FIC: One Day, But Not Today
Title: One Day, But Not Today
Author: Cassie (badfalcon)
Fandom: RPS - Kane
Categories: Steve Carlson/Christian Kane, angst
Rating: PG-13
Thanks to: You, for reading this. celtprincess13, as ever, for the beta.
Disclaimer: Steve Carlson and Christian Kane are real people, and the events in this story are just that - fictional, figments of my sick and twisted imagination. Hell, call it a fantasy if it makes you feel better. Whatever. No rumours should be started in regards to any events in these works of fiction. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made out of it.
Notes: Written for the angst_bingo prompt of haunting
Summary: There are too many memories for Christian to stay in the apartment alone. It doesn’t feel like home anymore, not without Steve. As he starts to pack their... his... their stuff together, he remembers the good times they spent there
Christian stood in the door way, leaning against the frame, hands tucked deeply in his pockets. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed, tears pricking against his lids. He wiped his hands over his face and willed himself to calm down, mentally shaking himself; after all, what would Steve think if he saw him like this? The thought of Steve hit him like a sucker punch to his gut, only his hand curled around the door frame stopping him from falling to the floor.
He took another shaky breath and stepped fully into the room; whimpering softly at the smell of Steve’s cologne still hanging in the air. Shaking his head, he took another step and looked around. It really was time he started packing up all their stuff; the boxes had been sitting waiting all week and he was just coming up with excuses to not do it. He had to get the fuck out of there - the apartment held far too many memories; memories he needed, for the time being at least, to get as far away from as was possible.
Grabbing three boxes (one to keep, one to give to Goodwill, one to put into storage), he quickly put them together, lips quirking into a smile despite himself as he remembered moving here a few years ago; Steve teasing him about how easily he could put together flat pack boxes.
“One of us has to be the man of the house, Stevie,” he’d shot back. And Steve had huffed, feigning indignation, pouting that Christian was calling him a girl. Christian had grinned, stood up, palmed Steve through his jeans and kissed him hard... and they’d ended up fucking on the floor amidst all the other boxes.
Christian frowned as he stared at the DVDs on the shelf; how the fuck was he supposed to remember which ones were his, which were Steve’s... and did it really matter? They always watched them together, a tangle of limbs on the couch, just relaxing, unwinding and enjoying each other’s company. Unless of course the boys were round, in which case the place would smell of Steve’s cooking, dishes would be piled up in the kitchen, surfaces would be littered with empty plates, glasses, cans and bottles, and they’d all be mocking the movie. Later, guitars would come out and they’d play till the sun rose.
Yeah, they’d had fun here but he couldn’t stay, not on his own. Everything, every single little thing he looked at reminded him of Steve, or was Steve’s, and he just couldn’t... not yet...
Sighing, Christian rocked back on his heels. The box was full of DVDs, CDs, books, video games... definitely a box for storage, things to keep for when he found a new place. He taped the box closed and pushed himself to his feet. A glint of silver on the shelf caught his eye and he leaned forward, picking up the bracelet. He laughed softly; Steve had realised he’d lost the bracelet about a week after they’d moved in. They’d spent an entire afternoon turning the place upside down before they’d come to the decision he must have lost it somewhere else. Steve had pouted - he’d loved that bracelet (even if it had taken him so long to realise it was gone!) - and Christian had kissed the pout away and promised he’d buy him a new one. Steve had suggested a different way for Christian to help him come to terms with his loss and they’d ended up in bed; naked except for their jewellery.
Tears glistening in his eyes, Christian slid the bracelet onto his wrist, fingers tracing the worn patterns. “I miss you, darlin’,” he whispered.
He wandered aimlessly into the kitchen and was pouring a glass of water when it hit him; this was exactly what he’d been doing the last time he’d seen Steve... He’d been having his breakfast, Steve grousing that there was no milk. Christian had told him to suck it up and have toast; they’d do the groceries later. Steve had shaken his head, kissed him, and gone to the store and then... The glass fell from numb fingers, smashing to the floor. He took a deep breath, then another; a choked off sob escaping him, his shoulders shaking as he fought the overwhelming urge to cry. But it was too strong and he slid down to his knees, arms wrapped around himself as he cried.
~El Fin~
Author: Cassie (badfalcon)
Fandom: RPS - Kane
Categories: Steve Carlson/Christian Kane, angst
Rating: PG-13
Thanks to: You, for reading this. celtprincess13, as ever, for the beta.
Disclaimer: Steve Carlson and Christian Kane are real people, and the events in this story are just that - fictional, figments of my sick and twisted imagination. Hell, call it a fantasy if it makes you feel better. Whatever. No rumours should be started in regards to any events in these works of fiction. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made out of it.
Notes: Written for the angst_bingo prompt of haunting
Summary: There are too many memories for Christian to stay in the apartment alone. It doesn’t feel like home anymore, not without Steve. As he starts to pack their... his... their stuff together, he remembers the good times they spent there
Christian stood in the door way, leaning against the frame, hands tucked deeply in his pockets. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed, tears pricking against his lids. He wiped his hands over his face and willed himself to calm down, mentally shaking himself; after all, what would Steve think if he saw him like this? The thought of Steve hit him like a sucker punch to his gut, only his hand curled around the door frame stopping him from falling to the floor.
He took another shaky breath and stepped fully into the room; whimpering softly at the smell of Steve’s cologne still hanging in the air. Shaking his head, he took another step and looked around. It really was time he started packing up all their stuff; the boxes had been sitting waiting all week and he was just coming up with excuses to not do it. He had to get the fuck out of there - the apartment held far too many memories; memories he needed, for the time being at least, to get as far away from as was possible.
Grabbing three boxes (one to keep, one to give to Goodwill, one to put into storage), he quickly put them together, lips quirking into a smile despite himself as he remembered moving here a few years ago; Steve teasing him about how easily he could put together flat pack boxes.
“One of us has to be the man of the house, Stevie,” he’d shot back. And Steve had huffed, feigning indignation, pouting that Christian was calling him a girl. Christian had grinned, stood up, palmed Steve through his jeans and kissed him hard... and they’d ended up fucking on the floor amidst all the other boxes.
Christian frowned as he stared at the DVDs on the shelf; how the fuck was he supposed to remember which ones were his, which were Steve’s... and did it really matter? They always watched them together, a tangle of limbs on the couch, just relaxing, unwinding and enjoying each other’s company. Unless of course the boys were round, in which case the place would smell of Steve’s cooking, dishes would be piled up in the kitchen, surfaces would be littered with empty plates, glasses, cans and bottles, and they’d all be mocking the movie. Later, guitars would come out and they’d play till the sun rose.
Yeah, they’d had fun here but he couldn’t stay, not on his own. Everything, every single little thing he looked at reminded him of Steve, or was Steve’s, and he just couldn’t... not yet...
Sighing, Christian rocked back on his heels. The box was full of DVDs, CDs, books, video games... definitely a box for storage, things to keep for when he found a new place. He taped the box closed and pushed himself to his feet. A glint of silver on the shelf caught his eye and he leaned forward, picking up the bracelet. He laughed softly; Steve had realised he’d lost the bracelet about a week after they’d moved in. They’d spent an entire afternoon turning the place upside down before they’d come to the decision he must have lost it somewhere else. Steve had pouted - he’d loved that bracelet (even if it had taken him so long to realise it was gone!) - and Christian had kissed the pout away and promised he’d buy him a new one. Steve had suggested a different way for Christian to help him come to terms with his loss and they’d ended up in bed; naked except for their jewellery.
Tears glistening in his eyes, Christian slid the bracelet onto his wrist, fingers tracing the worn patterns. “I miss you, darlin’,” he whispered.
He wandered aimlessly into the kitchen and was pouring a glass of water when it hit him; this was exactly what he’d been doing the last time he’d seen Steve... He’d been having his breakfast, Steve grousing that there was no milk. Christian had told him to suck it up and have toast; they’d do the groceries later. Steve had shaken his head, kissed him, and gone to the store and then... The glass fell from numb fingers, smashing to the floor. He took a deep breath, then another; a choked off sob escaping him, his shoulders shaking as he fought the overwhelming urge to cry. But it was too strong and he slid down to his knees, arms wrapped around himself as he cried.
~El Fin~