Table Opposites: Not enough
Table Opposites
Fandom: Misfits
Pairing: Simon/Alisha
06. Not enough
It's not enough, it's never enough. It's fast and full of fear, and joy, and it's contradictory and it's fucking great, having him. It's feeling empty when he does something -anything- that reminds her he's not the one she's looking for, the one she loves. The one that's left her behind. Alone.
Simon sees it, of course. Simon knows, and it's unfair, and they both know it, it's so unfair that she's still pinning for another man -one that just, oh, just happens to be him, only it's not him, because he'll never be enough.
He thinks about leaving her, sometimes. Try and go out, live his own life, without that constant shadow over him, without having to follow a path that someone has created for him -even if he didn't intend to. He's not sure he could do it, of course; leaving this, whatever it is, behind, and returning to his own life. Oh, well, in fact, he knows perfectly well he wouldn't be able to do it. Too hurtful, too empty -there's nothing left for him out there, in the world, because there was nothing for him in the beginning. And, so, he stays here. In the flat, with her, he can still pretend.
They can't kiss. They can't touch. They can't do anything she longs to do, and they won't do anything they can. It's complicated and so messy, and he's not sure he's happy this way, but he has nothing to compare, and nowhere left to go.
She wakes up long after he does, and sometimes he's gone -he does it often, actually. She doesn't ask where, and he doesn't say anything, but Alisha sees the bruises and the occasional limp, and she's worried. She tries to talk to him, say something -tell him he doesn't have to do it, he doesn't have to try and become him, but who exactly would she be fooling, then?
And it's not only that, it's not only the jumping between buildings, the running across the roofs. It's a world full of little things, it's a whole attitude, like the way he doesn't -he can't- smirk when she says something playfully hurtful. He takes things, he takes her too seriously, and that's worrying, because she doesn't know how to ask.
You don't love me, he says, one afternoon. She's thinking of something to wear to her work, trying different outfits -it'll be her first day; she wants to make something of a point. She's tossing through her clothing, and so she can't see his face when he says it, but she can imagine it. Eyes wide open, lips slightly parted, much too serious for his own well-being. Frightened of the answer, even if he already knows it.
Fuck, Simon, she tells him, without turning to him. You know that's not-
You love him, he says. And, again, he uses the same tone: cold and inanimate. He's just stating a fact, and there's nothing wrong with facts, there can't be anything wrong with them -otherwise, it'd hurt. A fucking lot.
And he's right, Alisha thinks. And she says nothing; just gets dressed and leaves for work. Leaves him.
She comes back to an empty flat. He's not there, he's not been there for a while, and a part of her feels relieved -a part of her feels good, because now she can - what? What's she supposed to do, now that she's alone? Mourn again?
Simon's dead. The Simon she loved. And she's known that for a while, for a hell of a lot of time, for what seems like a whole life. The Simon she loved is gone, and she's accepted it, and she still wants to cry -but she knows that feeling won't go away, that she'll miss him forever. And now that she thought she may be getting over it this other Simon goes away, and leaves her alone, and she wants to cry again, only this time it's a bit different. Now it's not for him; it's for him.
It takes her nearly ten minutes to call him, to put herself back together and find the phone and find the courage. She calls and tries not to beg, tries not to let him see -but he's always been great at seeing people, even when they don't want to be seen. He's always been great at reading her, at least, and her reactions and everything, and she knows it -and why would it be any different now.
Hi, she says. Silence on the other end, but she knows he's listening. You sure you want to leave?
And her voice is shaking, and he answers truthfully. No, he tells her. But I don't know what to do. Because -
You could stay here, you know. And... stop trying so hard. Really. You could bring here your DVD's or whatever, and, uhm, you know.
Oh, fuck. She's not used to be the one left without words, but things with Simon are weird -things with Simon are good.
Uh, sure, he says, and she lets out a giggle, and it's so different from the Alisha that started community service that she wonders if it's only been a few months, really. I- I mean, if you don't mind, and -
It's fine, she cuts him. It'll be fine.
And maybe he'll never be enough -he'll never be him-, but she just wants him to be himself.
Fandom: Misfits
Pairing: Simon/Alisha
06. Not enough
It's not enough, it's never enough. It's fast and full of fear, and joy, and it's contradictory and it's fucking great, having him. It's feeling empty when he does something -anything- that reminds her he's not the one she's looking for, the one she loves. The one that's left her behind. Alone.
Simon sees it, of course. Simon knows, and it's unfair, and they both know it, it's so unfair that she's still pinning for another man -one that just, oh, just happens to be him, only it's not him, because he'll never be enough.
He thinks about leaving her, sometimes. Try and go out, live his own life, without that constant shadow over him, without having to follow a path that someone has created for him -even if he didn't intend to. He's not sure he could do it, of course; leaving this, whatever it is, behind, and returning to his own life. Oh, well, in fact, he knows perfectly well he wouldn't be able to do it. Too hurtful, too empty -there's nothing left for him out there, in the world, because there was nothing for him in the beginning. And, so, he stays here. In the flat, with her, he can still pretend.
They can't kiss. They can't touch. They can't do anything she longs to do, and they won't do anything they can. It's complicated and so messy, and he's not sure he's happy this way, but he has nothing to compare, and nowhere left to go.
She wakes up long after he does, and sometimes he's gone -he does it often, actually. She doesn't ask where, and he doesn't say anything, but Alisha sees the bruises and the occasional limp, and she's worried. She tries to talk to him, say something -tell him he doesn't have to do it, he doesn't have to try and become him, but who exactly would she be fooling, then?
And it's not only that, it's not only the jumping between buildings, the running across the roofs. It's a world full of little things, it's a whole attitude, like the way he doesn't -he can't- smirk when she says something playfully hurtful. He takes things, he takes her too seriously, and that's worrying, because she doesn't know how to ask.
You don't love me, he says, one afternoon. She's thinking of something to wear to her work, trying different outfits -it'll be her first day; she wants to make something of a point. She's tossing through her clothing, and so she can't see his face when he says it, but she can imagine it. Eyes wide open, lips slightly parted, much too serious for his own well-being. Frightened of the answer, even if he already knows it.
Fuck, Simon, she tells him, without turning to him. You know that's not-
You love him, he says. And, again, he uses the same tone: cold and inanimate. He's just stating a fact, and there's nothing wrong with facts, there can't be anything wrong with them -otherwise, it'd hurt. A fucking lot.
And he's right, Alisha thinks. And she says nothing; just gets dressed and leaves for work. Leaves him.
She comes back to an empty flat. He's not there, he's not been there for a while, and a part of her feels relieved -a part of her feels good, because now she can - what? What's she supposed to do, now that she's alone? Mourn again?
Simon's dead. The Simon she loved. And she's known that for a while, for a hell of a lot of time, for what seems like a whole life. The Simon she loved is gone, and she's accepted it, and she still wants to cry -but she knows that feeling won't go away, that she'll miss him forever. And now that she thought she may be getting over it this other Simon goes away, and leaves her alone, and she wants to cry again, only this time it's a bit different. Now it's not for him; it's for him.
It takes her nearly ten minutes to call him, to put herself back together and find the phone and find the courage. She calls and tries not to beg, tries not to let him see -but he's always been great at seeing people, even when they don't want to be seen. He's always been great at reading her, at least, and her reactions and everything, and she knows it -and why would it be any different now.
Hi, she says. Silence on the other end, but she knows he's listening. You sure you want to leave?
And her voice is shaking, and he answers truthfully. No, he tells her. But I don't know what to do. Because -
You could stay here, you know. And... stop trying so hard. Really. You could bring here your DVD's or whatever, and, uhm, you know.
Oh, fuck. She's not used to be the one left without words, but things with Simon are weird -things with Simon are good.
Uh, sure, he says, and she lets out a giggle, and it's so different from the Alisha that started community service that she wonders if it's only been a few months, really. I- I mean, if you don't mind, and -
It's fine, she cuts him. It'll be fine.
And maybe he'll never be enough -he'll never be him-, but she just wants him to be himself.