This will probably be the final chapter for a while... updates will probably take a while.

Hope it's ok, it's very long so let me aoplogise in advance. I should probably include some chocolate covered prozac with this chapter because, unfortunately, it's not very happy.

I have the rest planned out (sort of!) and it WILL get happier, just bear with me while I write it up.

Bumper chapter, this was meant to be split but I don't know when I'm going to have time so I thought I'd do it all now.

Please R+R because it will make a worrying writer very happy!

Anyway, I'll shut up now. I feel a bit evil for sort of 'ending' it like this!

Syed glanced at the clock. He inwardly groaned, the neon dial screamed the absymal time at him- 4am.

That meant he had...3 hours until he had to get up. He'd been lying in bed, tossing and turning , wishing sleep would come but unable to quite get there because of all the thoughts in his head. With a sigh Christian would have denounced as 'drama queen esque', Syed got out of bed.

He arranged the sheets for once, he had picked up that little trick from Christian who was a dusting away from fullblown OCD.

Syed could not describe how annoyed he was with himself after that stupid rant. He could have kept his mouth shut, but oh no, he'd decided yesterday, when they were having a nice, normal time, was the time to transcend the awkward, socially inept, tight lipped male Masood family gene.

Oh... memories of kissing Christian began to flood his brain. Had he really done that? Kissed him in such a licentious, wanton way? And had Christian even kissed him back? Mortification made him feel weak on his feet and he had to hold on to the bed for support. He had... at first but the second time- why had he kissed him twice- he had all but verbally rejected him. Why had he done that? Why had he even said what he had said? He hadn't set out to say anything, he hadn't needed to say anything! Why was he such a stupid, stupid idiot? He'd kissed him and admitted something he hadn't even thought of consciously in years! Why was he such an idiot? All he could do was repeat that word over again; the word that didn't even begin to cover the mistakes he had made. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!

He'd just been so- Syed couldn't stand the word but there was no other to use- sad about hearing the song, it had brought up all those murky memories from the recesses of his mind. Listening to the song while he and the guy he'd picked up had done... that and the horrified faces of his mother and father as they'd returned home early and caught Syed in the middle of gay sex, as if premarital sex wasn't bad enough. Then the aftermath, the frosty silence of his parents at the breakfast table as the clink of metal on bowls rang out, the way Shabnam- who he had never really got on with- placed a fleeting hand of reassurance on Syed's face on the way to her bedroom, the way Tamwar, not really understanding the situation had looked at him the way he always had- with adoration, until years later when he realised and had looked at him slightly differently, being treated as a pariah, the people of his mosque- who were as good as family- wanting nothing to do with him... and the loneliness. Always the loneliness.

The loneliness he tried to escape, first by study, hoping a good degree might help to scrap away some of the superficial shame that blighted his- and by extension, their- reputation, then by prayer and devotions, praying to his Allah- the one who knew him better than anyone- hoping he would hear him, then came one night stands, which left him with a self loathing no physical closeness could assuage, then finally came his restaurant and complete and utter suppression coupled with a large dose of denial. That was, until he came along. Hours ealier, while he had lay prone and unsleeping on the bed that usually sent him somewhere close to bliss with its softness, he had heard the front door close softly at about 1am. His heart had thumped so hard, entreating him to rush to Christian. He had so wanted to... but there was nothing to say. So he'd left. And Syed had let him.

Syed went to his bedside table and pulled out his accounts book. As he pored over the figures, he felt a tiny bit better. A tiny bit. The restaurant in Paris wasn't doing so well, he'd either have to revamp the menu or close it. Somehow, having a major decision to make, knowing that there were people in Paris waiting for his verdict, instead of stressing him, made him feel better. He didn't much care about the Paris restaurant; perhaps stupidly it was because he didn't live there. He had built Food in London up from -metaphorical-ashes. Christian would have laughed at him. He imagined him. 'You're too sentimental. It's not alive Sy!'

He might as well go and get ready and go to work now. He had no shortage of work to do.

So much for a full day of work.

Syed returned home at around 2pm. He'd been far too crabby and sleep deprived to work, he'd been uncharacteristically snappy with his staff and stomping out angrily, had told his staff to carry on without him because he was going home.

Slumped on the settee, Syed found himself plagued with the pests he had come to be well acquainted with over the years. Depression and loneliness.

He hadn't felt it so strongly recently, had even dared to hope they had left him. But nope, here they were, those irritants he just couldn't get rid of, like an annoying person at a party. He felt despair flood his system so strongly he cried out. He couldn't do this anymore... he was tired of trying to get his parent's approval. They had ignored all the letters, all the newspaper clippings he had sent. Normally he would have found that sort of behaviour narcissistic, but he needed his parent's approval, almost as much as he needed oxygen. He was floundering under the weight of his life and he desperately needed... something.

Shabnam! What he needed now was his little sister. She only lived about 20 minutes away from him but they hardly saw each other, she was busy with the husband she had married at 21, upon graduating from university and she was expecting a baby now, so she spent half her time planning and stressing out. He spent all his time with the restaurant, as sad as it was, it was his baby. He didn't need anything else, not even the restaurant in Paris, when he had his London restaurant to cultivate. He planned to get it to be seen as one of the best in the world! He walked to the railing where he kept his coats and pulled out his mobile from his pocket. As if on cue, his phone began to ring. Shabnam.

'Hey Syed!' Shabnam's voice always seemed to make him smile, maybe it was the warmth- Shabnam had a gift of making every person she spoke to feel like they were special. Like someone else he knew. She was one of the least judgemental people Syed knew. She hadn't always been that way, she'd led a fairly sheltered life until the incident and then a few months later she had gone on to university and moved out.

'Shabby!'

Syed felt somewhat happier as Shabnam chuckled at the nickname, Syed had been told for years, often under threat of severe tickling, to call her Shabnam but he never had.

'I was just about to call you...' His voice trailed away.

'Syed, are things that bad? If you have to take time away from your precious restaurant to call me, then...' She made a whooshing noise that was meant to show her surprise. Syed knew there was no malice or sarcasm in it, that was just how he and Shabnam operated.

'Are you at home, Syed?'

'Yeah.' It hardly came out because Syed's energy had been so quickly depleted by lack of sleep and misery.

Then she said the words that made Syed's heart ache with love for his younger sibling.

'I'll be right over.'

Shabnam fussed over him while he waited, grimacing. His sister was only like his mother in one respect, the need for utter fastidiousness with personal appearance. To prove the point, Shabnam was wearing a simple floral dress, probably something she wore around the house, with flat black shoes, her hair was neatly caught in a bun, she wore no make-up on her face and she looked better than some people who spent hours getting ready. Finally she spoke, 'You look good.'

'Thanks.'

'But you need a haircut.' She scrutinised his ponytailed hair with disapproval.

'I like it.'

'You would! You look like a wannabe rockstar! What was your uni band called again?'

'Shut up, Shabby.'

'How many times have I told you? My name is Shabnam!' She hissed, then pulled Syed into a bone-crushing hug.

She held him away from her, scrutinising his face.

'What's up Syed? I mean really? And no lies. Asim might actually burn the house down trying to make lunch because I left him alone so for that... I need the truth.'

Syed sat down heavily on the settee. Shabnam sat next to him, waiting. He put his head in his hands, suddenly unable to say anything.

'Man trouble?' Shabnam said casually, looking Syed straight in the eye.

'What?'

'Oh come off it Syed. You might think you can play the straight guy facade with the random people you meet at the restaurant but give me some credit.

I'm your sister. I've seen you get more and more unhappy, bury yourself in the bloody restaurant and work yourself to near death. You aren't doing that for no reason. And you know what, Syed? Whatever we might have been raised to believe, I don't for a second think the way you are- the way you were made- is wrong, or that you're going to hell. Your relationship with Allah is exactly that- yours . People have no right to judge you.'

She spat the word people out with such contempt, Syed almost flinched. She clearly meant their parents and the community. She was estranged from them too, they hadn't approved of her husband because he was from an even lower social position than they were.

'You're a good person Syed.' She stared at Syed urgently. 'You are. I don't want you turning 30, 40, 50 and being this unhappy.'

'I'm not unhappy, I have a nice house, a thriving restaurant, I meet interesting people every-'

'Stop Syed. Stop. Stop pretending! I know you.'

At Shabnam's unrelenting gaze, Syed felt angry tears spring into his eyes.

'Fine. I'm unhappy. Happy now?' He glared at her.

She just looked at him, a telling twinkle in her eye showing she was waiting for him to elaborate.

'Well, I was in Food- oi!-' Shabnam was rolling her eyes, implying he was always at Food, which really wasn't true...

'It was a couple of months ago now, and there was this guy-'

'-What's his name?' Shabnam was businesslike as usual, she wasn't one for silly little things like details.

'Christian...' Syed felt a knife prick in his heart as he said his name.

Shabnam raised her eyebrow, noticing Syed's voice change. 'You like him?'

'No.'

Shabnam gave him one of her penetrating looks.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why did she have to look at him like that?

'... I don't know... Yes. No. Maybe...'

Shabnam still looked at him unwaveringly. Syed was struck by how much she reminded him of someone. With a jolt of shock, he realised she reminded him of Christian. That penetrative stare...

'Maybe...' Syed repeated, hoping that would give her enough of a reason to move her gaze. It didn't. He threw his hands up in defeat. After an agonising moment where he opened and closed his lips, not trusting them, he finally breathed out, 'Yes.'

It... didn't feel like a lie. Why didn't it feel like a lie?

Shabnam laughed, her laughter sounding like a peal of bells, as she observed the expression crossing Syed's face. 'You've got it bad.'

Syed couldn't believe he'd said that and he also couldn't believe what Shabnam was discerning from it. It was just one word!

To his embarrassment, he found himself stuttering out a reply to a comment he shouldn't have given the time of day. 'I...no... I don't!'

'Do... but I'm not going to argue with you. Does he like you?'

'He... he said so.' I like you.

'So what's the problem?'

'He was staying here- he had nowhere else to go- but he left. Last night.'

Syed realised, a moment too late- a delayed reaction from his somewhat slowed brain- what Shabnam had said. 'What? What's the problem? Shabby, have you forgotten what the Quran teaches-'

Shabnam's mouth became a straight line. 'Syed, I believe that there is more than one way to read the Quran...' She cut herself off, to Syed's frustration. He wanted to hear more.

She waved a hand impatiently. 'What happened?'

'I might have said too much. About my history... and I freaked out and I said some things... horrible things... and he said he was leaving but I could call him if I wanted to talk.' Those words chased each other in a rush out of his mouth. It was a wonder Shabnam could comprehend what he was saying. He certainly didn't have a clue what he was saying anymore. Nothing made sense.

'So call him.' Shabnam was looking at him, through her eyelashes, in the way she looked when she was attempting to read someone. She was looking at him as if calling Christian was the simplest thing in the world.

'I...I can't.' Syed hid his face. 'He hates me.' It was all so complicated, Shabnam couldn't understand. He wasn't in any position to be in a relationship. He just couldn't do it, the emotional frankness, being so close to another person...

'If you spoke to him the way you said you have and he still told you to call him... he can't possibly hate you Syed.'

'Anyway, have you heard from-'

'Syed... mum and dad... they're not going to come round just because you've decided to make yourself as unhappy as possible. Just like they're not going to come round just because I've been married for longer than I can count. Asim taught me you only have one life, you have to do whatever makes you happy. Allah will understand. Well, as long as you don't go round drinking the local alchie under the table and being violent and cruel. Do you seriously think I would have let Asim go just because Mum and Dad were too stubborn to come to our wedding or even speak to me?' Her eyes blazed black in her passion. 'Syed, please! I can't stand seeing you like this. What would you do if someone took your beloved restaurant? I'll tell you- nothing! You'd sit in the same house you've had for 5 years and brood-'

Syed started to protest but Shabnam interrupted. 'That's exactly what would happen and you know it. Just... be happy Syed! If he makes you happy-' She smiled wryly, not able to imagine Syed happy. 'Well happier,' She amended. 'Then just call him! '

She affectionately smoothed Syed's hair away from his face. 'And get a bloody haircut!'

Syed smiled softly at her. His wise little sister. 'You'll be a good Mum Shabb... Shabnam.'

Shabnam smiled and touched her slightly protruding stomach lightly as they walked down the corridor. 'I'd like to think so. You'll be a good uncle!' She paused, looking into Syed's eyes and suddenly awkward. ' I love you Syed.'

Though he didn't often say the words, especially not to his sister, they flowed as easily as honey from his lips. 'Love you too... Shabnam.'

She winked, bawdily. 'Now go – talk to Christian and have fun, ok?'

He was embarrassed at her implication. 'Bye...' He said, pointedly.

'Should probably get back to Asim. I dread to think what I'll be going home to. Probably a pile of rubble and Asim holding out a charred ready meal!' She laughed. 'And remember-'

'Be happy.'

She smiled, clearly satisfied he had got the message and beamed her farewell as she disappeared through the front door.

Syed felt his depression, as quickly as it had come, dissipate as he felt his head swim with purpose.

He was going to call Christian.

Syed began walking with no particular aim in mind and found to his shock, his feet were taking him to Christian's room. He cursed his subconscious. He should have been in his room, where his mobile phone was lying, discarded, after he had called Shabnam, not trespassing in Christian's room. Funny how it felt like Christian's room and not merely the 'Guest' room. He supposed it was because Christian was more than a guest really, he was a... friend.

Christian's door was ajar. Moving closer to go and close it, Syed caught sight of a piece of paper lying on Christian's bed.

Ignoring the mental voices telling him to leave it and close the door, Syed entered Christian's room. He would have felt he was trespassing and left without reading the note, had any trace that Christian had once lived there been discernible. The room was just as Syed had given it to him, an empty shroud of a room. No traces of Christian. Apart from the piece of paper...

Syed picked it up and noted, with more acceptance than surprise, that his name was written in Christian's small, neat script. Hands shaking so much, they offended him, he opened up the rest of the note:

Syed,

I'm sorry to leave you without saying goodbye, but I have a feeling we would have either said things we'd regret or not been able to come back from.

I don't know if you'll even come in to see this note, but if you're reading this, I think you should know, I've found a place to stay.

Called up someone I once knew who was a bit of a drifter (yes, at midnight), and he says I can stay with him. Only problem is, he's moving to America. Well, New York to be precise. So I'm going to stay there for a while and see what life brings me. Obviously, you won't be able to get hold of me there, so if we're meant to meet again, I guess we will. This is turning out to be a very long note of farewell.

I'm sorry, I forgot to mention I took some money from your wallet to pay for the fare, I WILL pay you back though. I promise.

Even if you move house, I'll always be able to find Food, right?

If you're going to hate me, please don't hate me for that. It's just not fair on either of us if we live together, you have too much to sort out in your head and it's... very confusing for me being around while you do that. If you even decide to that is. It's well within your rights to just refuse to open up that (proverbial) can of worms and carry on living as you are. It would be the easiest thing to do. But it would be a damn shame for you to be so unhappy. I know, somehow, Syed, I know, that I made you a little bit happier.

I know I did. Writing this, I'm feeling like I'm being presumptuous, maybe I am, I mean I don't know how you feel but for me, it hurts. A lot. I'm feeling more unhappy at the prospect of leaving you than I ever thought I would. Now I sound like Jane bloody Eyre leaving Rochester! You're a very special person Syed, and I hope, whether the tide brings us together again or not, you find happiness. You deserve it.

Oh and remember how I said I was going to take that Literary theory course? Well I've gone one better, I'm going to teach one! I know, I can't believe it either. Turns out my friend knows someone who's retiring and we had a phone interview (yes at midnight! For me anyway) and I got the job! Looks like all those Proust debates with you were good for something! Guess, it's thanks to you that I even remembered I wanted to do it. Amazing how you lose yourself when you're being a philanderer of sorts. Guess you're my good luck charm, Sy. You're also a little worrier and I know you're thinking about visas, and citizenship and the like-

-Syed wasn't but he carried on reading, his heart getting heavier as he read on:

But it's amazing what you can get when you know someone who seems to know everyone in the whole of the USA.

Before I go, I have one more thing to say, but I don't think I will... Ok, you know what? Screw it. This is a note and it's not like I'm here to see your reaction. I lied when I said I liked you, Sy. If you want me to be honest, I think I'm falling in love with you. There. Feel free to laugh, I know I did when I realised. Now I really do have to go, and if we ever see each other again, please don't mention this note (letter, more like!). Wish me a safe journey, I'm gonna need it among all those Yanks. They won't know what's hit 'em!

-Syed somehow saw- for his eyes were filling with tears- words that Christian had written and crossed out: Lots of love, Yours, Regards, and then saw Christian had given up and fittingly signed off with:

Christian

Syed felt his body bubble with emotions he couldn't quite define...all he knew was he would never see Christian again, never hear his laugh, never argue with him, never see his smile, never be near him again. He was gone. He had thought he could call him and they'd be able to talk and maybe meet up but it wasn't going to happen now.

And Christian thought he was falling in love with him. Love and Christian didn't seem to go together, Christian had had no qualms sharing his relationship history, whether Syed had asked for it or not, and he'd been point blank about his feelings regarding love. 'It doesn't exist, everyone wants something from you.'

Syed had asked him more but Christian had clammed up. And Christian thought he was falling in love with him.

Syed Masood, biggest closet case in the world. They hadn't even slept together, for goodness sake, or even kissed properly. He thought he was falling in love with him. He really thought he was falling in love with him. Oh no... he was gone! Syed didn't know how he felt about Christian, but he knew he missed him... already. Christian made him want to be different, he made him different- genuinely humorous and much more confident, he would do anything to hear him laugh and he loved being around him... that word again. Love. He'd always thought love was that overwhelming passion for someone that stopped you from sleeping and eating and caused that person to be the entire centre of your universe until the person got tired of it and you gave yourself completely to the next person that came along. He'd always thought love could only be between a woman and a man. He certainly didn't think it could happen so quickly...But Christian thought he was falling in love with him- it was all too much.

As if he was in a film, Syed watched himself from a distance as the floor rose to meet him and fluid beat in his ears until- finally and mercifully- black surrounded him and temporarily ended his turmoil.

Well... that's it for a while.

Oh and Syed isn't dead. Just in case it read like that... *hopes it didn't*