He knows it's just coincidence, although at his job, there's no such thing. But when he's home, coincidences can exist, and that's just what this is, no matter what he wants to think. As much as he needs and depends on logic, he can't help but want to push it aside, because if it's more than coincidence, if it's fate, then he doesn't need to be so scared.
But he is scared. He's petrified. He doesn't bother kidding himself, and sure, he puts on that calm façade, but he knows just how terrified he is. It's almost familiar now, the fear that courses through him with every look, every touch. Each kiss fills him with terror, and each time he murmurs "I love you," panic grips his heart so tightly, he thinks it must have stopped beating.
But the fear doesn't come alone. It comes with want and desire, need and hunger, but they only serve to cause more fear, because he knows that if he leaves it behind, he'll fall apart.
Yet underneath all of that is love, unconditional, deep and strong, unwavering.
And that's what scares him the most.
He knows he'll love until the day he dies, and the merest notion that he could lose it all paralyzes him.
However, if its fate, and not coincidence, he breathes a little easier, sleeps a little deeper, because then he can't possibly lose what he's been waiting his whole life to find.
Sometimes when he lies there, holding him in his arms, too scared to sleep, but never wanting to leave, his brain fragments and the world swirls around him so thickly that he can't see.
…Silk, silk, silk…
…You think she was going back to school?...
…Brains like strawberry swirled. Whipped cream, everywhere…
…I've loved you since I first saw you…
…It's what makes a person…
…Come on, Pancho, let's catch the bad guys…
...This is what big boys do…
…I am one, and who am I?…
…You make me feel as if the world has stopped…
…There's no place in my house for someone like you…
He wonders if he'll drown under the weight of it all.
…God hates fags…
…God loves all souls…
…I do not always know what pleases you, Lord, but I think the fact I want to please you pleases you…
…Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen…
And he can't decide if he wants to laugh or cry, because he doesn't need heaven, it's in his arms, but he's too scared to let go and learn how it truly feels.
The fear strikes again, because what if he spends his life holding heaven, never touching it?
He burrows his head into the crook of his shoulder, smelling the scent of his lover, hearing the steady beat of his heart. He prays for strength, strength to fight his fear, strength to believe in fate, to fight logic and forget coincidence. Strength to preserve his faith. He lets his hand trail down his sleeping lover's back, finding the spot, low, near his hip where he grips tight and draws his strength.
His faith.
There's this spot on Greg's back, low, near his hip, where there aren't any scars. The skin is soft and smooth, a memory of what used to be. Nick knows it's just coincidence, but that piece of unmarred skin fits his hand so perfectly, as if some divine power had traced it onto the skin, preserving that one bit, marking Greg forever as his. And as long as he thinks that way, as long as he believes its fate, as long as he has faith, he isn't scared anymore.
And he touches heaven.
Fin.