let them boys be

(downpour)

Summary: The rain doesn't stop.

Tags/Themes: aNGST. AGONY. rain. second person pov.

Warnings: this one is very sad and very short because i've forgotten how to write i'm sorry.

(downpour) -

"I think we should break up."

He won't meet your eye, his fingers gripping the handle on his umbrella so tightly you're half-afraid he might shatter the plastic material. The rain doesn't stop, the rest of the world doesn't stop, the people pushing around the two of you blocking the street doesn't stop. The only thing that stops is the noise in your head.

 And that's enough, because for you, everything has come crashing to a halt.

You don't know what to say. Of course you don't, what were you supposed to say? Okay, cool, that's just the birthday present I wanted this year! You weren't raised to be a liar. 

You can't move. Distantly, you're aware of the rain soaking you to your bones, and a part of you is probably panicking at the thought of the leftover slice of cheesecake growing soggy from the wetness. But mostly you just don't understand. 

"I should've brought this up sooner," he says.

"You don't deserve this," he says.

"Please don't blame yourself," he says.

"I'm sorry," he says.

But all your hear is rain, and the beating of your heart- has it always been this unsteady? Has it always been this loud?

When he finally turns his back on you, you realize there is dampness on your cheeks that isn't from the sky. And all of a sudden, it's as if the world around you starts again, too many colours and too many sounds, the world keeps turning and turning, not a care that your whole world has just shattered into millions of raindrops falling too fast and too hard towards the cold cement. 

The crowd parts around you, people skirting around the violently sobbing kid in the middle of the street, a sad lopsided cardboard box beside him. Isn't it shameful, isn't it pathetic, you, a nearly grown man bawling like a babe all alone in a crowd of strangers that can't care less that who you thought was the love of your life has just walked out of your life as quietly as he came. You don't hear anything, you don't see anything, you don't feeling anything, nothing except this terrible, clawing ache from the centre of your body, reaching up through your lungs and it hurts, goddamit, it hurts. 

Later, when you've finally picked up enough pieces of yourself off the ground and made your way back home, you'll sit staring at your phone, quiet, in the dark. The shivering stops, but the throbbing rattling in your ribcage does not. 

That's okay. It's proof that you're still alive. 

Your inbox remains empty. You take one more look at his picture, and then you turn off the phone. You don't delete his number. You don't call him. You don't call anyone. 

Closing your eyes, you hold yourself, and in the silence of the night, you almost believe that in the morning you'll be alright.