finale: barfly and the butterfly;
The Barfly and the Butterfly
Part Four [of Four]
Author: Jordan [insane-pyro-grl]
Rating: PG-13 for language and alcohol use
Disclaimer: I do not own the boys, nor did this happen to them. Don’t sue, I’m a poor college student whose bank account is dwindling towards the red.
Summary: You’re the barfly. I’m the butterfly. If only we’d collide in this bar. Can’t you see I’m interested? Can’t you see I want you? If only I had the confidence.
Notes: See after.
previous parts
The Barfly and the Butterfly
Part Four
It’s two weeks before we go out again. Jonne somehow came down with bronchitis and didn’t want to go out. But this Saturday we’re ecstatic to go out. I’m ready for some fresh guys to eye, as I get completely over Bam.
It takes me an hour to get ready. It takes Jonne even longer, which isn’t surprising. The two of us pregame in his room before we leave. Cheers: health, wealth and happiness. Clink of glass. One. Two. Three shots. We’re feeling great as we head out of the hotel and into the cold, rainy night.
A payment of three dollars to the creeper at the door. We walk in. The place is completely empty. Twenty people, max. What. The. Fuck. This is going suck, majorly. Well, it’s only 11:30, things have to get better as the night goes on, right? Jonne and I head to the bathroom to check how our eyeliner looks. We’re such women sometimes. There are no bodies to weave through, just empty space to walk side by side. Fuck. There you are, sitting at the bar, having a beer.
You’re not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be my night. Fuck. We walk past you and I ignore you, until you grab my hand and pull me in for a hug. You say hello, asking me what’s going on and I just mumble some random answer. All I want to do is get away from you as fast as I can, for fear of falling for you once again. I’m not going to fall. No way. I’m not going to let myself.
Too late. I’ve lied to myself the past two weeks. I tried telling my heart that I was over you. My brain was fully into it. My heart, however, gave me some trouble with that sentiment. So when you pull me into that hug, my brain screams it’s a bad idea, but my heart is squealing like a fangirl.
I walk away from you. Jonne asks me what you wanted as he takes off his coat and throws it on the counter. I tell him that you were just saying hi. My heart speeds. My breathing becomes shallow. My pulse races. Fuck. Why do you do this to me? I’m over you.
No one’s dancing. This isn’t going to be an eventful Saturday. This is going to suck. What a waste of three dollars. Jonne and I take a few barstools and park ourselves along the wall, laughing at the nerdy guy who’s attempting to dance, but is looking like an idiot. At least he’s some sort of entertainment as the minutes tick by oh so slowly. Jonne dances with a few randoms as a wave of depression glides over me like fog through the mountains on a cold morning. It’s no use trying to strain against the binds of the negative life-force that is sucking the fun out of my body; I knew it was going to come back eventually before leaving as quickly as it came, I just didn’t know when.
I revert to my old ways and scan the bar for you: you’re gone. Nowhere to be found. Oh, well. It’ll be easier to get over you now. I continue to sit in my chair. I text a few friends, bored out of my mind as the clock strikes one. Jonne comes back after dancing, asking me what’s wrong, I look upset. I tell him I’m fine as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tells me that everything will be fine. How he knows this piece of information, I don’t know. Because right now, the grey rain clouds have invaded my parade and I don’t know when the sun’s coming back. Fuck. I hate it when I get like this. I absolutely fucking hate it.
Minutes pass as Jonne dances with a few more randoms and the clouds continue to roll in overhead. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. I really, really want to leave. But I couldn’t leave Jonne by himself, that would be rude of me. But he’s having a great time without me, he wouldn’t notice, would he? He would eventually. Maybe I’ll just head over to the pizzeria for a slice of two dollar cheesy goodness as I wait for him. The bar’s due to close in a half-hour anyway. I’ll just wait there. That’s what I’ll do.
It’s snowing as I walk out of the bar and down the sidewalk towards the pizza place. I fucking hate the snow with a passion. Yes, I’ve grown up with it. Yes, it’s cold where I’m from. But I hate the snow. It’s cold. And wet. And usually means the ground is icy. Which means I’ll eventually end up on my ass. Fuck. My. Life.
I’m about to cross the street to the pizza place when I see the drunk bus pull over fifty yards ahead of me. I sprint like an Olympic runner of the final heats for the gold medal. I make the bus and slide into the front seat and look out the dark, foggy window as a few people chit-chat a few rows behind me. The bus makes its usual rounds around town. It picks up at the bar at the other side of town; the one I haven’t been to yet, the one I’ve heard is kind of lame, but tons of people go there every weekend. We’re about to pull away when a guy stops the bus and climbs on. I glance towards the doors. I’d recognize those ocean blue eyes anywhere. Fuck. I’m over you, remember?
You, of course, slide into the seat next to me with a pleasant greeting. Ask me how I am. I remain silent. Out of the entire earth’s populace, you would have to be the one to step on the bus. It’s times like these when I think fate’s throwing me a curve ball by allowing both of us to catch the same bus under the same circumstances. Fuck. Your arm slides around my shoulders as you pull me towards you, asking what’s wrong.
I shrug my shoulders and say nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. Our eyes meet. I’m the first to blink as I divert my gaze elsewhere; I know you can see my lie.
“I can see something’s wrong. I’m really good at knowing when something’s wrong with one of my friends, and it’s obvious something’s wrong with one of my friends right now. It’ll be better if you talk about it, I promise.” You tell me as I bury my head into the crook of your neck.
My heart sinks. The word friend is spelled out in front of my eyes in florescent yellow letters. Friend. Just a friend. I sigh.
“I’m fine.” I repeat, over and over again like a mantra. Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true.
“You’re not. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
I can smell the booze on your breath. You’re not sober, but you’re not drunk either. Fuck. You’re so close. I’m falling. Falling. Falling. And I’m gone. Under your spell once again. Fuck. I resist the urge to kiss you multiple times. You’re trying to get me to talk about what’s up. And I wish I knew what to tell you, because I’m not exactly sure what’s going on myself. You try to make me laugh. But most of the time, you just hold me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
“That would be Jonne.” I say as I look at the ‘Where r u?’ text in my inbox. I’m texting him back when my ringtone roars to life and I forget for a second how to answer my phone by hitting the send button.
“Hey. I’m sorry.” I begin, because I feel like hell for leaving him there by himself.
“It’s fine, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m headed back to the hotel. I just couldn’t be there any longer. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it; want to talk when I get back?”
“Yeah, just come on over to my room. I’m sorry again.”
We say good-bye before I slip my phone back into my pocket. Immediately I bury my head back into your shoulder. You continue trying to get me to talk.
“It would be better if you talked about it, don’t you think? Let everything out in the open, it’ll be out of you and then you’ll feel better.” Oh how I wish it was that easy. Because you’re part of this thing that’s happening to me. It’s because I’ve wanted to tell you for two weeks now how I feel. I just don’t know if I can do this right now. You’re not wasted, but you’re not sober either. Would you remember? I’d want you to remember that. “I know you can talk.” You say as you tickle the underside of my chin as I smile. You achieved your objective, congratulations, I smiled.
We’re another minute from our stop when you say something which makes me want to laugh in your face: “Is it some guy that’s making you like this? I’ll kick his ass if it is.” If only you knew. It would be amusing watching you try to kick your own ass.
“Just talk to me, Ville.”
“Fine, just not here. Not here.”
“Okay, once we get off the bus then?”
I nod. The bus halts after another thirty seconds which seem like thirty minutes. We get off at the empty parking lot in front of the hotel. It’s snowing harder than it was when I got on the bus. Fuck. I hate the snow. I begin to walk briskly away from you; I know if we talk, I’m going to say something I’m going to regret. I’d say those three words which would change everything. I hear you talking to someone who got off the bus with us. Perfect. Thanks, random-drunk girl talking about Jager-bombs for the distraction. I’ve got an immaculate escape plan as you chat and I walk towards the hotel. I’m halfway to the hotel when I hear my name called and hear you run up behind me.
Fuck. My. Life.
There you are beside me, the random walking the other way, as your arm immediately goes around my shoulders once more.
“What’s wrong?” You say as I turn into you, head in the crook of your neck as I shield myself the best I can from the wind whipping snow into my face. I can feel your arms tighten around my waist.
There’s at least a minute of silence as I breathe, making my decision if I really want to go there or not. Is this the night? It is. I unbury myself, wrap my arms around your neck and look directly into your eyes and ask you a question I’ve been meaning to ask for a couple weeks now: “Why do you only flirt with me when you’re drunk, Bam?”
It seems months before I get a reply, “What do you mean? I don’t flirt when I’m drunk. I’ve been nothing but nice to you! We’re friends, Ville, we’re fri-”
I cut you off, “You don’t get it do you? You just don’t get it. I like you.”
It doesn’t sink in. I repeat it.One. Two. Three. Four. Five times. And then add on, “I like you, as more than friends.” for emphasis.
It finally sinks in and here it comes. The rejection. I’m waiting for it. Just tell me you don’t feel that way and I’m gone. I’m going to run. Like that Olympic gold runner from earlier. Run straight to the hotel, not looking back.
You just hold me tighter as you reply, “I don’t think I like you like that; I’m not sure I like anyone like that right now.” You say.
My legs are frozen. Wait. I’m not running. I’m standing here in your arms. I knew it was coming. I sigh. But I’m still standing in the parking lot as the snow falls around us and the wind whips my hair around. The only thing I reply with is, “It’s so cold.”
That’s twenty-two point four seconds before I realize that’s why you think I’m depressed. Fuck. That’s not it at all. I’m bummed, but I knew that’s probably how you felt going into this whole thing. You lead me towards the hotel with your arm wrapped around me.
“But that’s not why I’m depressed!” I almost burst out with.
“Oh? Then what’s wrong?”
“I just get like this sometimes.”
We discuss our bouts with depression. How we both can get like this sometimes. You tell me things you’ve never told anyone. I tell you things I haven’t told anyone. This doesn’t feel like rejection. I don’t feel my heart shattering in my chest.
You light up a half-smoked cigarette as we’re twenty yards from the hotel. It’s freezing and now you’re smoking?
“I hate the snow.” I say blatantly.
“Don’t say that.”
We bicker back and forth using only those two statements. I think I’m ending the argument when I grab the door handle to the lobby and defiantly say, “I hate the snow, Bam.” You have a different idea in mind though as you grab my wrist and pull me back into you. So close to warmth, but so far away. You try to keep me as warm as you can using just our body heat as you take a deep puff on your cigarette, exhale and begin speaking.
“Snow is a wondrous thing. Just look up at it,” I unbury my head once again and look straight up into the heavens, into the inky black sky that covers the world at two in the morning. “Look at the flurries coming down at us, don’t close your eyes at it, look straight up into the snow. It’s something that will never happen again in our lives. Look at what beauty nature has created for us, Ville.”
My pessimistic attitude on snow changes forever. You make me realize how beautiful the snow is.
“It’s so cold.” I say, as I know I will never utter the clause, ‘I hate snow’ ever again.
You flick your cigarette butt away as you tell me we’ll head inside. But this means leaving you. I don’t want these moments to end. I don’t know the next time we’ll be so close again, if we’ll ever be this close again.
We walk through the lobby to where the stairs and elevator are. You still have your arm wrapped around me, and I nestle into you, I don’t want this to end. Not yet.
“I don’t want to leave you just yet.” I know it sounds pathetic, but I can’t help but say it.
You chuckle softly in my ear as your hand reaches around and grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers. I swear I can feel electricity shoot from your fingertips into mine, up through my arm and into my heart. Fuck. All I can smell is your cigarette infused hoodie.
I turn into you as I cuddle back into my favorite spot - the warm crook of where neck meets shoulder - as your arms wrap around my waist, holding me protectively. Safely. We stand there, me safe and warm in your arms, for minutes at a time. I only utter the words, “I’m so cold,” a few times as I still begin to unthaw, when your arms just tighten around me, your hands gliding up and down my back. I’ve never felt so safe and loved in my entire life. But that statement is false: you don’t love me. We’re only friends. Friends. Friends. Fuck.
Then I remember how you’re not sober. Fuck. You’re not going to remember this come morn. You’re going to wake up and have no recollection of this. Of these moments that are permanently etched into my brain. I sigh.
“You’re not going to remember this tomorrow.” I say, my eyes closed, knowing ultimately that things are just going to go back to the way they were.
“Yes I will, I’m not even drunk.”
“You said that on Halloween too; do you even remember Halloween night?”
“Well, no, but that’s also because when I somehow got back to my room, I did a few Jager-bombs and passed out in my car. I woke up the next morning in my car, and I don’t remember how I got there. Wait, why?”
“You played hide and seek with me in the pizza place.” I say, excavating myself from my favorite place to look you in the eyes as you begin laughing.
“What?” You laugh, smiling down at me.
I tell you the story of how you began calling my name in the pizza place and hiding in the doorway. You laugh at your antics and literally sweep me off my feet in one of the best hugs I’ve ever had. Fuck. These are the moments I’ve hoped for with you. Too bad it’s for one night only. If asked to relive one night of my life, it would be this one. So I could always be like this with you. Smiling. Happy. Laughing. Cuddling. Perfection.
A few more minutes of standing there by the stairs with you, wrapped in your arms. That’s when I hear the commotion come up behind us and a yell of, “Hey, Bam!” comes from that general direction. It’s your friends. The moment’s over. Our night is finished. We detangle our limbs as I run up the stairs to my room. You barely murmur a “good night, Ville” as I hear your friends cause some sort of ruckus. You almost run to them.
I’m barely to the second floor landing when I feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes. I make it to my room on the third floor, rushing to open the door. I slam the door and lock it behind me before I slide down to the floor with my back to the door.
The tears begin to fall as everything hits me and I finally realize.
The barfly and the butterfly were never meant to be.
*~Fin.~*
A/N: I’m so proud to call this series finished. These four parts have been a pleasure to write, and I hope you all enjoyed them. This is my best work to date, which I’m very glad of, because this series has a very special place in my heart, as it’s very personal to me.
Love, the eternal butterfly, Jordan ♥
Part Four [of Four]
Author: Jordan [insane-pyro-grl]
Rating: PG-13 for language and alcohol use
Disclaimer: I do not own the boys, nor did this happen to them. Don’t sue, I’m a poor college student whose bank account is dwindling towards the red.
Summary: You’re the barfly. I’m the butterfly. If only we’d collide in this bar. Can’t you see I’m interested? Can’t you see I want you? If only I had the confidence.
Notes: See after.
previous parts
The Barfly and the Butterfly
Part Four
It’s two weeks before we go out again. Jonne somehow came down with bronchitis and didn’t want to go out. But this Saturday we’re ecstatic to go out. I’m ready for some fresh guys to eye, as I get completely over Bam.
It takes me an hour to get ready. It takes Jonne even longer, which isn’t surprising. The two of us pregame in his room before we leave. Cheers: health, wealth and happiness. Clink of glass. One. Two. Three shots. We’re feeling great as we head out of the hotel and into the cold, rainy night.
A payment of three dollars to the creeper at the door. We walk in. The place is completely empty. Twenty people, max. What. The. Fuck. This is going suck, majorly. Well, it’s only 11:30, things have to get better as the night goes on, right? Jonne and I head to the bathroom to check how our eyeliner looks. We’re such women sometimes. There are no bodies to weave through, just empty space to walk side by side. Fuck. There you are, sitting at the bar, having a beer.
You’re not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be my night. Fuck. We walk past you and I ignore you, until you grab my hand and pull me in for a hug. You say hello, asking me what’s going on and I just mumble some random answer. All I want to do is get away from you as fast as I can, for fear of falling for you once again. I’m not going to fall. No way. I’m not going to let myself.
Too late. I’ve lied to myself the past two weeks. I tried telling my heart that I was over you. My brain was fully into it. My heart, however, gave me some trouble with that sentiment. So when you pull me into that hug, my brain screams it’s a bad idea, but my heart is squealing like a fangirl.
I walk away from you. Jonne asks me what you wanted as he takes off his coat and throws it on the counter. I tell him that you were just saying hi. My heart speeds. My breathing becomes shallow. My pulse races. Fuck. Why do you do this to me? I’m over you.
No one’s dancing. This isn’t going to be an eventful Saturday. This is going to suck. What a waste of three dollars. Jonne and I take a few barstools and park ourselves along the wall, laughing at the nerdy guy who’s attempting to dance, but is looking like an idiot. At least he’s some sort of entertainment as the minutes tick by oh so slowly. Jonne dances with a few randoms as a wave of depression glides over me like fog through the mountains on a cold morning. It’s no use trying to strain against the binds of the negative life-force that is sucking the fun out of my body; I knew it was going to come back eventually before leaving as quickly as it came, I just didn’t know when.
I revert to my old ways and scan the bar for you: you’re gone. Nowhere to be found. Oh, well. It’ll be easier to get over you now. I continue to sit in my chair. I text a few friends, bored out of my mind as the clock strikes one. Jonne comes back after dancing, asking me what’s wrong, I look upset. I tell him I’m fine as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tells me that everything will be fine. How he knows this piece of information, I don’t know. Because right now, the grey rain clouds have invaded my parade and I don’t know when the sun’s coming back. Fuck. I hate it when I get like this. I absolutely fucking hate it.
Minutes pass as Jonne dances with a few more randoms and the clouds continue to roll in overhead. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. I really, really want to leave. But I couldn’t leave Jonne by himself, that would be rude of me. But he’s having a great time without me, he wouldn’t notice, would he? He would eventually. Maybe I’ll just head over to the pizzeria for a slice of two dollar cheesy goodness as I wait for him. The bar’s due to close in a half-hour anyway. I’ll just wait there. That’s what I’ll do.
It’s snowing as I walk out of the bar and down the sidewalk towards the pizza place. I fucking hate the snow with a passion. Yes, I’ve grown up with it. Yes, it’s cold where I’m from. But I hate the snow. It’s cold. And wet. And usually means the ground is icy. Which means I’ll eventually end up on my ass. Fuck. My. Life.
I’m about to cross the street to the pizza place when I see the drunk bus pull over fifty yards ahead of me. I sprint like an Olympic runner of the final heats for the gold medal. I make the bus and slide into the front seat and look out the dark, foggy window as a few people chit-chat a few rows behind me. The bus makes its usual rounds around town. It picks up at the bar at the other side of town; the one I haven’t been to yet, the one I’ve heard is kind of lame, but tons of people go there every weekend. We’re about to pull away when a guy stops the bus and climbs on. I glance towards the doors. I’d recognize those ocean blue eyes anywhere. Fuck. I’m over you, remember?
You, of course, slide into the seat next to me with a pleasant greeting. Ask me how I am. I remain silent. Out of the entire earth’s populace, you would have to be the one to step on the bus. It’s times like these when I think fate’s throwing me a curve ball by allowing both of us to catch the same bus under the same circumstances. Fuck. Your arm slides around my shoulders as you pull me towards you, asking what’s wrong.
I shrug my shoulders and say nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. Our eyes meet. I’m the first to blink as I divert my gaze elsewhere; I know you can see my lie.
“I can see something’s wrong. I’m really good at knowing when something’s wrong with one of my friends, and it’s obvious something’s wrong with one of my friends right now. It’ll be better if you talk about it, I promise.” You tell me as I bury my head into the crook of your neck.
My heart sinks. The word friend is spelled out in front of my eyes in florescent yellow letters. Friend. Just a friend. I sigh.
“I’m fine.” I repeat, over and over again like a mantra. Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll be true.
“You’re not. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
I can smell the booze on your breath. You’re not sober, but you’re not drunk either. Fuck. You’re so close. I’m falling. Falling. Falling. And I’m gone. Under your spell once again. Fuck. I resist the urge to kiss you multiple times. You’re trying to get me to talk about what’s up. And I wish I knew what to tell you, because I’m not exactly sure what’s going on myself. You try to make me laugh. But most of the time, you just hold me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
“That would be Jonne.” I say as I look at the ‘Where r u?’ text in my inbox. I’m texting him back when my ringtone roars to life and I forget for a second how to answer my phone by hitting the send button.
“Hey. I’m sorry.” I begin, because I feel like hell for leaving him there by himself.
“It’s fine, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m headed back to the hotel. I just couldn’t be there any longer. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it; want to talk when I get back?”
“Yeah, just come on over to my room. I’m sorry again.”
We say good-bye before I slip my phone back into my pocket. Immediately I bury my head back into your shoulder. You continue trying to get me to talk.
“It would be better if you talked about it, don’t you think? Let everything out in the open, it’ll be out of you and then you’ll feel better.” Oh how I wish it was that easy. Because you’re part of this thing that’s happening to me. It’s because I’ve wanted to tell you for two weeks now how I feel. I just don’t know if I can do this right now. You’re not wasted, but you’re not sober either. Would you remember? I’d want you to remember that. “I know you can talk.” You say as you tickle the underside of my chin as I smile. You achieved your objective, congratulations, I smiled.
We’re another minute from our stop when you say something which makes me want to laugh in your face: “Is it some guy that’s making you like this? I’ll kick his ass if it is.” If only you knew. It would be amusing watching you try to kick your own ass.
“Just talk to me, Ville.”
“Fine, just not here. Not here.”
“Okay, once we get off the bus then?”
I nod. The bus halts after another thirty seconds which seem like thirty minutes. We get off at the empty parking lot in front of the hotel. It’s snowing harder than it was when I got on the bus. Fuck. I hate the snow. I begin to walk briskly away from you; I know if we talk, I’m going to say something I’m going to regret. I’d say those three words which would change everything. I hear you talking to someone who got off the bus with us. Perfect. Thanks, random-drunk girl talking about Jager-bombs for the distraction. I’ve got an immaculate escape plan as you chat and I walk towards the hotel. I’m halfway to the hotel when I hear my name called and hear you run up behind me.
Fuck. My. Life.
There you are beside me, the random walking the other way, as your arm immediately goes around my shoulders once more.
“What’s wrong?” You say as I turn into you, head in the crook of your neck as I shield myself the best I can from the wind whipping snow into my face. I can feel your arms tighten around my waist.
There’s at least a minute of silence as I breathe, making my decision if I really want to go there or not. Is this the night? It is. I unbury myself, wrap my arms around your neck and look directly into your eyes and ask you a question I’ve been meaning to ask for a couple weeks now: “Why do you only flirt with me when you’re drunk, Bam?”
It seems months before I get a reply, “What do you mean? I don’t flirt when I’m drunk. I’ve been nothing but nice to you! We’re friends, Ville, we’re fri-”
I cut you off, “You don’t get it do you? You just don’t get it. I like you.”
It doesn’t sink in. I repeat it.One. Two. Three. Four. Five times. And then add on, “I like you, as more than friends.” for emphasis.
It finally sinks in and here it comes. The rejection. I’m waiting for it. Just tell me you don’t feel that way and I’m gone. I’m going to run. Like that Olympic gold runner from earlier. Run straight to the hotel, not looking back.
You just hold me tighter as you reply, “I don’t think I like you like that; I’m not sure I like anyone like that right now.” You say.
My legs are frozen. Wait. I’m not running. I’m standing here in your arms. I knew it was coming. I sigh. But I’m still standing in the parking lot as the snow falls around us and the wind whips my hair around. The only thing I reply with is, “It’s so cold.”
That’s twenty-two point four seconds before I realize that’s why you think I’m depressed. Fuck. That’s not it at all. I’m bummed, but I knew that’s probably how you felt going into this whole thing. You lead me towards the hotel with your arm wrapped around me.
“But that’s not why I’m depressed!” I almost burst out with.
“Oh? Then what’s wrong?”
“I just get like this sometimes.”
We discuss our bouts with depression. How we both can get like this sometimes. You tell me things you’ve never told anyone. I tell you things I haven’t told anyone. This doesn’t feel like rejection. I don’t feel my heart shattering in my chest.
You light up a half-smoked cigarette as we’re twenty yards from the hotel. It’s freezing and now you’re smoking?
“I hate the snow.” I say blatantly.
“Don’t say that.”
We bicker back and forth using only those two statements. I think I’m ending the argument when I grab the door handle to the lobby and defiantly say, “I hate the snow, Bam.” You have a different idea in mind though as you grab my wrist and pull me back into you. So close to warmth, but so far away. You try to keep me as warm as you can using just our body heat as you take a deep puff on your cigarette, exhale and begin speaking.
“Snow is a wondrous thing. Just look up at it,” I unbury my head once again and look straight up into the heavens, into the inky black sky that covers the world at two in the morning. “Look at the flurries coming down at us, don’t close your eyes at it, look straight up into the snow. It’s something that will never happen again in our lives. Look at what beauty nature has created for us, Ville.”
My pessimistic attitude on snow changes forever. You make me realize how beautiful the snow is.
“It’s so cold.” I say, as I know I will never utter the clause, ‘I hate snow’ ever again.
You flick your cigarette butt away as you tell me we’ll head inside. But this means leaving you. I don’t want these moments to end. I don’t know the next time we’ll be so close again, if we’ll ever be this close again.
We walk through the lobby to where the stairs and elevator are. You still have your arm wrapped around me, and I nestle into you, I don’t want this to end. Not yet.
“I don’t want to leave you just yet.” I know it sounds pathetic, but I can’t help but say it.
You chuckle softly in my ear as your hand reaches around and grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers. I swear I can feel electricity shoot from your fingertips into mine, up through my arm and into my heart. Fuck. All I can smell is your cigarette infused hoodie.
I turn into you as I cuddle back into my favorite spot - the warm crook of where neck meets shoulder - as your arms wrap around my waist, holding me protectively. Safely. We stand there, me safe and warm in your arms, for minutes at a time. I only utter the words, “I’m so cold,” a few times as I still begin to unthaw, when your arms just tighten around me, your hands gliding up and down my back. I’ve never felt so safe and loved in my entire life. But that statement is false: you don’t love me. We’re only friends. Friends. Friends. Fuck.
Then I remember how you’re not sober. Fuck. You’re not going to remember this come morn. You’re going to wake up and have no recollection of this. Of these moments that are permanently etched into my brain. I sigh.
“You’re not going to remember this tomorrow.” I say, my eyes closed, knowing ultimately that things are just going to go back to the way they were.
“Yes I will, I’m not even drunk.”
“You said that on Halloween too; do you even remember Halloween night?”
“Well, no, but that’s also because when I somehow got back to my room, I did a few Jager-bombs and passed out in my car. I woke up the next morning in my car, and I don’t remember how I got there. Wait, why?”
“You played hide and seek with me in the pizza place.” I say, excavating myself from my favorite place to look you in the eyes as you begin laughing.
“What?” You laugh, smiling down at me.
I tell you the story of how you began calling my name in the pizza place and hiding in the doorway. You laugh at your antics and literally sweep me off my feet in one of the best hugs I’ve ever had. Fuck. These are the moments I’ve hoped for with you. Too bad it’s for one night only. If asked to relive one night of my life, it would be this one. So I could always be like this with you. Smiling. Happy. Laughing. Cuddling. Perfection.
A few more minutes of standing there by the stairs with you, wrapped in your arms. That’s when I hear the commotion come up behind us and a yell of, “Hey, Bam!” comes from that general direction. It’s your friends. The moment’s over. Our night is finished. We detangle our limbs as I run up the stairs to my room. You barely murmur a “good night, Ville” as I hear your friends cause some sort of ruckus. You almost run to them.
I’m barely to the second floor landing when I feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes. I make it to my room on the third floor, rushing to open the door. I slam the door and lock it behind me before I slide down to the floor with my back to the door.
The tears begin to fall as everything hits me and I finally realize.
The barfly and the butterfly were never meant to be.
*~Fin.~*
A/N: I’m so proud to call this series finished. These four parts have been a pleasure to write, and I hope you all enjoyed them. This is my best work to date, which I’m very glad of, because this series has a very special place in my heart, as it’s very personal to me.
Love, the eternal butterfly, Jordan ♥