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Summary: Yeah, you all know the story :) It's the 16th of July 2010, they finally go home together. While watching this clip I wondered about Christian's reactions, so I tried to catch them, in a way... I tried to be as logical and reasonable as possible... maybe someone could review my story and tell me if I'm anywhere near that… This is only the beginning, I also wrote the not-seen behind closed doors actions after they went home together (I'm crap at smut, so nothing graphical – sorry) but first wanted to see if anyone think it's worth uploading more.

Let's go home.

I wake up, miserably as ever since he set foot in my life. Spend the day with pushing my business Absacadabra by spreading flyers all over the square. Jane's laughing about my magic wand idea and I pretend to laugh with her. As well as pretending to everything being okay when spotting him at his family's stand.

Just a few days ago… I'm cured… He's touching me, we both feel the electric shock bolting through our bodies. Cured… ridiculous. He's not stupid. He knows there's no such thing as cure. It's just… his only hope that, maybe, there's a way for him to not lose his family, his entire community. For that he's ready to give up everything else. Not only me (I'm not stupid either; he can hardly live happily ever after with me, just across the street from his bigoted parents) but everything that is him. Sometimes I hardly know him when he's around his family. With me he's just Syed. Funny, open, charming Syed. With them… always son and brother, always obedient, always Muslim. Yes, Mum. Thanks, Dad. No, I can't make it, Christian… Mosque, you know?

…I told him to get stuffed.…

He's shouting my name across the square. Coming up to me. Telling me what I wanted to hear ever since this therapy started. He looks happy… I automatically flinch away when he's approaching me, all expectant smiles. No. I'm not his reward. All the more: He's happy about his decision in this minute. Fine for him. But the minute he's going to wake up in my bed the next morning he's going to think about his Mum, his Imam, his therapist. And before I know he'll tell me what I can't have because he can't. So no. I reject him. For everyone to see.

I'd like to go home and crawl up into a tiny little ball in my bed. Or go to my usual, taking home the usual, doing the usual with him. Only I know… Nothing's going to stop the thoughts. The Whys. The amazement about him freely shouting my name in the street. Nothing but excessive exercise so I spend the next hours with running. Running away from it all, only to end back in the square. Looks like trying to forget that he lives there too went all too well.

…I don't want a reward…

I could walk on, into the Vic, get pissed all over, burning something down to the ground. Instead I stop, turn my head and know he's serious. This doesn't change anything, but it leads to us standing in the middle of the street, me all sweaty and he all decidedly.

I told him a thousand times. Been there, done that. I'm not going to go back. Taking all the blame of his family for snatching away their first son. Taking his game of loving-hating-loving. He talks about them. About his religion. About being gay and being Muslim. About needing help with the gay part. And I fall. Only this time he's falling with me, all honest and open smiles, and I never thought falling can be so good.

… And I don't think you can go to hell for having loved…

Their bond is broken. With such force there's no way back for him. Only forward, to my home. Our home.

Let's go home.