He Makes The Stars Shine Brighter [Sting x Reader] || First Book

27 : Seventh Guild Master

» edited: 05.21.2017

\\ edit (05212017): okay so i was in a terrible rush when i posted this chapter and i forgot to delete the fetus bits whoops i am so sorry if that caused any confusion

xx

"Who'll be our seventh guild master?" the question presents itself innocently, confidently, and when no mouths reach to answer, it hangs itself on the curl of a thermal like an object of desire.

Still, no hands dare to reach it, and before the winds sweep it away into dusty ancientness, Natsu stands himself on a ring of broken rocks, the remains of our proud guild, and he reaches for it with a roar.

Everybody else follows, voices bared like instruments of war, hands ready to grab and scrape for the title, like a pack of rabid dogs with more protruding ribs that clean teeth bound together only for the upped numbers of their chances of continued living.

There's another pair of feet that join the chaos of wriggling competition, fitted with boots like everyone else, aching in the calves like everyone else. The feet stomp against the mountains of rock that have fallen from grace, pounding crushed rock into even finer crushed rock, sending puffs of dust on either side. It doesn't leave footprints of greed like everybody else, doesn't pull hair and dribble spit like everybody else, instead it breathes authority into every slip of the shining armor; the authority is frightening, and it tames the wildness out of the people until their figurative tails are between their legs and they heel.

It's Erza, and through bowed heads and dusty fingers clasped behind backs, everybody knows it's her, even when she speaks no words, even as the breezes invite coolness into a morning that's been everything but.

"It's settled then, our seventh guild master: Erza Scarlet," Levy cracks a smile from behind the files that are stretched across her lap like an old house pet, and she allows the ink to run as the members straighten their backs to sophistication and nod into collected agreement.

» time skip

"I can't stop these- my- (Y/N), I'm still in love with you." Rogue's eyes are hopeful, but his mouth is running with things you don't want to hear and his lips gloss the wrong kind of desire as the sun falls behind him and the people retreat to the artificial lights of their homes. You don't hear any footsteps behind you, just the nervous tapping of Rogue's toes against a near soundless floor and the meaningless tap of your fingers against your forearm as your twist your brows in deliberation.

The wind whistles its knowledge of the future, your hair whispers secrets to the skin of your neck, and you can't hear any of the utterances of these thread-thin items because there's a tap, tap, tap that's waiting for an answer and the lashes of Rogue's eyes blinking hope like an ember.

The sun falls faster through the clouds, leaving a trail of nothing and everything in its wake, as the shadows scramble their untrimmed talons for every square of unguarded cement and every round of sleeping street lamps. The words are still young and defenseless in your mouth, like a nest of sightless chicks that can do nothing but flick the masses of their underdeveloped wings and pray for sustenance; but the words grow quickly and they're ready to burst.

"Rogue, I don't love you, and you should know that."

Rogue smiles a sad smile, like a single arrow of sunlight that tries to part the heavy damp of the sheet of grey clouds, but not even the frail happiness is able to mask his sorrow for long. Although Rogue's lips are molded into a smile, his eyes paint pictures of the loudest storms when the world lapses into night and the willows that curve in prayer and in mourn; in the dullness of purple and the flourish of blue. His eyes were the vision of sadness, and the hurt of his heart reflected on his orbs.

Rogue smiles, because he knows, but he doesn't cry, because as much as he wants to change the path of time into one that winds yours and his together, his hands are very much mortal and unseeing to something as invisibly slender as a loose thread of irreplaceable time.

"I'm sorry, Rogue."

"Yeah, yeah. It's okay."

The sun sets minutes later, but by then you're hundreds of footprints away from Rogue, who's heart is dressed in the grays of misery and the marks where you've crushed it. You don't see any people as you take your feet farther away from the crime scene where the crushed spirits lay, and the air raises the hairs on your skin, but never once do you turn around; never once do you regret.

» time skip

"So you leave for a year, and leave again to for a job that wasn't even yours- wasn't even from the same guild! And you decide that the guy who needed your attention was, Rogue?"

"He initiated."

Sting gave no reply.

"It isn't late yet, what do you propose we do?" You reach for Sting's hand, sliding your fingers through his, squeezing a little, and you're grateful the sparks of sadness that lit behind the gorgeous blue of Sting's eyes slowly extinguished.

Sting smiles as much as he can manage in his recovery. It's little, and his eyes are still a bit sad, but it's genuine with a little leftover happiness.

"Anything will do." You smile, too, to demonstrate that a little leftover happiness can blossom into something that shines brighter.