Hiraeth

November 3, 2014

He spots her in front of his door, shivering. He gapes, taking in the sight of her damp hair and clothes, rosy cheeks and pale lips. Her eyelashes are wet, and he's unsure if it's from the rain or the tears brimming in her eyes. Her mouth parts slightly, and a quiet whisper of his name has him pulling her in the house, and acquiring a towel from his bathroom for her. Turning up the heater, he takes out a pair of drawstring pants and a shirt, and pushes her in the bathroom. "Change into those, and I'll be talking to you, young lady. You know better than to stay out in the rain, your immune system is low, and you can't get sick on your birthday, of all days!"

They are sitting on the couch, her head hanging low, and his weary eyes trained on her figure, waiting for any movements from her. She looks even smaller in his clothes. And he hears a small sob, so gruff and pain-filled that it makes him want to collect her in his arms. But he gives her time to find the words to explain. Then, her shoulders start shaking, and he immediately goes to her side. He hugs her from the side, whispering soothing words to her until she calms down.

"What's wrong?" Concern and worry lace his words. He watches as she averts her swollen eyes and drops her chin. He sighs, and takes a hold of her chin, tilting it up until she meets his eyes. "Look, I don't like seeing you cry, and besides, do you want me to be killed by your sister when she finds out I let someone hurt you? Come on, tell me. If you don't want anyone to know, I won't tell," he promises, wiping her tears with the back of his hand. Still sniffling, she shakes her head, and burrows into his arms.

They end up sleeping on the couch, her sleeping in his arms. Not a word escapes her lips.

How can I tell you when you're the reason I'm like this?

February 13, 2015

It's Friday the 13th, and she gets the feeling that it's going to be a good day, especially with the rain splattering on her window. She enters the dining room, mutters a small "Good morning," and digs in. Then suddenly, breaking the small chatter of her parents and her siblings, he clears his throat. Looking at him for the first time this morning, she observes him. He seems to be nervous, his hands fidgeting. Then, he drops the announcement. The whole table explodes in mirth.

She feels like her whole world has fallen apart.

Making up a not-so believable excuse, she runs outside to the rain. She hasn't even left the living room, when the waterworks turn on. They don't notice, but one person does. Excusing himself, he follows her outside, forgoing the umbrella. He spots her in the middle of the backyard, hugging herself and trembling from the cold.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks her, frustration evident in his tone. He ruffles his hair, agitated by the behavior of his best friend, the little sister he has always seen her as, the sister he never had. Hearing the whimper that comes out of her mouth, he turns to her, and despite her protests, hugs her from behind. He huffs, and sighs in exasperation, "If you have a problem, tell me. Did anyone hurt you? Tell me, and I'll beat them up for you. Or is it because of me? Do you hate me? Is that why you always seem to avoid me? God, you're one of the most precious people I will always care about, and it hurts to see you like this."

He nuzzles her hair, feeling the trembles running through her body. "I'll always be here, okay? I love you."

His words hurt. Not because he said he loves her – she knows he does – but because he means it in a way that will always be a complete opposite of how she loves him. He loves her. She's in love with him. And she knows that "in" will always make a difference. Because no matter what she does, he will never see her as a woman, a woman who loves him wholeheartedly, the woman who'll always hurt when he calls her "sis" and "best friend." That's all she is to him. It hurts, because all that she is to him, his best friend, the sister he never had, his confidant, his shoulder to cry on, she will never be his everything. It hurts, because he is hers.

She lets him hold her, holding herself back from turning around in his arms and kissing him, the way she always dreamed of when she was younger, when she was a teenage girl, and until now. But she doesn't, it's too risky. It's too late. Stifling her sobs, she lets the tears fall, and one by one, they hit the hands covering her mouth. She rolls her eyes up, trying to slow the flow of her tears, trying to stop her emotions from coming out too fast, that any more tears, and she may end up ruining the promise she made to herself.

He's not yours, Claire.

"Thank you." For being my home for the past seventeen years of my life. Now, you'll have your own.

"You sure do love the rain, don't you?"

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."

Her feeling is wrong, after all, as she wonders if the rain disguises her tears.

March 25, 2015

Walking down the aisle, she smiles at everyone. Keeping her eyes on the bouquet she's holding, she focuses on not tripping from the long – almost floor-length – dress she's wearing, different from the bridesmaids' knee-length. She likes to think the sparkles in her eyes aren't tears, but they threaten to fall. Their eyes connect as he leans down to take the hand of his bride, his happy, hers mixed.

They smile at each other as she says, "Take care of my sister." You'll never know.

And she lets him go.