first fic
This is my first QAF-Fic in english. I'm a little self-conscious about it because english is not my first language, and while my vocabulary is quite good my grammar and syntax are sometimes off. So don't be too hard on me, and I would really appreciate if you point out if something doesn't sound like proper english.
The titel is from the Sarah McLachlan song Angel, I got the idea to this story while listening to this wonderful song.
Characters: Brian/Justin
Rating: R
Warning: major character death
Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Queer As Folk are the property of Russell T. Davies, CowLip Productions, Tony Jonas Productions, Showtime Networks Inc. and others. No copyright infringement is intended.
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The Loft was dark, only sometimes the darkness was broken by the flickering of a cigarette. Then one could see the dimly outlines of a person, who stood in front of the large windows and stared out in the starlit skies.
Never before did he notice how brightly the stars over Pittsburgh glow. As if they wanted to show him there is still hope and beauty in this world, even if he couldn’t find any in his life, not even in the depth of his soul. That had been taken month ago and he didn’t know the way back, he only felt emptiness.
He had hoped that after the thing with Hollywood everything would be okay, that they could live together happy. After everything which had happened they should have really earned a second chance. A new beginning, this time as equal partners in their unusual relationship. A relationship, yes he was ready to call it a relationship, which never stood under a good star.
He once had read that a good relationship had to overcome many obstacles, but that it would be worthwhile at the end. At that time he had laughed about that, but now he knew better. He could not count anymore, how often they stubled, almost lost everything and nevertheless found each other again. Sometimes he asked himself whether it was worth it, but then he saw him at the Diner or at Babylon and he knew that they belonged together. He would never stop to fight for the relationship, even if he did not want to admit it a long time.
Never would he have thought to lose this fight, but the opponent was simply too powerful. He did not stand a chance against him. He had to declare defeat. From the beginning the fight was unfair, how can one battle against fate. Too often had they cheated fate, had again turned everything for the better, but finally they had to comply.
He could not count how often he had thought it should have ended in the parkgarage years ago, how much pain would he have been spared to feel. But then he had to think of all the happy moments, which he did not want to miss, even if it now nearly broke his heart. What can one do if the memories are the only thing that keeps one alive and slowly destroys one at the same time. If one can still feel the touch of the other one, can smell and taste him and nevertheless is completely alone.
The whole loft was full of memories, good and bad ones. He had often tried to change something, to put his things in boxes, like they say, out of sight, out of mind. But he was afraid, afraid to forget, afraid to lose the last connection, then he would have to really admit it was final. That he could not and did not want to do, so he left everything like always, his clothes hung in the closet, his toilet articles stood nicely lined up beside his, even his toothbrush was still in the cup. There did not pass one day on which he did not tenderly touch one of the sketch books, which lay everywhere in the loft, as if they waited for him to come through the door.
But he could not bring himself to look at the drawings, moments held in coal and pencil, which were always so full of energy, but now they were only lines on white paper, also from them any life had yielded. Mute witnesses, who showed what he had lost and never will get back. This time it would not turn for the better, nothing could change something in this situation.
As the telephone rang, he knew it. When he saw the number of the caller he did not want to take it, did not want to face the reality. Perhaps he would come right through the door, if he only believed hard enough and ignored the reality. But the reality was he had lost him, on a wet-with-rain road somewhere between the house of his mother and the loft. Even if everybody said it was over immediately, he knew better, he had felt the fear and the helplessness almost physically and the love, this imperturbable love, which was now the only thing that he had left.
This warm feeling to have been unconditionally loved by someone, had helped him to live on, to not give up. It helped him to face a new day again and again and above all the lonely nights, which appeared to be longer each time. He could not count the nights he had slept on the couch, his face buried in a sweater, which was careless thrown there long time ago and nontheless still smelled like him, his hand stretched out resting on a sketch book, which lay on the side table. This was all that remained, two liveless things, which meant so much more to him.
The darkness was broken one last time by the flickering of the cigarette. Then there was complete darkness, when he lay down on the couch, pulling the sweater close to his face and tenderly touching the sketch book. Briefly before sleep overcame him, somewhere between dream and reality, he could see and feel him each night, his beaming smile, his eyes which emanate so much love and the gentle touch of an angel, but these moments were so short, his figure faded away too fast and he was in his dreams alone again.
The silence in the loft was only interrupted by quiet murmuring, each night the same.
"… Justin …"
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
Sarah McLachlan - Angel