So here we are, in honour of Chryed Con, a new chapter of BTTB from me! It's from Syed's POV and it's "perfect moment" time.

Have you watched that clip lately? If you haven't you really should. It made me remember "real Chryed" and forget about the rubbish spoilers we've had. I highly recommend it :)

~s~c~

'Hope you get what you wish for'.

How can such simple words be so utterly devastating?

The sound of people talking around the table dulls to a constant static in my ears as I read his message on my phone over and over again. I think what bothers me most, is that I know he actually means it.

All day I've been wracking my brain over what to do. Driving myself crazy trying to figure out how to make sense of my conflicting emotions.

I know exactly what I want. I want to be the perfect son. I want to be a husband, want to have a family of my own. I want to be successful, someone to be proud of, to be respected. I want all of these things so much. But when it comes to wanting him… It doesn't even compare.

I want him in that moment just before I drift off into sleep. I want him when something good happens, want to share it with him, celebrate with him. I want him when I get some precious time to myself, unfailingly using that time to think about him. I want him in those moments and every single moment in between.

So what is it that I wish for? The list seems endless. It's confusing and frustrating beyond belief. But in the end, there's one thing I know for sure. And that's that Christian is at the very top of that list.

'Either be with me… or leave me alone'.

That's what he said to me when I left this morning. Did he mean it? I'm not sure. And if he does, what will I do?

I have to find out. I have to…

'Babe, is everything alright?' Amira interrupts my thoughts.

Well no actually, it's not. But that's not what I say.

'Uhm yeah, it's from Mrs Patel,' I improvise quickly.

Everyone groans, because they know what that means. Or they know it means I'll be leaving anyway.

'She says there's a gas leak in the area and she wants me to go and let the gas man in?' I expand.

'Why can't she do it herself?' Amira asks, looking very annoyed.

'She's not around,' I answer.

'Well get Christian to sort it out,' Amira suggests.

Luckily, Mum intervenes. Dad tries and stop her, but to no avail. Within seconds, I'm out the door.

I head over to the flat, knowing Christian is inside, working hard to make it perfect for me and my wife. Almost there, I pause. What exactly am I doing? Surely I need a clear head, should think about what I'm going to say, what I'll do…

I close my eyes and take a deep, shivering breath. I can't do this. Can't. it's not fair, not fair on anyone. I haven't made my decision yet, I know I haven't.

It's not as if I haven't tried. God, how I've tried… I thought I'd made my choice back on New Year's Day and I've tried so hard to stick with it. Turns out that you can't really choose to be something, or someone, that you're not.

I've been praying all day, but still I have no answers. Or no rational ones at least. Because the very fact that I'm standing here, staring at this stupid blue door, seems to indicate I've made some sort of decision.

I'm startled by someone shouting a greeting from across the street. I look up and see a man I vaguely recognise as a client we catered a wedding for last month. I raise my hand in some sort of acknowledgement. Fuck, what am I doing? I can't be standing here, staring at a door like this. People will notice, they will think… Actually I have no idea what they'll think. But I do know I can't be here. Quickly, I walk away.

I'm so lost in thought that I find myself in a part of London I've never been before with no memory of how exactly I got there. Fuck this is bad. I have no idea what I'm doing, am no closer to any kind of resolution.

The maelstrom of thoughts whirling around in my head is slowly driving me insane. I keep coming back to "can't" and "have to" over and over again. They're not even fully formed sentences by now, just repetitive thoughts of obligations and appearances that weigh me down like a ton of bricks.

Yet my feet keep on moving. Because through all those jumbled, messy, incoherent thoughts, a desperate need is what keeps me going. Christian, it always comes back to Christian. It doesn't seem to matter that I can't. Can't be gay, can't be in love with someone other than my wife, can't want someone, can't need someone like I need oxygen to breathe. Because the simple fact of the matter is, that I do.

I do need him, want him, love him, with an intensity that is frightening. And for some reason, I can't seem to think beyond that one plain fact. Can't think about the consequences, can't think about what it all means, or what I'll do next. All I can think about is finding my way back to him as quickly as possible and worry about everything else… later.

I look around me to try and find my bearings. I still don't recognise anything around me and have no idea where I am. It's dark out, when did it get dark? And how long have I been walking around here anyway? God I feel lost.

But then I spot it. A tube station, just over the road. Relieved, I make my way over and descend the flight of stairs. It only takes about ten minutes and one transfer until I emerge from Walford tube station, my feet carrying me back to that blue door without any conscious thought.

Now what? I mean, nothing has changed exactly, now has it.

'Either be with me… or leave me alone'.

The words sound like a mantra by now, repeating themselves endlessly but losing none of their meaning.

I'm not ready. My heart is and so is my body, but my head… God my head is a mess right now. I can't go to him like this. It isn't fair. I want to, I want to so fucking badly, but I simply can't do it to him.

This is so hard. I feel the tears brimming in my eyes as I stand here in indecision. I can't go in. But I can't walk away either.

Suddenly, the blue door opens and Christian comes out. And that is when I know there is no escape. No getting away from this, from him, not anymore. It doesn't matter that common sense tells me I should get the hell out of there, shouldn't even have been here in the first place. I know that. I do. But the reason I won't leave is shockingly simple. It's because I don't want to.

When he looks up and notices me, I hold my breath. He walks up to me, looking at me, but doesn't say a word.

'I just wanted to check you were alright,' I blurt out. Because I needed something to say and apparently, this is all I can come up with.

'I'm fine,' he says. 'Shouldn't you be at your birthday meal?'

'Can we talk?' I plead with him, avoiding the question.

'Have you made your mind up?' he asks.

He doesn't wait for an answer. I squirm under his scrutinising look, and he knows.

He scoffs and says: 'Then there's nothing to talk about'.

He turns on his heels and starts walking away. I can't bear it.

'Please,' I say, softly.

My heart thuds as he stops, hesitates for a moment and then turns back to look at me.

'Well?' he asks.

I give an awkward cough and try and stall for time. What am I meant to say?

'Not out here,' I finally say.

And then I look at him. A long, lingering look full of everything I'm incapable of saying. Full of what I want, what I need, what I can't wait a moment more for him to give to me. I don't care if it's selfish. I don't care if it's self-destructive. All I care about is that soon enough, he's right behind me, following me up to the empty flat.

'Ok,' he says, as soon as he closes the door behind us and we're alone in the flat, 'we're here now. So talk'.

He looks at me with unforgiving eyes that scare me. Right now, I'm sure he meant those words.

'Either be with me… or leave me alone'.

I walk over to the window to escape those eyes, push the curtain aside and look down at the shadows wandering on the street below. I'm drowning and I don't know what to do. A very persistent voice in my head is almost screaming at me to walk away, walk away now. But my feet simply refuse to move.

'I stayed away from your birthday dinner because I thought that's what you wanted', he says.

'I don't know what I want,' is all I can say to that.

'Maybe it's time you did,' he replies.

There's a pause and then he says: 'I didn't even know it was your birthday'.

Grateful for the respite, I step away from the window and talk to him, argue with him about insignificant stuff. Not about what I want. Not about why I'm here. Why I can't leave.

I talk to him about my Dad, and how he gave me his Qur'an. How he told me he's proud of me, today of all days. I talk and talk, trying to accomplish I don't know what. For him to understand. To tell me it doesn't matter, none of it does. Or perhaps I'm waiting for him to run out of patience and try and force me to leave.

But he doesn't. And I'm running out of options fast.

'I know you want me,' I say, needing him to acknowledge that he does.

'Not like this'.

The words are like a sharp blow. So he did mean it. All or nothing. Desperately, I ignore the interruption and continue as if he hadn't spoken.

'But I'm a married man. There are expectations. I have a responsibility to my wife, to my family, to my faith…'

'And to yourself?' he interrupts me.

Again I ignore him.

'That's who I am! Son, brother, husband, Muslim'.

I'm almost shouting now. I'm fighting, fighting so hard, but I don't know against what. What I really want to do is just give in. I'm so tired. So very tired of all of this. Of having him right in front of me and not being able to… God I hate this.

'And you're also a man,' he counters, stepping in close. 'A living, breathing, mass of blood. Tissue. Feelings…'

The mere mention of feelings, mine, his, combined with his proximity, does me in. I suck in my breath and allow myself to lean forward and finally, finally kiss him. Straight away I know I was right. He is my oxygen, I can feel my blood literally filling with it as we share a desperate kiss.

It physically hurts me to tear myself away from him. But I manage to do it eventually.

'I can't… I can't do this. I've made my choice,' I say.

But he doesn't relent for a moment.

'No, Zainab made your choice for you,' he reminds me.

And that's true. I couldn't make the choice then and I can't make it now.

'I've… got to go,' I stammer.

But I don't move an inch. I silently beg him to stop me, to ask me to stay, to…

'Then go,' is all he says.

I don't. He knew I wouldn't. I knew I wouldn't. Instead, I just stand there and look at him, helplessly.

He smiles. A soft, tender smile that almost breaks me.

'Come here,' he whispers.

I let out an uncontrolled noise that sounds more like a sob than anything else. In the end, the choice is easy. What I want is right in front of me. So I reach out and grab it. With both hands.

Within the space of a heartbeat, I'm in his arms. He curls his arms protectively around me and instantly I feel safe, protected. I slip my hands around his waist and rest my head against his chest. The sound of his steady heartbeat calms me, soothes me. I made the right choice. There was never a choice really. This is where I belong. I feel it with such certainty that I can't help but smile.

'Are you staying?' he asks me.

I love the way I can both feel and hear his voice resonate in his chest.

'Yes,' I answer him, softly at first, but then with more force as I repeat it: 'Yes'.

'Good'.

I find there is no more that needs saying. Not right now. He strokes my hair, smoothing it down softly and presses a kiss on top of my head. I look up at him and he smiles.

'Good,' he says again.

Then he starts to press soft kisses all over my face. His lips brush my cheek, my jawline, my eyelids, the tip of my nose… He doesn't miss a single spot. I've never felt this cherished, this warm, this secure. The feeling is intoxicating.

When his mouth finally connects with mine in a deep, languid kiss, my knees buckle beneath me. He doesn't try to hold me up. Instead, he lowers me gently down to the floor. I lay on my back and look at him as he lays down beside me.

We've both lost our jackets by now, can't say I know when or how. It doesn't matter. I feel like I'm in a dream. A very good dream. He pushes up my shirt like he's unwrapping me, carefully, slowly. My breath comes in small gasps as he traces first his fingers, followed closely by his lips, over my now exposed chest.

Vaguely it occurs to me that I should reciprocate in some way, not just lay back like this and let him do all the work. I reach out to him, but he eases my arms back down beside me and presses another kiss on my lips.

A pleasantly lethargic feeling takes hold of me and I decide to let it. I shiver as he kisses his way down my chest and his fingers fumble with my jeans. He slips his hand into my pants and I moan his name at the delicious sensation.

'Christian'.

He looks up at me and smirks.

'I'm right here,' he says.

I nod slowly, trying to hold myself back as he starts stroking my cock in torturously lazy movements.

'I am too,' I say, urgently, trying to make him understand. Understand that I choose this, choose him. That I'm right here with him.

His smirk softens and his eyes turn serious.

'I know,' he says softly, before leaning in and capturing my lips in another breath-taking kiss. 'I know,' he repeats between kisses, over and over again.

All I can do now is feel. I feel his hands on me, his lips and tongue capturing my mouth, conquering me. I can't get enough. I can never get enough.

It's like I'm in a daze. I buck my hips up desperately, pushing myself into his hand. The kiss turns more heated now and I'm forced to break away every now and then to gulp some air. I can feel his erection press against my hip. I want to reach out to him, touch him like he's touching me, but I'm gripped by my orgasm before I get the chance. It rips through me with undeniable force, my body arching up from the floor and then flattening back down and leaving me in a panting, dishevelled state.

It takes me a while to come back to myself. What just happened was so intense, so intimate, perfect… As my breath and heartbeat calm down, I feel him gently smoothing my shirt back into place and buttoning up my jeans. I blink and look at him. He looks so beautiful, so strong. Like everything I'll ever want or need.

He strokes my hair and rubs his thumb over my bottom lip.

'Hey,' he says, like he's welcoming me back to earth.

Seems kind of fitting really. That's the last thing I remember thinking before he kisses me and I let myself sink into it.

~s~c~

Review? Why yes please :D