Between The Lines.- France x Reader

[Too late, two choices, to stay or to leave
Mine was so easy to uncover—he’d already left with the other
So I learned to listen through silence…]


A stab of irritation jolts through you after you open your eyes. Why is it so ugly and bright? It should be dark and painful.

And there’s the most annoying throbbing in the left part of your chest. It’s like the beat of a drum, echoing up and down what should be hollow space. The sound fills your ears and you scowl. You turn to lie on your side, feeling strangely exhauste—where are your wings?

You feel panicked and furious at the same time. You reach back to your bare shoulder blades and find only the trace of two slanted scars. Oh Devil. Oh Devil.

Why were they taken away? What sort of good thing had you done to deserve this? Oh, yeah, that one angel Franci--his cerulean eyes his graceful accent his white wings his lips his kiss.

No.

You feel utterly disgusted with yourself for allowing an emotion like that, and then you feel relieved that you can still feel disgust with ease. Then you feel disgusted again.

You feel dizzy with sadness, and then you realize it’s your shamefully mortal need for oxygen. You do this really weird thing with your nose where you suck the air through two little holes, and then push it back out.

This in itself confuses you about the mortal world. Why take if you’re just going to give it back? Then you remember your lessons about humans, and you realize they thrive on taking things and then giving it back, though they always give back less than they took, just like how they breathe oxygen and give back carbon dioxide.

No, it’s we now.

The slumped figure next to you gives a groan, and you smile a little at the obvious discomfort. Then your satisfaction fades as he turns his head.

“Angel,” you hiss, and it’s not a compliment.

His mouth twists up. “Demon,” he whispers back. His smile revolts you.

“Human.” His smile fades.

You instinctively reach for the darkness, and your fist closes on something much more diluted than what your used too. You recoil is surprise, and then remember your position. Damn humans, with their free will and lesser evil. You can’t even see auras anymore.

But aren’t you a human now too? Weren’t you cast out to ground for feeling something that’s not allowed? You give a bitter chuckle. A fallen angel and a risen demon that both reached for the forbidden fruit and ended up meeting somewhere in between.

You scan your surroundings to find painted walls, soft blankets, and a window viewing a churning ocean, juxtaposed next to a strip of white sand. A young woman with soft brown waves and two glasses of water walks through the doorway.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she beams. You stop listening after that, though it’s evident by the tone of her voice that she’s relieved. You glance at him, and his lips are drawn in a casual smile, though his eyes communicate something different to the woman. So that’s why he’s fallen—for loving a mortal.

You find you don’t like her very much, and you don’t want to think why (but you do anyways, because you take pleasure and any kind of pain). Jealously crawls like a second skin, next to resentment and self-hatred.

“Francis,” you say suddenly, interrupting the woman. He must know why I’ve been cast out. The three words almost leave your lips, but he gives a barely visible shake of the head, sending you a message.

Don’t. Ignorance is bliss.

And it is. To say something of that importance is sealing the deal, and your eyes are best left shut, or at least half shut. Your emotions will always be in fine print, not for the whole world to see. You look away from him and refuse to make eye contact again.

That is the last time you speak to him. You watch in silence at his friendship, his romance, his marriage, his child.

Goodbye, angel.


[…Leave unsaid unspoken
Eyes wide shut unopened
You and me, always between the lines.]