I die for you I five hargreeves x reader

tolstoy

I Johnny don't leave me you said you'd love me forever I 

Everything looks exactly the same as it does when I left. The door to my room is slightly ajar. Its dusty interior intact. Preserved. Stationary. I run my hands over the bookshelves. So many books. Because in my spare time, when I was not training, or getting electrocuted by dear Dad, I was reading. A book falls on the floor at my feet. 

Heat sears through my forehead. Because the memories have triggered it again—the creature inside me is angry, sending its tendrils out and forcing me to my knees. I am not supposed to feel emotions. Yet here we are. 

"You read Tolstoy?"  A small voice asks me. I'm ten, sitting alone in my room. The door is closed—or at least it was. 

"Everyone thinks of changing the world but no one thinks of changing himself," I quote softly, setting the book down. "What do you want, Five?" 

He blinks, crossing his arms. "Dad sent me to get you." His tone unnerves me. It is not hostile, nor is it mocking. He doesn't even seem scared to look at me. His green eyes meet mine evenly, openly. "Where does he take you?" Five looks curious. Open. 

I shake my head. "Nowhere."  When I look up, I expect him to be gone, but he is still here. Staring at me. "Why are you still here?" 

Five pauses, considers this. "I'm bored." He gives me a small smile. "Boredom. The desire for desires." 

It surprises me that he makes any sort of effort to connect at all. 

He's gone. I toss the book into my closet, slamming the door. Dust floats up from the carpet as the book makes impact. I find my old uniform sitting in a heap on my bed, exactly where I left it. I discard my old sweater, pulling on my blazer instead. It's much warmer. 

"What are you doing back?" The harsh voice shoots through the doorway. It feels like a bullet coming at me again, trying to knock me down. But he forgets. I'm bulletproof now. 

"Have you forgotten that this is my home too, Luther?" I spin around, glaring at him. Even in his current state of giant, he still won't meet my eyes. He's still terrified. Terrified of fear. 

"It's not your home anymore," Luther reminds me, as if I don't already know that. "You left." 

I snort. "Yeah, left. If 'left' refers to—dragged away by force, sure. Let's use that, shall we, Ape-man?" 

Luther stiffens. "What did you just say?" 

"You're denser than I thought," I mutter. Luther doesn't say anything to this. I'm sure he's trying to think of a comeback that would rock me to my core. 

"You look the same," Luther scans me in way that makes me want to leave my own body. 

"No shit, Sherlock," I point at the door. "Now, get out. I've got some more murders to plot." I can't tell if he knows I'm joking or not. He walks out, shutting the door behind him. I hear him hover—probably considering whether or not he should lock me in. 

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. It's much more comfortable than the bed in my cell. There are plastic stars on my ceiling. I forgot they were there. 

"You always loved the stars more than people." 

I sit up, shaking my head. As if there was someone to shake my head at. As if there was someone left. The stars remain there, mocking me. I used to love the constellations. 

Now they're a reminder that I have no one to look at them with. 

I tear one down, letting the useless piece of plastic fall onto my bed. A piece of me leaves. 

"Love, stop." 

I stop tearing down the stars. "Go away," I mutter. "Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away. You aren't real. You aren't here. Go away." I cover my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. My fingers grip into the palms of my hand, leaving tiny crescent marks in my hands. 

Like the moon. 

"Y/N?" 

Great. More visitors. 

"Sorry, I'm not taking guests right now," I wipe my face off, tucking my hair behind my ears. It's Vanya. She studies me in her quiet way, careful not to look me directly in the eye. Of course. 

"I just wanted to see if you were alright," she swallows, her hands in her pockets. "Luther told me you were back." Vanya side eyes my room. "Wow. It looks like nothings changed." She lowers her voice. "You haven't changed at all..." 

"Nope." 

She nods, dipping her head. And then she leaves. No other words. I am relieved. An then she comes back in, carrying a book. 

"Where did you get that?" 

I wonder if I let too much venom into my voice because she recoils, stepping back into the doorway. That's right. Stay away from the crazy person. 

"Five left it in his room," Vanya answers quietly. "He was going to give it to you, before..well, you know." 

Yes I do know. I do not want to remember. It is much easier to forget than be plagued by old memories. Because he is gone. And he's not coming back. 

She gives me the book. "I just thought, you should probably have it." And then she leaves. She doesn't come back this time. 

I stare at the book. Resurrection 1899. The only book of his I don't have yet. 

I throw it on my bed. 

It hurts too much. 

Beside me, I hear the creak of a floorboard. Alison, changing her clothes, or dancing around her room like a fairy in a perfect fucking fairytale. Luther, her charming prince in almost-incest. 

The book lays on my bed sadly. Discarded. I flip the cover open. 

To Y/N,

"Love. The reason I dislike that word is that it means too much for me, far more than you can understand."

As I said. It hurts too much.