'Never storm out in winter', Syed rued sadly, wrapping his arms around his chilly coat-less chest.
Christian was right, it was cold outside, and approximately four minutes after slamming the front door shut, Syed found himself questioning why exactly he was wandering, frozen, through the market alone, when he could be laying, warm in bed with the one he loved.
Rubbing the flimsy sleeves, Syed hugged himself as he stood. He had wandered barely several metres from the flat, a slow wander through the stalls with little destination, his feet refusing a pace that would drag him far from home. They were now refusing movement at all, it seemed, and had left him as if a vacant, staring, lost in the haze of a winter morning.
Cold to tingle, he could feel the edge of his nose pinking in the frost. He smiled, remembering four days ago, when in the walk from breakfast at the café, the same pink was on show. Christian had kissed it, declaring it to be the cutest thing he had ever seen, that he looked perfection in the sun but was beautiful in the snow. Syed had derided him for being cheesy, but, as the strong arms wrapped him to murmurs of "Stilton…and you bladdy love it," there was no part of blush that could disagree. His heart warmed at the memory. 'Maybe I should just go home, make up', he considered tenderly. 'I don't even know why I left.'
"Sorry mate!"
A gruff voice breaking his thoughts, Syed dodged as a stocky man brushed past him breathlessly, the green girth of seasonal foliage being hauled and heaved.
"It doesn't matter" he nodded, his heart ignoring him with an ache, as he watched the stranger amble down the street, dragging a large Christmas tree in his wake.
Syed shook his head, dejectedly, the image of their argument making his heavy brow frown. He didn't understand why Christian didn't care about any of it, why someone who got excited about the most mundane minor thing would be lethargic over this. Christian Clarke was enthusiasm. He got excited by Saturdays, shower gel, chocolate spread… 'He's not enthusiastic, he's a nymphomaniac', Syed murmured, when considering the common link between the three. All he knew was, Christian was the sort of person that would grin from ear to ear in childlike eagerness, that would meet the level of hyper that made you want to hug him or kill him, that would jump up and down at 5am if he so wanted. 'Maybe that's it', he thought dolefully, 'he just doesn't want to'. Syed couldn't decide what was confusing him more – why Christian wasn't in the slightest bit bothered by Christmas, or why that made his own heart ache.
"Get out of my way you stupid elf!"
A tugging familiar Pakistani shrill sounded behind him, and he turned on instinct, the frost that wrapped the air suddenly that little bit warmer. Caught in the eternal tension of leaving or staying, he dipped to find the cover of the flower stall. Peaking behind a giant poinsettia, Syed watched as his mother preceded to have a scrap with an elf.
"You know if you're going to just stand in the middle of the road like that, perhaps you could remove that hat and you would see where you were going? I don't know if anyone ever told you but you look absurd."
The baffled pensioner froze open mouthed, adjusted his red felt proudly, and resumed shaking his charity bucket at ignorant passers-by. Absorbed by the shrinking back of his mum as she grumbled on her way, Syed heard the vague tap of a coin hitting the base and a grateful "thank you" as he made his way to the café.
"Just a tea please," he half smiled to Marie at the counter, failing badly in his attempts not to stare at her head. She nodded in acknowledgement and adjusted her antlers, a good natured victim of Ian's 'Christmas makes you spend more' strategy.
Slumping down in the secrecy of a corner seat, Syed felt grateful that at least it wasn't Jane. He had enough disturbing images of his sister-in-law in his head of late, he didn't need to add any bizarre ones.
Absentmindedly, Syed fiddled with a packet of catering brand sugar. He nudged it from one side of the table to the other, despondently, the store bough merriment of The Worst Christmas Covers Known To Man and the drone of Ian's moans filtering through the whir of his thoughts. Glancing up, he gave a sympathetic smile as an example of the Beale staff morale sweated towards him.
'Christian would love this', he thought to himself as the antlers teetered towards him, the dingle of a tiny bell ringing as Marie bent to place the tea down.
Maybe that was it, Christian was enjoying Christmas. He just wasn't enjoying Christmas like Syed was expecting him to, or for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, needing him to. Things had been a bit difficult the past couple of weeks, he supposed. Not with Christian, that was still great, but with him, how he felt, where his head was. Speaking to his parents for the first time in five months, and not in the way that had played in the comfort of delusional dreams, had done something to him, made his emotions all over the place. He felt himself wanting to be physically near Christian, even more than usual, wanting to talk about mundane things that up until now had either held no fascination or had actively bored him. One minute he'd be starting conversations about seasonal recipes with Halal meat, the next his lips would be working their way down the soft sweat of Christian's throat, touching him, dragging him to bed. 'He must think you have a turkey fetish,' Syed shook his head in bewilderment at himself, with a sigh.
It was like he was attaching something strange to Christmas, all of this. He was being weird, he got that. He just didn't really know why or how to stop it. His slowly warming hands hugging the heated mug, Syed stared at the screen of his phone. Christian hadn't called, not even a text. 'You're weird', he muttered, 'and your boyfriend agrees'.
"What are you doin' in there?"
His muddled head dragged up by the sound of irate wines and the noisy hammer of repeated knocks, he blinked as an earlier fantasy came to life.
"I own this place and I need to use the facilities!"
Syed's lip found itself curling into the start of a smile, as Ian banged his way for entry on the toilet door.