Because I Did - Blog Posts

I need more XenoStan x reader. Like more highschool sweethearts. I love them so much!!!

Are we....soulmates?

When I was in high school, I used to go on dates to the roller rink all the time. And I just. Imagine with me, please.

Stanley is like a newborn deer at first, and Xeno refuses to even put the skates on.

And you?

You're so good at it.

You hold Stanley's hands and help him get settled on his feet, cheering when he finally gets the hang of it. Xeno pouts from the table where all your stuff is, wanting to join you but also not wanting to break is ankles.

Stanley eventually coaxes him into it, and the three of you go around and around all holding hands. Xeno is the reason you fall at least twice, but you're all okay. A little bruised, maybe, but you're laughing, Stanley is laughing, and Xeno (though red faced) is also laughing.

At some point, the boys take a break and leave you to skate on your own. They were originally going to sit and have some water and overpriced concession food, but they get distracted just watching you.

You might not be as good as some of the others in the rink with you, all zooming around like it was their job. But you'd clearly had enough practice to look natural, and something about that was mesmerizing,

Maybe it was the lights, maybe it was the music, neither of them really know for sure. They just lean on the other side of the wall, and watch you.

Love.

It wasn’t something you were immune to. It was just something you lacked.

The emotion to feel free the emotion to love, but why could you and how could you?

You grew up in the household when where nobody showed you affection, no smiles no hugs just simple greeting, and calling cards that said nothing but good job written in standardized pen

So if you could ask yourself one question

How do you love?

It was simple having to observe everybody, watching everyone, laugh and questioning yourself what was wrong with you?

It was simple. you were too cowardly to open yourself up to actual human beings, afraid of what they might think afraid of what they might say a wallflower they described you as a wallflower.

That’s stupid flower it always haunted you afraid that social interaction might be your enemy. Now every time you saw flower you thought of that girl and you were still that girl that girl that was trapped after countless nights of scrolling the web of why you were so isolated so you

But of course, Google didn’t have the answers you were seeking no one had the answers you were seeking really you just wanted to learn how to love it was an emotion something you never felt

It felt like a hole you couldn’t fill if anything you felt empty a rotten corpse, just a shell of your former being a shell of your childhood that innocent little girl that didn’t know a thing about love

When you met him, you felt like your world exploded full of colour full of new emotions emotions you were scared of because you didn’t want to admit that that little girl was growing up your world was never the same after him

The way his blue eyes never left your form he made you feel a certain way. He made you feel as if you were a whole again as if he filled your heart. That’s feeling that you weren’t alone you hated being alone. It was just another way for you to wallow in your self pity you needed somebody to ground

But lucky for you he never understood why you were so caught up in those sketchbooks..

The hours you spent sketching out his face on a white blank canvas waiting, and waiting

No one ever understood why you were so cooped up in your room.

No one ever did because they just chose to not understand you

Your life felt meaningless. It felt like an empty seed something you will never fill and using people to fill the gap wasn’t healthy and of course, you knew that you were always so self-aware, but never doing anything of it perhaps you were just scared perhaps that little girl just didn’t have the courage to put herself out there

That helpless little girl was just there haunting you a reminder of all those times you felt empty because you simply couldn’t achieve one thing and you didn’t understand how you could achieve it either

Happiness.

It was a state of being happy, but what was being happy? Happiness was many things to different people money love etc. but what was happiness to you? You didn’t know you haven’t felt the joys of being happy or loved growing up. All you knew was to just sit there and observe.

Probably that’s why your therapist recommended you meds the way you would carry your sketchbook around and observe emotions, people, things objects you didn’t know what to think that feeling was starting to come back again that feeling of being empty

Probably that’s why you were an art major. You didn’t have to deal with people. You only knew how to draw for the first time you gazed upon those beautiful blue eyes you wondered just how much loneliness was in those blue eyes. They looked empty. That’s probably when you first cracked a smile no it wasn’t forced. You just probably saw yourself in those eyes.

He didn’t understand why you would stare at him for so long his eyes were nothing special so he thought like hell he wasn’t even special and yet you chose for him to be your muse every curve every trace of your pencil, it was like you were adorning something something that made you feel whole again

stolen glances, unspoken words and touches, and yet no words were exchanged between them

You didn’t understand yourself all you knew is that he was a masterpiece he needed to be admired. He needed to be adorned. He needed to be drawn. You called yourself a fool because yes, you were a fool for a mere Boy, who could never understand the amount of effort you would solely put into drawing his face

…

Silence he never liked silence

except when you were there

No words just unspoken glances words that can never escape his mouth. He liked it. He liked solitude, but only when it was with you,

And now you were gone..

He didn’t understand why you had to go so soon couldn’t you have stayed..?

Just for a little bit longer for him to convey his feelings, but he was a little bit too late

He found himself to be empty as you were just all those years ago. He didn’t go to the funeral. If anything, he honoured your death alone, putting your favourite flowers at the head of your grave

He would never get to see your smile again he pondered on those unspoken words you had somewhat gave him before you left

He would faintly recall the times you’ve spent telling him how you would love a future field with sundresses your dream house, your cat, and most importantly your children he didn’t understand why you were telling him this at that time but now he did

you want that future you wanted it with him

Every laugh, every smile, every word, even if it was just unspoken, it meant everything to him

He was baffled when your mother came up to him with a box claiming that she would want you to have everything that was stored inside. He really never understood you. That was the horror of it all. He never really understood the girl who admired him and that was enough to haunt him

Nothing could prepare him for what was inside numerous sketchbooks and journals photographs, Polaroids

journals that were never opened journals that were never started, but journals that had a purpose

Polaroids pictures of your siblings you labelled carefully he stared at the Polaroid. It wasn’t taken too long ago. It was still dusty. Perhaps it was sitting there waiting for somebody he would never be able to get to see that smile again, the smile that made him feel all these emotions

He stared at the pages. He simply stared. He wondered what you would write what you would say he was drunk on the memory of you, perhaps that’s why he was going through your stuff

“ what are you sketching?”

“ shut up it’s nothing.. sit there and look pretty for me will you?”

Sit there it was always her answer when he asked her what she was doing, but now he understood uncontrollable tears, so that’s what she was doing the sketchbooks were filled with

Him

All of him, it’s like she never wanted to forget him he flipped through one of them. It was either an unfinished sketch, or it was a full blown one that covered the whole page, but nonetheless, she never drew anything but him.

It was bittersweet the girl that would sit with him in silence is gone and all her memory rekindled in these pages of him and then he spotted a canvas at the very bottom of the box. It was untouched, but it was out of its packaging, the faint pencil shavings that he could still see, and then noticeable marks of an eraser

She never really did finish that painting did she?

note: I wrote this with only one thing in mind to make myself cry and what the fuck did I create? God only knows. (HAHAHA I DIDN’T DIE YET. Death would be very amusing though, but it is not my time and I am thankful.) please have a lovely day. I hope I didn’t stab y’all because my soul is slowly disintegrating— 

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