Invisible String [t. s]

Falling

July 21st, 1922.
London, England. United Kingdom.
Theseus Scamander's house.

Theseus felt himself like falling. After he sent that letter, not getting a reply, and waiting for what felt like an eternity, he gave up on the thought that she'd come back. Even if he knew he should keep fighting for her. Theseus was trying to convince himself that, even if she hadn't replied because she's still hurt and angry at him, that there was still hope, after all, she said she couldn't force herself to hate him because she loved him.

Still, he did nothing.

Not for a while.

Not for now.

It was a lazy Sunday, he didn't have to show up for work and he found himself in his bed, a glass of whiskey in his hands. It was past noon and still, the liquid remained untouched. His lips had touched it, but he never took a sip, the glass with melted ice wandered in his hands.

Theseus blamed himself once again and damned the thought of Amélie the second it intruded his head, specially when he looked over at the spot she'd use in his bed. Strangely, ever since Amélie's departure, he hasn't been able to sleep on that side of the mattress.

He wished he would wish his feelings away, his longing, his need of her. He also wished he could make her forget what he had said, what he actually never said, because it wasn't what he meant.

The lack of an 'I love you', what it had caused...he longed to take it back, but he knew he couldn't. Time, and whatever or whoever is up above isn't as kind as to allow a mortal to change the past. The past itself mocked those who wanted to change it every time they even dared to think about it.

This...loss, because he couldn't find another word to describe it, had him wondering what was he now? What can a human that forces himself not to love because of a stupid coincidence can be called? Are they human at all?

Theseus left the glass on his nightstand.

Could he be around people if he wouldn't let himself love them because he 'wants to keep them safe'? What is he even keeping them safe from in the first place? His mind? His fear? What if, at some point, people get tired of that and the very same he tries to protect from himself end up pushing him away? Will he end up alone? Would he be someone no one else wants around? What if he was someone he doesn't want around?

He looked at the glass as he felt himself falling down an endless rabbit hole.

What if he was out of himself? Out of everyone's lives at some point? Would he ever be out of Élie's life? Her mind? Did she ever think about him? Did she even think about him? What if, after this, even if she said she'd wait for him, that she'd love him, he has turned into someone she won't talk about? Has Theseus made Amélie extremely sad? She said she cared, but did she miss him? He sure hope she did.

Theseus took the glass and chugged it down in two sips before leaving it back where he had taken it from, spotting the bottle next to it. He looked at their emptiness with disgust, as he felt himself empty.

He closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks. He definitely missed her. Theseus sighed as his eyes met the paper and the ink on the desk of his room, his eyes met his fingertips and he remembered all the drunken words he had written last night, knowing those were letters he wouldn't be able to send. Partially because they didn't make a lot of sense, and partially because he had ran of words he could say.

Theseus pressed his palms on his eyes. Hard, making him see figures and colours behind his eyelids.

Could he be someone Élie doesn't want around? Could she actually be able to take back what she had said and actively decide to forget him? To hate him? He wouldn't be able to survive that. Could love evaporate away? Why can't it go away and save people from the misery of heartache? He needed her, and he couldn't help but wonder...he had this feeling that she'd never need him again the way he did. Could that be true?

Theseus sighed and looked out the window where he saw the drizzle of summer rain.

He knew he wanted her around, he wanted her laugh, her kiss, her touch, her hair, her presence, her breath, her heartbeat. Fuck. He had fallen in love again. Hard. And he really, really hoped he could tell her.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, breathed through, breathed deep, and breathed out. The rabbit hole wasn't endless.

Theseus made himself the promise that, someday, he'd tell her. Despite the crippling fear of falling again.