i had a free day from school yall know what that means
word count: around 700
warnings: angst in general 😭 betrayal death anger grief etc etc
Keefe leaves, one day. He leaves and he doesn't tell anyone until it's happened, until Sophie arrives a sobbing wreck who can hardly say a word through her tears. Later, when her eyes are shiny but her voice is usable once more, she just shakes her head.
His last words were, "Please don't hate me."
Fitz is there when she tells them, a helpless statue in the corner. Everyone else is buzzing and talking and planning and he can't do a thing, because he doesn't understand. In all the futures he'd envisioned, Keefe had been there, and now he's not, and it doesn't make sense.
Please don't hate me.
Fitz plays those words over and over in his head, plays Keefe's desperation on repeat. He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to freeze. He wants to disappear. What about me? he wants to plead and beg and ask. What about me, Keefe? What do you want from me, to tell me?
Here's the thing: Fitz doesn't want to hate Keefe, but he does.
Which is why he doesn't scream and kick and tear the world apart with his scathing anger, even though it's what everyone is expecting from him. He just sits. He watches the walls of his world crumble as only he can see, and once everything is rubble and stinging dust on the ground, he goes to his room and cries.
Fitz hates Keefe. He hates him so much he can't bear it. There's an awful ache in his chest constantly now, a well of hate and hurt and longing that only grows larger every day Keefe doesn't come back. Tears become a bitter poison, erode an ugly hole into his heart.
What had happened to goodbyes and closure and all those good things Fitz hadn't expected to need this desperately until now? What about that, Keefe?
Every day Fitz wakes up, and he wonders, what was happening to Keefe? Every day Fitz wakes up and there's no news and he thinks, selfishly, hatefully, good. He thinks, if Keefe was in trouble, it was his own damn fault for joining the Neverseen. He thinks, if anything had happened to Keefe, he couldn't help anymore because Keefe had chosen to leave them with all this heartache.
He thinks, he doesn't care about Keefe, not at all, not anymore. He thinks and thinks and thinks, but thoughts don't always translate to feelings.
Because if Fitz didn't care, he wouldn't be staying up every night, counting the beats of his heart and wondering if Keefe was out there doing the same.
What would he say if he ever saw Keefe again? Fitz thinks about it all the time now. It's his waking thought, his constant question. A scenario that could go a million different ways, all of which he's imagined, none of which are just right. The possibilities are all scribbled in his notebook, then scratched out in the same frenzy they were written in.
w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶?̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶ ̶i̶ ̶n̶e̶e̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶p̶l̶e̶a̶s̶e̶ ̶P̶L̶E̶A̶S̶E̶
i̶'̶v̶e̶ ̶c̶r̶i̶e̶d̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶s̶i̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶e̶f̶t̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶?̶
w̶h̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶u̶s̶?̶ ̶i̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ ̶i̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶i̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶'̶v̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶i̶
i̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶F̶U̶C̶K̶ ̶Y̶O̶U̶
One by one, the papers are torn out. Shredded, then tossed in the trash. It's easy to do that when the words are just an ink scrawl on fragile paper. It's harder when they manifest in thoughts and dreams and take over Fitz's mind until his head pounds and heart aches.
i hate you, he writes, one day. Over and over. The words fill the page and spill over on his hands, staining them ink black, and he keeps going. Over and over, a furious jab of his pen with every word. Stabbing through paper into bedsheets, Fitz's hatred mottling what was once pure and white possibility.
What Fitz would give to see Keefe one last time. If he could just say all that he had to say, get it out there before it was too late, maybe he wouldn't be self-destructing like this. If he could just scream I HATE YOU, just once, expel all this bitter poison tainting his heart, maybe he could feel fine.
The news comes three dreadful, tear-and-ink-drenched months later. It's almost like deja vu, seeing Sophie crying softly, hardly able to talk through the grief swelling her throat.
His last words were, "It's okay if you hate me."
Fitz goes back to his notebook. Flips to the last page, already mottled with past stains of frustration. Writes, again, one last time, i hate you.
Stares at it, and then, he crosses it out.
i̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶
