pairing: albedo/reader
rating: general
summary: He’s never been this close to you before, and it makes you nervous, light-headed. And so you close your eyes and hold your breath, trying not to imagine how it would feel to follow your heart, your dreams. But then a moment later and he is pulling away, and you are left wanting, aching for the warmth he’s left behind.
notes: been a little busy doing adulting™ things, but finally managed to write a lil smth. as usual: happy weekend to everyone! and if you want to see me write more for albedo, you can head on over to the inbox! (also the pov’s in this one isn’t as consistent as i’d like it to be but. shrugs)
The moment he steps inside your apartment, he could tell that something is wrong. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn; even the windows are shut tight, and no remnants of sunlight could peek through the gaps of your windows. But what worries him the most is the silence, eerie and unnatural: no radios blaring in the distance, no music blasting in the background, no voices echoing in the silence.
It is dark and it is quiet, and in a place as bright and lively as yours, he isn’t used to this. He is used to your voice, loud and cheerful as you sing along to whatever’s playing on the radio; used to the sound of your laughter as you trip over your own two feet in your desperate attempt to bust out your best dance moves; used to the sound of your footsteps padding throughout the floor as you rush frantically toward the door to greet him.
But there is none of that now, and worry begins to gnaw at him. Did you, by any chance, decide to leave for somewhere? It’s not entirely a new thing, but it is also already late in the afternoon, which means that you’d usually be back home by now.
He frowns and searches the room with his eyes. He could barely see anything in all this darkness, and yet a simple glance at his surroundings is enough to tell him all he needs to know. The room is untouched, with all your little trinkets still in their rightful places, making the room seem even livelier than it originally is.
And yet, where are you?
In all this darkness, you are nowhere to be found, and no matter how much he tries to search for you he finds no answer, no clue. He steps inside the kitchen, his footsteps echoing in the complete silence of your apartment, and yet the room is just as empty as the one before it. Dread begins to creep up his spine, but he tries his best to ignore it, focusing instead on whatever’s in front of him: the empty kitchen, the darkness of your apartment, and the silence that seems to follow him wherever he goes.
He looks around him once more, desperate to find another answer, another option, another clue. And like a tunnel in the dark, it finally shows up when he needs it most. His eyes land on a wooden door at the end of the hallway, and all too quickly, the realization dawns on him.
Your room—the one place he’s never been in even after all this time, even after all his recurring trips. Slowly, he begins to walk over to the direction of your room, careful to keep his footsteps measured and quiet. He stops as soon as he’s standing in front of the wooden door, and for a moment, he is nervous, suddenly uncertain what to do.
But he shakes his head and steels himself. Surely, he couldn’t be hesitating when there’s something more important at risk? And so, he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, trying to ignore the thoughts that circle around and around in his head, each one somehow even worse than the last.
Softly, he calls your name in the dark, hoping that you’ll finally come out of your room and dispel all his doubts, his worries, but a moment passes, and then another, and then another, and all that greets him is silence—something he could no longer begin to bear.
He leans in and presses his ear against the door, but even now, the silence is deep and endless. Fear begins to coil around him, tight and cold, but still, he presses on, slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside. It is dark and quiet as the rest of the apartment, and yet in the middle of it all, lying on the plush bed is a figure he knows all too well.
It’s you.
It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he nearly breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of you. Gently, he calls your name in the dark, and for the briefest of seconds, there is only nothing but silence. His breath hitches in his throat, and for a moment, he is afraid that the worst has already happened, that it’s too late now for him to do anything.
But then your face is peeking out of the blankets, staring at him for the longest time, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion like you aren’t quite sure what exactly is going on.
“Albedo?” you ask, and your voice is weak and raw, barely audible in the quiet. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you,” he replies simply, not even bothering to hide the concern in his voice, in his eyes, on his face. “I was getting worried.”
A beat of silence settles between you, followed by the sound of a sniffle. Albedo blinks, suddenly confused, and for a moment, he thinks he has made you cry. He opens his mouth to say something, the apology ready on the tip of his tongue, but then he stops when he sees that you aren’t crying at all.
Slowly, he walks over to you, sitting on the edge of your bed and reaching to take your hand in his. It’s warmer than usual, and he frowns, turning to look at you. “Are you sick?”
“No!” you exclaim a little too quickly, shaking your head from side to side. He stares at you for a little while longer, searching your eyes for answers, for the truth, and you open your mouth to explain, to reassure him that you’re alright, but before the words are even out of your lips, he’s already leaning down, pressing his forehead against yours.
You blink a few times, half-confused and half-nervous, trying your best not to squirm at his sudden closeness. He’s never been this close to you before, and every physical contact you’ve ever had with him has always been accidental, unintentional.
But it’s different this time, and it knocks the breath right out of your lungs.
All too suddenly, you’re aware of everything about him—of him: the brightness of his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, the warmth of his skin. You could feel him everywhere, could feel him all around you, caging you in until he’s all that’s left and it makes you feel a little dizzy, overwhelmed by his presence, by his closeness, by everything you’ve never had before.
And so you close your eyes, count the seconds passing in your head, trying not to imagine how it would feel to have his hands all over your skin, his lips pressing against yours. But it’s so hard, so hard when you could feel him all around you: his body warm against yours, his breath hot against your cheek, almost teasing.
A series of images flash behind your eyes: all the fantasies you’ve ever thought of at night, all the daydreams you’ve ever had in the mornings, and you feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, wishing he couldn’t read your mind, couldn’t understand what’s going on in your head.
But then he is pulling away, and the moment is over, and slowly, your eyes flutter open, finding him staring down at you with obvious concern in his eyes. “You’re sick,” he says, and it’s not a question this time, but a statement, simple and factual.
“I’ll be alright,” you say, giving him your best reassuring smile. “I just need a little bit of rest.”
He frowns, as though he doesn’t quite believe you just yet, but before he could even say something else, you’re already interrupting him, the words flying out of your mouth before you even have the chance to stop them. “I’m going to be just fine. I promise.”
He stares at you for another long moment but then gives you a slow nod, finally deciding not to push the topic any further. “Alright,” he says with a sigh, finally conceding. He opens his mouth, as though he is about to say something more, but then he stops and shakes his head, swallowing whatever words he is meant to say back down his throat.
A moment of silence settles between you, heavy and uncomfortable, filled with everything you couldn’t say out loud, and for a moment, neither of you speaks, uncertain where to start, unsure of how to begin. But then he is whispering your name, his voice soft as a whisper, and when you look up to meet his eyes, you find him already staring down at you, an unfamiliar tenderness behind his gaze.
Slowly, he leans down, and you feel your heart hammering against your chest, loud and hard and fast that it’s almost deafening, drowning out every other sound except for this; and for the briefest of moments, you wonder if he could hear it, too, wonder if he knows it, too. He stares at you for the longest time, his bright eyes searching your face for something, for anything, and then slowly, he is leaning in, closer and closer until he is all you could see, until he is all you could feel.
You close your eyes, thinking he is about to kiss you, waiting for the moment where you would finally feel his lips pressing against yours. But then a moment passes, one after another, and all you could feel is the heat of his breath against your lips, the warmth of his fingertips against your cheek as he slowly tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
And then he is pulling away from you once more, and slowly, you open your eyes and look at him, trying not to let your disappointment show on your face. But he doesn’t fail to catch sight of it, and a moment later you watch as the corners of his lips twitch into the tiniest of smiles.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says, reaching out to pat your cheek, his movements tender and careful and his touch warm and reassuring that it’s enough to make you crave for it once again as soon as he pulls away. “Get some rest.”
And with those words as his only goodbye, he finally walks out of your room and closes the door behind him, leaving you all alone in the dark, staring at the now-empty space he’s once occupied, replaying all that’s happened over and over again and wondering if you’ve simply made it all up.