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The Blue Moon After Next
"You hear my voice in the creaking floorboards, and hold your troubled head. I'm coming home soon; the blue moon after next."
(The Blue Moon After Next; The Narcissist Cookbook)
~~
The entire house wheezed and expanded with the rising heat levels. Bastian’s eyelids remained firmly closed. He’d long since stopped perking up at every minute sound. Expectations firmly, and repeatedly underwhelmed, he’d finally given in. The message was loud and clear.
He was never coming back.
Bastian had clung to Antonio’s empty promises like the love-sick fool he was. It had sounded so romantic, so mysterious, so creative, and just so… Antonio.
“No matter where I go, I’ll always come home to you; the blue moon after next,” he would whisper into Bastian’s blonde curls.
The part of all of this that REALLY upset Bastian, the man thought as he snuggled further into his pillow, was how often his lover had pledged this promise. So much it had actually been believed.
And yet, here Bastian lay. Alone, overheated, and sulking in the bed they used to share.
Or… might still share?
That was the other infuriating aspect; Antonio hadn’t broken up with him. He’d just… disappeared. It had been 4 fucking months since Bastian had seen the man. He wasn’t dead, or missing, though. No, the only information Antonio’s family would let slip from their tight-lipped mouths was that he was still alive. Alive and… didn’t want to see Bastian ‘yet.’
4 fucking months. 4 months of looking towards the front door at the slightest creak of floorboards like an excited puppy. 4 months of quickly sinking into despair upon realising that, once again, it was not an indicator of Antonio’s return.
Who avoided their partner for 4 months with the genuine intention of coming back? No-one. Bastian had played the fool for the final time.
Seeing the light hadn't meant the end of his suffering, though. Instead, it had thrown him into another of his infamous downward spirals.
The abandonment had triggered another major depressive episode. Now, Bastian was left to pick up his pieces alone. The breakup was no longer the cause of his main agony, but it had restarted a chain of actions that still sapped the joy out of every day.
How dare Antonio stand, wherever the fuck he was, pretending like he hadn’t absolutely destroyed Bastian? How could he throw away their entire relationship, every goddamn promise he’d made, in the blink of an eye?
They’d had an entire life together!
Bastian hated to admit that his sister had been right. That she’d been right all along.
“Never trust someone with eyes that large and green,” Isabelle had said. “He’s going to break your heart and leave you broken.”
While Bastian had painted a beautiful, innocent picture with his words when regaling his sister with tales of Antonio’s affection and promises, Isabelle had remained unmoved. At the time, Bastian had picked fights with her over this. Had spat hate at her and questioned why she couldn’t be happy for him. When she had maintained her opinion, Bastian had stopped going to her for advice and to gush about Antonio.
Bastian regretted that now.
Of course, Isabelle hadn’t held it against him. When he first came crying to her after Antonio went missing, she’d displayed the herculean effort of not saying the well-deserved ‘I told you so.’ Instead, she had cradled Bastian close to her chest, where he could hear her heartbeat, and smoothed over his curls while whispering that it was all going to be okay. He’d spent far too many nights sobbing into her button-ups as she validated his heartbreak.
He didn’t deserve her as a sister.
Maybe she had the right idea, being a lesbian. Men sucked. Goddamn Antonio flaunting the title for Assholiest Man and becoming a fucking cryptid overnight… for 4 months.
Suddenly, Bastian was pulled out of his wallowing by the sound of the front door flinging open.
“Bas, get your goddamn ass out of bed. The fucker isn’t worth spiralling over.”
Ah, speak of the devil, and she may appear. Bastian pulled the duvet cover over his head for a few meagre seconds before it was ripped away by his sister. The blond turned his face away childishly.
“Come on, Bas,” Isabelle sighed, “Don’t give him the satisfaction of ruining your life. You’re a strong, independent man. Let’s get you out of this bed and into a shower.”
Turning finally to face his sister’s worried face, Bastian rolled his eyes as she sniffed dramatically and pulled a face.
“And maybe it’s time to change the sheets… When was the last time you changed them?”
Bastian opened his mouth, but Isabelle cut him off,
“Actually, I don’t want to know. Better I don’t have any idea of the bodily fluids and particles forming an ecosystem here.”
Bastian bit back a grin as he flipped off Isabelle gracefully. He moved to an upright seated position as the sound of the front door closing caused his face to whip towards his sister.
Upon seeing her confused expression, his eyebrows furrowed. “I take it you didn’t bring a backup crew?”
Isabelle shook her head distractedly. “No. Who the fuck…” She wandered out into the living room without another word.
Moments later, her shrill, angry voice made Bastian sprint to join her.
“No fucking way! How dare you show your face here!”
As he ran into the living room, Bastian’s feet screeched to a halt at the sight of Antonio’s sheepish form standing in the open doorway. What…? He stood behind Isabelle’s infuriated form as his eyes narrowed on his resurrected lover.
Antonio’s eyes locked with Bastian’s, and he took a step forward.
“Stay the fuck back, Antonio. You’ve done more than enough damage, you douche canoe!” Isabelle screeched.
Antonio winced and held up his hands placatingly.
“I know, I know,” he said softly.
Bastian could have sobbed at the relief of hearing that low, sultry tone again. But he didn’t! Because he was a strong, independent man!
Antonio ran a hand through his silky black strands of hair. He’d been spending time in the sun, obviously, based on the gorgeous dark tan that adorned his olive skin. His eyes darted around the room as he thought.
“I know,” he repeated, “I have so much to explain and apologise for.”
Bastian’s jaw trembled as Antonio inhaled deeply before speaking again.
“I - I know I’ve probably done damage that can’t be undone. And I’m so fucking sorry for that. I know my words probably don’t mean anything to either of you at the moment, but I’m determined to prove myself worthy of your positive regard once again.”
Taking another step forward, Antonio met Bastian’s gaze again, desperation seeping through.
“Whether I’m too late or not, I need you to know that I will always follow through on my promises, Bas,” he pleaded, “I always come back. Whether you take me back or not is up to you, but I will always come back to you. I love you.”
Bastian felt his knees give way as overwhelming grief overtook him. Isabelle scoffed in Antonio’s direction as she turned to catch her brother’s falling form.
He’d returned. The blue moon after next, as promised.
But at what cost?
© O.M.A
#shortstory #story #WritcoQuote #writco #writcoapp #fiction #lgbtq #lgbt #Love&love #heartbroken
(The Blue Moon After Next; The Narcissist Cookbook)
~~
The entire house wheezed and expanded with the rising heat levels. Bastian’s eyelids remained firmly closed. He’d long since stopped perking up at every minute sound. Expectations firmly, and repeatedly underwhelmed, he’d finally given in. The message was loud and clear.
He was never coming back.
Bastian had clung to Antonio’s empty promises like the love-sick fool he was. It had sounded so romantic, so mysterious, so creative, and just so… Antonio.
“No matter where I go, I’ll always come home to you; the blue moon after next,” he would whisper into Bastian’s blonde curls.
The part of all of this that REALLY upset Bastian, the man thought as he snuggled further into his pillow, was how often his lover had pledged this promise. So much it had actually been believed.
And yet, here Bastian lay. Alone, overheated, and sulking in the bed they used to share.
Or… might still share?
That was the other infuriating aspect; Antonio hadn’t broken up with him. He’d just… disappeared. It had been 4 fucking months since Bastian had seen the man. He wasn’t dead, or missing, though. No, the only information Antonio’s family would let slip from their tight-lipped mouths was that he was still alive. Alive and… didn’t want to see Bastian ‘yet.’
4 fucking months. 4 months of looking towards the front door at the slightest creak of floorboards like an excited puppy. 4 months of quickly sinking into despair upon realising that, once again, it was not an indicator of Antonio’s return.
Who avoided their partner for 4 months with the genuine intention of coming back? No-one. Bastian had played the fool for the final time.
Seeing the light hadn't meant the end of his suffering, though. Instead, it had thrown him into another of his infamous downward spirals.
The abandonment had triggered another major depressive episode. Now, Bastian was left to pick up his pieces alone. The breakup was no longer the cause of his main agony, but it had restarted a chain of actions that still sapped the joy out of every day.
How dare Antonio stand, wherever the fuck he was, pretending like he hadn’t absolutely destroyed Bastian? How could he throw away their entire relationship, every goddamn promise he’d made, in the blink of an eye?
They’d had an entire life together!
Bastian hated to admit that his sister had been right. That she’d been right all along.
“Never trust someone with eyes that large and green,” Isabelle had said. “He’s going to break your heart and leave you broken.”
While Bastian had painted a beautiful, innocent picture with his words when regaling his sister with tales of Antonio’s affection and promises, Isabelle had remained unmoved. At the time, Bastian had picked fights with her over this. Had spat hate at her and questioned why she couldn’t be happy for him. When she had maintained her opinion, Bastian had stopped going to her for advice and to gush about Antonio.
Bastian regretted that now.
Of course, Isabelle hadn’t held it against him. When he first came crying to her after Antonio went missing, she’d displayed the herculean effort of not saying the well-deserved ‘I told you so.’ Instead, she had cradled Bastian close to her chest, where he could hear her heartbeat, and smoothed over his curls while whispering that it was all going to be okay. He’d spent far too many nights sobbing into her button-ups as she validated his heartbreak.
He didn’t deserve her as a sister.
Maybe she had the right idea, being a lesbian. Men sucked. Goddamn Antonio flaunting the title for Assholiest Man and becoming a fucking cryptid overnight… for 4 months.
Suddenly, Bastian was pulled out of his wallowing by the sound of the front door flinging open.
“Bas, get your goddamn ass out of bed. The fucker isn’t worth spiralling over.”
Ah, speak of the devil, and she may appear. Bastian pulled the duvet cover over his head for a few meagre seconds before it was ripped away by his sister. The blond turned his face away childishly.
“Come on, Bas,” Isabelle sighed, “Don’t give him the satisfaction of ruining your life. You’re a strong, independent man. Let’s get you out of this bed and into a shower.”
Turning finally to face his sister’s worried face, Bastian rolled his eyes as she sniffed dramatically and pulled a face.
“And maybe it’s time to change the sheets… When was the last time you changed them?”
Bastian opened his mouth, but Isabelle cut him off,
“Actually, I don’t want to know. Better I don’t have any idea of the bodily fluids and particles forming an ecosystem here.”
Bastian bit back a grin as he flipped off Isabelle gracefully. He moved to an upright seated position as the sound of the front door closing caused his face to whip towards his sister.
Upon seeing her confused expression, his eyebrows furrowed. “I take it you didn’t bring a backup crew?”
Isabelle shook her head distractedly. “No. Who the fuck…” She wandered out into the living room without another word.
Moments later, her shrill, angry voice made Bastian sprint to join her.
“No fucking way! How dare you show your face here!”
As he ran into the living room, Bastian’s feet screeched to a halt at the sight of Antonio’s sheepish form standing in the open doorway. What…? He stood behind Isabelle’s infuriated form as his eyes narrowed on his resurrected lover.
Antonio’s eyes locked with Bastian’s, and he took a step forward.
“Stay the fuck back, Antonio. You’ve done more than enough damage, you douche canoe!” Isabelle screeched.
Antonio winced and held up his hands placatingly.
“I know, I know,” he said softly.
Bastian could have sobbed at the relief of hearing that low, sultry tone again. But he didn’t! Because he was a strong, independent man!
Antonio ran a hand through his silky black strands of hair. He’d been spending time in the sun, obviously, based on the gorgeous dark tan that adorned his olive skin. His eyes darted around the room as he thought.
“I know,” he repeated, “I have so much to explain and apologise for.”
Bastian’s jaw trembled as Antonio inhaled deeply before speaking again.
“I - I know I’ve probably done damage that can’t be undone. And I’m so fucking sorry for that. I know my words probably don’t mean anything to either of you at the moment, but I’m determined to prove myself worthy of your positive regard once again.”
Taking another step forward, Antonio met Bastian’s gaze again, desperation seeping through.
“Whether I’m too late or not, I need you to know that I will always follow through on my promises, Bas,” he pleaded, “I always come back. Whether you take me back or not is up to you, but I will always come back to you. I love you.”
Bastian felt his knees give way as overwhelming grief overtook him. Isabelle scoffed in Antonio’s direction as she turned to catch her brother’s falling form.
He’d returned. The blue moon after next, as promised.
But at what cost?
© O.M.A
#shortstory #story #WritcoQuote #writco #writcoapp #fiction #lgbtq #lgbt #Love&love #heartbroken
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