Set directly after the last chapter. Told in Christian POV
"Well...I should get home. Have a good night."
His words run back and forth over me, their polite mundane tone slicing down at me. Now he goes one way, I go another. It is expected, it is regular.
It is unnatural.
My heart tells me I heard him call my name, my mind knows it is delusion. The gentle hover of his lip, the quiver of his chest, the silent plead in his dark brown gaze...my eyes remember how to hear him. They listen for him still.
Bone is drawn to him, legs beg to turn. I tell them to walk forwards. His eyes were not calling for me, I did not hear a thing.
I have not run to him, I am not at his door. Tired legs did move forwards. The hollow Tube drags me further still. Miles fall upon miles, yet memories chase me with cruel speed.
They need not hunt. I am draped in them. My chest is wrapped in cloth warmed with his affection; this is what I wear to move on.
...
Determined hands drag through each strand of hair, dishevelled, by him, for him.
A heated tongue probes my parted lips; its shy caress discovers courage in our taste. His kiss is firm, the soft strength takes my breath and I gasp with just the rub of his thumb on my lobe.
"I like that shirt," he breathes.
"The shirt?" I repeat, I have lost all sense.
"Mmmm..." he traces his finger tips over the silken cotton, "...it's very...you look...you look good."
It is tiny, insignificant, but the words let him seize my air for another moment. The smallest sign he gives me is everything.
...
Small is nothing, I need more. An anonymous club, intoxicating, liberating, deadening, is where I go to find it. The music seeps through my skin. The rhythm of my past pounds. Beats drown me and I hear him. Faces swamp me and I see him.
The hours pass and I shake him from me, I refuse to fall. Numbing, electrifying drink drives through me, courses my veins as if re-moulding me. I tell myself I have missed this. The club is filled, dripping with men I could have. I might do.
Conforming to the order, my eyes tell me I have seen something I want.
His hair is short, masculine. He is experienced in this, knows exactly what he's doing and would need no persuasion or scholarly interjection if I were to ask. He downs a vodka as I do, leaving me feeling less like an alcoholic. He is confident, sure, no wasted vulnerability in his eyes.
I want this.
...
Our lips merge and I stroke my hand through his hair, holding on as if he is mine, forever. He stops to nuzzle me with slightness and his tongue caresses the inside of my lower lip. He nibbles, motionless.
"You taste like whiskey," he laughs.
"You make me sound like a wino," I protest, with mock offence.
"No I think you need wine to be a wino..." he smiles, timid finger tips sketch the edge of my side. "...Even I can tell that's whisky."
"You're right, Sy. I'm practically tipsy." I bend with a whisper, low. "Feel free to take advantage of me."
He shifts his head, with a blush. He is beautiful. He needs me to lead, and I do. I take his hand and pull him gently towards me as I walk backwards to the bed. My hand moves to him, now on instinct. It runs through velvet hair and I watch as with a touch, I bring his darkened eyes to mine.
...
My heart watches as I let a strange arm touch mine.
"Can I buy you another?" I am asked, as I have been a thousand times.
It is the simplest of questions; it has never before been hard. Before him, things were never so hard.
I tell myself it can be easy, it is a comfort in the dark.
...
"It's fine when it's here in the dark though isn't it Syed?"
His broken eyes stare into mine and I know I hurt him, just as he hurts me.
"That's not fair," his head shakes the accusation from him.
"Except it kind of is. You're with me in here but you're not out there. And I get it, I do, and I put up with it, pretty patiently I think...but that doesn't mean I don't need some normal things sometimes. Going for a drink or something..."
"I just don't see why we should spend our limited time together in a room with other people, pretending."
"Then we don't go to the Vic. It's London, there's plenty of pubs out there Sy," and for a second I believe the simplicity of my words.
"I want to...you know I do. But the pretending...it'd still be there. And you'd hate it, I know you." He dips his sight from mine, ashamed of the truth I force him to pain me with. "You wouldn't be able to kiss me or just put your hand on my back. That can't change by getting on the Tube."
"It can though...if you wanted it to."
"It isn't as simple as that and you know it. Soho or Walford, it'd still be me. There are rules. This is isn't about what I want."
"Then we've got something in common Syed, 'cos this really isn't what I want."
...
I want him.
He is not here but he is everywhere. The memory of his scent feels more real than the figure that stands a breath from me. Brown lashes flit to the gold of his skin and his smile consumes me. I close my eyes to rid my sight of him.
The stranger's shape leans to my lips, a new smell and taste offer themselves to me. Yet the past tingles through my skin, it owns each cell, still. It promises me nothing but its claws digs in strong.
Thoughts of a future I will not have rush to me.
Sunday papers sprawled past warm sheets and threaded legs, he leans, leisurely. My open arm wraps the smooth of his spine, finger tips stroke soft skin of his side. I am passed my page with a smile, and hours pass again without a care.
Rox tips back another glass and I muse over the ease in which she now beats me. His soft laugh fills the crowded room, sure eyes dance between friends. My hand grazes his thigh and I watch my love's happiness.
The key rattles through the door, his voice calls for me. My lips press his, his back slides to the door. I was waiting, as always. I tug his tie, soft throat flesh is freed and I slowly worship that which I have craved for each past second of the day.
I blink the dream away. That life was never mine, I did not lose it. This is tomorrow now; it stands as a stranger at my feet.
And then I let him kiss me, because the one I want, I cannot have.