Hey honey! I was wondering if you could write a cedric x reader drabble based off the prompt "green". Thank you :)
@ly–canthrope you have no clue how excited I was to see a Cedric request paired with a sort of abstract, open direction that I could interpret. Thank you so, so much for such a wonderful prompt. I hope you enjoy what I did with it.
Cedric makes another round around the block, breaths creating short trains that fall off their tracks and disappear in mere moments. The crisp smell of winter burns his nose as he breathes, but he doesn’t bother adjusting his scarf. Two crimson berries from mistletoe hang over the doorway to his right, and from the arching window, he can see a happy family with kids tearing open presents and a dog running around howling away. He drops his eyes.
The sidewalk’s a hazard of ice and snow and grains of salt that do nothing to melt their foe. December’s a cruel month, one of bitter weather and even icier memories. He never meant for any of this. All he wanted was to win that damn tourney to earn some money for the future, but if he’d known what lay at the end of it, he’d never have placed his name in the goblet.
A snowman stands in front of him, one he’s seen five times now. It still waves, but the smile is drooping and the carrot’s about to fall out, shaken loose by a raven with jet black wings and a charcoal beak that won’t stop pecking at the thing. Cedric stares at it, frozen in his place, watching this innocent thing be destroyed by something out of its control. Merlin, how he wishes he were anywhere but here.
A bark comes from somewhere far away; it’s little more than a haunting echo here, but it startles Cedric from his reverie and he starts forward again, snow crunching under his feet. The raven behind him dives for the carrot with a mocking laugh. Cedric doesn’t bother to shoo it.
The house he’s looking for is navy blue with a chimney and shimmering gold curtains in the front room. A horrid color for curtains but one that’s the perfect color for hair, or, at least, that’s what you claim.
He blinks back the pain, the image curling around his vision like smoke. It’d be so easy to be lost in it all again, to find you in his arms with your head on his lap, with you laughing as you both try to catch snowflakes on your tongues, spinning and spinning and spinning until you stumble and fall into a silver snow drift, tugging him down after you when he tries to help you up.
It’d be so easy to be lost in you again.
Cedric stares at the boot prints on the sidewalk in front of him, ones that match the soles of his boots perfectly, as he continues forward. The navy house looms only a few driveways in front of him, drive untouched by footprints. You’re still here.
The package in his pocket shifts. It’s a small box, no larger than the palm of his hand, and wrapped flawlessly in a rose-stem green paper. He’d tried six times to wrap it properly. It had to be perfect for you.
Head still bowed, he trudges through the deep snow in your driveway. Usually, he’d be out here, helping shovel, but not anymore. God, if only he could go back and change it all.
The door’s a cream color, one the two of you accidently splattered with bright yellow paint two years ago. A paint gun experiment gone wrong.
Cedric almost smiles at the memory.
Another train of breath appears in front of him, this one longer, staying on its track as it floats out then up to the light above the porch.
He spots you, curled up next to the fireplace, nose in a book. The sight nearly brings him to his knees as it solidifies it all. You’re not waiting by the phone for his call. You aren’t wrapping a present made for him. You aren’t staring out the window waiting to yank him inside as soon as he gets here. No, you’re just living as though everything’s normal. Which, he supposes, it is for you.
He struggles to breathe as he sees the towering tree, a deep green, covered in crimson and cream tinsel, navy blue and yellow ornaments, the black and silver one he’d bought you nowhere in sight. A golden star perches on top of it, balancing carefully. He can hardly see the green underneath it all.
Suddenly exhausted, Cedric digs the gift from his pocket. He hesitates, glancing at you one final time before knocking.
When you open the door, there’s nothing but a set of footprints and a small green box nestled in the snow. You scan the area, but all of your neighbors seem to be enjoying the holiday indoors. You don’t blame them as you snatch the tiny gift from the snow and shut the door, shivering. It’s freezing outside.
Padding back to your seat, you turn the box over and over in your hands. There’s no name, no to or from or even an indication that this is supposed to be a gift at all other than the wrapping paper.
You know you should set it aside, ask your family if they were expecting anything, but curiosity gets the best of you, and you slide a finger under the flap of paper.
When you finally pop the top of the box open, you can’t speak.
The silver pocket watch shimmers in the firelight. Squinting, you read the engraving on the back. Time stops when I’m with you.
You’re certain this can’t be for you despite your fondness for pocket watches. No one would be so sweet, not since… well, no one anymore. But when you go to place it back in the box, you notice a folded piece of parchment.
It’s a letter in Cedric’s handwriting, obviously written before everything happened, a thank you letter for supporting him, for listening to him, for caring for him in an honest way no one else did.
Tears prick your eyes as you notice the words at the end, an addendum he must’ve gone back to add after it all broke apart.
I want to come home. I miss you.
You wonder if he knows how desperately you agree with that sentence.