Chapter 1 - Devastation

The day had started off bright, sunny; the kind that you wish would come along more often. I had woken up particularly early that morning, seeing as I knew the day wouldn't be a frequent visitor, especially since the autumn was beginning to settle in. I threw on my tracksuit jacket and sprinted down the stairs, almost tripping and practically breaking my neck. Wouldn't that have been ironic? The one day I was the most anxious to experience, all lost to a faulty stair. But I made it down alive, much to my relief, and headed out the door.

I slipped my hands into my pockets, taking in the fresh air, letting it run through me like a rampant bull. It was refreshing. It felt almost stale in my apartment, and it felt like it had been days since I last stepped outside. But I felt rejuvenated. Reborn. I glanced at a few of the passers-by as they strolled by me, but my focus was one my destination. Well, more on the person at that destination, not so much the place itself.

The door was heavy, wooden, and stained a deep brown. It almost looked like cherry wood from far away, until you were closer to see that it was just the standard wood, only made to look darker. I raised my hand, curling my fingers into a fist, and knocked. I might've knocked loudly because from behind the door, I could hear something dropping to the ground and the rustling of things around the room. Maybe I had come at a bad time? I wasn't quite sure what to think. That is, until he opened the door.

He had the face , an angel. That's what it seemed to me. Whenever I had been having a hard time at the set, or a hard time figuring out a plot or motivation or a line, a small little joke emitted from his lips could make the entire day worth it. He never failed to make me smile, make me laugh. Make me feel like me. It had seemed, for so long, that I had with a hole. An entire piece of me was gone, and I never knew why. Until I met him. Things finally started making sense and I could smile every day, with a reason. And I knew, and had for a while, that without him in it, my life would mean nothing.

He opened the door, squinting at the sun's light. It took him a few seconds to register who as at the door but after the realization set it, his face lit up and he embraced me. The feeling of his arms around me was the closest thing to paradise. I only wished it could be the same for him. I smiled and returned the favor, squeezing tightly, but gently, on his small frame. He pulled back and looked me in the eyes. I shivered, as I always did when our gaze met.

"I didn't expect you to come by s'early!" he said, his Scottish brogue becoming more apparent with each word. "Not that I'm complainin' or anythin'! C'mon in, I just cooked up some breakfast." He slid out of the way of the door to let me enter his home, a place that was as familiar to me as my own apartment. I couldn't help but smile as I walked in and shut the door behind me.

The smell of porridge, one of his favorite foods, filled the entirety of his house. It smelled delicious, and after working with him for so many months, I had become quite fond of it myself. I took a few steps towards the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. I looked over at him, busily stirring at the porridge he had warming on the stovetop. Something inside of me always seemed to come alive whenever I was around him. I felt like I could do anything and he'd never judge me for it. He'd always love me, whatever kind of love that may have been, platonic or not.

"If you want me come back later," I started, my British accent rivaling his brogue, "I can do that. Y'know, if you had somethin' goin' on or somethin' like that." I slid my hands into my pockets as he shot me a look and threw his hand up in the air, as if shooing me.

"Y'know that yer always welcome here. It doesn't matter what time you come. I like having you around." My heart jumped at hearing his words. But I couldn't look too deeply into it. So, I merely smiled and nodded my head. I stood upright and walked over to the table, taking a seat in the chair closest to him. "Yer bonkers! I'm surprised you even 'ad to say somethin' to me."

I let out a soft laugh at myself. He was right. Why did I mention anything in the first place? He had always made it very clear that I was welcome whenever I wanted. He would never turn me away. I still felt it a courtesy to offer though, just in case he really did have somewhere else to be. I didn't want to think he had someone else to be with, so I just left it at that. Maybe he had to go shopping. Not with anyone, but by himself.

"Well, I know," I started, glancing down towards the linoleum. "But, I dunno, I felt like I 'ad to ask you. I didn't want you to be hospitable to me when you 'ad other things to do."

He nodded in appreciation as he took out two bowls from his cabinets and poured some porridge into both. He always gave me the deep blue bowl. He never let anyone else use it. It was something he had given to me, and it meant something. Even if it was just a bowl.

"Ah, thank y'mate," I said, rubbing my hands together in anticipation. "It looks perfect."

"Well, yes," he replied, sitting across from me at the table. "That's what I was aimin' for."

I glanced up to him as he took a spoonful of porridge to his mouth. I wanted to tell him that he really was perfect. He was perfect in so many ways. Everything he said, everything he did; they were as flawless as anyone could ever be. And I didn't think there could've ever been another that even had a chance against him. I wanted to tell him that I lov-No. No, I couldn't do that. I was almost positive that he didn't return the feelings, and I didn't want to waste away our friendship for some petty feelings I had been harboring. No. I'd never tell him that.

I took the spoon to my mouth, but seeing that it was too hot, I blew on it gently and waited for it to cool down. Once I felt it wouldn't scald my tongue off, I slid the spoon into my mouth and let the cacophony of flavor fill my mouth. I threw him a thumbs up to signify that the porridge was perfect. His porridge, I had begun to notice, was the best I've ever tasted. Then again, I was the one who thought that everything he did was perfect.

He nodded in agreement, smiling. As he set his spoon down by his bowl, I could see he was struggling to tell me something, but wasn't quite sure how. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and set my spoon down, following his lead. I looked over at him and our eyes met. A shiver went down my spine, something that always happened whenever that our gaze found each other.

I furrowed my brows, looking at him quizzically. What on earth did he need to tell me?

"What?" I asked, breaking the confused silence between us. "What is it? You know that you can tell me anything." Well, that last line was a bit of a lie. While he could tell me whatever he wanted, there were some things I didn't want to hear. Like him being in love with someone else. My heart would shatter if he said that to me. I bit my lip lightly, yet hard, and I clenched my fists underneath the table. I anticipated the worst. "Well?" I asked again.

"Well, it's just that," but it seemed like he couldn't spit it out. At this point, I was beginning to become frustrated. But I was still too frightened to press the matter any more than I had. 'Oh God. Please don't tell me that he's in love with someone else. Whatever he needs to say, please, don't let it be that. Please, God, oh please,' I thought to myself. I clenched my fists harder, staring at him.

"Whatever you need to tell me, just say it. Nothing could be that hard." I knew that was a lie, too. How long had I been hopelessly in love with him, yet refused to say a thing about it? How long had I denied anything other than a friendship between us? And here I was, preaching about the same thing I was burdened by. "Please," I pleaded. "Just tell me."

His eyes were concentrated on his bowl as he ran his finger around the rim. Closing his eyes, I could see him formulating the words to say to me. It was then that I knew something was bad. Very bad. He finally opened them and looked at me, that same shiver racing from my neck to my tailbone. I stared at him puzzled, still, waiting for his answer.

"It's just ," he began, looking away from me. He searched the room for answers, but found none. He looked to his porridge and finally managed to spit it out: "I'm in love."