Archive of Our Own ^beta

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It’s subtle at my mouth, but evident in my eyes. I can't help it when my feelings bloom all over my face. Every time she touches me. When her hair brushes against my cheek and whenever she smoothes her palm over my chest, she’s found a way to make me feel unbroken. She likes to lay her head along my shoulder, not just upon it. It’s how she always finds her way to the crook of my neck, in the same sort of way she gently crept into my thoughts all those years ago when we met. She happily clouds my thoughts, and what a beautifully obstructed view, really.

She’s never quite still. Her eyes move back and forth even as she’s staring intently. It makes me happy that she intends to take in all of me when we’re together. I’m lucky to be wrapped up in her eyes and know the ways she shows her love and affection. It’s the only thing that’s kept me from being swept away whenever darkness has called after us.

I love her in an effortless way. It’s just a fact. It doesn’t consume me. I’m never tired of it. It’s why I can’t hold her close enough when we kiss, why I’d like to end each embrace with a new one.

I worry she’ll figure it out one day, that she could do better than me despite it all. I want to prove to her I’m worth her most rash, impulsive decisions and most well-thought-out plans. I want all these moments with her, in between my worries, to breathe life into a permanent space in her world. She’s mine, not as a possession to own, but my world—someone to care for and just be with. 

It’s a wonder to me. Before, it felt like she was this far-off, forbidden star. A sun that I could never stare at directly for too long. I’ve always sought the warmth of it even though it had scorched my skin. Many people can attest to how thin the barrier between my hate and love for her had always been. Her kindness and depth have this way of eating away at the walls around your heart.

I always thought I was happy enough. I was content with creating a life of my own scraped out of the cracks of my family’s incessant legacy. I’d made myself into a man who could stand before her and walk away. I left only enough space to prove my worth and steel away with pride.

And yet, my smile reaches the corners of my eyes faster than I knew it could whenever I wake up with her in my arms. The worst days we’ve shared have had a warmth in them because we’ve stood by each other’s side. There won’t ever be enough time to give her all the promises I want to make. 

I won’t ever want this feeling to end. This feeling of being known, and seen, and loved. We understand one another in ways no one else can. I’ve told her often enough that she gets me, but honestly, I cannot overstate that, be it by chance or fate, I get to have her. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for. I will stop at nothing to ensure her eyes continue to shine bright with all they deserve. I check to make sure it’s there whenever she gazes at me, that glimmer of light.

Sometimes, she asks me, “What are you thinking about?” 

It’s this. I find myself thinking about it all the time. In those hurried moments, within longer days of waiting, when we fool around, when we’re in the midst of danger, whenever we’re together, and in a matter of seconds when we look at each other— it’s the first thing that comes to mind. I always want her to know it before she ever even asks. She smirks often when she does ask. Sometimes, there’s a gentle nudge or a hand shoved over my face, followed by a caress. I think she likes to hear me say it, see it in my eyes, and watch me confess. I love you. I love you, Anna. Keep me around, won’t you?

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I lied to you when I said, “A part of me will always love you.” It’s not just one piece. They've been there for quite a long time now. One day, when I woke up, all these tiny pricks had erupted at my heart, reminding me of you. These small sparks make my heart race faster. They both distracted and pointed me to the secrets you’d been keeping. Sensations that ran along the back of my neck and spine while you lied to me. I’d wake up other times, and there’d just be so many. These thin needles had sprouted. I’d feel them spread across my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Even now, I find I sometimes can’t get enough air thinking of you.

If you were here, you would help me take them out. Worriedly, one by one, you’d slowly and thoroughly seek them out. It’s the way you’ve always loved me, persistently. You worry too much. You think so methodically, always so loudly in your mind when I look into your eyes. I’ve always been drawn to what conspires in that head of yours. So expressive, yet so controlled. We’re so different yet so alike, you and I. The last time I saw you, those needles around my heart traveled down into my palms and itched to touch you. To press themselves into your hands, drag along your sides, grab hold of your back, and keep you. If I’d held your face and embraced your neck, would you have felt them?

I think you have them, too, these pining needles. They raise like hairs when we’re together, magnetic. We’re always seeking each other’s warmth and finding it easier to breathe in each other’s arms. 

Are they the only things that draw us together still? No. Maybe it’s more a physical manifestation of the love we’ve shared. It covers and spreads over every inch of me when I’m near you—a tingling and nerve-fraying sensation.

It feels so good to be drawn to you, but this pull is complicated. It’s splintering in me now. It tugs at my heart when I try to move forward, and it hurts to feel all of it. It reminds me how much our love grew together. It reminds me how much we believed in us. Until you decided to stop. You waited for me, remember? You knew I could love you.

It felt so right to face this world together. Even when we were worried about what would come next. You seemed so sure. We were going to protect each other. When did you decide you were waiting for me to leave? Feeling the way I do, how could I? Now, there is no choice. I’m just so angry.

There are all these pieces of me loving you that I’m trying to keep. I want them to stay as they are. I don’t own many things now, as you know. I’ve told you before things are never as important as memories. But these feelings were mine and yours. These damn needles are so sharp now. I don’t know whether they mean to extend out to you or protect me from you.  

If I saw you right now, I’m afraid they might all fall away and lift the weight of loving you off my chest. I fear that I love you so much that I want to hate you again for still wanting you after everything. And I’m afraid of what I’ll do and how I’ll feel if I keep looking back to you. I don’t want to watch as our lives continue to grow apart. Will it all suddenly change? Will my love for you remain or snap into smaller broken shards? If I look at you more and more, will it make all these feelings wilt with time or grow stronger? I’ve already decided to let you go— Can I not keep all the good feelings instead of all this anger?

It's why I needed to end it. I wanted to say goodbye first and to feel your hand in mine. I couldn’t help but bring it to my lips. I could have held us there forever. I don’t know what to do with all this love. I don’t want it to sharpen in ways that hurt you back, and I can’t let this pining continue to grow. They do still long for you, these needles that ache in me. My love still seeks you out. 

I want to freeze it in time, the parts of me still loving you. I told you we need to accept it. We’ll always love each other. But I question how I will keep it from growing. How will you make yours stop? I’ve tried three times now already, haven’t I? I’ve been attempting to break this connection between us. Still, I want to kiss you. Should I rake them out of my body, every part that still wants you? Do I need to burn all these needles, too, maybe every small reminder? Maybe that will help me to heal my heart and seal out all the betrayal. If I heal enough, I may look at you again and smile without wanting to cry. It’s over, but I still want you.

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If only he were honest. This was the singular thought that had rung through Valentin since he’d fled Port Charles, one hand holding his daughter’s, the other clasping at nothing, still reaching for and missing her. He’d been prepared, just as he’d told Anna, ready to go at a moment's notice, yet all the plans he had made to leave had never included leaving her behind. 

Realistically, he knew he couldn’t take her with him, knew she wouldn’t follow this time. He couldn’t change the past. Even so, he’s certain they’d all be together now if things had been different; those last few days together cemented that for Valentin. It felt like hope had finally turned around and found them again. He could close his eyes for longer again because she’d be there when he woke up.

If he’d tried harder and made different decisions…he would have been better for them, maybe even good. The only person who ever seemed to find that good within him was her. Anna, whose eyes have always been warmer than anyone he’d known, disconcertingly so. She saw through him in every way, saw things in him he thinks he’d never have known without her. The selfish part of him that loves her because of who he is with her, afraid of who he becomes when they’re apart, is what’s made him realize he’s not ready for her yet. All those years of loving her, the idea of her, it isn’t right. It’s not the kind of love she deserves. He was learning. He still wants the chance to learn how.

He never gave her a choice through all of this mess. So, he had to at least respect this one. Leave her again. Every step he’d taken away from her all those months ago still weighed on him. Heavier than even he’d ever expected it to hurt. A part of him perpetually anchored to her. They have never been good at cutting ties.

He worries, though. None of the unforgivable he’d done before had ever swayed Anna from caring for him. That was the kind of person she was. She’d taught him that time and time again. However, this time was different, though. He’d searched her eyes and knew she wouldn’t give in this time. He could see it. She was tired of waiting for him to trust her, sure of her decision to let him go. All she had wanted was for him to be honest, to believe they could always resolve their problems together. He couldn’t, though. As much as he wanted to, he’d been afraid. 

Images of her on the ground and her heartbeat fading, his hands stained as he cried for her to wake up. It had him spiraling further into every terrible decision he’d made to try and keep her safe, just keep her there. Valentin would’ve taken any offer anyone made to ensure he’d get to spend another day with her. He never wanted to feel so helpless again. 

It wasn’t what she’d needed and definitely wasn’t what she’d wanted for him. What happened? That’s how she’d asked. He could hear the hurt in her voice because she’d thought he’d been doing so well. She couldn’t understand how he could have made so many mistakes. He told her he’d given up, had stopped trying, and had no reason to be good any longer. That was a lie. She could see through that immediately, still hiding from her. He never wanted to hurt her.

They’d both known better. Still, they couldn’t help but play this game with each other despite their feelings at stake. How couldn’t he? To have her come knocking on his door more than once in a lifetime has been a thrill, luck. Her voice on the phone, her hand within reach, just having her there again, like falling in love all over again, made the temporary feel real. 

He had so much he wanted to tell her, but like always, he was afraid he’d scare her away. The house he’d built for them. He knew how bittersweet it was for her every time she stepped inside. He longed to tell her all about it, though. He wanted to show her the books he’d selected just for her that sat waiting on his shelves. There was wine, a glazed tea set she’d lost in the fire, and tulip bulbs that would bloom in the spring. All the bits and pieces of this house that he’d carefully selected and imbued with his love for her.

Empty gestures he’s learning, the sentiments fading because all she’d needed was him. He’d tried to build walls around her instead of building their life together. She’d never wanted any of this. She’d wanted them to care for each other, even though she could easily take care of herself. He knew that. 

There was no turning back. His decisions caught up. He knew she’d be the one to figure it all out. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He knew that first night she’d kissed him back. She’d begun on her path of saying goodbye. Who could blame him for wanting her to stay, hold her for longer, ask her for more? It was breakfast in the morning again, and pretending to sleep as she traced the side of his face.

It was the gift she gave him ever since the very first day they met, wishful thinking. Thinking that has him confident they’ll be seeing each other again.

If she closes her eyes, sometimes it’s like she can still pretend it’s that morning, that half hour before he’d woken up. Just enough time to make a memory, keep the shape of him resting with her safely for a while more. It was surprising, really, that in all the time they’d spent together, she could count the times she’d woken up before him on one hand. Like in all other things, Valentin was possessive, waking early as if fighting with the early hours of the morning to steal more time. But on the day of his escape, it was like a part of him wanted their night to last a little longer.

The longer she closes her eyes, the more she can picture herself actually going to find him. The part of her that loves him is stretched thin because she’s let it run off with him. She knows she could go and find them if she really wanted to. She thinks that's the only reason he was okay with leaving her behind. Those last few days together felt like something out of a dream. Being in that house, sorting through all those feelings and events with Charlotte before they’d left. It was almost like fate was teasing her with the future they’d never gotten.

She tries not to think about it because it steeps her anger for too long, highlighting the bitter reality that they both hold on to a love with nowhere to go. Even as she contemplates searching for them, for Charlotte’s sake, she keeps saying to everyone. Deep down, she knows a part of her hopes things will change, that maybe one day all this messiness will be over. Perhaps they’ll find their way back to each other. Be happy. It was all such a rush the first time around. Like they’d broken through the surface of an ocean of feelings between them, only for them to be swept back onto shore just as fast. So, she indulges in these little daydreams from time to time.

She’s lived so many lives and loved so many times. Yet, even with all her experienced caution, he’d surprised her. Enough that she never thought she’d have to grow accustomed to another life alone. She will. She has a purpose and people she loves. She won’t ever lose sight of that. It’s for that very same reason she let him go. She’ll never be the reason those two lose each other, just as she has to stay where she is for all the other people she holds dear. She needs to know that Valentin and Charlotte are out there, safe. Even if a pain fills her lungs when she drives by their empty house on occasion or the mention of his name, she’ll take it all in.

She's never been wrong about him. Even now, after letting him off with a warning...on the run. She still believes in him. She just doesn't believe enough for the both of them. It's still something he needs to learn on his own, that loving each other was enough. His inclination to seek material things and power wouldn't protect them. Then, when he's ready, maybe they could be together again. She won't ever pause her life for him, but he's there in her heart, stubborn and insistent as always. 

So, she closes her eyes sometimes, and she’s there with him, off to god knows where, in a seemingly random secluded part of the world but still somehow finding all the amenities to make her smile. He whispers in her ear as he holds her close and tells her random facts about the city they’re in. Distractions and laughter as they smell a batch of Charlotte’s latest baking experiment has burnt at the edges. She can almost feel it, wrapped and tangled in layers of worn and borrowed blankets till sunrise and their hands covering a shared mug of tea. A happy little life tucked away where they could fight over small insignificant things and worry about growing bored with each other instead of all the obstacles that have pulled them apart. It’s too blurry to be anything real with a questionable foundation.

Still, she dreams of them, homesick.