Snippets?
Did this with Redlight long, long ago...some time's teasings help!
Warning: Um...this is gonna be...dark fic? As always, here we have a nice, light, fluffy Fall Fiction challenge and I go and make it angsty...
.Now.
The lights in New York are dimmer than he remembers.
Maybe that’s sort of fitting, considering he’s come back here alone.
Jemaine could have gone anywhere he wanted. He could have gone to Chicago. Or San Francisco. Heck, he could have even stayed in New Zealand if he had wanted to. But for some reason, New York had called to him. Called him home, he supposed, but it wasn’t really home anymore.
No place was.
And this place of all places…
It was full of ghosts.
He sees them, hiding in coffee shops and on street corners. Places where he had gone previously. Places where they had gone previously.
And it seems harder at this time of the year. The crisp Autumn air, the changing color of the leaves.
It shouldn’t be harder. Or at least, not harder than any other time. Actually, it should be getting better. Right? Isn’t that what they always said…
Ah, the ever vague, ‘they’, a collective, faceless body of random consciousness that had somehow formed for just these things.
Still, it was ‘they’ who would say that, over time, things should be getting better. Not harder. After all, Bret had been…
It had been almost six months since…
Jemaine sighs and watches his breath cloud before him in the chilly air.
It is harder.
Warning: Um...this is gonna be...dark fic? As always, here we have a nice, light, fluffy Fall Fiction challenge and I go and make it angsty...
.Now.
The lights in New York are dimmer than he remembers.
Maybe that’s sort of fitting, considering he’s come back here alone.
Jemaine could have gone anywhere he wanted. He could have gone to Chicago. Or San Francisco. Heck, he could have even stayed in New Zealand if he had wanted to. But for some reason, New York had called to him. Called him home, he supposed, but it wasn’t really home anymore.
No place was.
And this place of all places…
It was full of ghosts.
He sees them, hiding in coffee shops and on street corners. Places where he had gone previously. Places where they had gone previously.
And it seems harder at this time of the year. The crisp Autumn air, the changing color of the leaves.
It shouldn’t be harder. Or at least, not harder than any other time. Actually, it should be getting better. Right? Isn’t that what they always said…
Ah, the ever vague, ‘they’, a collective, faceless body of random consciousness that had somehow formed for just these things.
Still, it was ‘they’ who would say that, over time, things should be getting better. Not harder. After all, Bret had been…
It had been almost six months since…
Jemaine sighs and watches his breath cloud before him in the chilly air.
It is harder.