rainbow road || arx

Aren't you supposed to be at work?

"Oh, absolutely!" Elation hums beneath my words like a kitten's purr, and I revel pushing Justice a couple of steps past the doorway so that I can slip inside the apartment. Colors seep back into the burnt edges of the landscape, my eyes lingering upon the parts of the room that have taken up traces of him. It certainly can't be called harmony - more an orderly chaos. The little bits and pieces left out of place seem like subconscious rejection of a strict Career upbringing.

Goddess, I'm so fucking proud of him. It's not something I plan on saying and I don't think it's something he really wants to hear. An ego's a thousand times more fragile without a whiskey buffer and his wasn't exactly made of titanium before he got sober. Still, it's hard to stifle the fondness in my gaze when it lands upon a mess of yarn peeking out of the decorative fruit bowl on the counter. I allow my smile to soften at it's edges for a moment, one he hopefully missed.

I don't think even he knows how much this means to him, I'm certainly not going to be the one to fuck it up. Even if that means biting back a scathing tease or two.

What'd you do? I rolls my lips together, bouncing on the balls of my feet like an excited child as I chuck the bag of hair dye onto his couch.

"You're assuming it's my fault?" It is. It absolutely is. But he doesn't know that yet. "I come here, seeking a shoulder to cry on after being unjustly treated and that's what you have to say to me?" And every word is full of such dance and song that he has to know I'm putting on an act. Even if my fake-pout is probably top notch.

I used to think we were always playing pretend. I justified deception by convincing myself that without the weight of a forbidden game we would go rotten. Because then we might be real. And I didn't want real. And Justice didn't want real. I hurt another to built cement walls around my breaking heart.

Now all those justifications feel a lot like excuses because we're standing here weightless and I'm still-

"Okay, yeah, it's totally my fault. I got fired." I put some distance between us by perching on the arm of the couch, pulling my hair out of it's bun and exhaling in relief as I shake it free. "Anyway, you're gonna help me dye my hair to celebrate!"

He's gotta stop speaking with that liar's grin.

We're still friends, right?
I'm sorry.
I love you.

He's worn it every time.

Here I am, still pretending not to notice and leaning back with a half-hollow smile. He'll try to distract me next, with grand words and heavy gestures. Once upon a time I could tell just how bad the lie was from the force of the kiss that followed. Justice is always thinking he's more clever than he really is.

This lie is bright white, too little to hurt and I know my cheeks are only stinging from the memory of a thousand before.

A long, drawn out sigh seeps into the silence between us. I hop up off my seat, closing the distance between us and stretching to my tip-toes to pluck the ruined box from his outstretched hand. Fuck has he somehow gotten taller or am I shrinking? "I didn't expect you to know what to do." Honestly, if I was willing to gamble with premature balding I would have loved to watch him squirm.

Dye was always a luxury back home, something my father made me earn with hours of training that would inevitably end in bloody noses and bruised skin. All for a petty sense of control, for the thrill of a choice to make. I've always favored bright colors, as though they might bleed into reality. I hoped for a lot more as a young, stupid girl with an inferiority complex to rival her father's.

"I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you with anything but this." I ruffle his hair for emphasis before quickly withdrawing back to the couch. Like it alone can stop the cascade of a hundred more mistakes I want to make.

Because that's what we were, right? A mistake.

He wasn't smiling when he said that.

"I'll walk you through it, don't worry." I'm not looking up at him, as though the directions on the dye bottle are suddenly the most captivating thing in the world. For every second I spend here I'm fighting the urge to run and I'm quickly realizing staying might not be the right choice to make. "I'll need a shirt you don't mind getting ruined, first off."

It's like I'm playing with fire but the flames run ice cold.

It's kind of like watching a train wreck. I'm forced to press my fingers against my lips to contain a burst of laughter, helpless but to watch as he delves deeper into a simple mistake. I probably could have done more to specify exactly what I needed, but then again I can't honestly say I wasn't at least a little bit curious what would happen.

Here.

A persistent smile stains my lips as I take the shirt with a rushed 'thank-you'; grateful for the excuse to turn my back on him while I change out of my old shirt. The heat collecting in my cheeks feels dangerous, like it's a secret threatening to slip off the tip of my tongue. I've only just fumbled with the last of the buttons and gathered the fragments of composure in time to catch the remnants of the same blush mottling his shoulders and-

I clear my throat and look away. "Yeah bleach uh, stains." And I fight against the color I know has started creeping down my jawline, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth at the effort it takes to keep my gaze averted.

Justice's next couple comments aren't helpful, not that I expected them to be. The best I can offer is stale laughter, grateful that pulling my hair up into a half ponytail is proving to be as much of a challenge as it is. I can't stand the way he talks sometimes.

Like he's still-

Like we're still-

"You know, I don't actually add to your body count anymore." I lose the battle against my hair and find myself forced to face Justice exactly when I don't want to. My blush has only just begun to recede, something that only serves to worsen it's spread down my neck and across my chest and I thank the stars that this shirt is so oversized I can hide my face in its collar.

And wince when I realize it smells just like him.

"Is it just that fun to mess with me?" I swear I meant for the question to be light-hearted, yet another gentle tease to dissipate the tension steadily winding its way around my neck, but the words fall heavy. They shatter against my skin and I deign to look at the remnants of a new mistake instead of straining to hear the answer to a question I don't want to know.

Almost as much as I do.

Our symphony reaches it's crescendo with three simple words. They aren't new, in fact I've heard them said a thousand times before, always with the same gentle desperation that manages to turn me inside out. The first time Justice Fray told me he loved me I told him it didn't matter. Over the years that thought festered, turning his every words into another part of this game we'd fallen into. For so long those words have carried with them the weight of our sins, how could I ever believe that he actually meant them?

But no. That's not true, is it?

I've always known. I knew from that first fucking confession. Then I convinced myself I didn't, all so I wouldn't have to admit the love of my life loved me back and kept hurting me anyway. Lies were so much simpler than that.

He steps closer and I can't find the resolve to pull back, like it's taking all my strength to cling to fragile composure. I've always been a little bit jealous of Justice Fray. He speaks like his heart is on his sleeve, all while somehow managing to keep it locked away somewhere I could never find. He's the epitome of everything I was supposed to be: a successful career, a victor, amassing fame and fortune for his legacy. And when I first met him that's all I saw. A man as arrogant as he was ungrateful, chasing after everything because it was one more victory to collect.

I hate him for showing me that he's so much more.

It's been over a decade since I met Justice Fray but I couldn't tell you exactly when I fell in love with him. That moment is lost in this bloodstained tapestry of ours, buried by years of hurt and reckless happiness.

One step closer, he draws one step closer and I fall apart. Every last bit of me I've been desperately trying to piece back together lays scattered around his feet, relief sews my throat shut and I wish I could look away from him for all the truth I know is swimming in my gaze. I've never been very good at staying away from him, have I? We're building this kingdom on broken promises, it's the strongest foundation we've got.

It's all warmth, no guilt this time. He's too far standing over me like this so I hook my fingers around his wrist and pull him down to my level. It's closer than we've been for nearly two years but I'm trying really hard not to think about that right now. My free hand follows the line of his face, as though that alone can commit it to memory. "I'm scared."

No sarcastic smiles, no clever comments to drown out the way my chest is aching. A peace offering, an actual truth. It's like I'm a live wire stripped of rubber, fighting instinct to withdraw again. To push him away in a desperate bid to protect the both of us.

What if we still don't work? I can't bring myself to ask that.

"But you have to know how long I've loved you." I press a gentle kiss to his forehead for emphasis, then his cheek, then the tip of his nose. Like I've got to tell him every last feeling I don't have the words for. "And you've never been alone."

Because there has always been a part of me with him, tucked away in the tarnished heart of gold. I feel it now, fluttering beneath the fingertips resting idly on his wrist and tighten my grip ever so slightly.

"Last chance to turn back, or else you'll never be rid of me."

My eyes fall to his lips, but I don't dare to move.

We sit in silent reverence.