I'll Sing It One Last Time For You (Justin)

j u s t i n f l y t e .

A truly bittersweet moment, hugging Cris was; although Justin’s heart leapt fervently for the chance, relishing within the comfort and familiarity of the embrace, his mind knew it wouldn’t last. It was painfully aware of the fact that the girl he adored would, eventually, come-to, thus bringing with her clearer, sounder mind the immediate ceasing of any sort of affection. It was a startling revelation, one that made Justin long to cling to her with every frantic, distraught fibre of his being and never release her – but, it was inescapable. It would happen whether he liked it or not – he would just have to live with that fact and, upon her request, peel himself away from her.

Until that point, Justin would hold her, be close to her, breath her in; he would do everything she would damn-well let him, because he knew this would likely be his only chance. He would be soothed by her nearness, and throw caution into the wind.

It was selfish, and he knew that – but as long as Cris participated willingly, he wouldn’t dare separate them. He needed to let his mind have that much of a reprieve; needed to give himself a chance, no matter how short, to feel at home for the first time in months.

The intense thrumming of Cris’ heart began to slow, the unfamiliar sound beginning to fade rapidly out of earshot. Because of this, the young man found himself longing to strain further, listen harder, all because he knew that the calming of the body brought clarity of the mind. She was so close, so tauntingly and painfully close, to having calmed down, and it terrified him. Justin wanted Cris to be alright, don’t get me wrong – he would do anything to ensure her safety, mental or physical. But, he knew exactly what was coming, knew that, eventually, it was likely they would revert into their usual. From tender they would descend, instead transforming into aggression and angst, yelling and screaming as though their intensity held no bounds. It was a saddening, hurtful reality, knowing that he would have to pretend to hate her, pretend to loathe her very being, after such an agonisingly tender exchange.

It came far too quickly.

One second she was nestled within the protective barrier of his arms, and the next she had disappeared, leaving Justin standing, empty, stranded, the loss bringing with it a round of sudden desperation. He’d had no chance to prepare, no chance to ready himself for the nearly physically painful loss – she was simply there one moment, and gone the next. It hurt, so badly, but Justin knew he needed to keep the fragile pieces of his composure sewn together as expertly as he could. This was about ensuring she was no longer in a panic; that was all. It wasn’t the time for pitying himself, or begging her for some form of forgiveness. He needed to keep his shit together, needed to fucking-well be able to deal with being in the same room as the girl he loved so passionately. Was he not capable of that?

“Right... safe.” Justin hesitated, eyes wrenching from their spot upon the floor to Cris, so suddenly, the words shocking him into the reality of the situation, leaving any thoughts behind of her ripping away from him so suddenly. They brought with them a round of suffocating guilt, Justin’s stomach plummeting relentlessly towards the floor. He didn’t dare respond, didn’t allow himself the liberty. Instead, the young man simply stood there, unresponsive, jaw flexing sporadically in attempt to keep his mind focused on something other than the girl he was locked in a room with.

His disgrace surged with the sight of seeing Cris drag her arm across her eyes, his own immediately softening, taking on a rather quaint, silent, apologetic quality. The tears she was fighting were his fault, and he knew that. If he could have left then, just to cease that hurt, that raw, unfair fucking emotion, he would have easily taken his leave. Never before, would Justin sit by and let Cris come anywhere near to crying. It wasn’t within him and, although it stung so sorely to see her in such a state, he knew it was no longer his place to comment. Instead he reduced himself to standing there, expression having lost all life, as Cris walked herself over towards a fridge that was in the corner. A part of him longed for blood too, right then – but, he didn’t bother. He didn’t trust himself to be anywhere near her, not again; he’d taken what he could, and deserved no more.

“Why... are you here anyway? Why is either of us locked in this fucking room?” She was avoiding his eyes, as he was hers, and Justin forced himself to remain unmoving as she wrenched open the fridge, stifling all desire to flinch or grimace in instinctual response. She hadn’t asked why he had stayed, why he’d hugged her – that was good, at least. A positive disguised within all of the negative bullshit, he supposed. Justin remained silent for a moment, still unmoving from his spot, eyes glued stoically to the wall opposite him. He worked to grasp at any form of mental bearings, brow furrowing as he released a small breath, willing himself to appear casual. As though he wasn’t about to break down in the most pathetic of natures. “Li called me. Said there was an emergency.” His tones were grated and hoarse, and, in response, Justin immediately cleared his throat, hoping it would make up for the unattractive, raw sound of his voice. “I don’t know.”

His answers were miserable, but they did not deter him from his original goal. He didn’t come here to talk to her, but simply to ensure she was okay. And, even if it killed him, he would damn-well make sure that, when he did leave, it would be in knowing she was fine.

With that thought still fresh upon his mind, the young man rolled his shoulders, idly, before looking craning his neck to look over at her, eyes searching briefly for her own as he turned, so slowly, to face her. “Are you alright?” He asked, somewhat suddenly, voice having dipped a level lower, as though the volume of his words would make it alright to answer sincerely.

Even if she didn’t answer, or perhaps did without revealing whether or not she was actually alright, there was a part of Justin that longed for the conversation to continue. He didn’t want it to be like this, though. Strained, awkward, painful. He missed how they used to be, the two of them, with their teasing remarks and sarcastic responses. He was asking for too much, and that was a fact he was aware of. But even still, you can’t blame a guy for dreaming.


^{o o c: This is really shitty and I'm sorry omg but I POSTED LOL. Only took me two years. Promise they'll get better omg. Oh and sorry for le lack of table, I decided I hate his so yh.}

j u s t i n f l y t e .

This was the reason why he had tried to stay away from her.

It wasn’t out of hate or animosity, or even hostility; it went far deeper than that, even despite Justin’s attempts to keep all feeling muted and far away from reach. Seeing the girl he had – and did, involuntarily – love, was painful in every sense of the word. Cris was, quite simply, a physical embodiment of everything he had come to love, and everything he had come to lose; she was bliss, and, yet, brought such strong, unbridled despair and guilt. He loved her but, in the same token, he knew it would be far better to hate her; if only Justin could, then, perhaps, such potent and inescapable despair would be replaced with anger and spite. Those were far easier to deal with, and Justin knew that; anger took a lesser toll on the mind, and was easier to get over. Heartbreak was a different story entirely.

With that thought alone, Justin’s cerulean, tired eyes dragged over towards Cris, trailing without reserve down the contours of her face; a face that, evidently, was now dampened and smeared with the subtle wetness left by half-dried tears. It was hard to look at her in such a state of vulnerability, and know it was beyond his boundaries to attempt and console her. Justin couldn’t touch her, couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t fucking smile at her – not with the way things were. It wasn’t allowed, nor would she appreciate it; it would be far, far too selfish. He longed, so vibrantly, to do as he used to – to allow one hand the liberty to slip up to cup her cheek, as he leaned forwards to kiss her forehead – but, he couldn’t. It was torture, breath-hitching and heart-rate accelerating, but that was the way it was. She had cheated on him, she had disappeared; and he, in return, had gone ballistic. A relationship of that sort could never last, could it? Could such mistakes ever truly be forgiven?

“I’m going to kill them.” Justin’s attention was tugged towards the woman across the room with the muttered, spiteful sound of her voice, eyes immediately pressing closed in attempt to remain still, stifling any defiant retort or action that longed to rise within him. She didn’t want to be here, not with him; he’d known she was bitter, iced over and likely to never soften, but that statement alone provoked Justin to stiffen, body longing to coil and shut out the world around him.

Justin and Cris used to be lovers. Every second spent with the other was paradise, and nobody in the world could have ever taken that away from them.

Nobody but themselves, it seemed.

“Okay.” He mumbled quietly, wrenching his eyes open as he forced himself to release a breath he hadn’t quite realized he had been holding. It was a pathetic and somewhat unresponsive answer, truly, but it was better than nothing; the will to speak had been rapidly smothered by the defeat of which he harbored, taking with it the longing to fight. He wouldn’t sit and try to convince her he was better, or that she should loosen up and relax – Justin didn’t think he could handle the rejection that would follow. Not yet, at least. His strength was far too futile.

It was then, as Justin allowed his eyes to stray towards her once more, that Cris turned, too, their eyes meeting in what seemed to be a fleeting, heart-stopping encounter. Justin’s composure wavered, lips parting in order to release a shaken, uneven breath, before the contact, just like the embrace, was lost.

Justin remained stoic and still, staring, pointedly, in search of her eyes. Who was she, to rip that away from him? Could they not look at one another, without experiencing a need to escape?

“Besides being fucking locked in a room? Yeah, I’m fucking peachy. You?” The inquiry was abandoned with the sarcastic, harsh sound of her voice, and Justin immediately found his lips pursing, eyes dropping from her and instead lingering on the windows across the room. Cris had always been known as a bitch, as that girl you would only mess with if you were prepared to have your ass handed to. He’d always denied it when she brought it up, simply because he had seen her in the best of lights. He wondered though, very briefly, if this was how she was towards the unfortunates she didn’t like. He imaged it was, but there was a difference. Those people, the ones who Cris kept at a fair distance, hadn’t seen her good side. They hadn’t had a chance to see her smile, or admit her love. They only knew the bitter. Perhaps that was what made this so, fucking hard; the fact that Justin knew how gentle and loving she could be, and yet was only faced with hostility. He had lost her respect, her endearment, her love – and, the way she talked to him was only a crude reminder of that fact. He wanted her to be soft, wanted her to soothe him as she had done so many times in the past.

The fact that would likely never happen again was nearly enough to send Justin collapsing to his knees.

“I’m fine.” He responded, voice hushed, before reaching behind him to run his palm nervously over the back of his neck. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to tell her everything that had gone awry since her departure from his life – but, he knew that if he did, if he got too comfortable, he would end up telling her everything. From how desperately he missed her, to how his guilt was self-destroying. By keeping to few words, he was doing her a favor; she would never need to listen to him pleading for her forgiveness, as he so wanted to. “They’ll let us out eventually. They have to.” And then you can get away from me, like you’re dying to.

And then, silence.

It lingered eerily, and, immediately, Justin found his emotion, once again, beginning to work up and into his throat. He needed to apologize; if not for everything he had done, then at least for stepping out of line. It was a sudden, moronic impulse, but one that he could not fight. “I shouldn’t have hugged you. I’m sorry.” He blurted, rather abruptly, happy to claim full responsibility for what, at the time, had seemed to be a shared moment of peace. She had been in a state of panic, right? She’d only hugged him back because she hadn’t known better. That was the story he was sticking with.

From dancing in the rain as lovers would, to apologizing for making contact. It was a saddening realization, one that forced Justin to reign back the godforsaken tears that threatened to well, causing the young man to turn, brusquely, redirecting himself in order to fix his gaze across the room once more. He wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t fucking-well give himself the chance to get any more emotional then he already was.

She had told him that she had needed more of a man.

Although the words had stung, they had also remained. Men did not weep. Justin would not lose it, not again. He needed to stay in control of himself. There was no longer room for error.

Not anymore.


^{o o c: sorry if it's poo I didn't proof it ahuidshaudisahidsa}

j u s t i n f l y t e .

Justin felt as though everything, right then, was hanging in very fragile balance. One wrong move, one slip, and any walls he had put up would come tumbling down, resulting in immediate catastrophe. It scared him, more then he would ever be able to understand or articulate; things were bad as it was, with the two – he didn’t want to worsen the situation with a flurry of senseless confessions.

Justin knew that, should he break down and spill his heart out to the girl across the room, he would only be left feeling empty. Again.

He had always been the type of individual that wore his heart on his sleeve, without any regrets. All throughout Justin’s life he’d learned to accept the trials and cruelties of the world with open arms. He didn’t welcome negativity, per say, but he knew there was no sense in worrying about things that couldn’t be changed. When unfortunate things happen, the young man would give himself the time to grieve, and get over it. He would learn from it, and thank the event for the knowledge he was granted.

This, right now? This was not like that, not at all. Justin had grieved the loss of his love from the moment she disappeared, and him seeing her – in the flesh, throwing their relationship into the wind to be with another man – well, that reopened it to proportions nearly unimaginable. Justin had never been cheated on, never been metaphorically slapped across the face so hard – not only that, but he’d also never felt so fucking, infuriatingly insecure. It disgusted him, and yet he couldn’t seem to change it. He was doomed, it seemed, to relive the venomous words that had left her lips.

“I just need more of a man.”

Yeah. So much for any form of fucking confidence.

She had wanted to destroy him, and it worked.

What hadn’t made sense, though, was her trip back to the tunnels. Justin wanted to say she was simply admiring her handiwork, relishing in the havoc she had so easily wreaked – but it hadn’t seemed like that, at all. She was numb, stoic, hurt. And he, in the brilliant state of mind he was in, took full advantage of that until she chose to fight back. Thinking back on it, Justin didn’t feel as if it was truly him, who’d succumbed to such primal urges. He couldn’t picture himself doing what he did, to her. She had hurt him, yes, but nobody deserved that. Not even her.

The thought caused guilt to rise up within the young man’s constricted throat, a grimace writing itself across his previously neutral expression. Thinking about what he had done, what he had become, terrified him. He didn’t hurt the people he loved, but he had hurt her. Fuck.

“Right.” The tone, no longer hostile or sarcastic, nearly provoked Justin to look her way. He wanted to search her face for any hint of softening, those eyes – now hopefully relieved of crimson – for any form of longing or forgiveness. He wanted, so fucking badly, to look at her, right then. But, he knew better; knew that, if she did look softened or gentle, he would only break down. And, if she didn’t? It would only disappoint him. Justin didn’t reply, didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe. He could muster no response and therefore, when the two fell into the first uncomfortable silence, he immediately felt responsible. Perhaps if he’d tried to speak, made an effort to converse, his emotions wouldn’t be given the chance to grow rampant. When he was speaking to her, he was focusing on that and that alone. When he wasn’t, in a silence as sickening and eerie as this, he was left to his thoughts. Although it seemed unlikely, his thoughts – or, rather, his emotions – scared him far more than making stupid conversation. So, he solved the problem the only way he knew how.

“Don’t be sorry, it calmed me down... I was being a spiraling mess...” She said after a short moment of extended silence and Justin’s forehead creased with the furrowing of his brows, lips pursing and jaw flexing as his eyes remained fixed on the opposing wall. He hadn’t expected that answer, that tone of voice. She was hesitant to answer – reluctant, even – but had anyways. “Thank you.”

With that, Justin froze. His breath hitched, heart stopped, eyes closed.

She hated thanking people, no matter who it was. He was lucky, when they were happy, if she thanked him. Ever.

With that revelation Justin turned suddenly, expression still hardened and confused and hurt. Because, right then, he didn’t give a flying fuck whether or not she could tell. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t thank him, and get away scot-free. It would give him hope. Intentional, or not. So, it wasn’t allowed. There was no sense in having any sort of hope for a relationship where only one party was interested in mending things.

“You can’t just do that.” He remarked hoarsely, jaw still clenching and unclenching sporadically as he lifted a hand to once again run his palm over the back of his neck. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t have done it.” Justin continued, unsettled, after a moment, attempting to gather what he could of the composure that was now, very evidently, spiralling out of his control. “Let me fucking-well be sorry.” His words, now wavering and unsteady, slipped quietly past Justin’s lips, all before the young man turned again, without a word, and made his way towards the door. His hand reached out to grasp the handle, tugging and twisting roughly as he felt his walls beginning to fail him, only before his other hand joined the first, slamming and wiggling the door handle in an effort to free himself from what he knew was coming. He didn’t want to get away from her, per say, but rather the negativity being around her roused within him. He was trapped with these feelings, this hurt, with no escape.

He just wanted things to be normal.

After an extended amount of time spent fighting with the doorknob Justin began to settle, breathing heavy as he leaned forwards to rest his forehead against the wood. Defeat.

“You hate saying thank you,” he breathed quietly, forcing himself to simmer and focus on collecting his breathing, “to anyone.” Justin finished after a long moment, voice still rough with the telltale signs of his emotional instability. “So don’t... thank me. Please.”


^{o o c: LOLL WAT SPAZZ}

j u s t i n f l y t e .

Justin was losing it.

Every word, every stolen little glance; it all wreaked an insurmountable, inescapable havoc within the young man, and yet he continued in fear of giving up the chance to see her, if just for this one last time. Seeing her, being around her – it all brought pain, anguish, agony.

But, right then, pain seemed a hell of a lot better than nothing at all.

Even still, Justin could feel himself – or his carefully forged walls, rather – beginning to falter, even the smallest of words able to shatter all sense of self-control and composure. It was a bittersweet thought, really; the revelation that Cris was the only one of whom could provoke such emotion within the young man, and yet used it so negatively. It provoked within the Crimson a very vivid, suffocating ache; his chest constricted as the young man’s cerulean eyes drew to a close, breath escaping through pursed, thin lips. He longed, so badly, to escape this affliction, this emotional distress, and yet could not bring himself to try. Her very presence, no matter how mercilessly negative, invoked within Justin an odd sense of bliss – not for the present but, rather, for the past. Cris had taught him so much, not only about love, about himself. She had singlehandedly captured his heart and mind, snagging his interest with the speed of a predator – all it had taken was once chance-meeting, a single ride during the darkness of dusk.

He’d been hooked before he’d had the chance to fight it.

And, despite the fact everything had gone to shit, he would always be thankful for that – for what they had, initially, had.

Never had Justin loved to boundlessly, so naively or so childishly. They had been the embodiment of freedom and sheer, unbridled bliss and happiness, the two of them. They had danced in the rain and he had stolen kisses at her door – it was much like a story, truthfully. He was that silly, boyishly charming boy who fell for the woman his mother had warned him about; the dangerous, hardened, beautiful girl who so easily captivated his imagination. Crissatha Pandora had been his opposite in every way, shape, and form – and, yet, they meshed so flawlessly only fate could be held responsible for their meeting. Where Justin seemed to lack, Cris seemed to make up for – and, vice versa. They complimented one another in ways nearly unfathomable, and thus held a balance so strong, so sturdy, that Justin had never had a single doubt.

She’d been the one.

She still was the one.

“No.” As though answering his statement, Cris spoke and, immediately, Justin drew his eyes over towards the woman; searching, prodding, vaguely and discreetly pleading. She was right, though, however unintentional; she had made her choice that night, when her desires led her astray. She’d cheated, thrown everything away for sex – Justin’s brows knitted together and his jaw wired closed, forehead wrinkling as, for that poised split-second of time, he allowed his abandonment reign. And then, but a moment later, Justin forced down the nasty feeling within his throat, the drowning within his lungs. He revived within himself the will for escape, the incentive to attempt and hate her with every fibre of his being, and he headed towards the door.

An unwise coping mechanism perhaps, but it was the best he could muster.

It was a battle of time, of composure, and that terrified the young man; he knew that, if he didn’t get the damned door open, everything and anything he’d worked for in regards to keeping emotion in check would be in vain. He could only pretend not to love her for so long, or keep the guilt and misunderstanding and downright confusion at bay for a certain period of time. It was killing him not to talk to her, touch her, kiss her. Every memory burned its way into the forefront of his mind as Justin assaulted the doorknob in his valiant attempt at escape; her slapping his chest, his thumb against her cheek at they kissed. It was uncalled for and, quite frankly, madness. He was done, so done, and it only showed in the urgency with which he continued. He was getting desperate. He couldn’t handle this, not anymore. It was too much.

“I told you it’s locked. You can get away from me soon enough I’m sure when they realize it won’t work and let us out.” As the young man leaned his forehead against the wood, having already given the door a last, spiteful shove, his eyes pulled to a close, chest heaving as he fought for any sense of self. This wasn’t the man he’d turned into, was it? Scared, angry, hurt. It was pathetic.

Her words, though – those only poured salt into an already gaping wound.

Didn’t she understand it wasn’t like that? That he loved her, and would do anything for her? He wanted out solely because it was too painful – her hate was too painful.

He didn’t want to get away from her.

“It’s not like that.” He breathed quietly, Justin’s voice hoarse, having been thoroughly grated by the emotion of which ran rampant within him. “I don’t want to get away from you, I just—“ a pause, a grimace as Justin ground his forehead into the wood of the door. “I want to get away from this.”

Justin fell silent then, there, with the admission. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to respond – and, so, he simply stood there. Dull and dumfounded, unaware of what action to take or what to do with himself. Justin was a positive, jovial individual – emotions of a darker nature were unfamiliar, and thus he didn’t cope with them well. If that wasn’t obvious. It took a moment then, however, for the young man to realize that Cris had moved. She was behind him, lingering, and Justin forced himself to stifle any sort of anxiety that roused within him due to the familiarity of the situation. She wouldn’t do it again, would she? Try to taunt him, get a rouse out of him, simply to see him flounder with her reoffence? “I was the one that leaned into you first and wrapped my arms around you. So... don’t be sorry.”

Justin stilled, the cracked, suffering tone of her voice daring him, bribing him, to turn and comfort her. He didn’t have to, though. Just as the young man shifted in order to crane his neck, he was tugged to lips so frighteningly familiar, so longing and gentle and hurt. His body reacted before his mind had the chance to catch up, lips parting in easy acceptance as Justin’s hand lifted, softly, thumb feathering over the curve of her cheekbone.

It was so routine, so familiar; it hurt, and yet felt so, unfortunately satisfying.

That was, until her lips were gone.

Without any hint of warning her lips had been torn away and Justin stood, idly, body frozen as though hoping remaining still would further the experience. It was agony, the separation; all he wanted to do was kiss her again, and grant himself the permission to drown his sorrows in the comfort of her kiss.

But, he knew that wasn’t allowed. Not anymore.

Fuck.

Justin’s hand dropped slowly back to his side as his brow creased, eyes flicking over to meet the woman who sat, unaffected, on the desk at the other side of the room. He just stared. How could she do that – to him, to herself? Did she not know what pain she was causing – or, worse, was that the intention?

“I don’t get it.” He murmured, hoarsely, voice only audible enough for her to catch the faintest whisper. “You can’t just do what you did, and then—“ Justin lost the words upon his tongue, expression shattering to reveal one of hurt and raw, unguarded betrayal. She couldn’t just kiss him, and return to normal – couldn’t just cheat on him, and return to old habits.

He desired, so badly, to hate it; to hate her.

But, he loved every fucking second of it.

“Just stop.”

A whispered and desperate plea, for the end of pain and suffering.



^{o o c: WOO SWAG HOPE IT'S DECE}

j u s t i n f l y t e .

There was a part of Justin – a very slim and questionable part, truthfully – that urged him to be angry, to grow absolutely and entirely infuriated, with the woman of whom he loved so dearly.

It wasn’t out of spite, or a dangerous and animalistic longing for revenge – but, rather, a need to escape the pain, the agony; the overwhelming and crippling whirlwind of emotion that threatened to shatter his composure at any point in time. If Justin were to turn angry, turn feral, all sense of self and guilt would be erased, leaving him blissful and ignorant of his hardships and feelings. It was a startling revelation, but a true one nonetheless; it had worked once, in the tunnels, and would likely work again should he choose to use it.

But he wasn’t that person, not anymore.

The possibility was there, but he would never act on it. Cris didn’t deserve it; not now, not ever.

She hadn’t deserved it the first time, either.

Justin was aware of that, now. With the returning of his clarity and logic also came the disturbing realization of what he had done, how he had treated her. The things of which the young man had yelled, the things of which he had screamed at her in hopes of getting his skewed point across. He’d been so lost in the depths of anger, depression, a ravenous and constricting hunger which bound him to madness; never, had Justin realized that what he was saying was wrong. At the time, it had felt wonderful; exhilarating, even. He embraced the hatred and aggression with every devoted fibre of his being.

That is, until the man gained his sanity back. Once he lost that animalistic drive, that mercilessness and relentlessness – it had all been downhill, from there. He was left spiralling into a hole of darkness, guilt, and confusion.

Cris had cheated on him. She’d disappeared and, so effortlessly, torn his life apart in sleeping with another man.

Still, that gave him no right, no fucking right, to do that he had done.

He knew that now.

“This?” Justin’s attention was abruptly shifted with the softly-spoken question, the gentle and seemingly wavering inquiry. He wasn’t making sense, and he knew that – but no words, no articulate vocabulary or dictionary, could explain how he was feeling. How he wanted to escape on one hand, but succumb to his feelings for Cris on the other. It was a hard decision and, for a seemingly fragile expanse of time, Justin stood, idly, as he pondered the question. What was the “this” of which he wanted to get away from? The young man’s brows pulled together, eyes adverting to the floor in fear of her reaction. He wasn’t allowed to be sweet, or gentle, or sappy – not anymore. “Yeah,” he breathed, chest still heaving with the exertion of slamming against the door, “this.” Justin said slowly, cautiously, hand lifting to run over his forehead as his eyes darted, fleetingly, towards her. They returned a moment later to the ground beneath him, but he’d needed to know if she’d been mad, hurt, irritated. He didn’t want things to get any worse, didn’t think he could handle it if they did.

“This tension, this hate.” Justin replied, quietly this time, eyes remaining firmly planted on the floor. He was being vulnerable, right now. He didn’t need to worsen it by looking up, by seeing the smirk that would likely curve her lips. The vampire knew he should cease speaking, but something willed him onwards and, once he had started, he could not grasp the control to stop. “It’s too fucking hard, to remember us and everythi—“ He interrupted himself then, voice wavering, as Justin raked in a loud breath and continued, “and then compare it to now, and—“ again he paused, fighting so desperately for some hold upon himself, some form of his bearings, before finally admitting defeat, “I just don’t like it, okay?” The young man breathed, eyes closing as he bumped his forehead once against the thick, wooden frame.

She wouldn’t appreciate the admission, he knew. And, because of this, Justin longed to apologize – for a split second, his lips parted, before closing once more. He should apologize, should plead for forgiveness, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He’d gone far past his boundaries, and it was likely that he was done for. She would eat him alive, laugh at his pain and anguish; just as she had before, in her room. The vision caused the individual to wince, lips growing unsteady with the emotion that assaulted him so violently, so suddenly. Fuck. He couldn’t handle this, wouldn’t handle this.

But, then, she kissed him.

And though it hurt, only worsening that nasty ache within the pit of his stomach or the reddening of his eyes, it also felt good. So familiar, her lips were. But that hurt, that longing, that raw and unbridled fucking agony – that was not familiar.

That scared him.

It hadn’t ended how he had figured, though. Instead of allowing the two to drift back to the way things were – as though that was logical – Justin instead found himself stranded, abandoned, the sudden absence of her lips painful beyond what words could describe. Cris remained unfazed, emotionless and guarded beyond belief—

But, he had sworn he’d felt tears upon the skin of her cheek.

The young man’s eyes flicked downwards briefly, palm turning upwards as he searched, successfully, for the dampness of which clung to the surface of his skin. Crissatha Pandora did not cry.

So why was she?

She hated him—kissing him, surely, couldn’t have hurt her... Or, had it?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The young man’s eyes lifted, slowly, expression faltering as his lips pursed, jaw flexing beneath his tight, olive skin. He stifled the destructive urge to laugh, then, to throw back his head and howl in absolute hysteria. She’d torn him apart, torn his life apart – and, yet, pretended she didn’t know what the fuck she had done? “Don’t do that.” Justin pleaded, voice holding within it a vague warning, partnered with a contradictory plea. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what you did.” He breathed out, voice low, as he stared at the woman. It hurt so bad, the denial. She’d happily rubbed it in, easily poured salt into an already deepened wound – but now, as they faced one another, she couldn’t seem to remember what it was that caused him to change?

Bullshit.

“Right... stop... cause I’m not right. Sorry. Forgot.” It took a minute, for her comment to register; for its meaning to, so slowly, be comprehended within the depths of his mind. Justin hadn’t grasped the connection right away but, after a long moment of standing there, the recollection hit him like a slap in the face.

The man paled, breath hitching and lips parting as his jaw began to grow unsteady, eyes glossy with a newfound flurry of emotion.

Justin’s eyes closed then, so tightly, as he fought to gather himself. To stifle the guilt, the self-hatred of which threatened to claim him so willingly.

But, he couldn’t. And it showed.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, so softly, as his breathing grew ragged, expression tightening, eyes still closed in attempt to harness everything that threatened to spill out. “I’m so sorry.” His tone had long lost its stability, its composure, as Justin’s fingers closed together, the dampness of her tears still lingering.



^{o o c: OMG FINALLY. but srs i hope it's okay bc i did not proof it and he is LOSIN HIS SHIT}