This was initally a fic prompt on Tumblr but I thought I should post it up here since I have yet to put up any Aragorn/Legolas stuff on FF. I say it everytime, but if you review I will love you more than anything. :D

He told you he loved you. Over, and over again, his fingertips ever so slightly running over your chest, whispering it in your ear, breathing it against your cold, pale skin. Over and over and over again. You thought it would never stop – you never wanted it to end, never wanted him to break away from you and leave you alone.

Like he always did. Like he always did.

Never again, you thought to yourself as you clutched hard at his arms, gasping inevitably when his teeth sunk into the skin of your neck. You shuddered as he giggled, a soft and manly giggle that makes you want to take control of him yourself. I'll never let him go again.

How stupid and pathetic he was. Legolas hates himself with every fibre of his being at this precise moment, wishing somebody would tear him up into little pieces or throw him into a fire and leave him, burning and burning and screaming out in utter terror and pain until it's over, until he doesn't feel a single thing any longer. No, instead he's perched under a tree, waiting for the rain to stop, and his head is spinning in circles, trying to make sense of it all.

He never loved you. You're an idiot for believing it. It was Arwen, always Arwen.

He scowls. Arwen, damn Arwen, with her mesmerizing eyes and silky smooth hair, her soft and gentle and soothing voice that any man with sense would wish to hear every moment they were together. Arwen, Arwen, Arwen, dammit; it's stupid of him to become so envious of what was always rightfully hers, but he finds a stone on the ground next to him and throws it out into the open air, so hard he can never predict where it landed. That's for you, Arwen. Just for you.

It's heartbreak verging on the line of anger. He doesn't know whether he wants to bury his head into his hands and cry helplessly, or grab his bow and arrow and shoot at something mercilessly, every shot fired in an attempt to hurt something. At this point, he doesn't care what; he knows it's stupid, really, taking out his anger on anything that happens to get in his way, but he simply doesn't know how to deal with this sort of thing. It's the horrible truth of the situation, and he can't escape it.

He's certain he can never recover from it.

It's takes a long time for the rain to stop. When it does, he is unsure whether he really wants to emerge.

He's never hated the bitter truth of the reality that surrounds him so much until now.

The only thing he can do is ignore him. It's simple, ignorant, childish of him to do so, but he does it anyway. He pushes him away every time he tries to talk to him, pretend he's not there every time he sees him, attempts to forget his ever-lingering presence whenever he's ten metres of him.

It's difficult. All Legolas can think of whenever he even manages to catch a glimpse of him is the way he used to run his large, soft hands through Legolas' hair, playing and twirling and tugging at it ever so slightly, and how he used to wrap his arms around his waist and bury his head into his shoulder, murmuring gentle words of love and hope and eternity.

It's stupid, Legolas thinks, biting his tongue hard every time he has these thoughts. He's a liar. He never loved you. It's all Arwen.

He doesn't want to feel bitter around Arwen, but no matter how many times he tells himself that it's not her fault, he can't bring himself to believe it. If it wasn't for Arwen, he'd have me. Fact. The only thing he could do to prevent himself from any potential harm was to avoid her, too, and it was only a matter of time before he completely isolated himself from the world.

Oh, but no matter how subtle Legolas thought he was being, he wasn't fooling anyone. Aragorn Telcontar wasn't stupid. He certainly didn't like being treated as if he were stupid, too – which is exactly what he thought Legolas was doing, ignoring him so blatantly as if he were mocking him. Haha, Aragorn, he could practically hear coming from the blonde elf, as if it were written all over his stupidly perfect face in some kind of permanent ink, if you don't want me, have Arwen. See if I care. Go on. I'll let you treat me like you never wanted me in the first place.

Fool. Fool. Fool. What a fool Legolas was.

What a fool Aragorn was to break his heart.

It was the only way, Aragorn tries to tell himself, over and over as if repeating it would make it more believable. It was wrong, so wrong, from the start… I couldn't…

But how could something so clearly wrong feel so right? It would be a lie to say that he didn't miss the way Legolas would let himself fall into Aragorn's embraces, the way he used to moan against his lips and only plead for more when Aragorn would press their bodies closer together, naturally, instinctively.

It would also be a lie to say he did not prefer Arwen far, far more.

He feels regret, of course he does, but how else would Legolas have known?

It goes on for longer than it should have. It's been weeks since Legolas has said a word to Aragorn, and as the days grow by the more agitated Aragorn becomes. Every time he sees the blonde he tries to approach him, tries to spark up a conversation between them, but every time he finds himself retreating, a frown etched upon his face.

Why does he have to be so damn immature?

It becomes so increasingly obvious that even Arwen notices. It is one night when they are both in bed, Aragorn's back turned to Arwen, dropping off slightly every few moments when it's mentioned, Arwen twirling at his hair playfully. Arwen is smart to choose such a calm atmosphere to say anything about it; she needs this to work, she needs her husband to smile once more.

"You don't talk much to Legolas anymore, do you?" She says, which causes Aragorn to tense up almost immediately. Chuckling, she lets go of the strand of hair and moved against the bedframe so she was leaning completely against it. "You two were great friends. It's a shame to see you apart for so long."

Aragorn does not reply to this, but in only a matter of seconds he is now wide awake, aware of every noise and movement that is made in their chamber. The moment of silence is uncomfortable.

"Whatever it is, Aragorn," she continues, her voice softer and much quieter, "you need to talk to him about it. You need to settle it. The both of you, you can't go on like this forever. You were once the greatest of friends, and you're willing to let yourselves end it because of something so seemingly childish?" Arwen places her hand on Aragorn's shoulder, the gesture simple, yet warm and satisfying. "End your petty feud. You're both better than this."

And that's what he does. If there was one thing that Aragorn loved the dearest about Arwen, it was her way with words, her voice always so pacifying and completely persuasive. He didn't have to think twice about approaching Legolas on another rainy day, finding him seated outside with his legs crossed, looking completely satisfied in his own company.

Sitting under the same tree Aragorn had told Legolas the truth.

"It's rained a lot recently, hasn't it?" Aragorn says, moving in so he's sat next to the elf. There is no response, and Aragorn isn't even sure if Legolas has acknowledges his presence.

"Legolas –" he stops himself, however, when he sees the elf shuffle over away from Aragorn slightly, clearly feeling uncomfortable within his presence. He's about to comment on this slight movement, but instead continues from where he was interrupted. "We need to talk. About how immature you're being."

Legolas scoffs, clearly amused by this statement. "Isn't it a bit too late for that? After all, you were the one who said you didn't want me." Aragorn had never seen Legolas so bitter and filled with complete hatred before, but he knows for a fact nothing has ever scared him so much as this.

"I didn't say that, Legolas!" It's an outburst, a sudden streak of anger that Aragorn can't control; it's been bottled up inside him for weeks, and he isn't sure if releasing it has helped or just made things considerably worse. The expression on Legolas' face still remains cold, but a sudden flare of shock rises in his eyes.

"I didn't… say that, you idiot. I just said… we couldn't continue our… relationship, dammit," Aragorn continues. "It's not worth it, losing our friendship over something as… as trivial as this."

Legolas turns to look at Aragorn, and it's the first time in a long, long time that they've made eye contact. It feels strange, unfamiliar, now that they haven't done it for so long, but they hold it for a surprisingly long time; for a while, Aragorn forgets about Arwen.

It's just him and Legolas now.

"I…" the Elf's voice is faltering now, and Aragorn swears he sees tears in Legolas' eyes. Legolas won't say anymore, no, he can't – the tears are falling freely now, and he can't stop, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from Aragon.

It's too late to try and be subtle about it, anyway – Aragorn's already leaned forward, not caring what Legolas would say in response, and wrapped his arms around him, letting Legolas lean his head against his shoulder. It's a small gesture, but it means the world to the elf.

He cries until the rain eventually passes away.

"How long is this going to last, Aragorn?" Legolas asks, smiling slightly as the king runs his hands through his hair. He doesn't need to expand on the question, for Aragorn already knows what it's referring to. He chuckles slightly before he responds.

"Forever."