Absence of the Heart
By Kay
Author's Notes: Did not like chapter 2! I wanted this to be more serious. ::pouts:: So therefor, I've relinquished a little of the humor in favour of writing more slashy undertoned angst. Just a bit. ^_^ This is where it starts to get interesting.
... I'm going to disappoint the mass who want me to write a lemon. Can't do 'em. To shy.
It *will*, however, get pretty intimate, so to speak. There will be implication of stuff, *maybe*. (Have no idea how this ends...) Though I have a pretty good idea of what's happening next, wah.
Also-- I'm going to be an annoying and bad writer and switch POV halfway through this. MWAHAHAHHAHAAAA! ... I suck. Ahem. Anyway, I just felt like it, even though it's horrible taste. It just makes more sense anyway, so oh well.
... and last, but not least. THERE'S A CRICKET IN MY HOUSE. x_x
~~~~
They didn't find the room.
Christopher, after finally running out of energy while dragging poor Jalil to and fro, gave up after accidently bursting in on two poor guests. Said guests were actually man and wife, former quite burly and formidable, and in easy capability to rip them both into shreds. (Thankfully, even as the man started towards them threatingly, he seemed to realize he was still without much clothing.) Naturally, a quick exit was made-- straight out of the hotel.
Now, walking around hurriedly in the dark, Jalil was feeling very irrational and annoyed.
And sober. Very sober.
"What the hell were you thinking?! You weren't even sure if it was the room, and you went ahead without even checking! What if we'd gotten killed?!"
Christopher glanced back at him, with a serious study that was unlike his character. After a moment, he said, "I liked you better when you were drunk."
"Oh, thanks," Jalil replied sarcastically. "I liked you better when I was drunk, too."
Opening his mouth like he was about to make a stinging retort, Christopher stopped and quickly pursed his lips together. After that, the blonde turned ahead to watch the buildings for a new hotel, and refused to speak. Which was fine with the dark-eyed teenager trailing after him, shivering. It was cold out, chilling the skin revealed by his loose garments-- they'd left their heavy clothing in the hotel room.
"Maybe we should go back," he finally said quietly. "I remember the room number..."
"Oh, now you remember it," Christopher snapped, refusing to look at him-- there was embarrassment and shameful fury colouring his words. The mere sound of it made Jalil wince. Obviously Christopher was sober by now, as well as he, and very upset at what had taken place... or would have taken place.
It also made Jalil upset... but he felt a little hurt, too.
'You didn't have to sound like it would have been awful...' some quiet part of him whispered. A part that Jalil's quickly and angrily shoved somewhere else, not liking the sound of it.
Of course Christopher would have hated the idea once he was thinking straight. Christopher didn't even seem to like gay people-- he was a racist, after all, most of them held the same ideas. And he certainly didn't like Jalil any time in their short history, always annoyed or making cruel jibes at him about his skin colour or origin. No, he didn't like Jalil at all-- excluding the past few hours... hours of things Jalil hadn't dreamed of seeing in Christopher...
He remembered their conversation in the bar. Vaguely, at least. Parts of where they had talked about things they'd actually agreed on-- silly things, sometimes, but mutal agreements all the same. And the look of Christopher laughing, the light playing on his blonde hair like streams of sunbeams. The jokes they'd made, stupid as they were, without any thought to being mean. And the intensity of those dark blue eyes when he leaned forward to kiss him--
'Don't think about it anymore. You'll hate yourself for it.'
It didn't matter anymore, anyway. Christopher wasn't warm anymore. He was like a statue, silent and unmoving as he walked ahead of Jalil, showing only the straight curve of his back.
If Jalil had a heart then... and not a ruby glittering in his chest... it might have contracted painfully.
'For a while... it was nice to be liked by you...'
For a moment, Jalil's eyes flashed in dark, silent regret as they watched Christopher hurry ahead without looking back once to make sure his quiet companion was still there. A deep regret and longing.
But only for a moment.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christopher was going insane.
'God, what was I thinking?! Hello, earth to brain, that's Jalil you were ready to screw senseless. Not just some random chick.'
It wasn't the same with a random woman-- not in any way. He'd always went out with them first, never was a total jerk, not the kind of prick just in it for sex. Well, maybe that was part of it, but he had his dignity, really. What he was doing with Jalil not so long ago... was a totally different matter.
What had he been thinking? Obviously he hadn't been. Jalil was-- well, Jalil. And decidingly not female. And Jalil -- stern, conceding, untouchable Jalil, the know-it-all with an attitude that could freeze flame in its path -- was not his type. The black teenager had a tongue sharper than Senna's, which had already caused Christopher considerable grief, and generally just pissed him off. What on earth could have spurred him to do something so stupid as to try getting involved with Jalil?
He scowled, point blank refusing to look at the boy following behind him, for fear of what he'd see. Was Jalil just as ashamed and furious as he was? As disgusted?
'Neither of you were disgusted when you were trying to screw each other in the hallway,' his inner conscious sang in amusement. A quick flash-- the memory of the feel of Jalil's slender form fitting perfectly against his body. Sudden heat, unexpected, flooded him at the image.
Christopher flushed suddenly, uncomfortable.
'Admit it-- you haven't had someone feel that good with you in a long time... he was--'
Christopher grimaced quietly, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as though to banish his traitorous thoughts from his mind.
'I didn't want him. I wanted someone-- anyone. He was just... there, and we were drunk, and the fear of dying--'
Recalling again why his heart wasn't thudding in his chest, Christopher silently cursed to himself. Where was David, anyway? Where was their leader while they walked, shivering through a streetway lined with closed stores, unable to find a new place to stay yet? It would be a while before he'd risk the hotel again-- because of that big, hairy freak of nautre chasing their asses with about twice as much muscle to use than them.
And he realized, with a sick lurch of his stomach, he had seen him and Jalil. In fact, at least a few people had been in the tavern during their little 'make out session', he was sure of it.
'They probably believe we're lovers. We're together.'
'You almost were,' the other side of him said softly. And yet again, infuriatingly, a memory through a drunken haze of open and uncertain dark, mahogany eyes swept through him... staring up before he kissed the lips that belonged with them. Jalil had beautifully strange eyes when he--
"What do we do now?" Jalil's voice interrupted, cutting off both his thoughts and anger at them. Christopher refused to glance back or answer, but knew from the rigid tone of voice that Jalil's eyes were no longer readable or emotional. That was who he was-- who Christopher hated with a passion. That stoic expression... which only a while earlier had been smiling and laughing radiantly... With actual happiness he'd never heard from such a contained person.
'If only he smiled more often...' another betraying thought mused in his mind. It was an unfamiliar sentiment that Christopher didn't appreciate.
'I do not want to think about him, not even look at him,' Christopher chanted darkly to himself. They passed a tavern that was open-- passed without a word, acknowledging silently that it wasn't worth checking out. 'I don't care about what happened, it was a mistake...'
Was it, though? His head rebelled at the implication of his memories-- complete willingness. A mistake... but he'd known, at the time, exactly who it was and what it'd meant. Knew the person in his arms, the warmth and sweetly addicting taste of those kisses, was all Jalil. Never imagined someone so cold could be so much like molten fire to the touch. He'd wanted to capture that life, that fire, all for himself, keep it close to him while his heart was away.
'I wanted him.'
It was a cold splash of ice water to Christopher's cozy, comfortable world. So was the next thought.
'I still do.'
He felt a sickly, uneasy feeling rise in his stomach, and forced it down. Stumbled a bit over the ground, straightened, refused to look at Jalil, and kept going on without a word. Surely that wasn't the case after all. There was nothing to say. Nothing, except--
"Where should we go?" Jalil asked crossly, repeating his unanswered question from earlier. From behind Christopher, he sounded like a sullen child. "It's freezing out here, and walking around in circles isn't going to help us much."
Christopher scowled, clenching his teeth and moving resolutely on. He had the terrible feeling that if he opened his mouth now, all the upset and confusion inside him was going to spew out-- in the form of something very, very stupid. Probably something he didn't want to say right then.
"Well?" continued Jalil, anger starting to lace the heated words. "Are you ignoring me now? Jesus, Christopher--"
"Shut up, I'm trying to think!" So much for keeping silent. Christopher almost slapped himself-- there was no way this would turn out good. Nothing to do, nothing except find somewhere and hope to god that his heart imploded. If he was dead, he wouldn't have to deal with this situation. Heart implodation was looking brighter and brighter every second.
Sure enough, Jalil rose to the challenge in fury. "What?! Think about what-- it doesn't take a lot of thought to find a damn hotel, genius. If you haven't noticed, we've passed about three so far. Any plan on checking those out? Are you brain dead or something?"
"Three? God, why didn't you tell me--"
"Screw you, Christopher," Jalil responded quietly, cold steel under his voice. "Screw you. What now, huh? Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the night, until we freeze to death? Just because you can't deal with some shit? I mean... can't you even look at me?!"
The last part had been shouted, and suddenly Christopher felt a thin hand snatch his arm tightly. He was whirled around to face Jalil's dark flashing eyes. They were cold, angry, upset-- and... pained? Staring dumbly down at the boy, the blonde felt his mind go blank for a moment.
'Did I hurt him? How could anyone hurt the almighty, untouchable Jalil?'
It was a dangerous thought. He didn't want to persue it. Instead, he glared at Jalil with a stubborn gaze that he hoped looked fierce.
"What's your problem, Jalil? If you want out of the cold so bad, why haven't you found us somewhere to stay yet, huh? Or are none of those hotels good enough for you?"
Jalil scowled at him. After a second of staring at each other, though, the mocha-skinned boy sighed in disgust and looked away. "Look... we aren't getting anywhere standing here. Arguing won't get us warm beds and blankets, okay?"
"No duh, Sherlock. I knew you were a genius for something."
It was subtle-- but Christopher, somehow newly intuned with capturing Jalil's emotions through his eyes-- saw the brief shine of hurt. Sudden, unexpected, and so quickly removed that he wasn't even sure it was real. There was nothing but firm resolve and cool confidence to sheild it afterwards-- the reality of who Jalil was. Or at least seemed to be.
It disturbed him to see Jalil's vunerability-- what little there was, at least. Disturbed, intrigued, and facinated him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to never see the mask of strength fall again, or if he desired to rip it away for good. To discover whether it was a mask or really Jalil's true core of being.
And when considering this, Jalil surprised him yet again.
"I'm not a genius. If I were smart, I would have never agreed to get drunk with you, and we wouldn't be here right now. Cold, hungry, shelterless, and stuck with this gaping hole even bigger than the one we had between us before tonight. We've always hated each other, Christopher," and here Jalil took a deep breath of frigid air, "... but now it's worse. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't take your incapibility to deal with change out on me."
The blonde gaped at him for a second, before feeling a strange sort of anger rise up in him. Flushing, he retorted back-- not even thinking of the consequences his words could give out-- a single, sharp reply.
"The only change I see... is you're more of an unsufferable bastard than before. One not even worth giving a damn about."
Jalil's face gave no reaction except a set, blank look. Christopher felt the fury intensify at the nonexpressive features-- and was filled with a strange desire to break them, shatter that uncaring mask all over the ground they stood on... all over the ground in shining shards of the strength he pretended to have. Might have.
'... make him care.'
"... someone who isn't even human half the time..."
'That's good, break it...'
"... who isn't worth trying to love..."
'Make him loose his control...'
"... and not even worth trying to fuck anymore."
'There.'
There.
It seemed deathly quiet when Christopher fell silent, drained and filled with a detached sort of concern. He watched the boy across from him, looked at the dark eyes that still gazed expressionlessly into his. There was no emotion on Jalil's face, no pain or sorrow or anger, nothing but a slate of fresh emptiness. His hands were clenched at his sides, but in a frozen, absent-minded sort of way that told nothing.
He waited. And then Jalil took a breath.
It shook in the air.
And when Jalil opened his mouth to reply, nothing came out but a soft, choked sound. And with it, a dull sort of panic swept across his features, and Christopher said nothing and did absolutely nothing, until that panic turned into a crumbling mess of raw feeling. Pain, fear, anger, aching--
'There.
Just as soon as it started, though, it was gone-- Jalil's face turned away for a moment, hiding the beautiful array of emotions. And in the stillness of the air, he whispered raggedly, "I... I hate you." He paused, and with a quavering voice that held even more conviction, "I hate you."
By the time the words sunk into Christopher's stunned mind, it was to late. Jalil was running-- back to him, faster than he'd seen him move in a long time, away into the night until he was swallowed by the shadows that surrounded him. All the while, the blonde stared after his fading form, feeling his thoughts slowly awakening to their senses.
He was alone. And the first coherent thought he had was simple.
'Fuck.
Because it hadn't occurred to Christopher, in that period of anger and frustartion... that by breaking away Jalil's masks...
'I didn't mean to break part of you, too.'
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To Be Continued... erm. ^^;; This turned out WAY more dramatic and serious than I planned. What the heck? Way to dramatic an ending.
... what the heck. :D It was FUN.
Thank you for reviewing everyone! ::hugs:: I fixed Chapter One, btw-- thanks for telling me. Stupid uploading thing. Gah. Anyway, the next part's already in the making... In which Christopher finds Jalil, Jalil practically has hypothermia or whatever, and there is much slashy comforting under the hypothetical "sleeping blanket". GLEE!!!