Come As You Are

It's Not Hope

AN: I've been gone for a while, huhu! I've been working on this for a while. Hope you enjoy.
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Edgar shouldn't have kept his four of diamonds. He doesn't know if it would've helped much, but he's pretty sure all the other four's are down and it's bound to get him stuck now. His bangs fall, shielding him from the yellow light overhead and Tara's stare as he plays a seven of hearts.

Tara is quick to respond. She plays an eight, before signing spades.

Damn it.

Regret sinks in, warm and useless. He draws an embarrassing three more cards before an ace of spades turns up.

Tara hums happily. She drops her last card — a five of spades.

"Congrats," Edgar says flatly, sliding five gold coins across the wooden table. She accepts graciously, picking them up. So he's thirty coins down today. He huffs. Casual gambling never hurts his finances much, given these low stakes, but it sure hurts his pride sometimes. So long, win-streak.

Tara stands and extends her hand with a contented hum, as if to say good game. Her victor's cheer is apparent, but she's always polite. It's one of the things that make playing with her more pleasant than not. Edgar follows suit and shakes her hand.

"Thanks, Tara. See you next Wednesday?"

Tara nods. She mimes crying then wags her finger at him.

"Ugh, shut up! I could've won that, you know?"

Her eyes roll with a muffled laugh. She puts her cards away before waving him off with a "shoo" motion. Suppressing a smile, Edgar pushes his chair back and goes on his way.

The cool dusk air hits his face as he leaves the pub, hands in his pockets and shoes crunching on the coarse pavement. Today's just a really sucky day. It's not like he loses for a living. Or a hobby. In a different kind of game, starting with all diamonds would've been great, but no, they were playing freaking crazy eights. His last cards dance in his mind before the chronology fades into oblivion.

It was Belle, he thinks, who said something about this before. "They say losing gambles means you're lucky in love," she had remarked, drumming her fingers on the table as Edgar shuffled cards. His eyes flicked up to her spectacled ones for a split-second, purple hair and lilac skin flashing past his thoughts. Belle smirked. "Of course, that's just an old wives' tale, but it's some fair consolation!"

And, well — Edgar kinda chuckles now — actually, he doesn't feel that bad about losing, he doesn't need the consolation. But maybe, if somehow, this universe could be the one where it's true — his hand pauses in his pocket, wrapped around his phone like a snake. He sucks his teeth. Here he is, still hung up on the same purple hair and lilac skin, eyes like an abyss and words that broke his heart two months ago. He takes his key instead and starts the ignition on his motorcycle.

It's a lost cause. And still the chronology keeps dancing in his mind, laced with unrealistic what-if's. It's not hope. They're more if-only's than what-if's. The early September wind whips past him as he rides down the road, formless and cold. It's as refreshing as his daydreams and just as fleeting. Technically speaking, he's kinda okay. He doesn't cry over it as much anymore, and he's functioning. But he keeps returning to these memories like a song coming back to the hook. To this nostalgia, thick and golden like honey.

Once you've gotten a taste of the sweetest thing in the world, you're always gonna miss it. Time healed him up a bit, but wow, does he still feel incomplete. It's subtler than wanting and far harder to burn out. Somehow, that kind of happiness is a curse.

He steers past the cars, turning at the intersection on autopilot. His scarf flutters freely behind him. The sky stretches pink, and unfortunately purple. He keeps his eyes on the road. Hunger stirs in his stomach. (He'll grab a bite at home.) The same old yearning weighs on him, long-gone endearments and comfortable jokes. Miss you. Miss that. As if he wants to return for their overdue attempt at friendship. He hasn't, really because being just friends again now means hanging out on the graveyard of what they had. He'd rather keep his distance, no thanks.

By the time he's home and up in his quiet, slightly messy room, he falls into the grasp of Twitter-scrolling. He saves a fair share of memes and answers Griff's frenzied text of DID you take from the tip jar???!!! Which is, pretty ironic to be honest. (The answer is no).

Maybe it's 'cause he doesn't feel like he could get much sadder today, or his thoughts keep circling back around, but either way, he ends up staring down his old flame's Twitter profile after about five minutes of browsing.

So much for keeping his distance.

She changed her profile pic again — she's winking at the camera with a pink background now, her face bringing back a warm pang in his chest. Her location still reads, "only here for the trophies", and her banner's the Starr Park sunset skyline. A picture of some kind of chocolate dessert accompanies her last tweet, topped with a few mint leaves. "Piper's new chocolate mint mousse was the perfect treat for me today!! #desserts #mint #chocolate #yum", it reads.

Small details like these are just great. They slap him with the reminder that she's still living her life out there. Well, Edgar is, too. He just wishes he were living the life he used to have with her.

His scarf curls up at his sides, clenching its fists. Seeing this sucks. Everything sucks. Why did he do this again? Social media makes it so easy to check in. It's basically a curse. She's so happy, and he's so not. He leaves the page and switches to Messenger.

Edgar
7:23pm
yo

He's on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Colette
7:25pm
Hey yo
Wazzup?

Edgar
7:26pm
nothing

Colette
7:26pm
Lol.

Edgar turns to lie on his other side.

Edgar
7:29pm
I hate social media

Colette
7:30pm
I have to agree with you on that one
Are you stalking Emz again?

Edgar
7:30pm
It's not stalking

Colette
7:30pm
suuure

Edgar
7:31pm
suuure. By the way, did u take from the tip jar?

Colette
7:31pm
Yeah lol. Don't tell Griff

Edgar
7:31pm
Kk

If he were really lucky in love, she would've stayed. Instead, he got it's not personal. There's just no excitement anymore. Ha ha.

Truth is, he never got tired of her, she just had enough of him after more than half a year. Now it feels like ages since the fresh start of it all, warm hands in cold November, surer than ever, say it's all chill and don't change a thing. Here he is at the start of another autumn, and his heart's only colder than ever. He hates it. Even months after it ended, the aftershocks are still running through him.

Just forget it. At least, he tries to. But every time he puts it behind him, it comes sneaking back, creeping up the back of his empty heart. It's so freaking sad. And he wants to blame her, but he knows she tried her best. Emz fell out of love with him like an old video game, and he's basically an Atari 2600. He sniffs sharply, clutching his pillow harder. Forget it. It's a lost cause, useless chronology dancing in his mind. He pulls up the covers and decides to close his eyes for five more minutes before dinner.