maybe never had a chance.
In the end, they say goodbye to what was, what could have been, and what died without them ever knowing.
They’d both been pretending for too long, both been fighting for something they couldn’t really believe in. She’d fought to push down the nightmares choking her, he’d fought to regain the normalcy they never got to taste before. He’d fought so hard to keep things good, clinging to the idea of them and clinging to the her that existed before her best friend was killed. She tried to push and pull and shape herself into the mold that he looked for. She bent herself into a person she never could have kept playing, but couldn’t get the words out from where they lodged in her throat.
She saw his pain, even with hers clouding her thoughts. She saw it in the way he didn’t swim in the pool, the way he kept it clean but couldn’t stand being in it.
He saw her pain in the way her smiles couldn’t linger on her face.
Dinners were never with his parents, too busy for him and unknowing of the turmoil in his heart. Dinners were never with her parents, something she didn’t want to subject him to. Dinners with parents only happened when they were the parents of the ghost haunting both of them.
In the end, the ghosts get to be too much. They come to a head with too sweet alcohol and too much noise. They come to a head with words that hurt worse than any fist. He leaves her there, but only once he knows someone else will watch out for her. Because he hurts, but he loves, he loves, he loves more than he hates himself even on his worst days.
He’s no stranger to anger, no stranger to loneliness and the ache in his heart. He knows himself to know his anger is a poison and it’s better if he’s alone when he’s trying to get rid of it. He’s trying not to be his father, trying not to be Tommy, trying not to be King Steve, who took that anger out on everyone who got in his way because that was all he’d ever known. He’s tried so hard to be better, but he feels all that anger boiling and pulling at the person he’s been building himself into.
He knows she’s hurting, knows she’s saying things she wouldn’t otherwise let out, but that makes it hurt worse because it means she’s thought about it over and over until it stuck there.
And then she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember and she can’t say the three words he needs to hear to fix the hole left in his heart. He can’t blame her, but he can’t not blame her just the same as he can’t blame himself, but he can’t not blame himself. It’s a vicious war in his heart and he feels so empty and hurt and angry that he walks away.
He wants to fix it, thinks if he can just apologize, even if he doesn’t know what he did wrong, they’ll be okay eventually.
He can’t though. Because she’s gone, because she can’t let the ghosts lie and he can’t blame her for that even if it terrifies him.
Except she’s gone, and then when she’s back she’s got a spark in her eyes and she can’t look at him for more than a glance. He’s already an afterthought.
He’s got bigger things to worry about that night, things bigger than him and bigger than her and bigger than the pain that still exists between them and the love that might have been there once.
She moves on, and it seems as easy as breathing for her to smile with Jonathan. She can’t see how much it makes him ache and he can’t bring himself to do anything but smile because he loves her and can’t just stop even if she’s moved on.
She’s been through enough and his anger isn’t enough to make him hurt her.
It’s like the year they spent together is just gone though and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t go back to who he used to be, not really, but he smokes and drinks and acts like some kind of authority to the kids who follow him around and he tries to act like his heart isn’t a black hole because falling apart isn’t an option. He tries to keep up a friendship, does his best to act like it’s enough, like he doesn’t dream about her every night, like he doesn’t keep fitting her into the plans he’d always imagined. He smiles as she holds Jonathan’s hand like he isn’t still picturing her there with him in a house with a picket fence and kids running around after them.
It's his dream, not hers, and he can recognize that, but he’s not ready to let it go yet.
He sees her mom in the grocery store and sees the faint recognition in her eyes before he turns away.
He knows she has to drive past his road to get to the Byers’ house but he knows without having to ask that she’s not thinking about him as she does it.
The pain never leaves, but he holds onto it even as he wishes it was gone. He holds onto it every time he sees her. It’s a cycle in his head. Aching longing, love, anger, pain, over and over and over again. He feels stuck, forever, like there’s no escape from it and time isn’t helping.
He graduates, the pain stays as his dad promises to teach him a lesson, as he knows staying means seeing her. He finds someone who makes the pain lighten up, but she can’t remove it completely. He gets dragged back into that world of monsters and pain and still dreams about her even as he reaches for the hand that’s right there with him.
In the end, that hand isn’t the kind of love he’d hoped for, but it’s enough to finally start stitching up the pieces of his heart. In the end, it isn’t really the end after all.
They still can’t talk, but he isn’t quite so lonely anymore.
They still can’t look at each other, but she smiles at him sometimes and it feels like forgiveness.
They still can’t be friends, but they’re bound together forever.
He watches her be left behind by someone she really does love, someone who loves her too even if he can’t stay. But he’s here with her and the anger is still there but it doesn’t feel like it’s choking him anymore. He stays busy and dreams of the things that used to be within his reach and doesn’t drag her back in because it’s not fair to her.
He loves her and wants her to be happy even if it’s not with him because that’s what she deserves.
He stays by her side as they’re dragged back into fear and pain, finds himself telling her that dream that he swore would go to his grave in the gentle sunlight and haunting shadows. He tells her and hates himself for it because it’s his dream, not hers.
He watches her hug Jonathan and turns away because as much as he loves her, wants her to have her dreams, it still hurts knowing it’s not going to include him.
So he walks away, lets her go, let’s her have her dreams because it’s the least he could do. He shoves his aching heart down further in his chest because he loves, he loves, he loved, and she’s got that piece of his heart, but maybe letting her go can be good for them both.
He walks away, a different soft, small hand linked to his by their pinky fingers, and as he breathes out, he lets go of the version of them that never existed, that never had a chance of finding a home in their lives.
That night, for the first time in years, he doesn’t dream of her.
(@sharpbutsoft - I got at least a very rough sort of something that came out! Thanks for the inspiration!)
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Spite
I swore I wasn't going to ever post this one but have to decided to say "to heck with it" and put it up anyway. 😂 I have nothing to say for myself and apologize to Langris, Vanessa, Finral, and Finesse (whose situation I have just made all the more complicated than it already was in the canon 😅)...
Description: "Did you just kiss me out of spite?" Never in a million years would Langris have ever believed there was anything in the world that could have possibly led him to a moment in which that drunk witch would be saying those words to him. But somewhere between too many drinks making him honest and revelations from Finral regarding his relationship with Finesse drudging up something he had long kept buried, Langris lost his grip on his tightly guarded emotions and began to live the impossible. And Vanessa was not going to let him off so easy for it.
OR
There are a lot of very good reasons that Langris Vaude doesn't drink. This is the story of one of them.
Rating: T (For Language (including some crude insults), Drunkenness, and Descriptive Depiction of Kissing)
Warnings: Unhealthy Coping, Excessive Drinking, Drunkenness, Jealousy, Unhealthy Relationships, Language (including some crude insults), and Poor Decision Making
Fandom: Black Clover
Genre: Unrequited Love, Jealousy, Drunken Confessions, French Kissing, Friendship/Love, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Strained Friendships, Unexpected Friendships and Eventually Friendship Bonding and Hurt/Comfort. Definitely Canon-Divergent--AU.
Relationships: Vanessa Enoteca and Langris Vaude (Friends, Pairing, It's Complicated...so whatever you want honestly), (onesided) Langris/Finesse, (unconfirmed?) one-sided Vanessa/Finral, Finral/Finesse (have a happy and functional relationship that is mentioned here), Finral, Vanessa, & Langris friendship, Finral & Vanessa friendship, and Langris & Finral brotherly relationship
Characters: Langris Vaude, Vanessa Enoteca, and Finral Roulacase (Finesse Calmreich is mentioned)
Word Count: 2483
Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site.
This story was inspired by something @delirious-donna said in a response to an ask of mine once about whether or not there's a universe where Vanessa had kissed both Finral and Langris. This is what I came up with for such a universe, and it wouldn't leave me alone until it was written.
Thank you for indulging me and reading!
Story below the cut:
“I’m sorry…you’ve what ?” hissed Langris through his teeth—his fingers beginning to shake as they curled around his nearly empty glass. He had lost track of how many drinks this was, but it was more than enough to make him feel woozy and agitated. Probably why his emotions were currently getting the best of him.
Finral blushed a beet-red and stared at his twisting, fidgeting hands. He swallowed hard before taking a long swig of the clear liquid swirling around in his glass. “Well…um…look…it’s really not that big of a deal…”
“Not a big deal?” Langris interjected, more forcefully than he had been intending.
“Boys. Boys. Calm down. You’re both pretty,” Vanessa teased—drunk and giggly—in what was clearly an attempt to defuse the tension. It didn’t work.
“When did this happen? Where was your chaperone?” he demanded—realising only after he had asked that he didn’t really want to know the answers to these questions.
Finral spluttered—his cheeks flaming, but he eventually stumbled, “We were outside—in her garden. The groundskeepers and servants were supposed to be keeping an eye on us, but they weren’t really watching. It wasn’t a long kiss. There wasn’t even any—” His brother stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Langris glaring daggers at him, positively infuriated and, due to copious amounts of alcohol, unable to even try to hide it.
He immediately pushed back from the bar—standing up to his full height and waving his finger in Finral’s face as his words slurred, “You…you rake! You cad! You… manwhore !”
“Hey!” interjected Vanessa pushing him back—causing him to teeter just a little in his drunken stupor and to remember exactly why he hated drinking. “That was uncalled for.”
With a mortified expression, Finral fidgeted, but he sighed, rubbing his temples in confusion. “I don’t understand, Langris. She’s my fiancée, and I just kissed her. You were engaged to her a lot longer than me—didn’t you ever…?”
“No,” Langris cut him off with a stern glare, though a blush rose quickly and infuriatingly in his cheeks. He scowled. “Unlike you, I actually have self-control.”
“For goodness sakes, Langris,” laughed Vanessa sloshing around her wine glass before refilling it for the umpteenth time. “Don’t be such a prude. So he kissed her—from all accounts chastely —it’s not the end of the world. It’s not Finral’s fault that you didn’t kiss Finesse when you had the chance.”
Langris’s face grew incredibly hot. He was sure it must be flaming red as he slammed his glass down on the bar counter and curled his shaking hands into fists. “That is not what this is about! I couldn’t care less about that.”
It was a bold-faced lie, and Langris was sure Vanessa knew it from the way she quirked her eyebrows at him. “They’re engaged to be married, Langris,” she said, pointedly meeting his eyes. “Of course they’re going to kiss. It’s really not a big deal.”
Despite being a blushy, flustered mess, Finral somehow managed, “Yeah, Langris. Really…it really wasn’t this big…”
“Oh really?” he spat—a fire rising in his chest as he cut his brother off. “Not a big deal, huh?” His legs began to shake as much as his hands which he unfurled and waved about in the flood of feelings he couldn’t even begin to stifle. His grip on his emotions was slipping farther and farther away, and his thoughts were quickly becoming an emotionally-charged, impulsive and intoxicated jumble. More concerning than that, however, was the fact he didn’t care in the slightest and just allowed them to spill into his movements, his expressions, his words… “Fine. I suppose if that’s true, you won’t mind if I do this—!”
Langris was sure he would’ve never performed the actions which followed if he hadn’t been completely and utterly drunk. He would have never leaned across the bar. Would have never flung his arms around Vanessa’s neck. Would have never pulled her flush against him. And definitely would have never pressed his trembling lips against hers. Even looking back on it, he could never be sure what exactly had been going through his head at the moment. It was entirely possible that for once in his life, it was completely and totally empty .
Only when he felt her startle and stiffen in shock and confusion, did his mind fill with realisation and panic, and he immediately felt overwhelmingly guilty and embarrassed. He pulled away from her—red-faced and ready to apologise, but she merely laughed at him with something sparkling in her eyes—disbelief? Amusement, perhaps?
“Did you just kiss me out of spite?”
Wondering if he had ever been quite so embarrassed, Langris descended into strange, indistinguishable flustered splutters and almost completely forgot to turn to look at the expression of utter horror on his brother’s face. After several deep breaths that did very little to calm him down, Langris bristled and a frown spread between his crimson cheeks. “Well…I…”
Rather than smack him, as he was sure he probably deserved for that indecent display, Vanessa snaked her arms around his neck. He could have sworn he saw her glance over at a bewildered Finral before she turned her attention back to him with a wink—her mouth twitching in amusement with a low, flirtatious, “That was a good try, baby. But you’re so stiff—it’s like kissing a brick wall.” Chuckling, she winked at him again and licked her lips. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
Langris swallowed hard as she tangled a hand in his hair and stroked his cheek with the other. Her gaze was focused, intense enough to make him shiver, before her eyes fluttered closed and she tilted his chin towards her—stopping a mere breath away from his lips. He supposed he deserved to be teased like this, after having kissed her like that, and he was about ready to pull away with a scowl on his face that he was sure must be blushing furiously, when she cupped his chin in her hand and whispered, “It’s about the anticipation.”
“Va…Vanessa…” Finral squeaked—his voice cracking like a lovesick schoolboy, in protest. Vanessa had such a soft spot for his brother—surely, she wouldn’t kiss him after that, Langris thought, even if she wanted to teach him a lesson. But he was wrong.
Her lips were soft as they first brushed against his, but they quickly turned frantic, coaxing and, dare he even admit it, fiery . He nearly yelped as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and felt her tongue dart into his mouth as soon as he parted his lips enough for it to slip through. What the actual hell?
Though he hadn’t the slightest clue what was going on, or where this fire—this spite, perhaps—of hers was even coming from, he wasn’t about to let her have this power play, and he poked at her tongue with his own—eventually darting around it to her lips—a bit chapped and winey as he ran his tongue across them, causing her mouth to curve into a smile.
“You Vaude boys really have no idea what to do with your hands, do you?” she teased as she pulled away just enough to catch the warm breath that brushed up against his skin. Langris frowned, following her gaze to his hands which were frozen—like rigid and awkward claws in front of his chest. He might be drunk and clueless about what was going on, but he wasn’t about to admit she was right. “You can put them in my hair if you want. Or around my neck.”
“That is enough!” insisted Finral who was probably even redder than Langris was, which was saying a lot. “I am never going to unsee that! Alright, Langris, you were right. It was a big deal, and I’m sorry.”
Despite his complete and utter embarrassment, Langris couldn’t help but feel a bit smug about seeing his brother admit defeat and grovel like this. Vanessa, however, seemed intent on adding insult to injury and continued, “That was good though. I especially liked what you did with your tongue.” She winked at him, and Langris’s stomach coiled as his cheeks burned. What in the world was wrong with this woman? He knew she was touchy feely but goodness! Was she in the habit of kissing men she barely knew in this way?
Wait… The thought gave him pause and though his mind was clouded, something began to click in it. “Have you kissed my brother too?”
With a hum, Vanessa’s mouth twitched into a teasing smile, “Yes. Want to know who was better?”
Langris cleared his throat—blushing furiously. That hadn’t been his intention in asking.
“It’s not a competition!” Finral stammered, clearly flustered in drunken ramblings. “And besides, that was my first kiss. I’ve gotten a lot better at kissing since then so it wouldn’t really be a fair comparison.”
“My hair got caught on your earring. I’m going to say Langris wins just for that,” teased Vanessa, and Finral frowned. “Though if you’d like to try again, be my guest…”
Flushing, Finral shivered and spluttered before declaring in a shaking voice, “I am…I am in a relationship! Lady…Lady Finesse is the only…the only one…! I’m not going to kiss anyone that isn’t her anymore!” He nodded though his face swiftly grew splotchy with flushes of pinks and beet red. “O…Okay?” he asked, and Langris couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to convince himself more than him and Vanessa. Langris scowled. He knew Finral had issues with commitment, but this was just ridiculous.
It seemed Vanessa also thought so, as she huffed—rolling her eyes before finishing another glass of wine. “Fine,” she replied through her teeth as she poured a shot of something clear and swirling for herself and downed it as well. Something in her expression made Langris’s stomach twist.
“Goo—good! That’s settled then.” Finral swallowed hard. “Let’s just agree to never talk about this again, okay?”
Vanessa nodded, and Langris, in his mortification, wasn’t about to argue. Finral rubbed his head. “I think I need to lie down. I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow…” He stumbled over to one of the long, leather benches in the restaurant’s waiting area, and it wasn’t long before his groggy, disgruntled mumblings about being “scarred for life” drifted into steady, deep breathing and quiet snores.
Vanessa poured herself another shot—before returning to wine which seemed to be her liquor of choice, if Langris had to venture a guess. He, however, decided to cut himself off before he did something else he’d no doubt regret as soon as he was sober again. He swallowed hard. “Look, Vanessa…”
“Don’t worry about it,” she cut him off with a wave of her wine glass. “It’s fine. Besides, you’re a good kisser.” She winked at him. “Though I suppose Finral’s right in that it isn’t fair to compare you since that was his first—” She paused, Langris presumed, noticing the bright flush of red that filled his cheeks as he fidgeted uncomfortably. He didn’t say anything, but clearly he didn’t have to. “Oh… shit… ” She sunk down in her seat and shook her head, setting her wine aside in favour of something stronger.
Langris pursed his lips and swallowed hard. He supposed there was a cruel sort of irony to it—the way he always played second fiddle to his brother in this regard. The universe seemed intent on forcing them to share things—particularly in matters of the heart. “Not my plan, believe me...” he mumbled, but whether it was in response to himself or Vanessa, he wasn’t entirely sure.
“That was bold for a first kiss,” she chuckled. “But I guess jealousy and alcohol will make you do that…” Her voice trailed before she sighed and shrugged her shoulders with a sympathetic smile. “If I had known, I would’ve never…”
“It’s fine,” Langris interrupted. “It’s my fault anyway.” He swallowed hard—her words suddenly registering through the haze of alcohol. “And I’m not jeal—” As she crossed her arms and tilted her head pointedly at him, however, he stopped. Shaking his head, he decided it was best not to try to argue with her, and instead he merely sighed and ruffled his hand through his hair before changing the subject, his curiosity getting the better of him. “So you were my brother’s first kiss, huh? Was he yours?”
Vanessa nodded, and Langris could’ve sworn there was a bit of an uncharacteristic tint of pink in her cheeks. “It didn’t mean anything. We were young, dumb, and drunk. It was sloppy and a mess and…”
“It’s stupid,” Langris cut her off abruptly with slurring words, and Vanessa’s brow furrowed.
“Huh?”
“That you’re jealous.”
Vanessa snorted a laugh under her breath as she reached for her wine. “Who said I was jealous?”
Langris blinked at her. “I may be plastered and inexperienced, but even I know you’re not really supposed to be kissed with such vitriol.”
“Well I’m sorry it wasn’t fun for you, but you’re the one who kissed me out of spite,” she bantered as she crossed her arms.
“That’s not…well…that is…uh…” Langris stumbled over his words before he glanced over in Finral’s general direction to make sure his brother was, in fact, fast asleep. Still, Langris lowered his voice, just to be safe. “Look, I didn’t just kiss you because you happened to be here. My brother’s always been a little bit in love with you. If you wanted him, you could have him…in an instant.” Langris scoffed with a somewhat bitter shake of his head. “He’d probably thank you.”
“You have such a dismal view of Finral. He’s engaged to Finesse. They’re happy.”
Something twisted in Langris’s chest. “You don’t think I know that?” he snapped, more loudly than he intended. Finral stirred on the bench where he had passed out but quickly sunk back into his deep sleep as Langris took a few breaths to regain enough composure to speak quietly again. “Look…I know—I know that better than anyone. But you’re not like me. If you really do love my brother, that’s something he could actually return . But I…Finesse could never—“ Langris stopped abruptly, something panging in the ache in his chest. He swallowed hard, and his eyes and throat burned. “Sorry…I didn’t…didn’t mean to…” he began to stumble, but before he could finish, Vanessa poured a drink and slid it across the bar counter for him.
“It’s okay…” Her face softened with something kind, empathetic, perhaps even a little sorrowful as she met his eyes and patted his hand with a sympathetic, bittersweet smile. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
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