lana del rey imagines

ꨄ︎ fuck the met gala ꨄ︎

Breakup. Wedding cancelled. Distance.

You close your eyes. Your thoughts merge into endless spirals that send a stabbing pain, your headache only getting worse. When will be the day you don't overthink things so much?

Probably never.

After taking a sip of your chamomile tea, its sweetness and warmth helping you compose yourself a bit, your attention returns to the TV.

Today is the Met Gala and your fiancée (is she still, though?) is supposed to make her expected appearance at any moment. And when that happens, you're pretty sure you're going to burst into tears.

A month ago, Lana and you had a rather severe argument. It was triggered by a combination of many stuff, including sensitive and important issues that you had been avoiding discussing for a long time.

And for the first time in almost six years, you felt that neither of you were on the same page. You know Lana felt it too. Because since that day in late March, your relationship hasn't been the same.

Sure, you've had ups and downs, as every couple does. But this is different. You've barely spoken to each other this past month, much less seen each other. And the most fucked up part of that is that you're still living under the same roof.

Coexistence and communication has ceased to be as it used to.

You two sleep in separate rooms now. Are hardly home all day. Your days consist of doing extra shifts at work and studying, casually going for a walk to clear your damn mind; while Lana goes to the studio or out with her friends, or does whatever it takes to stay away from you.

The first tear falls. You're screwed.

Leaving the mug on the coffee table, you grab the tissues and blow your nose while sobbing. Not only are you an emotional wreck but physically you're having an awful time as well.

You had to run a COVID test a few days ago after suffering from fever several nights in a row. The result was negative and the doctor's diagnosis was the flu. Your treatment consists of resting, staying hydrated, and taking pills for the fever and aches and pains. Sleep would probably help if you could just do it for more than two hours; you don't know how to sleep alone, that's the problem.

Celebrities pose for the cameras and give interviews while you lie on the sofa, shivering with cold as you hide as much as possible in the oversized hoodie you're wearing. Of course it's Lana's. You miss her so fucking much.

But she probably doesn't. She didn't ask you to accompany her to New York this time. You didn't kiss her goodbye. Your heart aches at the realization that goodbye is, precisely, what you've been saying all this time. Slowly and painfully, silently.

You're about to cry your eyes out once again when you hear the front door being opened. It makes you rise to your feet immediately, your heart racing with fear. Because who the hell has the keys to your house other than....

Lana appears in your line of sight as soon as you step out of the living room. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose. She's wearing makeup but it's not enough to hide the tiredness her features radiate. You don't see it but her mind is a place of racing thoughts too, and she had prepared a whole speech to say.

But as soon as Lana lays her eyes on you, it fades.

You look so... Fragile. With your tears streaming down your cheeks, shaking slightly.

"Baby?" She asks-whispers, taking a few steps forward, cautiously. A part of her expects to be rejected.

"What are you doin' here?" You whisper back, wiping away your tears. You don't usually cry in front of anyone, much less her. It's embarrassing. "I thought- I thought you'd be in New York by now."