a lesson in running away (the art of returning)

a lesson in failures and new endings

Fitz knows jealousy better than he knows himself.

For example, he wishes his mind would finally break, just as proof that he still knows how to feel.

Maybe for once, he could be the one whose mind needs to be saved from its own darkness. Its own guilt. He doesn't remember how it feels, that regret, that shame.

But he knows his dreams. They repeat every night, and maybe they are the part of himself that remains, that hasn't been torn away.

His dreams tell him Sophie understands, Alden makes his own mistakes, Della cups his face and tells him it will all be okay, Biana doesn't need to know how tears feel on her face, Keefe never knows peace, his room opens to the sky and it rains down on him daily, Alvar is dead and he killed him.

They are happy dreams.

...

It's nearly midnight when Sophie sends her transmission, and it's five minutes later that Fitz stumbles into Havenfield, hair still mussed from several unsuccessful attempts at sleep. He didn't have time to fix it, nor time to get dressed beyond pulling on a shirt to go with his pajama pants.

So it's with eyes muddled with exhaustion that he sees him again: speaking to Sophie in a soft voice, heads bent together in collaboration like nothing has changed, like he didn't leave them all again and not even have the decency to write him a half-assed note. Like they haven't been friends for so long that imagining their lives apart keeps Fitz awake at night.

And he's angry.

Of course he's angry. Nevermind that Sophie is forgiving, nevermind that Keefe is a part of who he is, nevermind that they shaped each other with warm hands into who they are today so Fitz is as much to blame for this as Keefe himself.

"He's gone?" And a slight pause. Barely a moment to digest the fact that he'd hardly died and come back before he was lost again. Barely a moment, because they all knew it was going to happen anyway. Because they couldn't possibly expect anything better. "Typical."

Fitz is back where he was when he first heard Keefe had run away again. Let him stay there. "Hey!" he shouts, and Keefe's head shoots up, that pained expression back on his face. So he'd been part of what he'd been trying to avoid.

Asshole.

Fitz starts jogging towards them, remembering his shoeless feet only as his socks sink into the soft soil and he bites back a wince. "Hey!"

Sophie steps back, and he realizes for a startling moment that he knows her well enough to read her even in the dusk when he can hardly make out her nose. She's nervous, but curious. She will let him say whatever he needs to.

"Hey, Fitz," Keefe says softly. He never says his name. Not like that.

"Why'd you come back?" Fitz reaches them too quickly, says what he's thinking before he's decided to let the words leave his mouth. "Why didn't you stay there?"

Keefe's eyebrows push together. "Because Sophie found me."

"Because she found you," Fitz says, a breath escaping him, heart thrumming too fast in his veins. Keefe's eyes narrow like he can feel the fluttering heartbeats, the remains of the pillow Fitz exploded nearly a month ago when he thought he'd been forgotten. His empathy has never seemed more like a curse.

"And because I wanted to," Keefe adds, and Fitz seizes his wrist in both hands. Keefe's pulse rushes beneath his fingers, warm and anxious.

"Say that again," Fitz demands.