Archive of Our Own ^beta

Your breaths are in and out of sync, chaos filling and clouding your lungs. Hot acidic tears burn at the corners of your eyes into very soul. Your body trembles like an earthquake as you try and steady yourself through the magnitude. But it’s too much, it’s too much . You’re falling apart at the seams, the very seams of what you’ve been containing .

Your mind flashes back to that place . That wretched ungodly place with tides of gore and crimson streaming free. The hideous melodies of the tools used, of bodies torn to and fro, and of him . That man you try and escape each and every day. Yet he’s still there, stalking the halls of your mind.

A wet sob escapes past your lips as you hug yourself. Your gloved hands dig into the blue fabric of your suit and wrinkle it good. But that simple worry washes away due to the rest of your horrific, suffocating thoughts. Your lungs and eyes burn the same fire as your hatred for your tormentor. And your stomach twists into knots at the mere mention of his name in your mind.

Suddenly, a voice calls out your name. It’s a voice you know all so well. It’s sweet as sugar, as gorgeous as honey, and like an angel. He calls out your name a couple more times, repeating it like a mantra. Because in a way, it is one to bring you out of that dark sea.

You open your crystal blue eyes and look up, the small Texan towers over you. His goggles rest atop his forehead as he looks at you. His face hosts an expression of concern and worry. How long had he been standing there? Regardless, he arrived at the right time.

Your beloved extends a hand out, the orange rubber glove. You look at it quick ly before at him, like this is too good to be true. Because it is too good to be true, right ? You let out a shaky sigh and extend your arm. You place your palm into his, horrified at what might happen.

He gives you a kind, caring smile and pulls you up to your feet. “Hey, hey, it’s alright now. Look at me, alright?” He says so sweetly. You don’t know if you can trust him though. He might be faking . 

“You’re not there anymore, you’re not with him anymore. Alright? Believe me and I’m not that snake.” He reassures you by saying your name. Your real name. And that’s when you know it’s your beloved honeybee.

“Look at my face, alright? What color are my eyes?” Your dearest asks, squeezing your hand gently. You stare hard at him, studying every nook and cranny of his face you’ve seen a million times before. Of a face you’ve held, of a face which you’ve kissed, of a face you love .

An air bubble creeps up your throat and out pops a word. “ His .” You say, your voice stern. “ His eyes. You have his eyes.”

A frown stretches across your dearest’s lips and he shakes his head. “He’s not here anymore, you’re not there . You’re right here with me . You’re here with your honeybee.” He says and looks down.

He grabs hold of your other hand and gently squeezes both, grip gentle but firm. Just like it’s always been. And how it will always be between you two. Your heart flutters with joy at the action and a smile cracks across your face. More tears stream down your face.

He looks back up at you, into your eyes. “What color are my eyes, sweetheart?” He repeats the question. You stare hard at them, using the other features of his gorgeous face to block out the horrific memories and reason with your mind. During the process you take in deep breaths every time his face bubbles to the surface.

One, two. One, two. One, two. In and out. In and out.

You take one final deep breath before coming to your answer. You look back down at his hands and give them a gentle squeeze. Your smile grows all the wider as more tears cloud your vision. 

“Blue. They’re blue.”

“That’s right. They’re blue.”