Title: Locked Down
Summary: Sofia writes Yves a letter post-FLO. I couldn't stop picturing this. Her just speaking to him through a piece of paper and telling him… everything.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights for the characters and the world go to their owners. I, in no way, believe – or would lead others to believe – that I own For Lovers Only.
Author's Note: I posted this on Tumblr a while ago, but seeing as there is apparently a FLO fanfic page I'm posting it here.
locked down || yves/sofia
I love you.
I don't know what I'm doing exactly. I mean I know, but how do I even begin? All the words in my head can't cap what this is like. I'm still a mess. Still come to Paris every year. Six times a year. The earth just isn't round enough I guess. I've been waiting to bump into you again. In a stairwell. Down a street. On the plane. Where are you? I think that's another question I don't really want the answer to. Dangerous territory and all that.
I find pieces of you too, you know? And writing isn't like taking pictures. It isn't - it opens my eyes to what's out there other than what I'm seeing. I write about things. Describe them. Only you exist in those words. You could be a pigeon or the sky. Out of my reach, gorgeous, haunting.
I dream about Paris. About fucking it out and running in those bright, yellow flowers. Even though no one was watching us, I felt like they had to be. Like there wasn't a way that we could be that free and open and in love without someone giving a shit. People hate to see each other happy. I mean I sometimes just want to smack people for… breathing. I want to smack you mostly. For giving up. For doing the right thing. For breathing and for finding me. You made that city my dream. My waking paradise. My fucking prison.
The first time I went back I went everywhere that we went. I stayed in the same shitty motels and walked the same landings. I danced in the wind with headphones on John Lennon. Love is.
I'm not married anymore. I didn't turn him into a toad or anything. I just got a divorce. I'd talk about him more but you don't actually want to hear about him. I wanted to hear about her. Just to try and make it real. Make the time apart feel like they mattered. Make it seem like every part of me didn't want to just curl into your arms and fade away until the world is black and white and gray and beautiful again. You make the world beautiful.
I actually have a reason for this letter. I'm not just wasting your time. I might be actually. I'm not editing this. Not a word. My heart is yours. My words are yours. The good ones and the ones I wish I didn't have to say.
I had a kid. Yours. His name is Walter. I call him Wally. I think I do it because I know it would piss you off. He's so much like you. He just sees the world, you know? He's perfect. I take him with me to Paris sometimes. We walk the fence and I show him our lock. I put this note with the new lock because I figured it would make it real. Cement it the way that the our names are forever in stone. I wanted you to see. What we made. What love made. But also know what we lost.
It's been years and all the words still end the same.
I love you.