#embellished with a little vindictive wish fulfillment

[swan--writes]

For Dewey song fics can you write six degrees of separation by Coldplay please x

This got a little intense, sorry.

Warnings: no happy endings here, dead dove: do not eat

Words: ~2915, unedited again

You shouldn’t be thinking about it. Yet, here you were, staring at your dark ceiling and thinking about it.

There were so many more productive things you could be doing with your energy. There was a book on your nightstand that you had been meaning to read, there was a show you had been meaning to watch. You could doodle, you could journal, you could call a friend. It had been at least an hour since you first lied down, you knew you weren’t going to get to sleep any time soon.

A glance at the clock dismissed the idea of calling anyone, but you still pulled yourself up and slipped out of bed. Your estimate had been right, you had been lying in bed for an hour and four minutes. It was late, your roommates would kill you if you made too much noise. But it was late enough that the threshold for too much noise was higher than usual.

You padded to the kitchen on bare feet and washed your favorite mug. As soon as you felt the warm water on your hands, your breath went shallow.

You’ve read the books, you’ve watched the shows.

Immediately, you shut off the water and leaned heavily with your hands on the sink.

What’s the best way?

You squeezed your burning eyes closed for exactly five seconds.

No-one knows.

The feeling of water had become almost unbearable, but at seemingly random times. Showers were a crapshoot now – sometimes you enjoyed them as much as you had before. Sometimes you stood under the water, waiting for your skin to fall apart like paper. Like a sticker on a water bottle. Like a friendship on the fast track to Out of Time.

Meditate, yeah, hypnotized…

In the year and four months of your friendship, the most that had happened between you and Dewey was a drunk kiss that both of you half-forgot.

Anything to take it from your mind.

What you remembered was the moment you had fallen apart. It was your fault.

But it won’t…

It was your fault, and you didn’t regret it.

Go.

Your hands curled tightly around the lip of the sink.

You’re doing all these things out of desperation.

With your lips pressed into a tight line, you pushed a sigh through your nose.

You’re going through six degrees of separation.

Through rapidly blinking eyes, you saw your mug sitting beside the sink. It was wet, with a few soap bubbles clinging here and there. Good enough.

Seven minutes later, you were curled up under a fluffy blanket, on your couch, with a scalding hot cup of tea. You turned the TV on and promptly retreated into your own head. The place where your quartz pendant rested against your chest was the only cold spot on your body, and the weight of it felt like it was crushing your sternum. It was meant to keep you grounded, though, so you supposed it was doing its job.

First, you think the worst is a broken heart…

The rerun on the screen before you couldn’t distract you from it. Nothing ever could.

What’s gonna kill you is the second part.

The last time you saw Dewey Finn, you were getting lunch with him. You had rehearsed the conversation you knew you would have with him a million times.

“So I’m standing at the front of the room, looking at these kids–”

“For once.”

“–and I notice something smoking behind the backup singers.”

“Oh no.” Oh no. The pit of your stomach sank, even as you watched his bright eyes, his animated hand gestures. Dewey loved his job, the kids he taught. And you loved him.

You loved his stories, his voice, his hands and the way they danced across every instrument he played. You loved the way his hair flopped into his face, and the way the sunlight liquified his irises in his early-morning snapchats. He snapchatted you every morning so he wouldn’t go back to sleep. You loved that too – loved that he would think of you for that. That he was so comfortable with you, so open. Dewey was your favorite person, and you adored him.

“I have no idea who it was, but one of them set the drumkit on fire.”

“What?” Here, you laughed. You had to.

“The skins were on fire, I swear.” You could barely make out his words through his laughter, and over your own. You were bent forward over the table, and he leaned toward you, shaking his head. “I’m not lying.”

“Jesus…”

He straightened in his seat and slowly let his laughter fade, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape him. “So I’m sorry I had to cancel on you last week, Rose was not happy with us.”

And, there it was. There she was.

Dewey would never get back together with her, not with the way they had left things. Even in the face of your uncertainty, your confusion when it came to him, you felt confident about that. In the grand scheme of things, however, it made almost no difference when it came to you. For all his ‘doneness’ with Rosalie, he was still using her as a shield. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a conversation with Dewey where his ex hadn’t come up.

Whether he might have had feelings for you, in this or any timeline, the fact remained that there was a principal-sized divide between your feelings and your friend, and you couldn’t see a way through it. For the longest time, you could at least see around it – you and Dewey could still be friends after you talked about it. But the more you thought about what you would actually need to say to him, the more you were forced to face the truth. The thing you knew yourself well enough to understand on the deepest level you possessed.

Without a chance – without a maybe – your friendship with Dewey had no future. You liked each other as people, you trusted each other as friends, the foundation was solid. But yours was the kind of relationship that either progressed or petered out. You couldn’t wait around for him to either process what had happened with Rosalie or realize how much you cared about him anymore. This had to stop.

“Yeah, um…about that,” you began. From there, you let it out. You spoke slowly, deliberately, trying to convince yourself – and him – that this wouldn’t be forever. That you needed to take a step back, but that it was temporary. The light in Dewey’s eyes said that he believed you, and he understood. He thanked you for talking to him about it, apologized for the distance that had begun to creep in between you, and walked you down the street in the rain before you had to part ways. You thought about asking him for a hug. You immediately thought better of it.

And the third is when your world splits down the middle.

Tonight, sitting in front of the practically muted TV with a cup of tea and a crystal crushing your sternum, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe you should have told Dewey the truth. By now, it had been two and-a-half months, and here you were, still thinking about it. Was it guilt? Was it love? You had loved him, hadn’t you? Or maybe you only thought you did, because it was so easy to believe what you were feeling was love.

On the other hand, maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was just your desire to be loved, to be wanted by someone who wasn’t a completely awful or creepy or useless person. Maybe it was relief at finding someone who actually seemed to care about being your friend, and maybe once the shock and awe of having someone in your life who genuinely wanted to be there had worn off, you got bored with the new status quo. Maybe you deserved for the crystal at your sternum to shove its cold way through your skin, through your bones, to ricochet through your whole being and tear you apart the way your heart was growing ever more convince you already were, and make real what you felt you might deserve.

Maybe you had kicked the only person you wanted to lean on when it came to all of this right off the map of your life because you were just so convinced that your relationship had been destined for more than it could ever be. Maybe you just fucked up, and now it was too late to take it back.

No.

Groaning quietly, you took a long sip of your tea, letting it warm the spot where the quartz sat. You pulled your blanket around yourself more tightly and shook the last of the darkness off, literally shaking your head. Dewey wasn’t the first person you had had these feelings about, even if you had felt the strongest about him. Stewing like this wasn’t going to help you move on, and you always moved on. There was no sense in it. You knew you had to let it go.

And fourth, you’re gonna think that you’ve fixed yourself.

It was only natural, then, that you would see him the next day.

You had gotten to the record shop first, you were confident about that much. When you first walked in, the store had been Dewey Finn-free. And yet…

“Fuck,” you breathed. He wasn’t looking at you, and you were fairly confident he hadn’t seen you at all. Dewey was a terrible actor, he was ignoring your presence too convincingly. He was standing in the next aisle, but the shelves were so low that you could see him clearly from the waist up.

You could also see the person he was with, and they were touching his arm the way you used to. The way you wished more than anything that you still could.

Fifth, you see them out with someone else.

Dewey’s…companion had their back to you, you couldn’t tell who they were, or if you even knew them. Short brown hair, black coat, delicate hand. Could have been a friend. Could have not. Either way, it didn’t matter. You had to get out of there.

All you could hear on your way to the door was the sound of your own breath. Mentally, you were kicking yourself mercilessly. You should have been able to hold your ground by now. It was over, you knew that. But the dread in your stomach and the cold at the back of your neck were pushing and pulling and shoving and tugging and screaming at you to get out of there. Your heart wouldn’t rest and it drove your breath into hyperdrive. You had to shove your hands into your coat pockets so you wouldn’t see them shaking. Your steps were jerky, throwing your usual walk into disarray and your hips into confusion. You stayed on course toward the door. And God, you had almost made it.

“Y/N?” A gentle hand caught your arm. When you jumped in surprise, your feet actually left the ground. There was no time for you to try keeping your arm loose, and you jerked it away from him. “Whoa, sorry.” Dewey held up his hands and your eyes pinged between them before settling on his face. His scruff was shorter than you remembered, but the bags under his eyes were deeper, his skin a touch grayer. “What are you–?”

“You look terrible,” you deadpanned, not letting him finish his question. Dewey tried to chuckle, but a look of frustration pinched his face and turned the sound into a huff.

“So do you. Where have you been?”

You shook your head. “Nowhere, I…” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “…I’ve just been busy.”

“Right.”

And the sixth is when you admit you may have fucked up a little.

“Really, Y/N, what’s going on? You said you’d text me, what–?” Dewey cut himself off then, realization touching his eyes. “You lied,” he murmured. You shook your head, fully aware that you looked like a butterfly who’s strayed too close to a Venus fly trap to argue its case. Dewey was prepared to catch you out, whether you were the fly he was looking for or not. Maybe you were. “You lied, you said we weren’t done.”

“I didn’t realize we would be.”

“Bullshit.” The cashier glanced at you both sharply, and you shot him a quick apologetic look before returning your eyes to Dewey.

“Can we go outside?” Though you asked, your hand was already on the door. Ten seconds later, you were standing just to the right of the door and Dewey was staring at you just as hard as he had been inside. “When I first decided to talk to you, I thought we would be fine eventually.” You paused, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t. “But yeah, once we started actually talking, I kinda knew that was it.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was using you or–”

“Why? You were.”

This would have been so much easier if Dewey were yelling at you. If he had been visibly angry in any way. But for the first time since you met him, his expression was closed for business. His forehead and his lip corners and the bridge his nose were all troublingly smooth. He was giving you nothing. You were afraid you were giving him much of the same. As much as you had prepared for that last talk you had with him, this felt infinitely more rehearsed. Canned. Yet you meant every word.

“No. I had feelings for you that I didn’t know what to do with, and I let them get the best of me for a while. That was unfair. But I never meant to use you or hurt you or…or anything. I just…” Now you had to look away, unable to face his unchanging expression. You shook your head again. “I fell in love with you,” you said to the brick exterior of the building beside you. “I fell in love with you, and I couldn’t stay friends with you when a part of me would be feeling that for fuck knows how long.”

Silence.

Finally, you had to risk a glance back at Dewey. Once your eyes landed on his face, you couldn’t look away again. His mouth was hanging open, just a little, just enough that you were convinced his shock was genuine. His disbelief.

“I…” It was his turn to shake his head. “I didn’t know, Y/N, I just figured–”

“Yeah, well, now you do.” Wearily, you rubbed the back of your neck, trying to shrug everything off. You couldn’t, you knew you couldn’t, but you had to try.

“You should have said so.”

“What would that have changed.”

“What–everything. It would have changed everything.”

You grimaced. “That’s not true.”

“Wha–?”

“You didn’t feel the same, Dewey, you never have. What difference would baring my soul have made when you couldn’t give me what I wanted anyway?” Dewey stared at you. He blinked once, twice. You were right, but he couldn’t say it. You gave him a short nod, feeling the tension that had filled the air between you just moments earlier suddenly disappear, shoved away by a gust of winter wind, knocking its obtrusive way down the street, around the corner, and out of sight.

This wasn’t closure, exactly. If Dewey said or did the wrong thing, you would take him back in a heartbeat. His friendship, his love – such as it could ever be – you would take it.

Oh no there ain’t no help, it’s every man for himself.

You couldn’t give him the chance.

You’re going through six degrees of separation.

“I have to go.”

“Wait.” He reached out for you, lamely pawing at the air and letting his hand drop when you stepped back.

Oh no there ain’t no help, it’s every man for himself.

“You should get back inside, it’s cold out.”

“Please don’t, I miss you.” Your brow flickered with doubt at his words. It was doubt in your own decision, you knew, but you didn’t let it take residence in your face.

You’re going through six degrees of separation.

“I miss you too,” you all but whispered. For a split second, Dewey seemed relieved. But then you took another step back, and the relief left him. “Bye.”

Oh no there ain’t no help, it’s every man for himself.

You didn’t look at him again. Hands back in your pockets, you ducked your head against the wind and scurried away, setting him down the same road you had been on for the last two and-a-half months.

Oh no there ain’t no help, it’s every man for himself.

Dewey stood alone, confused, feeling his heart slowly compressing inside his chest. He stared forward at the middle near-distance, at the spot where you had stood, at cold winter air. The air was pressing against his sternum, crushing it. His breath sped up, his heart ricocheted through his chest, pushing him in all different directions. He shouldn’t just be standing here. Yet here he was, staring at nothing and thinking about it way too hard. How could his heart be breaking like this, now, after all the time that had passed? How had he fucked up like this?

How could you just be out of his life like this?

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