One should try something new every now and then. And here we have my first attempt on Punkena :)

It's a multi-chapter fic and we'll have ups and downs in here.

Well, for now have fun! Hope you'll like it :3

The smoke stung in his eyes, scratched in his lung with every breath he took, making it hard to breathe at all. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked rapidly, tried to make out where to go. It was hot, too damn hot and it fucking felt like his skin would melt on his body any second. It was getting hotter with every step he took further into the building and his head put up a fight against his heart, demanding from him to fucking turn around and run as fast as he could, because he knew he shouldn't be here now, knew better than to walk straight into a fire without fireproof clothing and his gear.

Get out of here, his head howled. Away from the danger.

But his heart was stronger and so he kept on walking through the smoke, stepping over knocked over chairs, tables, over bags, folders, boxes and debris, doing his best to avoide the fire. For a brief moment he stopped, took a look around while holding his bunched up hoody firmly over his nose. Every now and then his ears caught faint voices. Or at least he thought so. Involuntary he ducked a bit and looked up to the ceiling as the air, the room around him vibrated. But nothing happened.

He tried hard to remember the way and cursed under his breath. A breath he didn't have. He had been walking these goddamn corridors before without even giving a single thought about the way. Squinting into the smoke it almost looked like it's alive. Moving. Coiling, drifting, getting lighter and darker. Step by step, further, deeper into the choking, living veil… and it got louder, that sizzling noise and he knew what it meant. He was close now. Close to the fire.

Time was about to outrun him…

To say that he was afraid of this here, of what could happen, of not knowing if he got out of here alive… or if he could safe him… was an understatement but it was nothing compared to the fear that he would die in here.

It was luck that he had been late, that he hadn't been in the building when the explosion happened and that he hadn't been all too close to the building already on his way to pick Kofi up. A deafening loud bang. There had even been some a kind of a shock wave, not strong enough to send him on his ass but still strong enough to send pieces of glass flying from broken windows. For a long minute he'd been standing there, paralyzed, staring at the partly collapsed building and at rising smoke, underlined by screams, coming from the insides. And then… people, running out of the building. Injured, with burns, bleeding. Walking, limping, being dragged along, being carried. And the sound of sirens. The police, ambulances…

His attempts to help had been stopped by the police. His statement that he was a firefighter himself hadn't helped.

Not your district, step aside and let us do our job, man.

He knew they were right, were only doing their job. He would have said and done the same. And all the time his eyes had been searching the mass of people for Kofi and for… him. Searching without finding them. Too long. But then eventually his eyes caught Kofi, bleeding, leaning heavily on two other men as they tried to get away from the building as fast as possible. His feet had carried him over to his friend and to his relief Kofi's injuries hadn't been too bad. But…

Have you seen Phil? he had asked breathless, hoping that Kofi knew where Phil was.

Kofi had looked at him with dull, hooded eyes. Sad eyes.

We've lost him in the chaos, Kofi had said. We went to find him but a part of the ceiling came down…

His eyes had jumped from Kofi to the building and back to Kofi. Begging.

We've been close to the cafeteria on the third floor… the last time I've seen him… Kofi had told him weakly, desperation filling his voice. I let him down.

This all, it happened within only a few minutes… and he knew that the firefighters would arrive any minute… but…

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd already been running towards the building. A police officer had tried to stop him and there was a good chance now that he would be charged for civil disorder, maybe even for hurting an officer because he had simply pushed the man out of his way will all his might. And he for sure would lose his job.

He fucking didn't care.

The way up to the third floor was nothing but a blur. Injured persons, destruction… The floors had partly collapsed. Every time he'd found someone lying on the ground, he'd felt for a pulse. Always… nothing. And those who had survived tried to get out.

His steps quickened automatically as he heard voices again, getting louder, coming closer through the guzzling noise of the fire and the threatening little sounds that warned that the building wouldn't withstand this forever. And then he could make out three silhouettes through the veil of smoke.

Let it be Phil… please, let it be him…

A few more steps… and his tiny hope that one of those silhouettes would be Phil was crushed as he saw three of Kofi's co-workers he'd seen once or twice before, walking towards him. Their faces were stained with blood and dark trails of grime and sweat, mingling to a grotesque painting. They were walking slowly, because the man in the middle had obviously a broken leg. The men stopped for a moment as he walked up to them.

"Have you seen Phil?" he asked, but there was only shock and confusion on their faces as they looked at him. "Phil Brooks. Have you seen him?" he added, hoping that it would stir a reaction.

Then one of them nodded slowly as the question seemed to sink through his horror-stricken mind and he mumbled: "Cafeteria…"

"Which way?" John asked.

The man shook his head no and grabbed his shirt.

"Don't. The ceiling came down," the man rasped. "He is dead."

For a painful moment the world around him faded out, leaving nothing behind but those three words.

"How can you know?" he heard himself say, his voice distant.

"He's trapped under debries and…" The man coughed hard and his colleagues talked at that they had to get out of here. "He wasn't moving, didn't react when I called. And if he isn't dead already, he will be before you reach him. It's too dangerous, man."

Images popped up in his head. Seeing Phil lying there bleeding, helpless in the midst of this horror.

"Which way?!" John repeated sharply.

"It's suicide to…" the other man began, probably to talk some sense into him, but the determined expression on John's face made him fall silent. Then: "Down this corridor, the second corridor on the left. You'll get yourself killed, man."

"I'm not gonna let him die in there," John growled. "You get out. The firefighters should be on their way up here."

He hoped they were, because he when he went into the building the firefighters hadn't been there yet. Giving them a curt nod, he continued his way down the corridor, following the way the man had told him. On his way he tried hard not to give the obviously dead bodies which were lying on the ground too much attention. He'd seen these pictures before. Broken bodies. Blood. Destruction. Death. But it had always been when he was on duty, when he switched to autopilot to prevent himself from letting those images touch him. He'd never been in the situation that the life of one of his friends was on the line. Or the life of someone he was in love with.

This time it was different.

Phil. He had to find him. Get him out. Phil couldn't be dead. It was just not an option. John's mind spun and the noise in his head was as loud as the noise around him. And if he had been afraid of being in here, of maybe not getting out alive, not getting Phil out alive… is was nothing compared to the fear he felt now. The fear of finding him… dead.

Don't even go there, he's alive, he warned himself.

Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the images his mind kept bombarding him with, he hunched down beside a lifeless body and felt for a pulse that wasn't there and although he really tried not to give it too much attention, a part of him could not not register those nasty burns all over the body… it was a woman, a young woman with long blond hair, or rather what was left of it and… again he shook his head. He willed the autopilot to kick in. But without success. His mind kept spinning and his heart pounded in his chest.

His eyes found a bottle of water lying on the floor and he grabbed it, poured all its content over the bunched hoody and pressed the wettened fabric over his mouth and nose again and at least for now breathing was a bit easier.

The second corridor on the left… he'd already passed one and through the smoke he faintly saw the second one. And he also saw a faint but bright and orange light dancing in the smoky veil at the end of the corridor he was walking along.

His feet carried him further and into the corridor that led to the caferteria and through the big and wide open double door could see that there was fire in there, too. He was more running now than walking, because he was running out of time. The longer Phil was in there, the smaller were the chances that he would…

And then John's mind latched on all those things that could happen when Phil was alive. Because he was. Alive.

Fuck…

Burns. Broken bones. Internal injuries. Blood loss. Smoke poisoning. What if he had suffered head or spine injuries? What if…

John's hand which was holding the hoody to his nose and mouth sunk down as he stepped into the cafeteria. The ceiling had come down, yes… and it had buried half of the room. He saw smashed filing cabinets, desks, chairs and between the debries and beneath there were dead bodies. There was fire the kitchen area, too, and it would only be a matter of time until the gas bottles of the stoves would explode.

Gosh, no…

"Phil!" he called, but his voice was unsteady, cracking due to the biting air. "Phil!"

His eyes swept the room. They had said that Phil was trapped under debries, what meant that he had to be close to the collapsed part of the room. Again calling the other man's name, he walked deeper into the room. He didn't need to search long before his gaze fell on a tattooed arm. Phil was lying face down. Motionless. A floor beam was lying across his lower legs, pinning him to the ground.

Six steps, hurried, yet it felt like a little eternity.

Dropping to his knees beside the him, he quickly put his finger on the other man's neck, feverishly searching for a pulse and just as he was on the verge of despair… there was a faint beating against his fingertips.

"God, thank you…" he whispered, bringing his hand to Phil's grime-stained face, wiping a few strands of raven hair out of it. Leaning down a little, he called softly: "Phil? Can you hear me? Hey…"

There was no reaction. Letting his gaze roam the unconcious man, he tried to get a picture of the visible injuries. No burns, but various scratches, cuts and bruises. A big gash on his forehead. Gently he ran a hand over the dark hair. He had to get that damn floor beam off Phil's legs and their asses out of here as fast as possible, because he was already feeling dizzy and breathing was torture, but he couldn't lift the beam and pull Phil out from under it at the same time.

"Fuck…" he muttered and because he had no idea what else to do, he gave Phil a rough shake, a second and a third. "Phil! Open your eyes, dammit! Phil!"

He almost missed the barely audible moan and for a second he wasn't sure if Phil was coming round or… but then the other man opened his eyes a little, moaned again as he tried to bring a hand up to his head, but John took hold of it, leaning closer again. Phil's breathing was shallow, unsteady and wheezing, his eyes wandering around disorientated, most likely due to a concussion he'd suffered by the blow to his head. Again he ran a gentle hand over the other man's hair to draw his attention, but it took a few long seconds until Phil actually realized what was going on.

"John…?" he rasped, blinking very slowly.

"Yeah, I'm here," John replied, forcing a smile to his lips. Time is running, he reminded himself. "Listen, I need your help. There's a beam lying on your legs and I'll try to lift it. I need you to crawl out from under it, okay? Do you think you can do that?" But while he spoke, he saw Phil's eyes slip close again. "No, Phil, don't! Come on, stay awake! Phil!"

"… huh…?" he heard the other man breathe and slowly, oh so slowly Phil opened his eyes again.

"I need you to crawl out from under this goddamn beam, okay? Do you understand what I'm saying?" A groan. The tiniest of nods. And John doubted that Phil had the strength to crawl even a centimeter, but it was the only chance. "Okay, good. I'll try to lift the beam now."

He doubted that Phil had the strength to move and now that he was positioning himself over the beam, he also doubted that he himself was strong enough to lift that bloody thing. But again it was their only chance. His fingers closed around the beam. He closed his eyes.

And then he pulled.

The sound that escaped his throat was a distorted and desperate version of a groan as he fought to lift the crushing weight of Phil's legs. His muscles and his joints howled under the strain and for agonizing seconds nothing happened. Letting go of the beam, John cursed and ran his hands through his face. All it needed where a few fucking centimeters, goddammit…

"Go…" he heard Phil say weakly, the word fading off to a coughing.

"I'm not gonna go anywhere without you, you hear me?" he replied determined as he closed his fingers once again around the beam.

With a breathless shout he pulled, his muscles bulking, burning under the weight. He felt the beam slip a little in his grip and tightened his hold until his fingers were hurting. And he pulled… until his body was screaming, just as his mind did. Only a few centimeters…

And then he heard a pained cry coming from Phil, the sound making him want to laugh out loud in relief. The beam was moving. Eventually he saw Phil shift, saw him crawl forward ever so slowly. The handsome face was contorted in pain and it was the image he saw as he screwed his eyes shut, fighting to keep the beam away from Phil's legs. His whole body was burning in pain under the strain, his legs started to shake and his hold on the beam got weaker… and weaker… and he threw his head back and howled.

And then the beam slipped out of his fingers... and fell…

A month ago

Stepping out of the shower, John stretched, sighing at the relaxed feeling after a thorough workout and a long, hot shower. Grabbing a towel, he quickly got himself dried up, wrapped it around his waist and walked over to the window to open it and what greeted him was hearty laughter. It slipped into the room and filled the space the fading steam left behind.

It was a by now familiar laughter, one that managed to draw his whole attention and it was what had gotten him interested in its owner in the first place. Its sound was clear, hearty, sunny and honest. Free. It was a laughter that had the power to make one laugh, too, if one wanted it or not. Just because. It was infectious. And for a moment he let it wash over him, before he left his place at the window, quickly threw a pair of sweat pants on and went to his bedroom, where he sat on the extra wide windowsill, holding a book in hand. The window was partly open, so he could hear what was spoken – or rather hear that voice – and the book was nothing but and excuse to sit there without making him seem like a freak who was spying other people.

Other people were in this case his neighbor Kofi and a man called Phil, a co-worker and a friend of Kofi. Well, John and Kofi were friend's too, ever since they had become neighbors. That would be five years now. But somehow John and Phil had never met, although Kofi knew each other for about three years already.

A tiny smile flashed over John's face. He had found out a few things already about Phil without actually exchanging a word with him or asking Kofi. He knew all of it from watching and listening to them when Phil came over to Kofi.

It had started about a month ago with a situation similar to the one a few minutes ago. He had opened the window of the bathroom and Phil's laughter had caught him off-guard as it wrapped itself around him and trickled right into his heart like warm honey. That feeling was accompanying him ever since.

Warm honey…

He had no idea how long he'd been standing there, staring down at this man while his heart skipped beats in a way that he knew all too well. And the thing was… it wasn't only Phil's voice but also his looks. He was a handsome guy. Really. A lean frame… just how John liked it. And in addition he seemed to be funny. And nice. A perfect package, at least from afar.

Luckily his creepy spying had been undiscovered by the two men who had been sitting on the patio of Kofi's house. And every second or third day at the lastest Phil would drop in at Kofi's for a few hours and theyy would sit on the patio to John's hidden and guilty viewing pleasure. It had become a habit to John. Or rater… an addiction.

The sun was low over the horzion already and of a deep golden color and its warm rays danced over his bare skin like tender fingers. The book sank down to his thighs while he rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes to let Phil's voice wash over him again. He wondered if Phil would like him, too. If there was a chance that this man could be interested in him the same way John was interested. And maybe, after a months of only watching the object of his desire, it was time to talk to Kofi and ask him if he could introduce them. Kofi would understand. He knew that John was bi.

A sigh passed John's lips. What if Phil was straight? As lucky as John was usually, Phil was probably straight as an arrow. And once again he would end up with a broken heart, like so many times before, because he tended to fancy guys which were either straight or turned out to be assholes. Usually. But although he didn't know Phil, it felt… different. He couldn't put his finger on what it was but it was what he felt. Maybe he should invite them over for a Barbeque? Would be a good occasion, wouldn't it?

Opening his eyes again, his gaze automatically swept down to Phil. And then his heart plummeted to his guts as Phil met his gaze, looking right back at him with an unreadable expression. Lifting his book, pretending to go back to reading would have been a good idea. Closing his eyes would also have been an option. But instead he kept staring at the other man like a deer in the headlight.

Smooth, John. Very smooth…

After a moment or two Phil tilted his head a little to the side. John saw him speak but he couldn't make out the words. Obviously he was asking Kofi who the staring man was, because Kofi turned around in his chair, looking up to him. Calling a hey, bro up to him. And then he turned back around to Phil, who nodded slightly.

Andthen Phil waved at him… and the unreadable expression became a soft and beautiful smile, causing John's poor little heart to do somersaults in his chest, but he felt a smile of his own tug at his lips, a bright one as he waved back at Phil.

"Wanna come down, man?" Kofi called over his shoulder. "Got a cold beer waiting for you!"

"Coming!" he called back, the word escaping his mouth before he even realized that he was speaking.

Hopping from the windowsill, he made his way down to the yard, his heart beating in his throat in excitement, because, gosh, in a minute he would see say hello to the man he had a crush on and yes, he was acting like a silly schoolgirl here. When he reached the fence, Kofi was just vanishing in the house, probably to get something to drink, but John's eyes were fixed on Phil who just got up from his chair, coming towards him. As graceful as possible John hopped over the rather low fence and met Phil half-way, taking the hand which was held out to him. And John's heart, it stumbled in his chest.

"Hi, I'm Phil."

… warm honey…

And green eyes, sparkling… the soft smile on this handsome face… a faint, warm scent… sandalwood…

Beautiful…

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