A/N: I like writing stories without dialogue while high on caffeine.
Requiem
. . .
What they have is not love.
Matthew knows this.
What they have is a scene of a drunk staggering through the door, crimson eyes hazy and angry as he slurs something unintelligible. And, like always, Matthew stands from where he'd been curled up on the couch without question. He walks over to Gilbert and simply embraces him, ignoring the clock that reads 3:00 am.
Matthew can smell the alcohol from Gilbert's ragged breaths. He can also smell the sickeningly sweet stench of cheap perfume, and his hearts ache just a little, but he's okay. He's used to it.
"I was so worried," he whispers against Gilbert's neck. His eyes are squeezed shut, hands clutching almost desperately at the back of Gilbert's shirt.
Gilbert doesn't reply, only reaching up to pull Matthew's head back for a kiss.
In the morning, when they lie in bed with sheets askew and limbs tangled, the only thing stopping Matthew from leaving is Gilbert's arm wrapped around him(almost lovingly) and the sense of adoration that rushes through him when he looks at Gilbert's face.
So Matthew Williams stays.
. . .
Their story is not a love story.
Because, Matthew reasons, love stories are sappy, gushy - and he knew for sure that his and Gilbert's relationship is not like that. Love stories are built with words of love and never-dying passion; their relationship is built with secret meetings, hurtful words, and sometimes the slipping of Matthew's name, on Gilbert's part. And love stories always seem to end in tragedies, anyway.
Once upon a time, their relationship might have been something akin to a love story. There had been those nights, Matthew's favorites, when Gilbert would come over and just hold him while they watched Johnny Depp.
Now it's just sex and afterwards Matthew would feel so used.
He knows he could say something. He should, and he would, but he can't bear to risk losing someone like Gilbert. So he won't.
But he can't help feeling that they might be heading for a tragedy after all.
. . .
One day, Matthew asks, "Gilbert, why do you never say you love me?"
For a few heartbeats, there is only silence from the other man.
Finally, the reply comes. "It's implied," Gilbert answers, and says no more.
. . .
What they have is not even remotely close to love.
Matthew knows this painfully, but he's always willing to digress. He's always willing to forgive, always willing to take Gilbert back with open arms. No matter how many different names Gilbert whispers when they're in bed, no matter how many nights Gilbert appears drunk on his doorstep, no matter how many times his heart breaks
and
breaks
and
breaks.
. . .
"Mattie, you know that I love you, right?" Gilbert's arms are suddenly around him and Matthew, slightly panicked, looks around, because he doesn't think that Gilbert's dared to be this affectionate in public before. "After all the shit I put you through, you know that I love you?"
"Of course," Matthew replies truthfully. He's doubtful, but when Gilbert kisses him chastely on the lips, he decides he'll believe him this time.
. . .
What they have is not love.
Because love, as defined, is a deep affection for another.
(And maybe they won't last for much longer, maybe Matthew's perception of this is wrong-)
What they have is something stronger, brighter, something that is unmeasurable in words.
But perhaps, as Matthew finishes writing 'Requiem' at the top of the page, perhaps this would be able to do the trick.
A/N: I banged this out on my laptop for about three hours. I lost track of what Gilbert and Matthew's relationship was supposed to be like near the middle. I apologize for wasting ten minutes of your life. -.-
Also, the title's up for interpretation. :P