Fic: Love, or Just Living In Sin?
Title: Love, or Just Living In Sin?
Fandom: Eastenders
Rating: PG
Characters: Christian/Syed
Word Count: ~900
Spoilers: Set after the 19th July episode.
Disclaimer: Alas, I don’t own Eastenders, Christian or Syed.
Authors Notes: Thank you to angelzbabe1989 for the beta.
Summary: "It’s been two days since Syed’s parents turned their backs on him, and almost five hours since they’d repeated the gesture."
It is warm and humid inside the flat. A storm had been brewing all week -both literally and metaphorically - and now everything has exploded all at once. Outside rain is beating down and in the distance lighting and thunder are creeping closer to the Square. It’s been two days since Syed’s parents turned their backs on him, and almost five hours since they’d repeated the gesture.
The flat still bears signs of the ‘cook-off disaster’; but discarded clothing, a direct trail from the front door to the bed, has now joined the flour stains and the ruined radio. He’d picked up the first clothes he’d come across as he’d silently crawled out of bed, paying no heed to who they belonged to, which is why he is now looking out of the window wearing Christian’s jumper and boxers.
Syed can’t see his parents’ house from the window, nor can he see The Vic. He suspects this is a good thing; it’s easier to pretend that everything is going to be okay if he’s got no visual reminders tormenting him about the things he has given up. The people he has given up.
It’s only been two days, but already Syed is trying not to wallow in self-pity, choosing instead to focus more on what he has gained than on what he has lost. He can see Christian reflected in the glass behind his own reflection’s shoulder, duvet wrapped around his waist and one bare arm lying across the side of the bed where Syed had been lying moments earlier.
Headlights from a passing car sweep across the window, forcing Syed to look out the window and not at Christian slumbering. Syed recognises the silver vehicle as it splashes through a puddle on the road outside the flat. He wonders what excuses his parents have given for him missing Bushra’s dinner. He wonders if they’ve invented some mysterious, contagious illness or if they’ve jumped straight ahead to denying his existence. If he were a betting man, the incident outside of The Vic would have him putting his money on the latter.
He doesn’t regret his choice, not this time, but that doesn’t stop him feeling slightly empty as he watches the car disappear around a corner.
For too long he’s felt like a square peg being pushed into a round hole; his parents, his religion and himself trying to squeeze and mould him into something he’s not. By no means are he and Christian a perfect fit - they fight and they bicker and Syed knows that it’s only a matter of time before one of them says something that has the other one storming out the flat, slamming the door behind them. But he also knows - hopes - that all those fights will (eventually) end with soft touches and apologetic kisses. With Christian he feels more like a square peg in a rectangle shaped hole; he’s still not completely comfortable and at ease with this part of himself, but this is a much better fit than before.
He smiles as arms wrap around his waist and a head appears on his shoulder. Syed leans back, wondering how he denied himself this for so long. Christian hadn’t bothered attempting to find stranded clothing in the dark, and Syed can feel the warmth of Christian’s skin bleeding through the thin cotton of his jumper and onto his own skin as Christian’s hands lift up the jumper before resting on Syed’s stomach. Syed doesn’t even consider blaming the rain for the sudden emergence of goose pimples on his stomach; Christian would see through the lie, and Syed doesn’t want any lies between them, not even ones spoken in jest.
“You okay?” Christian asks, touching his forehead to Syed’s temple. Syed hmmms in reply, neither an affirmation nor a denial, twisting slightly so he is facing Christian. He runs a hand up Christian’s arm, along his shoulder and up his neck until he rests his fingers on Christian’s chin, tilting it down. Christian willingly follows the direction and leans down into the kiss;a tender meeting of lips sweetly contrasting to the way they had passionately kissed as they had pulled each other into the flat a few hours earlier.
“Come back to bed,” Christian says softly, barely pulling away from Syed so his breath ghosts over Syed’s face.
“In a minute,” Syed replies, turning back towards the window and watching Christian’s reflection crawl back into bed, deliberately pooling the quilt so it rests just under his hipbone.
Syed shakes his head fondly as he reaches up and pulls the window so it is three-quarters closed, to prevent it banging when the thunder and lightning eventually arrive, before turning his back on the storm and his thoughts, shucking his clothes as he walks. Christian is already holding up his side of the quilt when he reaches the bed. He’s barely lay down before Christian has one arm wrapped around his waist and is shuffling forwards so Syed’s back is plastered to his chest, their legs tangled together.
Once again, Syed wonders how he had lived without the comfort and love Christian offers him. Syed knows he’s not lived though, not really. He’s survived, yes - but going through the motions, praying (and praying and praying) that his feelings will go away is not the same as living.
Syed knows he has made his bed for good this time; and as long as Christian is in it with him, Syed is more than happy to lie in it.
Comments are loved and appreciated. &hearts
Fandom: Eastenders
Rating: PG
Characters: Christian/Syed
Word Count: ~900
Spoilers: Set after the 19th July episode.
Disclaimer: Alas, I don’t own Eastenders, Christian or Syed.
Authors Notes: Thank you to angelzbabe1989 for the beta.
Summary: "It’s been two days since Syed’s parents turned their backs on him, and almost five hours since they’d repeated the gesture."
It is warm and humid inside the flat. A storm had been brewing all week -both literally and metaphorically - and now everything has exploded all at once. Outside rain is beating down and in the distance lighting and thunder are creeping closer to the Square. It’s been two days since Syed’s parents turned their backs on him, and almost five hours since they’d repeated the gesture.
The flat still bears signs of the ‘cook-off disaster’; but discarded clothing, a direct trail from the front door to the bed, has now joined the flour stains and the ruined radio. He’d picked up the first clothes he’d come across as he’d silently crawled out of bed, paying no heed to who they belonged to, which is why he is now looking out of the window wearing Christian’s jumper and boxers.
Syed can’t see his parents’ house from the window, nor can he see The Vic. He suspects this is a good thing; it’s easier to pretend that everything is going to be okay if he’s got no visual reminders tormenting him about the things he has given up. The people he has given up.
It’s only been two days, but already Syed is trying not to wallow in self-pity, choosing instead to focus more on what he has gained than on what he has lost. He can see Christian reflected in the glass behind his own reflection’s shoulder, duvet wrapped around his waist and one bare arm lying across the side of the bed where Syed had been lying moments earlier.
Headlights from a passing car sweep across the window, forcing Syed to look out the window and not at Christian slumbering. Syed recognises the silver vehicle as it splashes through a puddle on the road outside the flat. He wonders what excuses his parents have given for him missing Bushra’s dinner. He wonders if they’ve invented some mysterious, contagious illness or if they’ve jumped straight ahead to denying his existence. If he were a betting man, the incident outside of The Vic would have him putting his money on the latter.
He doesn’t regret his choice, not this time, but that doesn’t stop him feeling slightly empty as he watches the car disappear around a corner.
For too long he’s felt like a square peg being pushed into a round hole; his parents, his religion and himself trying to squeeze and mould him into something he’s not. By no means are he and Christian a perfect fit - they fight and they bicker and Syed knows that it’s only a matter of time before one of them says something that has the other one storming out the flat, slamming the door behind them. But he also knows - hopes - that all those fights will (eventually) end with soft touches and apologetic kisses. With Christian he feels more like a square peg in a rectangle shaped hole; he’s still not completely comfortable and at ease with this part of himself, but this is a much better fit than before.
He smiles as arms wrap around his waist and a head appears on his shoulder. Syed leans back, wondering how he denied himself this for so long. Christian hadn’t bothered attempting to find stranded clothing in the dark, and Syed can feel the warmth of Christian’s skin bleeding through the thin cotton of his jumper and onto his own skin as Christian’s hands lift up the jumper before resting on Syed’s stomach. Syed doesn’t even consider blaming the rain for the sudden emergence of goose pimples on his stomach; Christian would see through the lie, and Syed doesn’t want any lies between them, not even ones spoken in jest.
“You okay?” Christian asks, touching his forehead to Syed’s temple. Syed hmmms in reply, neither an affirmation nor a denial, twisting slightly so he is facing Christian. He runs a hand up Christian’s arm, along his shoulder and up his neck until he rests his fingers on Christian’s chin, tilting it down. Christian willingly follows the direction and leans down into the kiss;a tender meeting of lips sweetly contrasting to the way they had passionately kissed as they had pulled each other into the flat a few hours earlier.
“Come back to bed,” Christian says softly, barely pulling away from Syed so his breath ghosts over Syed’s face.
“In a minute,” Syed replies, turning back towards the window and watching Christian’s reflection crawl back into bed, deliberately pooling the quilt so it rests just under his hipbone.
Syed shakes his head fondly as he reaches up and pulls the window so it is three-quarters closed, to prevent it banging when the thunder and lightning eventually arrive, before turning his back on the storm and his thoughts, shucking his clothes as he walks. Christian is already holding up his side of the quilt when he reaches the bed. He’s barely lay down before Christian has one arm wrapped around his waist and is shuffling forwards so Syed’s back is plastered to his chest, their legs tangled together.
Once again, Syed wonders how he had lived without the comfort and love Christian offers him. Syed knows he’s not lived though, not really. He’s survived, yes - but going through the motions, praying (and praying and praying) that his feelings will go away is not the same as living.
Syed knows he has made his bed for good this time; and as long as Christian is in it with him, Syed is more than happy to lie in it.
Comments are loved and appreciated. &hearts