final fic for 30days comm
Title: The Taste of Regret
Theme: If Only
Rating: PG
Warnings: one very mild kissing scene
This turned out much more melancholy than I originally planned. Sorry for the depression.
The taste of regret
There are moments where you peel back the layers and truly see. Like the moments spent sitting near her during classes or in the library. Or the times when she passed you in the hall, her eyes bright and the cloud of her hair moving like a living being. At graduation, where she was surrounded by the greatness of her family, and you only had your parents, still slightly outcast, still looked at with suspicion.
You were tarnished while she shone, the brightness of her never diminishing and you were reminded of this post-school, when opportunity feel in her lap and you were looked over. You had to do what you had sworn you wouldn’t and invoke your father’s name. You wondered if she had done the same, or if she, unlike you, had been too honourable for such a thing.
You were eventually rewarded with the Ministry insignia on your robes and you only saw her from a distance then. There was moments shared in elevators and hallways, in the Atrium and on the street outside, and later, when you were promoted, across the table at meetings.
The night you found yourself sitting by her in the pub, with her leg pressed against yours under the table, you wanted to speak to her. You watched her smile and laugh and when her eyes met yours all you could think of was what it would be like to kiss that perfect hunter’s bow mouth. You couldn’t speak and the moment passed and you returned to celebrating the birth of a co-workers first child.
At a Ministry Christmas function she caught you leaving early. She titled her head, giving you a curious glance and you forced a smile. She wished you a happy holiday and then was gone, swept into a dance by someone more confident than you.
That was the last moment you remember before everything changed, before regret was a tangible thing that lived in your gut. You could taste it now, potent on your tongue, where before you had only the knowledge that it was inside you. She announced her engagement - you hadn’t even realised she was seeing anyone but once you knew, it made sense.
You were invited to the wedding and you supposed somewhere between the end of school and your new adult life you had been considered friend enough to share her special day. It wasn’t until she was led down the aisle by her father that you realised you actually loved her. As she passed where you stood, her eyes found yours. For a moment, regret marred the happiness in her face and her eyes asked the question you could not answer:
Why isn’t this you?
Two years later, you announced your engagement as she announced her divorce. She had taken to talking to you about her problems and you weren’t sure why. Was it because you were unassuming and would not pass judgment?
Yet you smiled and held her hands and were simply there for her. She came to your wedding, a grand affair held in the Manor’s garden. She kissed your cheek and offered her congratulations and this time her eyes asked a different question:
Why isn’t this me?
Your marriage did not work - it was over before it had a chance to begin. You supposed your wife could not handle being the third person in your bed.
At Christmas, you found yourself ambushed before you made it through the door, your lungs burning as she dragged you down the hall into the darkness to push you against the wall. This time, her eyes held no questions, no assumptions. As you put your arms around her and your lips on hers, you could not help but wonder how things might have been different if only you’d had the courage to speak to her when you were fourteen.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
There were no more questions needing answers, and that burning regret that had lived for so long inside you sank away as if it never existed.
Theme: If Only
Rating: PG
Warnings: one very mild kissing scene
This turned out much more melancholy than I originally planned. Sorry for the depression.
The taste of regret
There are moments where you peel back the layers and truly see. Like the moments spent sitting near her during classes or in the library. Or the times when she passed you in the hall, her eyes bright and the cloud of her hair moving like a living being. At graduation, where she was surrounded by the greatness of her family, and you only had your parents, still slightly outcast, still looked at with suspicion.
You were tarnished while she shone, the brightness of her never diminishing and you were reminded of this post-school, when opportunity feel in her lap and you were looked over. You had to do what you had sworn you wouldn’t and invoke your father’s name. You wondered if she had done the same, or if she, unlike you, had been too honourable for such a thing.
You were eventually rewarded with the Ministry insignia on your robes and you only saw her from a distance then. There was moments shared in elevators and hallways, in the Atrium and on the street outside, and later, when you were promoted, across the table at meetings.
The night you found yourself sitting by her in the pub, with her leg pressed against yours under the table, you wanted to speak to her. You watched her smile and laugh and when her eyes met yours all you could think of was what it would be like to kiss that perfect hunter’s bow mouth. You couldn’t speak and the moment passed and you returned to celebrating the birth of a co-workers first child.
At a Ministry Christmas function she caught you leaving early. She titled her head, giving you a curious glance and you forced a smile. She wished you a happy holiday and then was gone, swept into a dance by someone more confident than you.
That was the last moment you remember before everything changed, before regret was a tangible thing that lived in your gut. You could taste it now, potent on your tongue, where before you had only the knowledge that it was inside you. She announced her engagement - you hadn’t even realised she was seeing anyone but once you knew, it made sense.
You were invited to the wedding and you supposed somewhere between the end of school and your new adult life you had been considered friend enough to share her special day. It wasn’t until she was led down the aisle by her father that you realised you actually loved her. As she passed where you stood, her eyes found yours. For a moment, regret marred the happiness in her face and her eyes asked the question you could not answer:
Why isn’t this you?
Two years later, you announced your engagement as she announced her divorce. She had taken to talking to you about her problems and you weren’t sure why. Was it because you were unassuming and would not pass judgment?
Yet you smiled and held her hands and were simply there for her. She came to your wedding, a grand affair held in the Manor’s garden. She kissed your cheek and offered her congratulations and this time her eyes asked a different question:
Why isn’t this me?
Your marriage did not work - it was over before it had a chance to begin. You supposed your wife could not handle being the third person in your bed.
At Christmas, you found yourself ambushed before you made it through the door, your lungs burning as she dragged you down the hall into the darkness to push you against the wall. This time, her eyes held no questions, no assumptions. As you put your arms around her and your lips on hers, you could not help but wonder how things might have been different if only you’d had the courage to speak to her when you were fourteen.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
There were no more questions needing answers, and that burning regret that had lived for so long inside you sank away as if it never existed.