Klutzyfox, you requested that I continue I Need You... and lo and behold, I actually did-

Be warned, angst ahead!

"It's someone, I know it!" Keefe tapped his fingers on Fitz's shoulders- probably just to be annoying- and Fitz closed his eyes involuntarily, his anger growing even as a blush worked its way onto his cheeks.

"Marella? Surely not... Stina?" Keefe pinched Fitz's shoulder.

The careful leash he kept on his temper snapped, and he blurted out the words before he was aware that he'd decided to say them.

"It's you, okay? It's you."

(I'm sorry, Fitz would think whenever he thought back to this moment in the future. I'm so sorry)

Keefe didn't move, and Fitz wondered if the blonde had heard him say the words.

Those shameful, dreaded words that Fitz already wished he could take back.

Because now Keefe's eyes widened, and he cleared his throat quickly. Fitz noticed the small step back, the way he snatched back his hand and hid it behind his back. The way his cheeks flushed and he suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if he couldn't handle the fact that his best friend was in love with him.

To be fair, Fitz thought that was how he'd react, too.

At least the empath didn't seem angry. Fitz scanned his face carefully, feeling his own cheeks flame as his gaze brushed over Keefe's lips.

Keefe shook out his arms, and Fitz remembered that he could feel everything swimming through his head.

How he hadn't figured it out before, Fitz had no idea. But now, apparently, he recognized the emotions for what they were.

"I'm sorry," the telepath said quickly. "I didn't mean to..." But he had. Even though he wished he didn't, he'd known exactly what he'd been doing.

It was enough. He was done with the lies, with backing away when Keefe got too close and willing the blush away and trying to keep his emotions in check. He was done.

(Fitz screamed and sobbed and cursed over and over, but no one ever heard him)

And even though his feelings shouldn't exist, and Keefe would never feel the same way...

He was done with the lies.

Keefe opened his mouth, and Fitz waited for rejection. But the words that escaped were, "You couldn't have said this a year ago?"

(I'm sorry)

The words hit Fitz, washed over him like the wind bends stalks in a field. Bent him back, back, until he cracked under the strain... fractured, but didn't break.

Wouldn't break.

Couldn't break.

"Oh, come on," Keefe snapped, his eyes narrowing. His anger was sudden but expected, even if it came for a reason that Fitz had never seen. "You never noticed? You never saw? You never realized?"

And Fitz cracked a little more.

(I'm so sorry)

"I didn't-"

"I'm sorry, Fitz," Keefe said slowly. "But you're too late."

"Keefe- wait-"

(Fitz saw his future then, and knew this was the moment it all fell apart, the moment he lost him-)

"What?" Keefe met his eyes, and whatever words Fitz had been concocting died in his throat at the anger and regret sparkling in his friend's ice-blue stare. "Fitz, I tried to... to win you over. For years, I tried. But then reality hit me, and I got over you. If you'd told me this last year... I would've been overjoyed. But you're too late."

(so very, very sorry)

Fitz closed his eyes to keep the tears from falling. He opened them again, and all he could say was, "Keefe... I'm sorry that I waited too long. I..."

"Yeah," Keefe whispered when Fitz's words trailed off. "I'm sorry too."

Keefe turned away (away from him, walking away he was walking away don't let him go he has to go let him go-) and Fitz let him go, his closed eyes not enough to keep the tears from leaking out.

He didn't break, he told himself. Hadn't. Wouldn't.

Couldn't.

But if he was bent back any further, he just might.

(maybe he already had)

...

Keefe surely noticed Fitz's snatching glances. He definitely saw his tapping fingers, and there was no way he didn't recognize the fake smile Fitz kept pasted on his face.

They knew each other well enough to know that both of them were pretending to be happy.

But Fitz didn't dare go over to talk to his (what were they anymore?) friend, and Keefe seemingly didn't care enough to ask what was wrong.

(he already knew what was wrong)

But even though he couldn't stand to look at the empath for more than a second, Fitz kept on sneaking looks, kept on tapping his fingers.

He kept on smiling unwaveringly, and even though Keefe never met his gaze, he surely noticed that Fitz's bright grin couldn't hide his (cracked, not broken) miserable teal eyes.

...

Sometimes, Fitz wished they could go back.

Before the Neverseen was defeated. Before Keefe's coma. Before everything had changed.

Before his feelings had started acting out and his mouth had spoken those fateful words that he wished more than anything he could take back.

(he was so, so, sorry)

Sometimes, Fitz wanted to go back to when they were young and uncomplicated and the only thing they thought about was how to make Keefe's dad mad, of how to ditch Biana and Maruca and climb a tree or cover each other with mud and wash off in a lake.

They would swim until they collapsed, and sometimes Fitz wondered if who he'd been had drowned in Everglen's deep lake, if who they'd been could never come back.

After all, the old him (carefree, laughing, innocent, confident) was gone, and Fitz knew he couldn't change that.

But sometimes (all the time, really), he wished he could.

...

Fitz had contained his longing glances as much as he could. He avoided Keefe's eyes, walked away, remembered to stop talking and tamp down his emotions.

He remembered not to feel.

Not to break.

(he wasn't broken; not yet, not yet)

Keefe hadn't approached him, either, and Fitz wasn't sure if he was relieved or stung. He wasn't sure if he would remember how to speak around the empath, if he could remember that nothing had changed and everything was different.

But now, the blonde moved toward him and Fitz was forced to meet his eyes, ice blue and shimmering and cold and regretful.

But they were the same, the same as they'd been when they were young.

Keefe hadn't broken, either.

(maybe Fitz wished he had, if only so he knew it mattered, that he mattered)

"Hey," the telepath murmured, keeping his eyes on Keefe's eyebrows so he didn't see those freezing eyes fixed on him, so he didn't have to see how little the empath cared.

"Hey," Keefe responded, stopped next to him. He sat down next to Fitz on the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees, and Fitz bit back the urge to swipe at the lock of blonde hair that fell over his eyes.

Keefe blew out a breath that gusted through his entire body, and Fitz swallowed. "What?"

"Do I need a reason to come talk to you?" Keefe responded, but his voice was tense, and Fitz noticed that the muscles in his arms were tight. As if he were nervous.

Or angry.

Fitz chose his words carefully as he said, "Well, things have been... different, lately."

"Yeah, I know," Keefe said quietly. "I just wanted to... to ask. The feelings; the ones you... you know. Are they still there?"

Fitz almost snorted, but he figured that wouldn't help the situation, so he replied, "What do you think?" Keefe scanned his face, and Fitz sighed. "Yeah. They are."

Maybe it would have been easier to pretend they were gone. But they were never going back to the way they were; that time had broken, the shards of the past falling away to where they were now.

And it would be easier for Fitz to get over Keefe (he wanted to, didn't he?) if the empath was avoiding him.

Or, at least, that's what Fitz told himself.

It was better if they stayed at a distance.

"Do you want to come swimming with us?" Keefe blurted. "Good opportunity to see me shirtless, right?"

A laugh ripped out of Fitz's throat against his will, and Keefe's smile became a little more real. But Fitz answered, "Sorry, what? Go swimming with...?"

"The group," Keefe added hastily. "I just... we haven't talked in ages. I don't want..."

"To lose you," Fitz finished quietly, and Keefe nodded slowly. They were quiet for a moment, and then Fitz said, "Okay."

It was better to stay away, but Fitz couldn't bring himself to care.

...

Fitz found it easy to act normal, surprisingly.

It was easy to fall back into his old rhythms; to joke around and laugh and not let his eyes stray to the blonde empath splashing around without a care.

Sometimes, though, his eyes would find their way back to Keefe, and there would be a dropping feeling in his stomach at the crooked smirk curling up the corners of his mouth.

But he tore his eyes away and took a breath, because even though he was bent back too far, he wasn't broken.

Keefe didn't approach him, and Fitz told himself that it was better that way. Better that they didn't talk, didn't interact.

He preferred it, the telepath tried to convince himself.

It was better, better, better (heartbreakingly horrible) this way.

...

"What?"

Fitz was struck by a tidal wave of deja vu as Keefe rested his elbows on the railing of the balcony next to him. This was a different day, a different place, and they were different too; but Fitz couldn't help but think of that day, when Keefe had pushed him a little too hard.

The day everything changed.

"What what?" Keefe responded quickly, and Fitz rolled his eyes.

"Come on. Why are you here?"

"I don't know." Keefe was quiet for a minute, and Fitz let out a breath. "I guess I just wanted to talk to you."

Fitz quelled the surge of hope that rose up in his throat. "About what?"

"Sophie rejected me," Keefe blurted, and the words stopped time.

(maybe he had a chance-)

Fitz could only blink away the rebellious thoughts before Keefe continued, "Not rejected, exactly. Just... apparently, she's in love with someone else."

Fitz wanted to laugh, all of a sudden. He had a sneaking suspicion of who Sophie was into, but he held his tongue at the look on Keefe's face. Devastated and embarrassed and guilty.

"So," Fitz decided to say. "Why are you telling me this?"

(he would not get his hopes up. he would not he would not he would-)

"I don't know," Keefe retorted, a bite in his tone. "I don't... know."

"Okay," Fitz responded simply.

They stood quietly at the railing, but Fitz's mind was anything but silent. His thoughts whirled, back and forth and up and down and every which way. He snuck glances at the empath, but Keefe's face betrayed nothing.

It wasn't like Keefe was expressionless, but his tense features could have meant anything, and Fitz refused to think of the possibilities.

(he did anyway)

But they stood there silently, and Fitz didn't dare to break the peace.

Until Keefe did.

Loudly, of course.

"Damnit, Fitz," Keefe sighed under his breath, and Fitz glanced towards him curiously, only to find ice blue eyes fixed in his own. "Damnit," Keefe repeated, almost angrily.

"What-"

"I really want to kiss you right now," Keefe told him, annoyance lacing through his voice, and Fitz was pretty sure he stopped breathing.

"Then... do it."

Fitz knew for a fact that all the air was gone from his lungs, and he wasn't sure if it would ever come back.

He felt a little dizzy.

Keefe's hand cradled Fitz's cheek gently, almost tenderly.

Fitz's hand lifted to cover Keefe's fingers with his own, warm against his cheek.

"Damnit," Keefe muttered again, and then their lips were pressed together and all of Fitz's (bent, but not) broken pieces melded together until it was him, all of him and them together and god his lips were soft and he'd imagined this so many times but-

Fitz leaned back, and it took a second for him to remember how to speak with his tingling lips. But when his words tumbled out, they were clear and firm.

"Keefe..." his throat seized for a second, but he took a deep breath and continued on. Even though he wanted to steal the moment and run away with it. Even though he'd been waiting for so long. "I don't want to be your second choice. I don't want you to kiss me because Sophie rejected you and I'm just... here."

The empath hesitated, and Fitz took another step back as Keefe's hands fell from his cheeks. The look in Keefe's eyes was heartbreaking, but Fitz pushed on.

"I don't want to be second place, Keefe," Fitz whispered, searching his eyes.

(he wanted Keefe to reassure him that he wasn't. that he would never be. that Sophie was gone and Fitz was the only one for him)

But Keefe dropped his gaze, and Fitz just nodded slowly, keeping his face bland to hide his roaring feelings. He fractured, the cracks spreading through his bones as Keefe slowly turned and walked away.

The door shut behind him, and the cracks spread farther and farther until finally...

(Fitz knew this would be the last time, the last chance, the last words)

(he broke)

Okay I know the request was for them to get together, but I couldn't resist. The angst called to me, ya know?

But... technically, the request did call for a happy ending. So... *sigh* here's an alternate ending that is not heartbreaking or whatever-

Keefe's hand cradled Fitz's cheek gently, almost tenderly.

Fitz's hand lifted to cover Keefe's fingers with his own, warm against his cheek.

"Damnit," Keefe muttered again, and then their lips were pressed together and all of Fitz's (bent, but not) broken pieces melded together until it was him, all of him and them together and god his lips were soft and he'd imagined this so many times but-

"Keefe," Fitz murmured against the empath's lips, pulling back just enough to search his eyes. "Do you really want to be here? To be doing this?"

There was no hesitation in Keefe's words as he responded, "I really, truly want to be here."

Fitz wasn't breaking anymore, and for once, his shoulders were weightless as their lips pressed together again.

There they are-

Pick your fighter

Anyway, it's been a  s t r u g g l e  to write fluff recently and I have no idea why. For this, I basically wrote a whole bunch of angst, then I added some more, then I realized it was supposed to end happily but it was too late, so I added more angst and hoped it would somehow lead back to fluff. But then I was in too deep and there was no way I could dig myself out of the pit of angst.

So I gave up and just sprinkled some more on there-

It was tragic.

Anyway.

Tell me if you liked it! Comment, vote, etc, I love hearing your thoughts and/or constructive criticism!