𝐈𝐍𝐊 - JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

16

     Light spills in through the window, illuminating the desk placed just in front of its sheer drapes. Jamie's jacket is still thrown over your chair, causing the memories of that night to trickle through your busy thoughts.

     Today was a quiet afternoon, both inside and out. The trees seemed still, the grass didn't sway, and even the birds didn't chirp, almost as if they could feel the emptiness inside the apartment too.

     Jamie had been quiet as well. He was usually the more talkative between the two of you and you couldn't help but miss the sound of his voice. You hadn't seen him much today, but it also didn't help that you'd been cooped up in your room most of the day.

     The guilt was still eating you away. This was all your fault, how could you go out and face him? How could you look into those swirling blue eyes of his and not see the pain you've caused him? This was your mess, and it was one you didn't know how to fix.

     It's easy to hear the little fluttering noise against your window, because of how silent your room is, but you still can't seem to bring yourself to take so much as a glance toward it. The sound continues on as if there was something trying to get inside. It's another moment before you finally look up, only for the sound to vanish.

     There's a small shadow over your desk now. Where the light once poured over the typewriter and its parchment sheets, was the silhouette of a butterfly. As if sensing your attention, it flaps mystically away from view. Now, it was gone completely.

     That was a sign as good as any.

     The pads of your feet hit the floor softly and you tiptoe over to your desk. On it, lay the sheets of parchment, untouched as ever. You sit down on the chair and bring them closer, taking in their abandoned state.

     You couldn't really figure out what direction to go in with Jamie's story. Kat was an amazing writer, she always knew what to do with who and when, but you... you felt like a fool trying to take her place. Most of the story hadn't even been yours, but a rewritten, unoriginal copy of what she'd once made.

     Of course, the story was a little cliche. The two of you were way too young when creating this to have it any other way. It was the typical "boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back" kind of plot. Maybe that's why you couldn't do anything with it. It was so far from real life. You were trying to write about the kind of love that wasn't real.

     So what kind of love was the real kind?

     Flipping through the thin pages, you skim through the words and try to think of a way to save this bit of work. The thought of scrapping it comes across your mind more than once. Not every story needed to be told, you figured.

     The last page of the unfinished story is in your hands and its scene throws you a bit off guard. Jamie and his love interest—who happened to be an alternate version of you—were fighting. In this chapter, Jamie serenades his love with his guitar and all is solved. That's when you get an idea. This awkwardness between you didn't have to last.

     You tell yourself a million times that what you're about to do is far from romantic. This was a friendly, platonic move. That's all it could be anyway.

     Your voice calls his name before you can stop yourself. There was no need to overthink this situation, but the clenching in your fists says otherwise.

     "Yes?" You hear his footsteps trail down toward your room. The emotion in his voice is imperceptible.

     You take a silent breath as he comes into view, a lean figure at your doorway. His eyes linger on yours for a second, a deeper emotion overtaking his face before it falls along with his gaze down to the floor. There's no denying the fracture in your heart.