Cicada Days - Eamon x Conor Lawlor

Ashes Of Sparrows

What the fuck.

What in the ever-loving fuck.

Eamon had left his house this morning with the plan to head over to Conor's so they could begin working on a new song they had been talking about. The song was supposed to be about a girl in a relationship who the singer could not help but pine after.

How ironic.

Eamon showed up with his notebook in hand and knocked twice on the door of Conor's house.

A few moments later, Brendan answered. This wasn't strange as Conor was usually asleep during the early hours Eamon would show up at.

He smiled, and asked for Conor. One look at Brendan's expression caused the smile to melt off of Eamon's face.

"He didn't tell you?", Brendan asked.

"Tell me what."

"Eamon, Conor's gone. He left."

Brendan took Eamon's silence as a sign to continue.

"He went to England with Raphina."

Eamon felt the world shatter underneath his feet. Everything felt too loud, too bright. Too much.

Eamon gave a small mutter in place of an excuse before turning around and leaving an open-mouthed Brendan at the door.

Eamon didn't know where he was going. His feet were following a path that was engraved into his soul. All the times he had walked down this path, Conor had been by his side.

He walked down, and down, and down, until he reached the small park that he and Conor had spent so much time in.

This park was where he had first realized that he was in love with Conor. This tiny patch of grass served as a junction in his life for something bigger than he could even imagine.

He sat down on a bench before standing again and moving to one beside it.

That was their bench. He couldn't sit there by himself. All the emotions he had felt were ingrained into the wooden surface of the ratty old bench, hidden away.

As he sat down onto the other bench, the safe one, all of his love, shame, and anger came sprawling out of him.

It started with a small amount of pressure in his eyes, before quickly swelling to full-blown sobbing. The hot, wet tears streamed down his face in waterfalls of misery.

Conor was gone.

That's what Brendan had said.

Gone.

Left with stupid Raphina to fucking England.

Was Eamon not good enough, was he not enough for Conor? What did Raphina have that he didn't. There was no way they were going to survive in London.

To start, they didn't know a single person that could help them out with accommodation or money. They were far from being rich, so their meagre allowances combined would only amount to enough to stay in some cheap motel for a week, max.

He had helped Conor with so much, and now he was being left behind in the dirt.

Eamon wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stood back up. God knows crying ain't gonna change a thing.

They're gone, and that's that. Eamon could get through this. It wasn't the first time he had been left behind, and definitely wasn't going to be the last. He didn't care.

The archaic feelings that Eamon was going through weren't helping his case.

They were bound to lose touch anyway, any week. This one-sided romance wasn't going to last. It felt inhumane to lose this much, and Conor had left with more than just Eamon's love.

The band was over, so was any hope of Conor becoming famous. He was nothing without Eamon. All those late night writing sessions amounted to nothing in front of infinity's face.

Eamon silently dared Conor to try and come back to Ireland. To reconcile with his friends. One day at a time, Eamon would get through his heartbreak.