Fic: Now Just Hold On, Hold On To Me
Merry Christmas, manuanya!
Title: Now Just Hold On, Hold On To Me
Author: silverferret89
Rating: 15
Pairing: PoynterJudd
Word Count: 4951
Summary: Time takes a turn and people change; sometimes they stick together forever, and others glue isn't enough.
A/N: I hope you'll enjoy this Manu <3 Merry Christmas! (Also, the title is a line from the song "Do It For Me Now" by Angels&Airways.) Beta’d by E.
The sun was flittering through the blinds, painting striped patterns across the floorboards, dark golden licks of light indicating the end of the day.
If he’d bothered to draw the blinds up, Dougie would’ve seen the black Ford pull into the driveway. Would’ve seen a handsome young man dressed in a dark marine suit, the one that made his eyes seem impossibly blue, get out of his car. He could have been standing in the window, a smile lying subtly just beneath the surface, as he watched the tall man stroll up the garden path.
But he was not, so he didn’t.
He was currently lying on the sofa; ankles propped up and crossed on the arm rest, feet bobbing along to the music flowing, more like booming, from the stereo. A beer clutched in his left hand, the condensation soaking his shirt as he held the can on his chest.
He didn’t hear Harry stamp his feet on the “Welcome” mat, didn’t hear him turn the key in the lock and let himself in. Didn’t hear the sigh escaping his mouth, or see him lean heavily against the closed door. Wasn’t there to relieve the frown Harry put on when he finally registered the only slightly muffled music leaking from the cracks of the living room door. The deafening rhythm beating like a second heart, invisible sound waves pounding in his lungs and ears. He wasn’t there, so he couldn’t predict Harry’s irritation; his rising ire, which was simmering just beneath his skin, making his blood run faster, more smoothly.
He was still lounging on the couch, gulping down his beer and pondering whether or not he should go fetch another one. A cold wet snout touched his elbow, and he looked down to see two gorgeous brown eyes looking back at him. Switching the beer to his other hand, Dougie reached down and let his fingers caress the soft fur on the chocolate Labrador’s head, scratching him behind an ear and loving the way he half-closed his eyes in pleasure.
When an angry Harry slammed the door open, making the pictures on the shelves rattle (and one fall over), only the dog noticed, lifting one of his ears, as if listening, but didn’t move otherwise, enjoying Dougie’s attention too much.
Harry was frozen in the doorway for a long while, hands protecting his ears, and teeth gritted against the words queuing in his head. He wanted to shout, to produce a reaction from Dougie, to make him scream back instead of just lying there, on the sofa, as he always did. But it never happened. Harry rarely raised his voice anymore, what’s the point when your boyfriend just gives you the finger, locks himself in the bathroom, only to come out hours later, smelling lush and inviting, ready for work? He had tried; he’d provoked Dougie with snarky comments, sarcasm and mockery, but nothing ever worked; the blond only stared back at him with that blank look, eyes vacant of emotions and lips tight.
Pressing down his rising anger, Harry marched over to the stereo, ignoring the eyes he could feel on the side of his face, Dougie observing him silently as always. That’s what he did; calculated him and waited for just the right moment to say something, which would make Harry throw his briefcase on the floor, or whack his hand against the table top. Unravelled him, make him lose control, and then Dougie would return to his shell again, eyes like a bruised autumn sky.
With a quick move he jabbed his finger on the power button, making the music evaporate immediately and silence seep into their ears. If silence could ever have a sound it would be heavy and laced with anticipation. At least theirs would, Harry thought bitterly, mouth twisting.
When he finally turned around, staring down at the blond on the sofa, there was no greeting. Only two pairs of eyes looking back at him (one blue, one brown), and for a split second he was ready to scold the dog for not padding over and lick his hands, at least sniff him. It was his dog for fucks sake, and it acted like he was a stranger.
“Can’t I just get a fucking hello?” Harry asked, voice soft and deadly, dark shadows and knives hiding behind each word. Dougie sat up slowly, hand still on the dog’s head, and drowned his beer; head tipped back and Adams apple bopping as he swallowed the golden liquid. Placing the empty can on the coffee table’s glass plate, the metallic sound clinking high, the blond licked his lips, eyes locking with Harry’s.
“I’ve got to get ready”, was his only reply. Harry felt his right eye twitch.
“It’s 5pm.”
“Early appointment.” His boyfriend shrugged, the movement casual and his demeanour just the same, as if he didn’t care. Didn’t care whether Harry liked it or not, whether it made his heart beat twice as fast when Dougie got home at 3am, smelling of business men and rich women. Harry felt it, each night when Dougie crawled into bed, fingers tracing across his cheekbones, hands cupping his face lightly; he felt his love bloom like a flower in his chest. But the soil in which it grew was always toxic. Nothing was ever pure between them, not even the nights. Especially not the nights.
“For once, can we talk?” Harry asked moving towards Dougie, as the blond got up, hands outstretched and ready to grip onto him, keep him in place, near.
“Sorry, no time.”
“I come home early from work so we’d have some time together, and then you’ve got clients!” He knew his voice was rising slightly, edges not as stable as he’d liked them to be, words falling clumsily on top of each other, but he ignored it. Not now.
“You have your work, I have mine. I told you-“, he was standing in front of Harry, finger poking him hard in the chest, eyes like two pieces of smouldering charcoal beneath his fringe. “-if you couldn’t handle it.” There was an underlying threat in the statement, and Harry wanted to act upon it, but he just stood there, blood racing through his veins and pounding in his ears.
“I have accepted it.” Even he could hear how utterly pathetic that sounded, and seeing how Dougie’s eyes narrowed, there was no mistake the blond saw through the lie.
“Fine. Then let go of me.” The words were clipped, and only then did Harry realise that his left hand was tightly closed around Dougie’s upper arm, fingers and nails digging into the unprotected skin.
“Sorry.” His voice was soft, but he didn’t feel sorry. He wanted to shake Dougie, and make him understand, see. But he never could. Loosening his grip, his fingers peeled away slowly, and Harry winced as he saw the red marks he’d left on Dougie’s arm. A fleeting wish to reach out and stroke the blonde’s cheek ran down his arm, making his fingers twitch, but then Dougie was already leaving, picking up his can and chatting quietly to the dog.
Harry watched him disappear down the hallway, feeling his heart ache dully as he did so, the soft throb tightening his chest and making tension crawl across his skin and seep into his head, manifesting itself as a heavy headache.
With a tired sigh he slumped down on the couch, face buried in his hands and thoughts whirling wildly.
Was this really worth it? The question echoed through his head, bounced silently against the walls of the living room and died out at the sound of Dougie closing a door.
*
It seemed like an eternity went by since he left Harry. The dripping of the tap was the only sound accompanying him in the bathroom, and standing with his back leant against the door, unbeknownst to him, mimicking Harry’s posture earlier; Dougie let out a heavy sigh. The tiles were cold against his bare feet, and for a long while he wished to stay like this forever, in this place, this moment, alone and just breathing in the clean smell of soap.
There was a soft scratch on the door, a feeble whimper and Dougie turned his head, lolling it against the dark wood, eyes closing and lashes curling against his cheeks.
“Go to Harry.” He said just loud enough for the dog to hear. Sliding to the floor, he could hear him sniff on the other side, nose probably stuck in one of the cracks trying to catch the smell of Dougie. Then the sniffing stopped and a long moment of silence followed, before the blond heard paws patter away on the polished wood.
Running a hand through his hair, Dougie dragged himself up again, walked to the sink, and gripped onto the white porcelain edge with both hands, staring at himself in the mirror.
The eyes that looked back at him didn’t seem to have the answer to the questions in his mind, didn’t seem to give away any of the anger, worry, frustration he felt inside; the turmoil of emotions crashing and blending, threatening to burst him.
How had they come to this? When had their affectionate words turned to snappy remarks? Why had they twisted everything?
Clenching his fists tightly, knuckles going white, Dougie suppressed his want, need, to punch the mirror, to see it cracked, to feel the pain in his hand and the blood mingling with broken pieces of glass. He’d never wanted this, this distance between them, he barely slept at night anymore, couldn’t with the space between him and Harry. Not only the mental, but the physical too. When he crept into bed late at night, hands moving to find the brunette, seeking out his warmth, heartbeat, and reaching nothing but a shoulder, his back. Rejection.
It was nights like those that made Dougie long for the time before Harry. Back then he didn’t have anyone but himself to think of, didn’t have the same responsibility towards another person, didn’t have to think about coming home too late, about being tired in the afternoons, about missing dinner and washing out his thoughts with music.
It made him long for that time because back then he didn’t know what he was missing. Didn’t know what it meant to fall asleep with someone wrapped around you, he’d never experienced waking up to soft skin and lips against his forehead, no rush in movements, no driven need or false caress behind the actions. He hadn’t known that sitting on the sofa, cheesy film on the telly and being curled up next to Harry, head on his chest, was the best feeling in the world, made his heart swell with something magical, made everything, even rain, seem like the most gorgeous thing.
But he knew now, that what had fallen upon their relationship and sunk its ugly claws in, was anything but gorgeous. It was dark, and polluting them. Poison slipping in with every word, and draining them both, making them put on the most gruesome masks they had, play parts they’d never wanted, never thought possible, but even so they followed along.
And they let this lack of everything tear them apart. Because, as it seemed to Dougie, there was nothing left between them. They were just going through the motions, there was no care left between them, only a bruised and weeping mess, filled with their last scrap of love for each other. Whatever that meant.
With a dejected sigh, Dougie pressed his forehead against the mirror, the glass cold against his skin, breathing in deeply and he tried to collect his thoughts, tried to push the raging chaos down, and lock it away again, away where he couldn’t touch it. Where it was safe from him, from Harry, from anyone. It didn’t help anything for him to slip into that muddle; it only made walking out the door each night harder, only made coming home seem like the worst imaginable thing ever. So he pushed it away, and pulled on the mask he’d become so fond of; indifference.
Turning away from his own reflection, Dougie started shedding his clothes, discarding the pieces one by one on the floor as he moved towards the shower stall. He stepped inside once he was naked and turned the water on with a snap of his wrist. Soon cold cascades were soaking him, making shivers wreck his frame, and goosebumps littering his back and arms, but then warmth started seeping through too, and his muscles relaxed, a grateful sigh falling from his lips.
With eyes closed tightly, Dougie searched for the soap (the one smelling of coconut and green apples), fingers fumbling wet and blindly, before they came in contact with the bottle. He squeezed out a good amount, and began washing his body; hands scrubbing hastily over his skin, not bothering to be as careful as normal, it just felt, well, meaningless. Especially now.
Neck bent under the relentless warm spray and with his forehead resting against the cold tiles, Dougie opened his eyes, trickles of water blurring his vision, and watched as the soap disappeared from his body, sliding down his legs and foaming around his feet, before swirling down the drain.
If only he could wash away everything so easily, every heartbreak and moment of regret.
Nothing ever came on a silver platter though, Dougie of all people knew that, but it didn’t change his desire for the easy solution, didn’t quench the way his throat closed just then, how his eyes stung when he thought of their broken relationship or when he found himself going out to work yet again, knowing that it was only driving Harry further away from him.
Turning the heat of the water up, the hot spray almost scolding his shoulders, Dougie closed his eyes again trying to slip away for the moment, tried to distract himself for a little while long, just until he had to leave. Humid, warm air filled his lungs with every breath and he enclosed himself in the cloying heat, relishing in the burning water, feeling something other than cold for the first time in a while. It felt like an eternity, but reality was probably only months, as if it should make things better. It’s “only” been a couple of months. Dougie felt bitterness seep into his veins, cold and metallic, and an acidic smile wrapped around his lips.
A sharp move of his hand, and then the water was turned off abruptly, residue drops falling from the shower head and landing in his already soaked hair. Pulling open the steamed cabin door, a burst of cold air rushed over Dougie’s skin, and he shuddered as he stepped out, water pooling around his feet on the pristine white tiles. Snatching a towel from the rack, the blond wrapped it around his narrow hips, and padded over to the sink, wiping the mirror with his hand as he stood in front of the fogged glass. Ripples of water gushed from the tips of his hair, travelling down his neck on the way to his chest, and for a time Dougie just stood motionless and stared at his own reflection, not really caring about the goosebumps moving across his body, or the constant buzzing of his phone somewhere.
Finally tearing his gaze away, a muffled kind of silence in his head, he began gathering his clothes up, and pulled the phone from his jeans pocket, seeing three missed calls, before dumping the bundle in the hamper. With a tired sigh he flicked the limp and wet fringe from his eyes and leaned against the door, the wood slippery with condensed water beneath his fingers.
He didn’t really want to step out in the hallway, to step into the reality of what they had, but he did so anyway, feeling the floorboards bending and creaking noisily beneath him as he walked to the bedroom, leaving wet footprints behind.
There was a form of haunted serenity in the room once he closed the door. The bed stood in the middle, big and imposing, sheets maroon and gleaming in the afternoon sun, and Dougie edged around it, not really wanting to come too near, to be confronted with what they lacked; intimacy.
The clothes were just picked out from the closet blindly, dark jeans and dark shirt (when did he stop buying colourful clothes?), thrown on quickly, because he just wanted to leave now, wanted to get away from the accusing bed as fast as possible, to be free in the polluted city air, which seemed much more clean than anything in their house.
When he walked to the living room the hallway was almost endless, every step brought him closer to the room, yet it felt like everything was moving backwards, as if time and space was somehow twisted and he was caught in the momentarily chaos.
But then, suddenly, he was there, the dying sun licking golden and hungrily across the floor, and he stopped, just for a second, to watch Harry. Watched how the muscles strained in his neck, as he sat with his head bend over work already (papers scattered on the coffee table), how the sun illuminated his hair and made it appear like a ruby halo. The way he’d loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first few buttons and revealed his prominent collar bones, revealing the spot that Dougie used to caress after sex, when he’d lie on Harry’s chest and draw idle patterns over the still slick skin, waiting for his breathing to return to normal.
Harry’s right leg was bouncing on the floor; the sole of his shoe creating a constant, and rather annoying, clicking sound when it touched down on the wood. It’s then that Dougie walked into the room, deciding to mess up whatever Harry was doing by his presence, knowing that the brunette would smell the aftershave he put on, hear him as he deliberately stepped on the floorboards, that he knew creaked.
As anticipated Harry and the dog, lying beside him on the black leather (which was a surprise since he has never allowed on the furniture), looked up at him, eyes slitted against the light streaming from the panorama windows, and Dougie almost expected a reaction from him then. He wished for one at least. Wished that Harry would stand up and march over, tell him not to walk out of the door, lock his arms around him and never let go. But he didn’t. He just sat there on the couch, black and golden pencil in his hand, poised above one of the papers (a few lines strung out on it) and Dougie felt a fire ignite in his chest, spreading through his whole body like lava; flowing hot and slick in his veins. He didn’t show it though, just kept the gaze with Harry, and for a split second he could have sworn he saw the same yearning in his eyes, the same blazing need to do something, but then it was gone. Swallowed up by a blink.
No words were spoken as Dougie walked across the room, not even the sound of his feet against the floor could be heard, and he hoped badly that the dog would bark, or jump from the sofa, just something other than the silence.
With his hand on the door knob, ready to turn it, the blond stood still for a moment, feeling both gazes on his back, one soft and curious, the other sharp and burning. He almost turned around, almost gave Harry one last look, but then he heard a sigh, papers rustle, the scratching of a pen, and with gritted teeth and a determined heart, he opened the door.
*
The sky was velvet and sea green around the edges when Dougie got home.
Standing in the dark hallway he inhaled in the familiar smell of home; shoe polish and expensive leather filling his nostrils and he quickly toed off his shoes, threw his jacket on the rack, just wanting to be in bed now, even if he’d only spent the few hours being awake, staring at Harry’s back, and pretending to sleep as he slipped out to get ready for work.
Moving quickly and quietly through the house, almost feeling like he lurked about in a stranger’s home, Dougie was soon by the bedroom, pushing the door open softly and making sure not to do it too fast, knowing that the hinges squeaked then.
There was a moment of stillness, of not breathing, of paralysation and thoughts scattered everywhere, lost and jumbled together in a big mess. There was a long moment of his hand clutching the metal door knob, as if it was his life line, of his heart hammering painfully in his chest, of his throat tightening and of his eyes blurring, twisting the sight before him, making the lines melt together and becoming a watery tangle.
Suddenly air filled his lungs again, when the ache became too much, when dark spots began to dance before his eyes, and he lunged forward then, hands searching wildly across the bed, determined to find something other than the neatly stacked pillows and undisturbed duvet.
Nothing. Nothing!
He started tearing at the covers; flinging them off the bed and letting the fabric pool at his feet, the silky material a false cares against his skin, before swivelling around and pouncing on the closet, hands gripping the handles and throwing open the doors.
His various dark shirts of blue and purple hung there, and it was just then that he realised how little he owned, how much of the space Harry took up. The clothes that were left looked so sparse in the big wardrobe.
With a desperate whimper he sank to the floor, knees hitting the floorboards hard, but he didn’t care, didn’t even register the pain, because the crater in his chest was all consuming.
Harry had stormed off before, had yelled at him, shouted, and then taken the car, driving off for hours, but he always came home, sometimes before midnight others at 2 in the morning, but he always came home.
And he never took anything with him.
Staring at the empty shelves, the bare hangers, Dougie felt his world disintegrate at the edges, bridges collapsing and houses crumbling to the ground, dust and dirt whirling in the air, slowly smothering him.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to hit the vacant space in the closet until his knuckles bled, until his throat tore and his tears became dry. But he didn’t. He just sat there, on the floor among the silk sheets, hands lying palms up in his lap and head bowed, fringe moving with every exhale.
He knew something inside of him was broken, broken terrible, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t reach for it, couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility, and didn’t want to. Didn’t like the consequences, not what would follow, or where he would end up. No.
Taking a shaky breath he leaned forward, hands coming to rest on the floor, fingers brushing against something cool, rough, and not fabric as he did so. A piece of paper amongst the ocean of red silk.
Staying in the awkward position, back protesting at the angle, he turned the sheet over and unfolded it, smoothening out the creases.
D.
I need some time to think. I’ve needed it for a while now, but I’ve being fooling myself in the false hope that I didn’t.
But today I realised it’s not working. We’re not who we used to be, and maybe we never will be.
I know I said your line of work didn’t matter, and that I could deal. I’m starting to think it does, and that I can’t.
There are so many things I want to say to you, but lately I’ve found myself mute around you.
For now this will have to do.
I love you.
H.
His head was pounding when he read the last words, when he re-read the letter, and read it again for a third time, the silence from earlier back in his head, and cramming it full of white noise, so much nothing that it ached. It was a kind of blindness that made him stare at the lines, and unexpectedly he was reminded of earlier, of Harry bending over a page, of Harry sighing and writing, and of himself leaving, leaving when it was crucial to stay.
He knew it, knew it in the back of his mind (he always did), but it didn’t stop him, he still walked out the door. And now. Now he might have lost him.
Teeth dug into his lip at the thought, and he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes build up, the lump in his throat becoming harder to swallow, and with a muffled gasp he shoved a hand into his mouth, biting down on the fingers hard, needing the distraction, needing the pain.
That was when he heard it, the weak sound of claws on wood, just before a wet snout pressed against his temple, nostrils sniffing and then a warm tongue licked his cheek.
Lifting his head Dougie met the huge brown eyes of the dog, their dog, and seeing him here, still with him, he felt it was okay. Just a little bit.
Nothing was right in that moment, but he was there, and it made the blond hope, a tiny spark flaring in his chest, and he couldn’t extinguish it; he needed that flame so much.
The Labrador looked at him; head tilted to the side as if silently asking him what was going on, before lying down and resting his head in Dougie’s lap, giving him the unconditional love that the blond craved just then.
Early sun light was seeping through the cracks of the curtains, washing the night away slowly, and he let his head loll against the mattress, mind blank, and heart weeping, as he gazed at the ceiling trying to avoid thinking about today, tomorrow and the day after.
“I love you too.” He spoke the words to the room, to the rising sun, to the dog by his side, and to Harry.
*
The air was cold and stung his lungs as he walked along the pavement, tiny drops of rain misting against his skin and turning his cheeks pink, nose going numb. Hands buried deep in his pockets, trying to keep hold of the warmth he’s got left, Dougie tried to bury his thoughts too, tried to just put one foot in front of the other, and ignore the burning in his stomach.
The gate to the park was as rusty as ever, as deteriorated as it always was, hinges whining and protesting as he pushed through them, shoes slipping in the mud when he stepped inside on the path, which winded through the park like a maze and was long since forgotten, weeds and holes everywhere.
He walked along the gravel paths, head down and lips thin, thoughts churning and scattering about one subject; Harry. The winds picked up then, rain becoming heavier; big fat drops falling upon his head and neck, sending shivers down his spine, fingers curling in his pockets, and he just wanted to be there. At the spot. Their spot.
Glancing up he noticed the familiar turn, the old gnarly tree, which had always been there, and probably always would be, and he took the path to the right, coming upon the tiny hill with the old, certainly rotten and worm eaten by now, bench.
Gingerly sitting down, maybe a little afraid it’d collapse beneath his weight; Dougie pulled his feet up, wrapping his arms around his legs as he did so and rested his chin on the knees, denim rough against his skin.
The glade was quiet, the rustling of the leaves the only real disturbance, and Dougie found himself falling into an old memory, a piece of the past from back when he wore black nail polish and Harry had long, terribly bleached, hair. From when he was sitting on this bench, the sun a golden globe on the sky, and Harry came by; needing a smoke badly, asking for one and maybe a light too?
He wanted to go down that road, explore the memory; recall their hushed conversation, how Harry was slightly breathless and the butterflies Dougie felt flapping their wings wildly in his stomach as their fingers touched. But there’s a grinding of shoes against gravel, the steady sound of soles against soggy ground as someone came near, making the blonde look up, and his heart stilled in his chest for a second too long.
The hair was still the same; dark and thick (maybe a bit less perfect than normally), the eyes where they’d always been, blue, oh so endlessly blue, mouth a little tight at the corners, but it was there and the stubble was as well, the one-day stubble that he’d always had, even back then. His hands were in his pockets, just like Dougie’s had been, head bent slightly forward as he walked up the hill, but his gaze never broke with Dougie, and he felt an odd sort of emotion flutter in his stomach, something warm and that made his breath snap and heart double its pace.
He didn’t stop walking until he was in front of Dougie, until the blonde could smell his skin, until every exhale made Dougie’s fringe flop slightly.
“Hey, could you spare a cigarette?”
Title: Now Just Hold On, Hold On To Me
Author: silverferret89
Rating: 15
Pairing: PoynterJudd
Word Count: 4951
Summary: Time takes a turn and people change; sometimes they stick together forever, and others glue isn't enough.
A/N: I hope you'll enjoy this Manu <3 Merry Christmas! (Also, the title is a line from the song "Do It For Me Now" by Angels&Airways.) Beta’d by E.
The sun was flittering through the blinds, painting striped patterns across the floorboards, dark golden licks of light indicating the end of the day.
If he’d bothered to draw the blinds up, Dougie would’ve seen the black Ford pull into the driveway. Would’ve seen a handsome young man dressed in a dark marine suit, the one that made his eyes seem impossibly blue, get out of his car. He could have been standing in the window, a smile lying subtly just beneath the surface, as he watched the tall man stroll up the garden path.
But he was not, so he didn’t.
He was currently lying on the sofa; ankles propped up and crossed on the arm rest, feet bobbing along to the music flowing, more like booming, from the stereo. A beer clutched in his left hand, the condensation soaking his shirt as he held the can on his chest.
He didn’t hear Harry stamp his feet on the “Welcome” mat, didn’t hear him turn the key in the lock and let himself in. Didn’t hear the sigh escaping his mouth, or see him lean heavily against the closed door. Wasn’t there to relieve the frown Harry put on when he finally registered the only slightly muffled music leaking from the cracks of the living room door. The deafening rhythm beating like a second heart, invisible sound waves pounding in his lungs and ears. He wasn’t there, so he couldn’t predict Harry’s irritation; his rising ire, which was simmering just beneath his skin, making his blood run faster, more smoothly.
He was still lounging on the couch, gulping down his beer and pondering whether or not he should go fetch another one. A cold wet snout touched his elbow, and he looked down to see two gorgeous brown eyes looking back at him. Switching the beer to his other hand, Dougie reached down and let his fingers caress the soft fur on the chocolate Labrador’s head, scratching him behind an ear and loving the way he half-closed his eyes in pleasure.
When an angry Harry slammed the door open, making the pictures on the shelves rattle (and one fall over), only the dog noticed, lifting one of his ears, as if listening, but didn’t move otherwise, enjoying Dougie’s attention too much.
Harry was frozen in the doorway for a long while, hands protecting his ears, and teeth gritted against the words queuing in his head. He wanted to shout, to produce a reaction from Dougie, to make him scream back instead of just lying there, on the sofa, as he always did. But it never happened. Harry rarely raised his voice anymore, what’s the point when your boyfriend just gives you the finger, locks himself in the bathroom, only to come out hours later, smelling lush and inviting, ready for work? He had tried; he’d provoked Dougie with snarky comments, sarcasm and mockery, but nothing ever worked; the blond only stared back at him with that blank look, eyes vacant of emotions and lips tight.
Pressing down his rising anger, Harry marched over to the stereo, ignoring the eyes he could feel on the side of his face, Dougie observing him silently as always. That’s what he did; calculated him and waited for just the right moment to say something, which would make Harry throw his briefcase on the floor, or whack his hand against the table top. Unravelled him, make him lose control, and then Dougie would return to his shell again, eyes like a bruised autumn sky.
With a quick move he jabbed his finger on the power button, making the music evaporate immediately and silence seep into their ears. If silence could ever have a sound it would be heavy and laced with anticipation. At least theirs would, Harry thought bitterly, mouth twisting.
When he finally turned around, staring down at the blond on the sofa, there was no greeting. Only two pairs of eyes looking back at him (one blue, one brown), and for a split second he was ready to scold the dog for not padding over and lick his hands, at least sniff him. It was his dog for fucks sake, and it acted like he was a stranger.
“Can’t I just get a fucking hello?” Harry asked, voice soft and deadly, dark shadows and knives hiding behind each word. Dougie sat up slowly, hand still on the dog’s head, and drowned his beer; head tipped back and Adams apple bopping as he swallowed the golden liquid. Placing the empty can on the coffee table’s glass plate, the metallic sound clinking high, the blond licked his lips, eyes locking with Harry’s.
“I’ve got to get ready”, was his only reply. Harry felt his right eye twitch.
“It’s 5pm.”
“Early appointment.” His boyfriend shrugged, the movement casual and his demeanour just the same, as if he didn’t care. Didn’t care whether Harry liked it or not, whether it made his heart beat twice as fast when Dougie got home at 3am, smelling of business men and rich women. Harry felt it, each night when Dougie crawled into bed, fingers tracing across his cheekbones, hands cupping his face lightly; he felt his love bloom like a flower in his chest. But the soil in which it grew was always toxic. Nothing was ever pure between them, not even the nights. Especially not the nights.
“For once, can we talk?” Harry asked moving towards Dougie, as the blond got up, hands outstretched and ready to grip onto him, keep him in place, near.
“Sorry, no time.”
“I come home early from work so we’d have some time together, and then you’ve got clients!” He knew his voice was rising slightly, edges not as stable as he’d liked them to be, words falling clumsily on top of each other, but he ignored it. Not now.
“You have your work, I have mine. I told you-“, he was standing in front of Harry, finger poking him hard in the chest, eyes like two pieces of smouldering charcoal beneath his fringe. “-if you couldn’t handle it.” There was an underlying threat in the statement, and Harry wanted to act upon it, but he just stood there, blood racing through his veins and pounding in his ears.
“I have accepted it.” Even he could hear how utterly pathetic that sounded, and seeing how Dougie’s eyes narrowed, there was no mistake the blond saw through the lie.
“Fine. Then let go of me.” The words were clipped, and only then did Harry realise that his left hand was tightly closed around Dougie’s upper arm, fingers and nails digging into the unprotected skin.
“Sorry.” His voice was soft, but he didn’t feel sorry. He wanted to shake Dougie, and make him understand, see. But he never could. Loosening his grip, his fingers peeled away slowly, and Harry winced as he saw the red marks he’d left on Dougie’s arm. A fleeting wish to reach out and stroke the blonde’s cheek ran down his arm, making his fingers twitch, but then Dougie was already leaving, picking up his can and chatting quietly to the dog.
Harry watched him disappear down the hallway, feeling his heart ache dully as he did so, the soft throb tightening his chest and making tension crawl across his skin and seep into his head, manifesting itself as a heavy headache.
With a tired sigh he slumped down on the couch, face buried in his hands and thoughts whirling wildly.
Was this really worth it? The question echoed through his head, bounced silently against the walls of the living room and died out at the sound of Dougie closing a door.
*
It seemed like an eternity went by since he left Harry. The dripping of the tap was the only sound accompanying him in the bathroom, and standing with his back leant against the door, unbeknownst to him, mimicking Harry’s posture earlier; Dougie let out a heavy sigh. The tiles were cold against his bare feet, and for a long while he wished to stay like this forever, in this place, this moment, alone and just breathing in the clean smell of soap.
There was a soft scratch on the door, a feeble whimper and Dougie turned his head, lolling it against the dark wood, eyes closing and lashes curling against his cheeks.
“Go to Harry.” He said just loud enough for the dog to hear. Sliding to the floor, he could hear him sniff on the other side, nose probably stuck in one of the cracks trying to catch the smell of Dougie. Then the sniffing stopped and a long moment of silence followed, before the blond heard paws patter away on the polished wood.
Running a hand through his hair, Dougie dragged himself up again, walked to the sink, and gripped onto the white porcelain edge with both hands, staring at himself in the mirror.
The eyes that looked back at him didn’t seem to have the answer to the questions in his mind, didn’t seem to give away any of the anger, worry, frustration he felt inside; the turmoil of emotions crashing and blending, threatening to burst him.
How had they come to this? When had their affectionate words turned to snappy remarks? Why had they twisted everything?
Clenching his fists tightly, knuckles going white, Dougie suppressed his want, need, to punch the mirror, to see it cracked, to feel the pain in his hand and the blood mingling with broken pieces of glass. He’d never wanted this, this distance between them, he barely slept at night anymore, couldn’t with the space between him and Harry. Not only the mental, but the physical too. When he crept into bed late at night, hands moving to find the brunette, seeking out his warmth, heartbeat, and reaching nothing but a shoulder, his back. Rejection.
It was nights like those that made Dougie long for the time before Harry. Back then he didn’t have anyone but himself to think of, didn’t have the same responsibility towards another person, didn’t have to think about coming home too late, about being tired in the afternoons, about missing dinner and washing out his thoughts with music.
It made him long for that time because back then he didn’t know what he was missing. Didn’t know what it meant to fall asleep with someone wrapped around you, he’d never experienced waking up to soft skin and lips against his forehead, no rush in movements, no driven need or false caress behind the actions. He hadn’t known that sitting on the sofa, cheesy film on the telly and being curled up next to Harry, head on his chest, was the best feeling in the world, made his heart swell with something magical, made everything, even rain, seem like the most gorgeous thing.
But he knew now, that what had fallen upon their relationship and sunk its ugly claws in, was anything but gorgeous. It was dark, and polluting them. Poison slipping in with every word, and draining them both, making them put on the most gruesome masks they had, play parts they’d never wanted, never thought possible, but even so they followed along.
And they let this lack of everything tear them apart. Because, as it seemed to Dougie, there was nothing left between them. They were just going through the motions, there was no care left between them, only a bruised and weeping mess, filled with their last scrap of love for each other. Whatever that meant.
With a dejected sigh, Dougie pressed his forehead against the mirror, the glass cold against his skin, breathing in deeply and he tried to collect his thoughts, tried to push the raging chaos down, and lock it away again, away where he couldn’t touch it. Where it was safe from him, from Harry, from anyone. It didn’t help anything for him to slip into that muddle; it only made walking out the door each night harder, only made coming home seem like the worst imaginable thing ever. So he pushed it away, and pulled on the mask he’d become so fond of; indifference.
Turning away from his own reflection, Dougie started shedding his clothes, discarding the pieces one by one on the floor as he moved towards the shower stall. He stepped inside once he was naked and turned the water on with a snap of his wrist. Soon cold cascades were soaking him, making shivers wreck his frame, and goosebumps littering his back and arms, but then warmth started seeping through too, and his muscles relaxed, a grateful sigh falling from his lips.
With eyes closed tightly, Dougie searched for the soap (the one smelling of coconut and green apples), fingers fumbling wet and blindly, before they came in contact with the bottle. He squeezed out a good amount, and began washing his body; hands scrubbing hastily over his skin, not bothering to be as careful as normal, it just felt, well, meaningless. Especially now.
Neck bent under the relentless warm spray and with his forehead resting against the cold tiles, Dougie opened his eyes, trickles of water blurring his vision, and watched as the soap disappeared from his body, sliding down his legs and foaming around his feet, before swirling down the drain.
If only he could wash away everything so easily, every heartbreak and moment of regret.
Nothing ever came on a silver platter though, Dougie of all people knew that, but it didn’t change his desire for the easy solution, didn’t quench the way his throat closed just then, how his eyes stung when he thought of their broken relationship or when he found himself going out to work yet again, knowing that it was only driving Harry further away from him.
Turning the heat of the water up, the hot spray almost scolding his shoulders, Dougie closed his eyes again trying to slip away for the moment, tried to distract himself for a little while long, just until he had to leave. Humid, warm air filled his lungs with every breath and he enclosed himself in the cloying heat, relishing in the burning water, feeling something other than cold for the first time in a while. It felt like an eternity, but reality was probably only months, as if it should make things better. It’s “only” been a couple of months. Dougie felt bitterness seep into his veins, cold and metallic, and an acidic smile wrapped around his lips.
A sharp move of his hand, and then the water was turned off abruptly, residue drops falling from the shower head and landing in his already soaked hair. Pulling open the steamed cabin door, a burst of cold air rushed over Dougie’s skin, and he shuddered as he stepped out, water pooling around his feet on the pristine white tiles. Snatching a towel from the rack, the blond wrapped it around his narrow hips, and padded over to the sink, wiping the mirror with his hand as he stood in front of the fogged glass. Ripples of water gushed from the tips of his hair, travelling down his neck on the way to his chest, and for a time Dougie just stood motionless and stared at his own reflection, not really caring about the goosebumps moving across his body, or the constant buzzing of his phone somewhere.
Finally tearing his gaze away, a muffled kind of silence in his head, he began gathering his clothes up, and pulled the phone from his jeans pocket, seeing three missed calls, before dumping the bundle in the hamper. With a tired sigh he flicked the limp and wet fringe from his eyes and leaned against the door, the wood slippery with condensed water beneath his fingers.
He didn’t really want to step out in the hallway, to step into the reality of what they had, but he did so anyway, feeling the floorboards bending and creaking noisily beneath him as he walked to the bedroom, leaving wet footprints behind.
There was a form of haunted serenity in the room once he closed the door. The bed stood in the middle, big and imposing, sheets maroon and gleaming in the afternoon sun, and Dougie edged around it, not really wanting to come too near, to be confronted with what they lacked; intimacy.
The clothes were just picked out from the closet blindly, dark jeans and dark shirt (when did he stop buying colourful clothes?), thrown on quickly, because he just wanted to leave now, wanted to get away from the accusing bed as fast as possible, to be free in the polluted city air, which seemed much more clean than anything in their house.
When he walked to the living room the hallway was almost endless, every step brought him closer to the room, yet it felt like everything was moving backwards, as if time and space was somehow twisted and he was caught in the momentarily chaos.
But then, suddenly, he was there, the dying sun licking golden and hungrily across the floor, and he stopped, just for a second, to watch Harry. Watched how the muscles strained in his neck, as he sat with his head bend over work already (papers scattered on the coffee table), how the sun illuminated his hair and made it appear like a ruby halo. The way he’d loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first few buttons and revealed his prominent collar bones, revealing the spot that Dougie used to caress after sex, when he’d lie on Harry’s chest and draw idle patterns over the still slick skin, waiting for his breathing to return to normal.
Harry’s right leg was bouncing on the floor; the sole of his shoe creating a constant, and rather annoying, clicking sound when it touched down on the wood. It’s then that Dougie walked into the room, deciding to mess up whatever Harry was doing by his presence, knowing that the brunette would smell the aftershave he put on, hear him as he deliberately stepped on the floorboards, that he knew creaked.
As anticipated Harry and the dog, lying beside him on the black leather (which was a surprise since he has never allowed on the furniture), looked up at him, eyes slitted against the light streaming from the panorama windows, and Dougie almost expected a reaction from him then. He wished for one at least. Wished that Harry would stand up and march over, tell him not to walk out of the door, lock his arms around him and never let go. But he didn’t. He just sat there on the couch, black and golden pencil in his hand, poised above one of the papers (a few lines strung out on it) and Dougie felt a fire ignite in his chest, spreading through his whole body like lava; flowing hot and slick in his veins. He didn’t show it though, just kept the gaze with Harry, and for a split second he could have sworn he saw the same yearning in his eyes, the same blazing need to do something, but then it was gone. Swallowed up by a blink.
No words were spoken as Dougie walked across the room, not even the sound of his feet against the floor could be heard, and he hoped badly that the dog would bark, or jump from the sofa, just something other than the silence.
With his hand on the door knob, ready to turn it, the blond stood still for a moment, feeling both gazes on his back, one soft and curious, the other sharp and burning. He almost turned around, almost gave Harry one last look, but then he heard a sigh, papers rustle, the scratching of a pen, and with gritted teeth and a determined heart, he opened the door.
*
The sky was velvet and sea green around the edges when Dougie got home.
Standing in the dark hallway he inhaled in the familiar smell of home; shoe polish and expensive leather filling his nostrils and he quickly toed off his shoes, threw his jacket on the rack, just wanting to be in bed now, even if he’d only spent the few hours being awake, staring at Harry’s back, and pretending to sleep as he slipped out to get ready for work.
Moving quickly and quietly through the house, almost feeling like he lurked about in a stranger’s home, Dougie was soon by the bedroom, pushing the door open softly and making sure not to do it too fast, knowing that the hinges squeaked then.
There was a moment of stillness, of not breathing, of paralysation and thoughts scattered everywhere, lost and jumbled together in a big mess. There was a long moment of his hand clutching the metal door knob, as if it was his life line, of his heart hammering painfully in his chest, of his throat tightening and of his eyes blurring, twisting the sight before him, making the lines melt together and becoming a watery tangle.
Suddenly air filled his lungs again, when the ache became too much, when dark spots began to dance before his eyes, and he lunged forward then, hands searching wildly across the bed, determined to find something other than the neatly stacked pillows and undisturbed duvet.
Nothing. Nothing!
He started tearing at the covers; flinging them off the bed and letting the fabric pool at his feet, the silky material a false cares against his skin, before swivelling around and pouncing on the closet, hands gripping the handles and throwing open the doors.
His various dark shirts of blue and purple hung there, and it was just then that he realised how little he owned, how much of the space Harry took up. The clothes that were left looked so sparse in the big wardrobe.
With a desperate whimper he sank to the floor, knees hitting the floorboards hard, but he didn’t care, didn’t even register the pain, because the crater in his chest was all consuming.
Harry had stormed off before, had yelled at him, shouted, and then taken the car, driving off for hours, but he always came home, sometimes before midnight others at 2 in the morning, but he always came home.
And he never took anything with him.
Staring at the empty shelves, the bare hangers, Dougie felt his world disintegrate at the edges, bridges collapsing and houses crumbling to the ground, dust and dirt whirling in the air, slowly smothering him.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to hit the vacant space in the closet until his knuckles bled, until his throat tore and his tears became dry. But he didn’t. He just sat there, on the floor among the silk sheets, hands lying palms up in his lap and head bowed, fringe moving with every exhale.
He knew something inside of him was broken, broken terrible, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t reach for it, couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility, and didn’t want to. Didn’t like the consequences, not what would follow, or where he would end up. No.
Taking a shaky breath he leaned forward, hands coming to rest on the floor, fingers brushing against something cool, rough, and not fabric as he did so. A piece of paper amongst the ocean of red silk.
Staying in the awkward position, back protesting at the angle, he turned the sheet over and unfolded it, smoothening out the creases.
D.
I need some time to think. I’ve needed it for a while now, but I’ve being fooling myself in the false hope that I didn’t.
But today I realised it’s not working. We’re not who we used to be, and maybe we never will be.
I know I said your line of work didn’t matter, and that I could deal. I’m starting to think it does, and that I can’t.
There are so many things I want to say to you, but lately I’ve found myself mute around you.
For now this will have to do.
I love you.
H.
His head was pounding when he read the last words, when he re-read the letter, and read it again for a third time, the silence from earlier back in his head, and cramming it full of white noise, so much nothing that it ached. It was a kind of blindness that made him stare at the lines, and unexpectedly he was reminded of earlier, of Harry bending over a page, of Harry sighing and writing, and of himself leaving, leaving when it was crucial to stay.
He knew it, knew it in the back of his mind (he always did), but it didn’t stop him, he still walked out the door. And now. Now he might have lost him.
Teeth dug into his lip at the thought, and he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes build up, the lump in his throat becoming harder to swallow, and with a muffled gasp he shoved a hand into his mouth, biting down on the fingers hard, needing the distraction, needing the pain.
That was when he heard it, the weak sound of claws on wood, just before a wet snout pressed against his temple, nostrils sniffing and then a warm tongue licked his cheek.
Lifting his head Dougie met the huge brown eyes of the dog, their dog, and seeing him here, still with him, he felt it was okay. Just a little bit.
Nothing was right in that moment, but he was there, and it made the blond hope, a tiny spark flaring in his chest, and he couldn’t extinguish it; he needed that flame so much.
The Labrador looked at him; head tilted to the side as if silently asking him what was going on, before lying down and resting his head in Dougie’s lap, giving him the unconditional love that the blond craved just then.
Early sun light was seeping through the cracks of the curtains, washing the night away slowly, and he let his head loll against the mattress, mind blank, and heart weeping, as he gazed at the ceiling trying to avoid thinking about today, tomorrow and the day after.
“I love you too.” He spoke the words to the room, to the rising sun, to the dog by his side, and to Harry.
*
The air was cold and stung his lungs as he walked along the pavement, tiny drops of rain misting against his skin and turning his cheeks pink, nose going numb. Hands buried deep in his pockets, trying to keep hold of the warmth he’s got left, Dougie tried to bury his thoughts too, tried to just put one foot in front of the other, and ignore the burning in his stomach.
The gate to the park was as rusty as ever, as deteriorated as it always was, hinges whining and protesting as he pushed through them, shoes slipping in the mud when he stepped inside on the path, which winded through the park like a maze and was long since forgotten, weeds and holes everywhere.
He walked along the gravel paths, head down and lips thin, thoughts churning and scattering about one subject; Harry. The winds picked up then, rain becoming heavier; big fat drops falling upon his head and neck, sending shivers down his spine, fingers curling in his pockets, and he just wanted to be there. At the spot. Their spot.
Glancing up he noticed the familiar turn, the old gnarly tree, which had always been there, and probably always would be, and he took the path to the right, coming upon the tiny hill with the old, certainly rotten and worm eaten by now, bench.
Gingerly sitting down, maybe a little afraid it’d collapse beneath his weight; Dougie pulled his feet up, wrapping his arms around his legs as he did so and rested his chin on the knees, denim rough against his skin.
The glade was quiet, the rustling of the leaves the only real disturbance, and Dougie found himself falling into an old memory, a piece of the past from back when he wore black nail polish and Harry had long, terribly bleached, hair. From when he was sitting on this bench, the sun a golden globe on the sky, and Harry came by; needing a smoke badly, asking for one and maybe a light too?
He wanted to go down that road, explore the memory; recall their hushed conversation, how Harry was slightly breathless and the butterflies Dougie felt flapping their wings wildly in his stomach as their fingers touched. But there’s a grinding of shoes against gravel, the steady sound of soles against soggy ground as someone came near, making the blonde look up, and his heart stilled in his chest for a second too long.
The hair was still the same; dark and thick (maybe a bit less perfect than normally), the eyes where they’d always been, blue, oh so endlessly blue, mouth a little tight at the corners, but it was there and the stubble was as well, the one-day stubble that he’d always had, even back then. His hands were in his pockets, just like Dougie’s had been, head bent slightly forward as he walked up the hill, but his gaze never broke with Dougie, and he felt an odd sort of emotion flutter in his stomach, something warm and that made his breath snap and heart double its pace.
He didn’t stop walking until he was in front of Dougie, until the blonde could smell his skin, until every exhale made Dougie’s fringe flop slightly.
“Hey, could you spare a cigarette?”