✧ GARDEN SONG WITH OSCAR ISAAC

→ oscar isaac x reader

→ cw: 1.6k

→ warnings: mentions of sex, angst and sadness i guess?

He was spring and I was winter.

When I saw him, it was as if its roots and its most beautiful flowers bloomed in cracks in ice. Coming to life and color. He was like the sun on an algidity day, the abating feeling of the sunlight kissing you so softly while everything looked so blue. He was also the sunset on dazzling afternoons, the cool breeze that blew across the ground of flowers.

The world looks gloomy when I walk the heather London streets. Few snowflakes fall quietly across the concrete, breaking up into small puddles of water. I see my reflection in them and I despite it. Hating the dark circles that persist, the melancholy looks as if something is wrong. It was, but pretending it wasn’t was still my best option.

Words haunt my insides and tease me as I try to hold back tears as I cross the nearly empty bridge. It’s almost 3 pm. and I think about him once again.

I think of the weight of his hand on my waist, the way his fingers curled into my flesh almost naturally, and how I reacted to his touch like a dazed little girl. I think about the melodic sound of his voice and it feels like my ears betray me all over again, because I hear it as clearly as if he’s here with me, right now. The balmy, dulcet sound I love. Still.

I love you, but I need to break up with you.

All my life I’ve always cherished sincerity, but the moment those words invaded his lips, I wished it was all a lie. I wished he’d lie to me, that he’d tell me he loved me, that his arms would wrap around me and his lips would make the familiar path to my mouth and that he’d kissme,loveme,takeme. Couldn’t make a sound other than crying like a helpless little kid, because that’s how I felt. I could look into his eyes once more and I could see the hopelessness, the effort he was making to end our love. I was in anguish because I couldn’t touch him one more time, I needed to feel him, kiss him, love him one more time.

But he was gone, with notice, leaving my heart, body, and soul in splinters.

It’s 4 pm. when I pass the charming coffee shop around the corner. Its architecture reminds me of small Parisian cafes and the heater inside the establishment makes me whine softly with joy. The tables are empty because it’s New Year’s and nobody is lively enough with their life to go to a cafe, in the middle of winter and snow. People are at home, thrilling with their families or traveling with their partners.

The guy behind the counter grins gently as if he understands my grief.

The table is still in the same spot, unoccupied, with the same little crack on the right side. It’s like I can see my life as a film, the two of us sitting there, him holding my hand close to his lips and kissing it mercilessly because he’s always enjoyed teasing in public places like it’s the dirtiest, sexiest thing ever. He never knew, but every time I said to stop my unconscious screamed keep going, always.

I leave, leaving Oscar and the “me” of the past in that ghostly memory that no longer belongs to me.

The walk seems endless. I ignore the messages in the company and family groups, everyone making their preparations for the New Year’s celebration. I don’t see any reason to be cheerful anymore, drinking champagne, if not with him. I was deplorably miserable and didn’t make a point of hiding it.

The horizon is a massive blur of silver. The snow’s heavier now as if it were forcing all London residents to go to their homes because the situation was going to get worse in the next few hours. But I didn’t actually care. I sat on the bench in front of the lake, watching the icy water move slowly in the cool breeze, just as I did.

The tea is already cold a few minutes later and honestly, I don’t care, it tastes too bitter when I feel it go down my throat. It’s no longer sweet, smooth, and pleasurable like it used to be.

Little flora growing on the concrete are painted in frost, almost inert. The most beautiful part is veiled with a thin layer of crystal, which hides what’s most precious to her. But I know that in spring they’ll bloom in their most vivid colors and people will treasure each one, even if hidden under the ground or in tall green grass.

Because spring’s always the best season, it brings heart and soul to things, unlike winter.

There’s not much for me out here, so I decided to go back. The apartment’s small and cold, but I’ll make it as cozy as possible for tonight. Maybe make a lasagna that’s been frozen for almost a month and make a sweeter tea later. Maybe I’ll put on an action film so my heart flutters with so much epinephrine that I can finally feel something other than the acidity that bursts through my veins.

The small, three-story complex is covered in snow, even the crops that grow around the clay-colored bricks. The slippery steps dance at my feet and I have to balance myself to reach the bottom step. I make a mental note with a list of what I could do to make the night more likable. Calling my parents, watching lots of films, eating any kind of junk… I’m a little out of breath by the time I reach the third step and I remember trying to plan for exercise, maybe walking and running a few blocks would help.

I reach for the key in my coat pocket and my eyes catch two feet of inexpensive shoes on my rug. And tailored pants, thick coat, and a scarf. Gray locks and slicked back, round glasses that add an inimitable grace to that millimetrically thought out, architected, and perfect face.

He stands as he freezes in time.

“Hey.”

His gruff, warm voice hits me. Strongly. I feel like my knees are too weak to support me right now. I need to sit down and lean on something before I tumble down the stairs.

My lips tremble as I try to formulate a sentence, but nothing comes out. I feel pathetic, but my chest hurts so much, it’s such a comforting pain that I wouldn’t mind feeling it for the rest of my life, if it were for him.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

So I force my arms and legs to move. I open the door, even feeling his gaze on me, burning and unmasking me completely.

The lights come on, he walks past me and I feel defenseless. Slowly, he removes his gray scarf and tosses it onto the nearest chair. The silence is lethal, only the wind’s breath outside trying to infest space’s heard and perhaps, consequently, the heavy beating of my heart.

“What are you doing here?” I say, mumbling. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane right now?”

He should be traveling to the States, where the parties are dandy and glamorous, where the heat always radiates, unlike here.

Oscar walks over to me, his eyes warm, piercing my skin.

His soft hands feel my face and I sense peace. My vision blurs and I know I can cry anytime because I missed his touch so fucking much. His fingers fondle my skin tenderly, so carefully I feel like I’m about to breach. His lips stretch in an almost imperceptible grin, but I know every inch of him and notice every hidden part.

“I was stupid.” His deep voice cuts through me like stab wounds. “That’s not where I belong.” His fingers continue in a slow clutch and I’m tempted to close my eyes, but I want to see him. Every second of my life.

And as I suspected, his lips devour mine, in a wistful and tragic reunion, but sensual, passionate, and carnal. His lips move in sync with mine, as if he’s connected body and soul, knowing what each one needs. I grip his soft gray hair, filling my hand with his scent. Oscar kisses me cruelly, gripping my waist, pressing his fingers hard around so many layers of clothing.

“Ishere.” He finishes.

And like spring, he warms me, disrobe me, soothes me, kisses me with his warmth and his glow. He gives me life and makes me see things as they should be. His hands are painting me with the most sublime color. And I feel like one of those little flowers on the concrete, thawing its thin layer of ice in the middle of spring, showing its true chroma, its scent, its life.

Oscar and I are like winter and spring. His lips trace kisses over my body, over every inch of my body and I’m given. Body and soul. I fade in his hands and allow myself to feel the heat his skin emanates from mine, like the sun itself, invading me, driving me insane, and burning every nerve, every cell inside me.

And when I’m so lucid, panting, with his body on mine, I feel my heart fluttler with love. His face, fingered as if I could feel every inch of him. And I want to feel, I want him forever and ever. His lip sounds like the most tactful and beautiful orchestra, taking me to the edge of an abyss that I’m happy to throw myself into. His movements ooze love, his kisses on my face, his fingers gliding over my skin, and the way his mouth worships my body. His eyes claim much more than his lips.

In the end, we are like wintertime and springtide. Sapphire and gilt at twilight.

And I love him.

Ireallydo.

phoebs