Work Text:
Call a load of smoke in, I wanna lose a couple days
Sebastian lit the pipe with the tip of his wand. He was vaguely surprised he was still able to nonverbally cast incendio; he’d been at this for hours, after all. The packed down nest of mallowsweet leaves glowered an angry red as he sucked the earthy smoke deep into his lungs.
Probably never struggled coping, but I never want to
His chest burned with the intensity of his smoky inhalation, but he savored the pain. The physical sensation drowned out the mournful ache of his soul. The intoxicating mallowsweet had slowed his thoughts and left him a stupid heap on the floor of their flat.
No, not their flat anymore.
Promise again that I would call her
It's probably good I didn't call though, but I always want to
Sebastian slid his spine even further down the wall until he was fully recumbent, his cheek squished pathetically against the hard floor. From this angle he was staring directly under the couch. There his broken phone lay, the cracked screen reminding him of an intricate spider’s web.
And I'd beg you, but you know I'm never home
And I'd love you, but I need another year alone
Looking at the useless brick reminded him of the last text he’d read before he’d hurled it in a desperate, angry stupor.
“This isn’t working, Sebastian. I love you, but it’s not enough.”
Call a load of smoke in, I wanna lose a couple days
He heaved another deep breath and let the mallowsweet swallow him into a murky haze. His shoulder ached where it was pressing painfully against the unrelenting wood beneath him.
Wetness pooled under his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying again. His salty tears mixed with the dust and dirt of his unkempt home, coating the side of his face in a shameful mud.
Probably never struggled sleeping, but I never want to
If he focused deeply enough, he could almost visualize what his heart looked like at that exact moment. Thick, fleshy, red muscle torn down the middle. Maybe he was dying. Maybe if he fell asleep right now, he’d never wake up. Maybe he wanted that.
And I don't think through things, I never get time
'Cause I don't think things through
Sebastian knew intellectually that the physical pain in his heart was his nervous system reacting to his emotional stress. The consciousness that he had fought so hard to suppress let a startlingly coherent thought slip through the fog of his addled mind.
Where was this cognizance when he was letting the love of his life slip through his fingers? Fuck his stupidity. Fuck his foolish complacency.
And fuck them for breaking his heart.