I should have told you everything that night before I walked out of your apartment.

I should have told you-how crazy of a person I called 'my mother' was, how crazy she was to get Timothy involved in our family business, how the madman's temper flared hearing that I've finally found someone who could love me for who I was, and how he threatened me with your life.

It's not like I was deaf and blind. I knew he was a snake long before he dared to bare his fangs at me. I knew how all the wealth streamed his way or how he bent the power to his will, or the dark tendrils of influence he could twist around anyone's life.

And when he turned that power toward you, I was convinced we were a mistake.

You were never meant to stumble through that café door on that dreary morning. I should have never let myself fall head over heels for you. Someone like me-someone stained in all the sad shades of blue-didn't belong in the calm simplicity of your black-and-white world.

I belonged nowhere at all.

"You gotta be kidding me, Ahen, you gotta be kidding me!" Your voice howled through the pounding bass, cutting through the haze of laughter and flashing lights.

My head lolled to the side, too heavy with drink to focus properly, but I could still see the anger etched in every line of your face. Bloodshot eyes, damp cheeks-you were a mess of rage, confusion, and regret- all those emotions swirling together until they bulged and blurred into something I couldn't quite decipher. The crowded pub, dimly lit and reeking of alcohol and sweat, suddenly felt too small, too suffocating as your words echoed off the walls.

"Relax, it's just a bit of fun," I slurred, the words barely intelligible as they rolled off my tongue. But there was nothing fun about the way you looked at me, nothing playful in the way your jaw clenched, muscles tensing as if you were trying to hold yourself back from doing something you'd regret.

The two women draped over me giggled, their laughter hollow and shrill, as if they didn't notice-or didn't care-about the storm brewing in your eyes. I tried to raise my drink in a mock toast, but my hand trembled, spilling some of the amber liquid onto the sticky floor.

"Fun?" you spat, voice cracking under the strain. "This is what you call fun? Wasting yourself in this pit, throwing away everything you've worked for, everything we've-" You cut yourself off, voice breaking, and for a moment, I saw something raw in your eyes, something that made my chest tighten.

There wasn't something like 'we' anymore. There was you and there was me, two completely different people. All the conversations before this had established that much of a boundary just fine. And the realization clenched my heart a little too painful to bear sober, so I reached for the whiskey bottle between us.

"What's the big deal? Everyone's got their vices, right?" I shrugged, trying to laugh it off, but it came out hollow, forced.

"Everyone?" You took a step closer, looming over me. The women beside me shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension but not quite moving, as if waiting to see where this would go. "This ain't a vice, Ahen. This is you throwing your life away."

I chuckled darkly. "You sound like my mom, Garret."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice was softer now, almost pleading. "Why are you running from everything instead of facing it? Why are you running from me?"

I looked away, unable to meet your gaze, focusing instead on the half-empty bottle in my hand. I could feel your eyes burning into me, demanding something I wasn't ready-or willing-to give. It was too late now. I had already sunk too deep into this abyss, and I wasn't sure I wanted to climb out.

Instead, I just took another swig from the bottle, letting the burn of the alcohol numb whatever was left of my conscience. The room seemed to sway around me, the disco lights blurring into a mess of colour and motion, and I could hear the distant sound of laughter, music, but it all felt so far away, so irrelevant.

"I'm not running, Garret. I want this to end."

You snapped then, reaching out and snatching the bottle from my hand. Before I could react, you hurled it to the ground. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, bringing the entire club to a standstill. The music cut off abruptly, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"Is that what you want, Ahen?" you shouted, your voice cutting through the air like a blade. "To destroy yourself, to push everyone away until there's nothing left? Because if that's where you're headed, I won't just sit and watch till you vanish!"

Your words hit me like a physical blow, each one tearing through the fragile walls I had built around myself. They sliced through the haze sharper than any blade. I shoved the two women aside, rising unsteadily from the couch. The shattered glass crunched beneath my Jordans as I took a few steps toward you.

And after so long, I was standing in front of you-so close I could feel your breath, see the tears pooling in your eyes, and the rage trembling just beneath the surface. Yet, it still felt too far, too distant to let myself break down and pull you into my arms.

"Yeah?" I met your gaze with a coldness I didn't feel, my voice laced with defiance. "Try, then. Try your best. Cause there's no way you're gonna save me this time."

"You motherfucker-" Your voice cracked, trembling with fury and grief, your fists clenching tightly at your sides.

"Yes. Leave this motherfucker and go live your life. I don't need you. I don't need your saving. So please. Please. Get the hell out of my life."

I watched as my words struck you, the anguish flashing across your face like a lightning storm. You recoiled, your pain laid bare in the way your eyes brimmed with tears, barely holding them back. My resolve was a thin, fragile veneer, masking the abyss I was already tumbling into.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, your chest heaving, your eyes blazing with raw hatred and heartbreak.

"Suit yourself then," you choked out, your voice breaking under the weight of sorrow. "Disappear, if that's how solace comes to you."

Then, with one last, devastating look, you turned and stormed out of the club.

You left me there, surrounded by the wreckage of my self-destruction-shattered glass, suffocating silence, and the crushing weight of my own mistakes.

Just like that, you walked away from my life, from everything we had been slowly building between us. Because I had chosen myself over us.

How selfish of me. How terribly, unforgivably selfish.

***

I shouldn't have fought you off when you tried to protect what was ours. But I did. I was a coward-too desperate to grasp at some empty, meaningless life that was never meant for me. Too painfully stupid to think I'd be fine in a world without you. And now all I was left with was regret-regret that I ruined everything.

Garret... Garret Swan Lombardy. In your black and white world, I was blue.

"Ahen Lefevre! Are you even listening to me?" The professor's furious voice snapped me out of the quiet trance I had fallen into. It had been six long months since you stopped looking at me, talking to me. Completely.

You stood at the piano, fingers poised over the keys, your expression distant, focused entirely on the music in front of you. I knew the piece well; we had rehearsed it together countless times before. But now, it felt different. The notes that once carried the warmth of our shared moments now sounded cold, distant, as if a wall had been erected between us, and I was on the outside, looking in.

The studio was alive with movement, dancers stretching and practising their routines, yet I felt strangely detached from it all. My mind was a swirl of memories, each one more painful than the last. I had lost myself in them, in the silent conversations we used to have with our eyes, the way we moved together in perfect synchrony. Now, all that remained was a hollow echo of what once was.

I caught your gaze for a fleeting second, and something inside me twisted painfully. You looked away, your expression unreadable, as if the months of distance had turned you into a stranger. The professor barked another command, and I forced myself to focus, to push aside the gnawing ache in my chest. But it was impossible. Every movement felt heavy, burdened by the weight of what we had lost.

Six months. Six long months since my mother had stormed into my life, demanding that I give you up, that I sever the ties that had bound us together so intimately. And like the obedient son she had raised me to be, I had tried. But it was futile. How could I distance myself from the one person who made me feel alive? I did. I did it for us.

You fought over it. My silence. You fought for weeks, months. But not anymore. Now your silence hurt me to a point I was convinced I was going to lose my mind. I had never told you why I started avoiding you, why I suddenly became cold, indifferent. Maybe you thought I had simply lost interest, that my feelings had changed.

No, they hadn't Garret. They had only grown stronger, more painful. Every time I saw you, I wanted to explain, to tell you the truth, but the words lodged in my throat, suffocating me. I wouldn't see you die. As much as I hate to admit it my mother's manicured hands had blood on them. This way we would live. This way you would live.

The winter showcase was only weeks away, and I knew this was our last chance to rehearse together, our last chance to be in the same space without the constraints of the outside world pressing in. But even here there was an invisible barrier between us, one that neither of us seemed willing-or able-to cross.

I tried to convince myself it was okay. I wanted to dance. And I was dancing. Dancing with you. Of sorts. Not the way I wanted. But there were things I couldn't afford. Like your love. They used to say I was rich. My father could buy me anything. But I had never felt this poor.

I forced myself to dance. But my movements were mechanical, devoid of the passion that had once driven me. All I could think about was you. In black and white, I was blue.

"Ahen!" The professor's voice broke through the fog of my thoughts once more.

"Professor?"

"If you're not going to focus, then leave the studio."

I swallowed hard. "Sorry, Professor,"I muttered, forcing myself to move, to dance.

"On cue...five, six, seven, eight..." And it started. Again.

The music began, and I surrendered to its flow, each note a thread weaving through the fabric of my soul. I know this piece. You wrote it for me. I dreamed of dancing with you, not alone. I danced with the raw intensity of unspoken regret and aching love. My movements, a series of elegant contortions, expressive and vulnerable.

Memories of us together flashed vividly in my mind. Our quiet moments, the way you smiled softly when you looked at me, and the sweetness of our lips. They threatened to spill, like tears, but the I had to hold my heart. The moment I let it loose it'll gulp me down altogether.

I danced, cause that's the only thing I could do. But let our memories dictate my movements-the graceful arches of my arms, the desperate twists of my body-I longed to hold you once more, kiss you once more.

You played with a delicate intensity, your gaze never meeting mine directly. Instead, your eyes stayed on the piano, as if looking at me might shatter the fragile connection between us. The tempo of your playing shifted subtly to match my movements, each note an echo of my anguish. Like this music was the frail thread that bound us together, even as the pain of our separation clawed at our hearts.

The session dragged on. The weight of the unspoken words between us only grew. When the rehearsal finally ended, I lingered by the door, watching as the others packed up and left. You stayed behind, as you always did, your fingers drifting over the piano keys in a soft, melancholic melody. It was a sound that tugged at my heartstrings, pulling me closer to you despite the distance I had tried to maintain.

I couldn't leave. Not without saying something. Anything.

"Garret," I called softly, stepping back into the studio.

You didn't look up, but I saw the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your hands stilled on the keys. The room was filled with the muted glow of twilight filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows that danced on the walls.

"Garret, I..." I hesitated word catching in my throat.

Finally, you looked at me, your gaze piercing through the layers of pain and guilt I had wrapped myself in. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching out between us like a fragile thread, waiting to snap.

"Can I help you?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my voice.

"I wanted to talk about the performance. It's been a while since I've seen you play like that-so raw, so... powerful."

Your eyes flickered, a hint of vulnerability surfacing, but you quickly masked it with a cold façade.

"It'll be my last performance before I leave. So yes. I'm doing my best." you replied tersely, turning your attention back to the music sheets as if we were strangers.

"You're leaving..." Tears slid down my cheeks, blurring the world as they fell.

My mother's voice echoed in my mind, urging me to wipe them away, to hide them from the world. Men were supposed to be rough, tough, devoid of tears, unaffected by emotions.

You looked at me. Maybe because you heard the sniffle I tried so hard to muffle with my sweater paws. I could see the confusion, the hurt, the anger in your eyes, but also something else-something that gave me a sliver of hope.

"You wanted me gone anyways. Why act hurt now?"

It was a stab to my heart-one that didn't bleed visibly, so I was expected to wince in silence and avoid being dramatic. Only if you knew why I wanted you gone.

"Garret I-" My voice was small, trembling as I tried to reach out again.

"If that's all, it would be a great help if you left," you spat, your words sharp and unfeeling. "I need to concentrate."

Garret Swan, I was your blue.