He turned around and through exhausted eyes looked at the boy sleeping beside him. A lazy smile kissed his lips as the boy woke up gently, and together they held their warm bodies in need for human heat under crisp, baby blue sheets. His love and himself would converse through coffee breaths during three hour breakfasts, oblivious to the ugly world living outside their window. In the bright glow of the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, his love and himself would entertain themselves with computerized pastimes. He never won. He always lost. But his disappointment was always brief, because his love would tackle him to the cool wooden floor and tickle his sides until his hysterical laughter filled his flat. Together they would lie down on the cool wooden floor and stare at the white ceiling, saying absolutely nothing. Just cherishing each others presence. Their hands entwined together, holding on so tightly that he could feel his love's pulse. It beat in time to his. He started to fall in love. Sweet, innocent, and shy.
They walked beside each other, their feet punching the ground. Soon, the hems of their jeans were soaking wet from the puddles of the previous night's rain. Their necks were wrapped in woolen scarves, combating the bewitching bite of the autumn breeze. His love caught a leaf floating in the late-afternoon wind, and laughed frivolously, the wind carrying his laughter to the horizon. The two boys walked, his love sauntering, while the other's shoulders were hunched, his demeanour awkward. They entered the coffee shop and each ordered a large cup of decaf coffee, knowing each other's existence was enough to keep them going. They sat by the window, on two chocolate leather armchairs. It had started to rain. Raindrops fell from the darkening sky, which was covered in heavy clouds. They kissed the window. The sun was beginning to descend, and the last of the late-autumn sunshine gave his love a tender peck. He was looking out of the window, with his coffee coloured eyes reflecting the rays, becoming a piercing mocha colour which defined the black streaks of his eyes. His hair was a dark brown, curly and unkempt. His lips wrapped around the edge of the white mug, and then curved in a sheepish grin. His lips parted to utter a few words. Around them people were exchanging thoughts and opinions through lipstick stained mouths and breathed in tobacco air. The brown eyed male smiled again, this time revealing his dimples. Something he never liked. But the other male did. He knew he fell in love. Profound, hopeful, and optimistic.
His love stuck his tongue out, trying to catch the purest of snowflakes. His childlike laughter rung through the still midnight air of winter, breaking the mountain silence. The aqua eyed male formed a snowball; an imperfect sphere. He aimed at the other boy, and threw it. The snowball hit the brown eyed boy square on the head. In retaliation, he made his own pure white snowball, and threw it to the other. A snowball fight commenced. Faces were hit, bruises were formed, and laughter emitted from each heart. They both fell on untouched snow and looked up at the stars. The stars looked like millions of tiny little fireflies dancing on a black canvas. Snowflakes blessed their faces with cool kisses and melted at their fingertips. It was a calm night, no wind and a mild flurry of snow fell from above. The silence was comforting, almost like it was needed. It was lovely breaking away from the usual cacophony of city noises. Breaths turned to steam the second it parted from their lungs. He was starting to get chilly. He pulled his coat tighter around his thin body, clinging on to any heat he could muster. The other boy must have sensed his discomfort. Swiftly, he got to his feet and pulled the ebony haired boy up to his. He pulled him down the sloping hill, being careful to avoid awkward slips and potentially hazardous tumbles. They had a small log cabin at the bottom of the mountain, not too far away from the ski resort, but far enough to get some privacy. He fumbled around for the key while the blue eyed boy behind him shivered once again. Once inside, a fire was started. The blue eyed boy went to the bathroom and stood under the shower, letting the hot water burn his skin. He liked the scalding sensation. It made him feel clean. It made him feel human. Funny, isn't it? Needing a substance to make you feel something. When he was finished, he stepped out and, under the dim lighting the bathroom had, he watched steam radiating from his skin. He chuckled. That had always amused him. He wrapped himself in a towel and stepped outside, dressing himself in an old pair of tracksuit bottoms and his favourite blue t-shirt. The cabin had two bathrooms. He suspected his love was in the other one. Candles were already lit. Around the room, playful shadows were cast by a curious orange glow. He lay down on the patchwork sofa. He hadn't noticed his head was pounding to the beat of his heart. It was almost rhythmic, but it still hurt. He longed for peace. He wanted comfort. He craved his love's touch. But instead he slowly drifted to sleep.
He didn't know when his love came out of the shower, but sometime in the middle of the night, when the candles were blown off and the window allowed moonlight to shine on the two lovers, he could feel his love behind him. He could feel the other boy's arms wrapped tightly around his small waist and his steady breathing behind his neck. The smoke from the aromatic candles, the smell of his coconut scented soap and his love's own scent mixed together filled the warm air in the cabin. It was intoxicating. He sunk into his lover's embrace and he could feel the solid heartbeat through his chiseled chest. The beat of his love's heart was like a symphony of many hummingbirds. It gave him peace. It gave him reassurance. It gave him something to live for. He knew he was in love. Exciting, passionate, and emotional.
The one with the blue eyes stared at the door, where his love took his departure. How can something so perfect end up being burned to the ground? He started hurting. His once intact heart had crumbled to ashes and he sunk to the floor, head bent down. Of course he didn't love him. How can someone so perfect and angel-like love someone like him? He didn't blame him though. He's surprised his love's stuck around this long. The lights were turned off and the flat was silent after the last echo from the banging of the door stopped. Everything was still. Everything was quiet. Everything had its place. But he didn't know what to do. He couldn't breathe properly, and any attempts were ruled out in fear of crying. He wasn't going to cry. He's never cried for a lover and he never will. This was a lesson learned. Love always ended up hurting someone. Love was only for people who conformed to society's standards. Love was pointless. Under the blanket of darkness, he curled in a ball and let sleep take him wherever. He had fallen in love. Broken, painful, and wasted.
Now, he's in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, which was covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. That incident all those months ago was still fresh in his head. His baby blue sheets shielded him from the chilly air and, most importantly, the unknown. The lights were turned off. The windows were closed. The blinds were shut. With each passing second his heart started to beat faster. He shut his eyes, only to be greeted by another abyss of darkness. Where was the peaceful dreamer he was once before? Where was the innocent child who would make up stories late at night? Where was the hopeful wisher who never slept and stared out across the city from the roof? He wasn't here. He was gone. Now, he slept whenever he had the chance. Sleep offered solace. Every waking minute his life crumbles apart, and he wouldn't let that happen. He's never let a love affect him like this before. And he would never let a love affect him like this. The sky of London was crying, heaving melancholy sobs. The blaring of sirens rung out through the night. The world was empty. And so was he.
He let a love affect him this way.
He promised himself he would never let a love affect him like this.
But it happened.
He fell in love, and never managed to fall out of it again.
There was no denying it. No matter how hard he tried.
He loved him.
And he was gone.
He may never see his love again.
How can someone live when their love left?
They can't.
A/N: There you go! My first ever one-shot :-) please tell me what you think! Any feedback is welcome :-)
And to those who are confused, this was from Phil's point of view (: