Will these scars fade?

Chapter I

Chapter.1

Magnus is sitting alone at the kitchen table, all of the other chairs having been pushed haphazardly into their places as his housemates had all gone off to their beds, leaving him the last one downstairs. He sighs, his eyes casting their empty gaze blankly over the wood of the tabletop. His thick, black hair tousled from when Liam had ruffled it earlier. Magnus doesn't have the energy or care enough to fix it. He sighs again, his whole body feeling worn, stretched thin by the trial of time; but he couldn't fall asleep. He didn't want to, but he would eventually have to stand up. He would have to climb the stairs to get to his bed, but at the moment, he simply didn't have the motivation. It seems, he didn't have the motivation to do much of anything any more; except for his frequent bargaining with the universe.

It's been just barely over six months since Levi had died. Six long months; the longest of his life. Worse than the days leading up to his parents' divorce, worse than the days after the raid, where he spent the following weeks in bed, grimacing at every painful attempt to move. At least after the fight, his wounds were visible. Watched as his cuts and bruises faded as the healing process progressed. He could see himself getting better. But this was different. He wasn't ill or injured, but the pain was the worst he'd ever felt. It was sharp, like knives and shards of glass embedded into his body, puncturing his organs over and over again. e hadn't known grief could be so physically debilitating before now. The pain has been harsh and relentless for weeks, and would unexpectedly hit him full force where he'd find himself gasping for air, unable to take a deep breath.

At first, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to express how he was feeling, so he mostly just cried. He was constantly dehydrated due to his crying, but he could barely be bothered to drink anything. He hid away most days, knowing that he was in no state to be around others that were also grieving, knowing that he could offer no comfort. Every feeling was heightened. Every physical pain seemed much more extreme than it ever had before, and he'd been lost in it, and eventually, he became so sick of the hurting, so sick of the pain, that he got angry.

He has never been angry like this before. It was bubbling inside of him, the harsh rage emerging in little fits. He punches walls and yells, but he never feels better afterward. He still cries a great deal. His frustration with himself, with his grief, with the struggle to accept the fact that the man he loves is dead causes harsh, new tears to run down his face. He would never hit anyone, but to his– and everyone else's– shock, he yells at Griffin. Yet the anger didn't last long; he wasn't the angry type, he never had been. It was just a front for his longing. Because more than anything, he just wanted Levi back. It made him sick how much he missed the older man. The ache in his chest had become a constant presence, one Magnus felt wasn't going away. One he wasn't sure he wanted to go away.

After the anger subsided, he came to realize his desperation for Levi's presence. The only thing he wanted in the world was to have Levi again. To see that grand tattoo of the sun painted on his lean back, to have those big doe eyes rake over his face, his pink lips quirking upwards in a smile. All he wanted was to run his fingers over the bumps and tight textures of Levi's scars, to take the shorter man's hand in his own, to hear his intelligent voice murmuring sweet words in Magnus' ear playfully. He wanted it all back. He wanted to erase cancer from their lives, from Levi's life, and before he knew it, he found himself bargaining.

He bargained with God. He bargained with fate. He bargained with the universe. He bargained with time. He bargained with anyone or anything that could be listening. He promise to kiss Arohe would do anything to get Levi back. His attempts at deals range from simple to immensely elaborate, yet they were never answered. It had almost become a subconscious thing for him. The everyday day he makes up new ones, his heart aching in his chest, his mind clouded with his grief, and every morning he couldn't suppress the hope that the universe; or God, or whoever; had heard his pleas, and had accepted them, and that Levi would be there. Every day he was grounded again by the old photo album now resting permanently on their coffee table, and the out-of-service black cell phone tucked into his sock drawer. He'd begun to dread going to sleep because he hated even more so waking up, and finding himself alone again.