"Why change now anyway?"
"I don't have more to give right now."
"We'll have to go our separate ways for now."
Gavin and PJ had exchanged their farewells. His hands slid into the pockets of that leather jacket as he watched her disappear into the distance.
Gavin sat motionless against that rock for what seemed like eternity. Willing himself to stay put, to not go after her, to not force her to do anything. It was a feat that suprised even him for being able to pull off. A sigh escaped his lips at the thoughts running through his mind. He loves PJ. He thinks he loves PJ. Something tells him he loves PJ. He's telling himself he loves PJ?
The game. It started as a game. When he was little in Talsiny, even before Charlotte was born, he had started playing the game. Lying to his parents to stay out of trouble. Making friends for the sole purpose of taking something of theirs for himself. There never was a Gavin Varro. Gavin Nausikaa existed before Gavin Varro could develop into a person.
Gavin removed a shaky hand from his jacket. The moonlight glinting off the polished steel of the Beretta handgun he held. Gavin's eyes closed tightly as he felt the cold metal of the barrel press against his temple.
It was his game. He masterminded it. There was nobody there to teach it to him. His father was taken by the sea, and his mother taken while birthing his sister. Orphans before puberty. He had to teach himself. If he played the game well enough, he could do anything for Charlotte and himself. But that could not happen. Mere days after their father's funeral, Gavin was fostered to a family friend to become an apprentice blacksmith. Separated from his little sister, Gavin had nothing left but the game.
The morning was approaching and a dense fog settled in to cover the IFL Garden. His eyes closed tighter as he curled a finger around the trigger of the firearm. His breath was ragged. Frankly it was a miracle that he even realized that there was a game. Too long he had lived it. He didn't use it, it was who he was. The game played Gavin just as much if not more than Gavin played anyone else.
"I don't think you're the same Gavin that I knew."
"I was thinking of going to see Liam next month."
"I could set it up that you could come along."
Gavin's eyes opened like the first break of sunlight in the morning. The fog. He loved the fog. It made everything...unclear, hazy, anything you wanted it to be unless you already knew what it was. A city clouded in the fog meant even ground. Everyone saw what he saw, and nobody is sure it is what they think it is.
Orphans before puberty. But what could have been? Had they not been orphans...how far would the game have gone? He had good parents, surely they would have set him straight. He would have grown to love the sea just as his father did. And he could have protected Charlotte, just as he always wished he did. But that wasn't reality. And reality was a difficult thing for Gavin to grasp nowadays. His parents were dead, that was reality. But Liam's parents weren't. What could have been turned to what could be.
Slowly Gavin lowered the Beretta from his temple. Somehow the fog didn't seem like even ground this morning. Gavin was seeing things clearly. Or he thought he was. The game loved it's job and did it well, afterall. His other hand removed a small address book and pen from his other jacket pocket. A sheet torn out and scribbled upon. Next month...one month. The note made and the paper wrapped around the barrel of the gun before both returned to his pocket together.
A push from the ground brought Gavin to his feet. The tequila bottle untouched and forgotten. A long look at the rock he had been sitting against, studying it and memorizing it. "One month." He broke his own silence with his own twisted words of hope. He had one of two things to look forward to in one month. Liam or the Beretta.
"I don't have more to give right now."
"We'll have to go our separate ways for now."
Gavin and PJ had exchanged their farewells. His hands slid into the pockets of that leather jacket as he watched her disappear into the distance.
Gavin sat motionless against that rock for what seemed like eternity. Willing himself to stay put, to not go after her, to not force her to do anything. It was a feat that suprised even him for being able to pull off. A sigh escaped his lips at the thoughts running through his mind. He loves PJ. He thinks he loves PJ. Something tells him he loves PJ. He's telling himself he loves PJ?
The game. It started as a game. When he was little in Talsiny, even before Charlotte was born, he had started playing the game. Lying to his parents to stay out of trouble. Making friends for the sole purpose of taking something of theirs for himself. There never was a Gavin Varro. Gavin Nausikaa existed before Gavin Varro could develop into a person.
Gavin removed a shaky hand from his jacket. The moonlight glinting off the polished steel of the Beretta handgun he held. Gavin's eyes closed tightly as he felt the cold metal of the barrel press against his temple.
It was his game. He masterminded it. There was nobody there to teach it to him. His father was taken by the sea, and his mother taken while birthing his sister. Orphans before puberty. He had to teach himself. If he played the game well enough, he could do anything for Charlotte and himself. But that could not happen. Mere days after their father's funeral, Gavin was fostered to a family friend to become an apprentice blacksmith. Separated from his little sister, Gavin had nothing left but the game.
The morning was approaching and a dense fog settled in to cover the IFL Garden. His eyes closed tighter as he curled a finger around the trigger of the firearm. His breath was ragged. Frankly it was a miracle that he even realized that there was a game. Too long he had lived it. He didn't use it, it was who he was. The game played Gavin just as much if not more than Gavin played anyone else.
"I don't think you're the same Gavin that I knew."
"I was thinking of going to see Liam next month."
"I could set it up that you could come along."
Gavin's eyes opened like the first break of sunlight in the morning. The fog. He loved the fog. It made everything...unclear, hazy, anything you wanted it to be unless you already knew what it was. A city clouded in the fog meant even ground. Everyone saw what he saw, and nobody is sure it is what they think it is.
Orphans before puberty. But what could have been? Had they not been orphans...how far would the game have gone? He had good parents, surely they would have set him straight. He would have grown to love the sea just as his father did. And he could have protected Charlotte, just as he always wished he did. But that wasn't reality. And reality was a difficult thing for Gavin to grasp nowadays. His parents were dead, that was reality. But Liam's parents weren't. What could have been turned to what could be.
Slowly Gavin lowered the Beretta from his temple. Somehow the fog didn't seem like even ground this morning. Gavin was seeing things clearly. Or he thought he was. The game loved it's job and did it well, afterall. His other hand removed a small address book and pen from his other jacket pocket. A sheet torn out and scribbled upon. Next month...one month. The note made and the paper wrapped around the barrel of the gun before both returned to his pocket together.
A push from the ground brought Gavin to his feet. The tequila bottle untouched and forgotten. A long look at the rock he had been sitting against, studying it and memorizing it. "One month." He broke his own silence with his own twisted words of hope. He had one of two things to look forward to in one month. Liam or the Beretta.