She wanted to die.
He wanted to live.
•••
A hand grabbed onto my wrist, yanking me back just as the train rushed past, before I'd even had time to comprehend whether or not I'd carry out the action. I stumbled back into the person's chest, my hear...
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I could tell when something was bothering someone.
It takes one to know one, and although barely perceptible to others, I could tell when someone had inner turmoil brewing within them. Albeit not always instantly, but the small discrepancies in their behaviour would soon add up until it was no longer simply speculation and instead actual fact that something was wrong.
I didn't know how to fully explain to Romeo that his eyes beheld all his trauma: that when he looked at me unmasked and full of empathy I could see the words he wouldn't speak out loud; that I could see the turmoil engraved into the chocolate swirls within the dark brown pools of his eyes; that in every angle of his aristocratic face there was a sharpness defined by the harshness of this life; that his sunken eyes accompanied by the bags underneath revealed that his sleep had been stolen by a lost cause.
But it was ironic, because his eyes also held hope, prominent and brimming with enough positivity to match the smile stretched across his lips. Most surprising of all was that it was nothing but earnest, genuine warmth as opposed to a rehearsed expression pulled on to keep up a façade.
"I think some of my optimism transferred over to you Cass," Romeo joked, grinning as I rolled my eyes and shook my head slightly. "Hope looks good on you."
"It feels good too," I admitted, the words tasting foreign on my tongue. "As well as scary, and undeserved, and abnormal."
My brain couldn't wrap itself around a number of things, like the fact that I could've- should've been feeling like this all the time and that this was a normal feeling for many people, as well as the realisation that Romeo had been right when he'd said darkness and light could exist alongside each other. I was by no means happy, but I wasn't utterly miserable either, and although I was still submerged in the darkness of my problems, I had the memories from tonight to light my path on the long journey ahead.
"I should probably mention that attending therapy sessions isn't the only thing that helped me though," Romeo added on, my gaze snapping towards his as he sent me a knowing look. "There's something else that really got me through a lot..."
For a moment I was distracted by the morning sunlight flitting in through the lift doors, the light orange hue cascading down around us while a few pinks and purples mused into each other, reflecting onto Romeo's face. His defined features practically cut through each stream of the sunrise haze as his lips relaxed into a nonchalant smile, reminding me that I still was yet to speak. "What else?"
I wasn't met with a verbal response like I had been expecting though; instead Romeo unzipped his bag and pulled out the last thing that had been on my mind, an all too familiar book which made me groan inwardly at the sight of it. "Romeo and Juliet!"
"Are you finally going to explain why you love that play so much?" To my frustration, Romeo did nothing but smile at me, with the type of smile you send someone when you know something that they don't. My hatred for the book had simmered into a tasteful dislike after Romeo had managed to slightly alter my view, but I was still a critic of the supposed love story.
