-1It was strange how just these little visits had brought him joy and had got him grinning at that 'I'm almost there' phone call he'd get before them.

Gaspard had headed out for a rare summer get together before, but usually school hindered him from visiting when the other did. It upset Gaspard, but he didn't know how much different things tended to be when he wasn't around.

He'd open the door and a bundle of laughter would greet him. Shorter than him, lean and lanky from running all the time, the college boy always wore a grin for a greeting. He had a habit of wearing gym shorts no matter wear he went, even here. It was like he anticipated the chance to go jogging. He supposed the teen's wear for school was different but he was just most accustomed to those shorts in casual dealings. He wore a plain shirt most times, maybe some design or a sweatshirt, his hair in a ponytail. It wasn't as long as his PC's, only reaching his mid back, and was lighter in comparison to his own hair.

This figure was just always beaming when in the doorway. It gave him a hello and would slip into the apartment like it was his own.

Things followed a pattern in this break from the World and reality in a full swoop. Silabus, who was Yuichi and he knew it but felt better saying the PC nickname, would bring a bag of video games in a tote bag and his M2 D because it had become nearly a part of him. Kuhn would have movies splayed out on the floor like a rainbow on display for easy picking. They'd settle in on the couch and talk about things, watching some comedy they drew out of the small batch usually.

Things always started out normally like this, but eventually collapsed into something hectic. It was something weird about their chemistry that wouldn't let them just remain normal. Something about the little shadow cast on Silabus' inner thigh when his shorts rode up while sitting always caught his eye and gravitated him closer until they did clash. He'd have that thin body down somewhere on the floor, writhing and fidgeting and moaning below him in no time if he was eager enough.

He'd kiss him from head to toe and those shorts would find a new temporary home, sometimes even flung aside to get a giggle out of the young male, especially if it caught and wound up hanging off of something. He learned how to tease him, that that patch of skin on opposite sides of his inner thighs was his favorite place to be nipped in teased because it was so dangerously close to his length and his legs were sensitive enough as it was.

The little mewls that would purr out of his throat and that certain curl of his lips when he'd moan out his name, PC or real, would always make him fall in love again and again and again.

It was the only person he'd studied, in their time of being like this even if not truly together, just where to kiss him, the right spots to touch him, to touch his tongue to him. What angles to arch him and hit him inside at to make him shout so loud one would think he was being murdered instead. He knew how to leave this kid a panting mess but still grinning like an idiot to which he could grin back just as dumbly.

And somehow, together, they could be completely drained from fucking like a couple of animals and laugh until their lungs hurt from some random little comment that might pass between them. It was just how they were. How comfortable they were together.

But things fell apart when the World did for him. When he had to leave, everything tumbled around in a metaphorical whirlwind and went down the proverbial drain. He'd never seen spite in those eyes before. Never.

Maybe he was foolhardy to think that, when he rang up that little call, that invite for a visit, the promise that he'd even try to get Gaspard's mother to let him swing by as well, he'd get an 'ok' like any other time. He thought the slamming of the phone a harsh but nice touch though.

Silabus couldn't hate, but he surely could feel betrayed.

Kuhn couldn't blame him at all.

This was the only time he'd ever been denied one of their little meet ups, Kuhn thought, as he lay on the couch with a lazy hand slipping under the waistband of his jeans. He was just as hurt, even though Silabus had no fault. He'd hurt himself. He'd made this all happen and it was the end of days for how life was. Happiness was fleeting, right? Something so perfect was an impossible constant. He'd learned that. Over 900 times.

What was an extra mess up anymore?

i This one was so different though... /i

But he could still feel like it was like before. Some comedy he didn't remember the name of playing on the TV as a background noise. His own pants, sighs, echoing emptily on his walls. It almost sounded like someone else was with him. He could still moan out his name and tease an invisible lover with words, right?

His head tipped back sharply when he came, and he left it there while he was catching his breath, and his dulled eyes stuck to something. He started to laugh and laugh so joylessly as he moved his hand from it's place, putting the clean hand over his reddened face. The dampness growing wetter on his face just made him laugh even harder and harsher.

The best way to punctuate a falling through, he thought, was a pair of red gym shorts hanging off a computer desk.