This is another sad ficlet. It's supposed to be Angie/Fred, but there's not a single proper noun in the entire thing, so I guess you could say it's any couple you want it to be. I wish I made money off of this, but I don't. Review if you're feeling generous.

.x. Ether .x.

She's fading into the ether. She's changing from color to black and white, and she's pretty sure that soon she'll be nothing at all. She's disappearing and it's entirely his fault. It was the eyes, she's sure of it. She fell in love with the eyes first, and then the hair, and the smile, and soon she was passionately, unabashedly, irrevocably in love with him. Or perhaps it was his laughter, the jokes and the pranks and the nonchalance with which they were delivered. And still later it was the lips and the way they felt against her own; the sensation of his calloused hands on her skin.

But now… Now the laughter's gone and the eyes don't twinkle and she hasn't touched his hands for days. And even if she did touch them, even if she could touch them, they'd be cold and clammy and not at all the hands she fell in love with. Instead of holding his hand, she lies on the floor staring up at the ceiling and wonders how long she has to stay still before she disappears completely.

She can still picture the way he smiled. She can hear his laugh, as clearly as if he was in the room with her, as though he were standing right beside her, close enough to touch her if he moved at all. She's memorized the peaks and all of the tiny, insignificant changes in pitch that seem so significant now. She hears it and she shivers, her eyes closed as she pictures his smile and the way he'd throw his head back carelessly. She wants to cry when she thinks that one day she'll forget what he sounded like, but if she cried, she'd move, and so she closes her eyes and lays still and hopes she can evaporate into nothing.

She wishes she could see him again. She thinks of the things she'd say, the way she'd touch his cheek just so and smile and she'd tell him that she loved him. That she loves him. And she pictures the way she'd cradle his hand and just be. She'd be with him and just exist and be happy, and for her that would be enough. For her, that was always enough. But now all she can do is close her eyes and breathe, and so she inhales and she exhales and she waits. She breathes and she waits to disappear, just like he did.