Present
The front door jumped open under his hands and the sound of it being opened much too forceful ripped through the hall, just as the bang it left as the door was slammed close seemed to rip through the whole house. It was followed by the much quieter sound of a key being turned in the lock and a door latch being moved, but although by far not as loud, it sounded heavy with accusation.
Taking slow steps backwards and away from said door, Phil stared at it, as if it could suddenly burst into a million pieces, revealing... the ugly face of his own guilty conscience. But the guilt was already here, wasn't it? In this room, this house? With him? It had haunted him ever since he had hauled those nasty words at Stephen, had accompanied him while he had tried to get away from the other man as fast as possible to hide here, and somewhere along the way a part of that guilt had doubled ist effort to arrive here in advance of him. It fucking surrounded him like a sickening smell.
Turning around, he found himself at the threshold t his living-room and... stopped dead as his eyes fell on the torn comic. And suddenly he felt sick to the stomach.
Once more he ran, this time away from the comic and up to the relative safety of his bedroom, where he also locked the door. For a long moment he simply stood there in the middle of the room, unable to even move a finger. It felt like al ittle eternity to him until he somehow managed to eventually will his feet to move, to carry him over to the bed, where he lay down, wrapping the duvet around himself like a shield. Only... that this shield was by far not strong enough to hold it all off. And the bed... it felt much too big. Too empty. This bed wasn't a safe place and the shield he was hiding under wasn't really a shield. The only shield that had ever really kept him safe, made him feel safe and had held all the bad things at bay... was Stephen.
Stephen... Huh... His stronghold. His own white knight in shining armor...
Stephen... Stephen...
His mind wailed under his torn feelings, under the weight of his thoughts. It was... so goddamn, agonizingly loud in his head.
But then sudenly... something deep within him shifted and almost as if the channel had been switched, the noise in his head dimmed to a background buzzing, while a movie for which he hadn't paid started to play in his head. A prime-time movie with overlength and in Full HD with Dolby Surround 7.1, showing him once again a best-off of their friendship. Every important detail. And... so many innocent and on the first sight not so important... yet even more important... details.
Eventually the movie was over and suddenly his mind quietened. Where the noise had been was nothing but a big, wide nothing now and into that nothing seeped a realization. Or maybe not really a realization, because if he stopped kidding himself for just one second... he'd already known it... This... it was more than just being friends.
He had feelings for Stephen.
It was the truth, not matter how much he wished it wasn't. It didn't help to close his eyes and pretend that it wasn't like this. He had tried it already, to tell himself that he did not have feelings for a man. This man. Back then when he had been sitting in the hall for hours after fleeing from Stephen's place... thinking. And today, before he ran into Stephen. Admitting the facts to himself, only to push it all away as far as even possible? Just like he had done with Stephen today. Away and out of his life. If the problem wasn't there, wasn't a part of his life, it wasn't a problem. Right?
Fuck... no...
He was going round in circles here. All those thoughts... he'd been thinking them a hundred times in the past days... Again and again. Play, stop, rewind, play again. Like a bloody vortex he was caught in, with a shadow of blue eyes and the faint scent cinnamon casting over it...
I don't know if you have the slighest idea how much you mean to him. On so many levels, Phil. Don't hurt him, okay?
Those words were haunting him. Stephen's eyes, full of sadness and sorrow hautend him, had burned themselves deep into his soul. He barked a single, sharp and much too bitter laughter. What on this bloody world wasn't hauting him at the moment?
Turning onto his back, he stared up to the ceiling, while his fingers curled into the sheets. This all was Stephen's fault. It was his fault, because he'd wanted them to be friends. And it was his fucking fault, because he'd put up with him being Punk, because he was too much the white knight. If Stephen wouldn't have been Stephen all the time, then... maybe...
„Fuck you," he hissed and with a hiss he rolled out of the bed.
Unlocking the door he ripped it open, the handle colliding hard with the wall, but he didn't care. All but running down the stairs, he headed straight for the comic to get rid of the last bit of Stephen in his life. His fingers grabbed the heap of torn paper and... and he sank down to the floor kneeling there while his fingers closed tighter around the paper, not to throw it away but to lift it up, to press it against his forehead. Green eyes were screwed shut against hot tears which rose in them.
„Fuck you..." he repeated, but this time the words were not wrapped into a hiss but a whisper, desperate and folorn.
The hand holding the comic sank down to his knees, never letting go of it. With a shuddering little sob Phil bowed his head, opening his eyes again and he didn't even try to blink the tears away. It would only have been a futile attempt anyway. The hot droplets ran down his cheeks, fell onto his hand, the comic, seeping into the paper to leave dark spots on it.
He'd never before felt more trapped within himself than he felt this very moment, more alone and there would be no Stephen to pull him out of this hole, because he couldn't let him do it. If he wanted Stephen to be part of his life again someday, he needed to get over this first. And to get over this, he needed to make sure that he would not be part of his life until that day... hoping that Stephen would forgive him...
Next day
Don't fucking touch me, Farrelly! Just leave me the fuck alone, I need air to breathe!
Hard words, etching, cutting, leaving a deep wound behind. A wound that was as fresh as it had been yesterday, the moment Phil had left it in Stephen's heart.
I can't go on like this, Farrelly. I want my life back. Stay away from me.
He wouldn't have thought that this could happen. That it would happen. Not after all the time. Not... after what Phil had said to him back at his house that night the day before yesterday. He hadn't found sleep last night. What happened... it wouldn't let him. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself unable to just let go and rest a little, because his thoughts just wouldn't stop whirling.
Uncertain, distressed, torn, scared... and so many more things he'd seen in Phil's eyes. Anger, too. Confusion. Like a shadow, darkening those green eyes which had looked at him so much softer not long ago, filled with trust. Affection.
He still couldn't understand what had happened. If Phil had noticed something...
With a sigh he braced his elbows on his knees. He was sitting in John's locker room on this chair, while John and Randy were doing their job out there. John had asked him to wait, so they could go out for a drink and some talking afterwards, but the longer he sat here, waiting, the more he thought that he should simply leave, because John and Randy should use the time to sort things out.
After the collision with Phil yesterday in the corridor, John had been... John. Worried. Randy had been, too, after John had told him what had happened. It was good to know that there were people who cared for him, but... No. No, he couldn't steal their precious time. He wanted them to be happy together again and putting his own problems as extra weight on their shoulders wasn't of help.
„Phil!"
John's voice boomed through the corridor, but Phil didn't react. If he just didn't want to react or if he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't hear it, Stephen had no idea and really, did it matter? What mattered was that the man he loved had just opened the door to his life, had pushed him out. Three years wiped away. Just like that.
„Let him," he said quietly, closing his eyes.
His heart hurt. A pain he'd never felt before. Consuming. Wrapping his good arm around his middle, he dipped his head forward and groaned.
There was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently in an attempt to give some comfort.
„He has no right to treat you like that, Stephen," John said as quietly. „I could..."
„Don't! " Stephen hissed, regretting it immediately. „Sorry. I... Just let him go. I know yer only want to help, but..."
He trailed off, not wanting to tread on John's toes with finishing the sentence, but this was John and John somehow always understood.
„You think if I go talking to him it'll make it only worse," John finished the sentence for him then, no hurt but understanding lying in the words.
Giving the blond man a tiny nod, he gazed at him. A quiet sigh passed John's lips and his brows furrowed in sadness and worry as their eyes met and then he steered him in a less busy corner of the corridor, reaching up to wipe tears away Stephen hadn't even noticed running down his face.
„Stephen... you should tell him what you feel."
„I can't," Stephen whispered, biting back the tears which just wouldn't stop falling. „He'll never even look at me again if he knows the truth."
„You don't know that," John replied and shook his head slightly no as Stephen wanted to cut in. „But what I know is that you mean something to him. Usually he snaps at people, makes jokes about them or simply ignores them, but he never freaks like this. And really, do you think going on like this is better? It'll kill you."
And John had been right. It was killing him. But he was also scared about what would happen if he told Phil that he loved him. He doubted that Phil would even give him a chance to say even one word.
His eyes swept over to the door. Phil was somewhere out there in the building, but except on a screen in the backstage area Stephen hadn't seen him. He'd been watching Phil's match to get at least a few glimpses on him. He'd looked out for him in the backstage area, too, but somehow Phil was nowhere to be seen and he wondered if the other man had been watching him, too, as he'd been out there a few minutes ago for his microphone segment.
It was silly to hope that Phil would walk in here any second. Still he did. Hoping like the naive idiot he was.
Another sigh dropped from his lips while he kept staring at the door which was stubbornly staying closed and the longer he sat here, waiting, the more it felt like the walls of this room were inching closer, like the air around him was getting thicker. Too thick to breathe. He was torn between keeping on waiting for John and Randy and spend some time in the company of his best friends, those two people who might be able to distract him a little or just go and leave a note that they should focus on getting back to being the couple of the century again.
Absentmindedly he smoothed his good hand over the his splinted wrist, before feeling for his phone, retrieving the small device from a pocket and let his gaze drop from the door to the screen. The brightly lit surface showed nothing but his homescreen. No was the same merciless picture as every time he looked at it in the futile and silly hope it would show Phil's name.
Gritting his teeth against an all too familiar burning in his eyes, he did what he knew he shouldn't, because he would end up hurting even more. Like on autopilot his thumb moved over the screen, opening the stored messages.
- You promised to call me. I'm worried here, okay? -
A message from Phil he'd received three days ago, from that night Randy had stayed at Phil's place, while he'd been staying with John. He'd kept that message, because... because... Huh, he had no idea. Maybe because it said that Phil was worried about him. And it did hurt. A burning pain, reaching deep into his very core... to meet all the pain that was hidden there, rolling in waves against the damn that held all the misery at bay. But that dam was about to break.
No. No... he couldn't stand it any longer, the waiting here, knowing that Phil was in this building, too, maybe even close without him knowing it., without being allowed to be Phil's White Knight, his big white oaf. Or at least simply a friend.
He rose from the chair like an old man, groaning quietly as his body protested, aching due to the lack of the rest during the past days. His eyes fell on a script lying on a table and he took it, wrote a short message on its back and placed it carefully on John's bag.
I'm sorry.
Not much but it would be enough to explain. John would understand. Like always. Taking a deep breath, Stephen braced himself and left the room...
Walking along the corridors, he greeted familiar faces, dodged the one or aother unwanted conversation and invitation for a drink, all this passing in an absentminded blur, while his eyes kept seeking for the one person his heart longed feet were moving, his voice was working and his lips were smiling. He was functioning. And it was what he would need to do in the future. Just... functioning. Somehow. Being professional, doing his job, even if Phil would be involved. It scared him though, because there were those... issues... Phil had with him standing between them. And his own feelings for a man who had told him to stay away. Sure, he could go to Vince and ask him for storylines which wouldn't involve Phil, but... Vince would ask him questions. Them both. Questions he didn't want to answer and Phil...? Well, Phil most likely also had not interest in giving answers and it would make things only worse. It would make Phil even more angry.
„Fuck..."
Pressing the heel of his good hand against his forehead, he tried to stop his head from spinning. He was so sick of it. And ever since yesterday there was this feeling lingering in the back of his neck, the feeling that made him want to run away.
The door to the parking lot flew open as he gave it a hard push, colliding with the wall and the loud crashing sound ripped through the semi-dark quietness. With quick steps he rounded a corner, fishing for the key with his eyes already searching for his car, as he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. His steps slowed down as he took a closer look, until he came to stand froze to the spot.
This was absurd. There he saw Lesnar, cornering Phil. A fucking déjà vu. Like a goddamn neverneding story. And he wasn't sure if he should laugh or... be angry? Go away or go over and do what he'd done for the past three years? Keep Phil safe? It didn't make a difference if he went over there now and made Phil even more angry. At least he would get out of this in one piece... yet...
His feet already moved before his mind had made the decision, bringing him over to the two man who hadn't noticed him yet. He heard Lesnar growl something, saw Phil tilt his head back as he closed his eyes, sighing exasperated. A fuck off followed and with that Phil wanted to step around the broad frame blocking his way, but a hard push later he was staggering back against the wall. And then Stephen was there, his eyes locking with Phil's surprised ones over Lesnar's shoulder, but that surprise drowned in dull anger in a blink.
It was scorching, that anger, but Stephen held the other man's gaze as his hand closed around Lesnar's upper arm, spinning him around and with a growl of his own the gave him a hard push, a second, sending him about two meters backwards. And away from Phil.
"Yer just can't let him be, can yer?" he said very calmly as he glared down on the smaller man.
The feeling in the back of his neck morphed to the alarming urge to beat the man in front of him to a bloody pulp and he wondered if he was about to lose it, because he'd passed the point of being able to withstand this whole shit.
"I told yer to stay away from him," Stephen hissed as he inched closer, feeling a certain satisfaction as Lesnar's face twitched nervously.
"This is none of your business, Farrelly."
Phil's voice, sharp and cold, washed over him like a freezing shower.
"So yer rather want to be beaten up again?" Stephen huffed, holding Lesnar's gaze and the amusement he suddenly found there made him want to wipe it away forever.
"I don't need your fucking help!" Phil spat.
"And I sure as hell won't let him put his hands on yer."
"Just fuck off!"
"No."
"What is your fucking problem?!"
You are my problem. The fact that I'm in love with you is my problem, that I don't know what to do anymore is my fucking problem. It was what cut through Stephen's persistently whirling thoughts and maybe it was just because he was too exhausted, but his eyes closed on their own accord, brows furrowing in sorrow… only for the shortest of moments. When he opened his eyes again, he watched as the amusement on Lesnar's face gave way to a realization which made Stephen's skin crawl.
"You have a thing for Brooks," Lesnar murmured in confused surprise and the laughter that followed those words was… sick… and then a broad grin stretched on his face. "Who would have guessed?" Lesnar snorted, slightly shaking his head no. "So you're gay now, Farrelly? Do you want to shove your dick up his ass? Or… maybe you want him to…"
"You're sick, Lesnar," Phil hissed, cutting the man off, but the grin stayed in place.
"What a shame," Lesnar added quietly but highly amused. "All the time you're playing hero for him and he's not interested."
Stephen felt Phil's eyes rest on him and he could also feel the question lying in the gaze. And it was back, that feeling that made him want to run away. Lesnar had smelled the rat and now… now Phil… knew. His chest constricted and his heart sank. For a too long moment quietness reigned.
Then: "Stephen?"
The weird note in Phil's voice, something between a question, shock and an emotion he couldn't name made the hair on his neck stand on end. Straightening up to his full height he squared his shoulders and stepped back from Lesnar. He couldn't look at Phil. And he couldn't answer his unspoken question. All he could do was making sure Lesnar wouldn't touch Phil again and… leave Phil's life.
"Keep yer hands off him, Lesnar. I swear, if yer touch him again, I'll break every single bone in yer body," he pressed out instead and somehow he even managed to make it sound threateningly enough to see it sink into the other man's crazy mind.
With that he turned away and walked away from them, but after a few steps he heard someone follow. Involuntary he quickened his pace, but it was of no avail.
"Is Lesnar right?" Phil snapped from behind him.
And he still couldn't look at Phil, couldn't answer.
"Open your goddamn mouth, Farrelly! Is he right?" the other man snapped again and suddenly he was at Stephen's side, grabbing his arm.
Shaking the hand off, Stephen whispered: "Does it matter?"
"Tell me you didn't lie to me the whole time…"
Disappointment was heavily coating those words. Stepping right in front of him, Phil blocked his way, hauling a bitter and accusing liar at him and he stopped, closed his eyes to fight down his own raging emotions and while he did, there was a push against his chest. And a second. A third push though never followed. Something deep withing him snapped as everything became too much.
His eyes snapped open and the very moment Phil wanted to push him for third time, he shoved the smaller man back with enough force to make him stumble backwards three big steps and against the hood of a car. Phil gave a surprised grunt as the back of his thighs hit the hood, reaching back to catch himself and push away from the car, but with big strides Stephen was right there in front of him. Coming to stand between his legs, he pushed him back down on the hood. This had to end.
With a sound that wasn't quite a growl nor a hiss, the smaller man tried to shove him away. Without success. Somehow he got a hold of Phil's wrists, maybe even grabbing them tight enough to be painful. His own sprained wrist fucking hurt under the strain, but he didn't care, only grabbed Phil's wrists tighter. With a quiet growl he pinned them above the other man's head against the hood, holding them there and while he pressed closer, trapping Phil between his own body and the car, he heard him hiss in frustration. But Stephen never let go.
Eventually he felt the struggling against his hold lessen, felt the resistance subside until Phil just lay there, slightly trembling against him, but for a long moment he refused to look at Stephen. For that moment the air between them was filled with only their heavy breathing that calmed down slowly. The truth was out. Phil knew now and Stephen could do nothing but hope... hope for something that was a naive wish at best. He couldn't go on like he had done for so long. Eventually he loosened his hold on Phil's wrists enough to give him the chance to pull them out if his fingers. But Phil remained unmoving.
For a long second he closed his eyes, before his heart made a decision. No matter how much he wished for a wonder to happen... it was enough. He had nothing to lose anymore...
Leaning in close to Phil's ear, he allowed his lips to ghost over its shell as he murmured: „One..."
A shudder ran through the body pressed against his own and he reveled in that tiny reaction for a brief moment, before he dropped a hand to Phil's waist, letting it travel further down to a thigh. Fingers splayed, smoothed over to the inside... digging into the thick muscles there to pull the leg up. He heard Phil's breath hitch, felt another shudder run through him and those tiny reactions were addictive in the worst way. His forearm slipped under the other man's knee to pin him harder against the hood as he pressed closer to the smaller frame.
And finally Phil met his gaze, the green orbs unreadable but darkened, deep, drawing Stephen in...
„Two..." he whispered, his gaze dropping to tempting lips for a heartbeat and flicked back up to those fascinating eyes.
And then... uncertainty. Heavy in the green depths. Every single fiber in Stephen's body screamed to kiss Phil, to claim him as his. He loved him, so unbearably much that it hurt and he couldn't hold the pain at bay any longer.
There was the tiniest of twitches around Phil's eyes as he brought their lips close, breathing: „Three."
Phil stilled completely beneath him, holding his breath and Stephen watched as something flickered in the green orbs. For a long moment they stayed like this. And then Stephen let go of Phil's wrists and leg, stepped back while his heart called not to. This was wrong. He couldn't do that to Phil... His hands dropped to his sides, clenching to fists as he fought another wave of consuming pain, followed by sorrow... and numbness. Confusion washed over Phil's face as he straightened up slowly.
„I didn't fall in love with yer on purpose and I have never overstepped the line. I would never have forced meself on yer," Stephen said quietly, traces sorrow lacing into his otherwise oddly monotone voice. „Yeah, yer are right, I lied to yer but... I did tha because I didn't want to lose yer. All I wanted was to be yer friend, Phil." Taking another step back, he once again closed his eyes for a second and swallowed hard, before meeting the other man's gaze again. „Yer want me out of yer life? Okay then, yer win. I won't bother yer again."
Stephen's words died away, leaving only... nothing... behind. The numbness got stronger and he welcomed it. He was sick of hurting... The confused expression on Phil's face stayed, and it seemed as if he wanted to say something. Maybe. Maybe not. With an exhausted, defeated sigh Stephen turned away from the other man, not waiting if he would speak eventually, and with that... he walked away from the one being who owned his heart...
