Hello! First story ever uploaded, yay! Still kind of getting the hang of this. This was written by Pixie and we'd rather appreciate constructive reviews. Thank you.
He was quiet, brooding, and mysterious. Intellectually genius, socially awkward. He strived to prove himself, to be something besides a freak, to belong and to be a part of something bigger than himself. He locked up his feelings to be unbreakable, but they damaged his inner self all the same. The more walls he put up, the faster they crumbled. Mastermind of deception and creator of the impossible, he only failed when it came to the human things; the emotions, the interactions, the relationships between himself and others that were always distant because he didn't understand them, and they didn't understand him. To always be a teacher to himself, to rely on logic as his other teachers, he knew nothing of the rest of the world.
And now he had no one to teach him how to bridge this gap, between him and the world, and he floundered on his own. Always internal, though. To be seen as anything but the image of calm, serenity, and control would further distance him from the few people he truly cared about, deep down in his buried emotions. So he suffered continually, suffered and debated until it was too late to change. The One that caused the majority of his turmoil was gone, gone forever to the unforgiving abyss that swallowed souls before their time.
The One was gone, and only the death of his...friend made him realize that the One wasn't just a friend, the One was his beloved; a special, unique person who treated him with the same respect he gave others, who didn't mind that he was closed and unemotional on the outside, because the One cared enough to learn that even though he didn't outwardly show it, he had emotions, he had opinions. The One saw through his facade; the One knew a twitch, almost imperceptible, of the lips meant he was amused. A conscience effort to breathe steady and deeply was his control of his emotions slipping, so the One would always distract him by changing he topic to something logical, predictable, and comfortable for him to talk about, so he could regain his control.
It was illogical to wish for something that was impossible, but he nevertheless wished for the return through revival of Jim. He looked down at him. Peace finally rested on that brow, relaxed and unlined. Closed eyes of cerulean framed by hard cheekbones. Lips, frozen and dull, without that winning smile gracing it, was haunting. No blush or heat brightened that face, cold and pale as snow. Faint stubble speckled his chin. Hair, blonde, brushed off his face with a windswept style. Hands, warmed only by his own, were just another part of the limp body. Even, smooth, breathing caused that body to rise and fall in a steady pattern; steady because of the drugs and life support designed to keep him this way. He looked at the shell of his beloved, the shell of the person who cared for him, and made him realize that feelings were ok; they made a person stronger, not weaker.
He kissed the lips of his love once, their first. He shed a single, silent tear onto the other's cheek, and whispered "I love you" into that ear. He closed his eyes, letting him memorize the planes of that face, the placement of each hair. He could almost pretend Jim was sleeping. Almost. He opened his eyes and let go of his beloved's hand. He pulled the sheet up, over the face, and turned to the machine besides him. With a flick of a switch, a simple but difficult task, the gentle hum in the room was gone; it was eerily silent now. Only his breathing disturbed the otherwise still air. "Wait for me," he whispered to the lifeless body on the bed. He turned and walked out, without a glance back. He would never forget Jim, ever. He would never forget his greatest teacher, his true friend, his only love, his equal.
*You are never truly gone, as long as those alive remember you*