The glass of whiskey looked blurred in his trembling hands.
The crowded ballroom room seemed like a haze, fluttering in and out from his vision like those god awful traffic lights that always hurt his eyes, making him irritated. It was the third function he was attending this week, the last two being for work, and this one, god knows why he came.
He didn't know how long he had been sitting there — on a darkened corner of the small bar at the end of the enormous room — didn't know how many glasses of whiskey he had poured down his throat. But judging by the pitying looks he had been receiving from the bartender, he knew it had been far too long and far too many to make him look like a mess. But he was too far gone to care.
The night had turned into a nightmare the second his eyes landed on that face, anyway. He should've stayed in his flat. He should've stayed away.
"Long night?" a flutter of voice broke through his chain of thoughts, and without turning around, he knew who it belonged to. He had heard that voice mumble far too many things on the nape of his neck to know every volume, every pitch it could take; he had listened to it a hundred times over late-night cigarettes to pick up on it even in a crowded room.
Like cold water to his body, the airy tone sent shivers down his spine, and even in the state he was in, he still clung to it like a helpless traveller. He had missed that voice. He had missed her.
He let his misty eyes turn towards the woman in question to find her pale grey orbs staring right back at him, and the longing that crawled up to his throat made him want to whimper.
God, how many times had he lost himself in those sinful eyes? He knew every shade of emotions they could hold, every single unsaid word they could express. The grey in those eyes was wild, untamed, and he loved that about them.
It was the same wildness that had brought them together, wasn't it? The way those eyes had always pinned him down, always sought him out; those were the eyes that always remained unchanged for him. And after everything, they were all that he needed.
"We fit, don't we?"
He still remembered the casual way she had said those words ten years ago, her long slender legs dangling loosely from a windowsill as they smoked away the evenings. How easily she had fitted herself right beside him after that, demanding him to pull himself together.
And he had done just that back then, hadn't he? He had picked himself back right up, piece by piece and had glued himself back together. All because of a girl with a crooked smile and hair that made the moon look faint.
And now, there she stood, right in front of him with the same eyes and that devil-like smile that always made his knees go weak, looking like everything that had happened between them hadn't affected her at all. As if ten years ago she hadn't walked into his life, hadn't single-handedly consumed every inch of his world, right before leaving him in pieces once more.
It wasn't fair. The way she made it all look so effortless.
As if leaving things behind came second to nature to her. Looking back, he sometimes wondered if it actually was natural for her all along. Maybe it was only him who was foolish enough to not see it. He had always been foolish when it came to her.
"Not talking to me then?" she spoke in her airy tone while making herself comfortable on the stool beside him. And he wanted to scream at her. Scream and flinch away because she had no right to sit this close to him anymore. She had no right to drive him this mad. Because up this close, he could smell the faint hint of cologne coming from her skin. It was a mix of citrus, petrichor and her musk, a smell that he once devoured, worshipped whenever he got the chance. It was all too cruel; her smell, her presence, her cursed voice. And good heavens, her face.
In her three-piece navy suit, she looked like he came off of a runway, which she no doubt did, with what her career was now.
She looked as beautiful as the day she had left him.
"Baby," her soft voice drifted towards him again, sending vibrations of pain into the broken strings of his heart. And it was funny how he hadn't heard that voice call him for a year. But the way she spoke made him feel like she had never stopped calling him.
"What do you want?" what more could you possibly want? Was what he wanted to say.
"I just want to talk, babe," she said softly while eying the empty glass in his hand, her brows slightly crooking. She never liked it when he drank too much.
"It's been two years," she stated after a beat as if he had forgotten.
When he didn't respond, she tried once again. "You look good," she spoke casually, and the tone reminded him of the past when she used to lay in his arms in quiet mornings; when she used to look at his sleep tousled hair and unshaven face, saying the exact same words to him, over and over with a smile.
"What are you doing here?" the words slurred in his mouth, and he tried his best not to sound too hurt, too broken and angered. His anger never worked on her. And hurt, well, she wouldn't have hurt him if she cared in the first place.
"I —," she stumbled with her words before stopping altogether, frowning at her lap while he gazed at her.
"I missed you," she whispered at the end, and he couldn't help the bitter laugh escape his lips.
Hearing his voice, she looked up at him like a kicked puppy, her eyes holding so much pain that it forced him to look away.
"I did apologise..." she mumbled after a moment, her voice rough "for— for leaving, I —" she stumbled. "Don't think that, that leaving you was easy for me to do... You were — we were — Don't think that I didn't —"
"You didn't what? You didn't care?" The last bit of control he was holding slipped through his fingers as he snarled at the woman beside him, pouring every inch of anger he felt into his words.
"Don't think that I didn't love you, baby," she whispered at the end, and suddenly all he could feel was pain engulfing his chest.
"I did love you. More than you would ever know."
He wanted to laugh.
"And yet, you left ."
The sigh that escaped her suddenly made her look so much older than she was. As if twenty-seven was a number that weighed a ton on her thin shoulders.
"We were never good at talking, were we?" the grey-eyed woman said as she ran a hand over her face. "We always get caught up in —" she paused, giving him a helpless look, "What I am trying to say is, you must've seen what we were doing to each other, babe. You must've. We — we were losing ourselves." The desperation dripped from her voice like water, and he wanted to tell her how wrong he was, even if he knew it was a lie.
"You didn't want to do a desk job, babe. After everything, you used to say how much you despised everything that came with that job. I — god, you wanted to live! We were supposed to travel the world together! All those plans about Egypt, China, Morocco! But —"
"But we got caught up," He finished for her. "Life caught up to us. It's what life does. One day you're dreaming about things you want to do, and then you meet someone and realise you want them more than everything else! You choose them over your dreams! You were what I wanted more! You were what I chose over everything else! That's how reality works!"
"No! Reality works how you want it to because it's your fucking reality! You lived through wars, for fucks sake! You can't seriously think —" She groaned, "Reality wasn't you doing a job that practically had no end and coming home looking lifeless! Reality wasn't me cowering away from everything and settling for a job that made me more miserable. And we did that for what?! A fucking house where we barely slept in?" she said with a scoff before turning towards him once more.
"In life, when you give up your dreams, you only get stuck with a love that is repetitive and faded. Because the fire you had inside you always always dies when you leave yourself behind. You should have known this." she said coldly.
"I loved you fiercely, babe. I still fucking do. But when you extract too much from something, it loses its meaning. Our love had lost its meaning. I couldn't bear to watch you die away in that stupid job of yours. And I couldn't murder myself like that either. We already faced enough that drained the life out of us. So I did the only thing that was left to do." she sighed.
"I let you go. It hurt like hell, leaving you, god knows it did. But I did it. For you, and for us. And if you think that I am wrong, look me in the eyes for one goddamn second and say it to my face."
And he wanted to. He wanted to look at her and scream and break down, wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close because she was home, for fucks sake! She shouldn't have left. But even if it killed him admitting so, he knew that just as always, she had been right.
If there was a phase called 'losing one's self in love', then both of them were the perfect example for it. They had crashed and collided like lightning to the ground, and without realising, they had consumed each other completely, leaving behind only the skin.
He would be a fool if he said that he had been content with his nine-to-five job. He would be a fool if he said he didn't hate every second of going to that office when both of them were together. But the pay was steady, and travelling and leaving things behind was hard. So he had settled for the safer option, for love, of course. And he knew she had done the same for him. Dreams were put on the shelf when life took over. And after that, things just never were the same.
When she finally had enough and decided to end it all, his whole world had crumbled down right in front of him. It had taken him a year to pull himself together, but when he did, he had picked up his fallen dreams like they were his last chance at survival. And now, two years later, he had seen half of the world, had been to places none of his friends ever heard of, working as an independent researcher for wildlife who had already published two papers that were praised all around the world.
It's funny what heartbreak could do to a man. Funny how sometimes it built people up before breaking them down completely. And she knew that all along, didn't he? She knew that it was a heartbreak that both of them needed. And not wanting to burden him with the knife, she took the stabbing upon herself.
"I promised to never lie to you, baby. The moment you came into my life, I promised to never lie to you. And you needed to hear the truth in the end. I was dying, living a life like that. You were dying. Our love, it was killing us, and I couldn't let it go on anymore. I loved you too much to watch you fade, darling. I loved you too much..." she trailed off,
"I wish things were different back then." the words felt broken on his lips.
"I wish things were different too," she spoke with a Horace voice of her own, finally letting the emotions slip out of her, giving him a watery smile, "we were both bloody idiots back then."
"W-why are you here?" he couldn't help but ask again. He needed to make sense of their whole conversation. He was supposed to be shouting. They were both supposed to be shouting at each other. Wasn't that what exes do?
"I wanted to see you. Saw on the paper that you were back," she admitted with a small smile, a hint of pride colouring her voice, "I had to catch you before you left again."
"I — yeah," hearing this, he stumbled with his words, "I'm leaving next week. Have to attend a seminar in Milan."
"Ahh, Milan! Fancy fancy! Look at you!" she teased as she wiped her eyes.
"Say that for yourself!" he swatted at her without realising. "I saw the uhh, the photos of your fall collection. They were — you're really good with clothes," he said earnestly and watched her whole face light up. She always did love to be praised.
"Can I then interest you into buying one of my designer coats, then?" she asked in a pleased tone, and he chuckled.
"I'm afraid they are too flashy for my taste," he said good-naturedly before continuing in earnest, "They are beautiful, though. You did really go —"
"It's not in the collection," she mumbled aloud suddenly, making him stop.
When he eyed him in question, she pressed on, her tone low. "The one I want you to have.. it's, it's not in the collection," she said, looking at her lap.
And he felt his heart in his throat once again.
"Ba —"
"You know how I always wanted to..." she trailed off, her voice growing smaller by the second.
And he knew. He knew how obsessed she was with everything related to clothes back then. How she used to spend hours whining about his lack of fashion sense and made pleasing remarks every time, he let her dress him up.
"I'm going to design you a full wardrobe one day, babe!" she used to tell him cheerily while fixing his tie. "Just you wait!"
He had been waiting ever since.
Well, he was done waiting.
"Darling," He called and watched the grey eyes turn towards him.
"I leave in a week," he stated.
"I know," she mumbled.
"I'm still furious with you." He said again.
"I know, baby."
"We need to talk about things."
"Everything, yes."
"Baby," he called again while taking her hand in his own, his voice resolute. "Come home."
And she did just that.
The coat she made for him was moss green in colour. It felt fluffy on his skin while looking like it was made out of leather, and the carefully sewn patterns on it only showed themselves when the sun hit it just right.
"A hidden surprise that only shows itself to the ones who look," she had mumbled into his neck after he wore it for the first time three days after they met at the function, and he had chuckled.
"Are you looking then?" he had asked.
"I never stopped." she had smiled.
Milan was lonely with its fancy buildings and tasteful people. But with the coat firmly wrapped around his shoulder, he knew he would never be feeling alone ever again.
His home was waiting.
