hamzair fic
so this was supposed to be a pride month release but viral fever is homophobic apparently
CONTENT WARNING: hurt no comfort, angst, depictions of violence, doomed yaoi alert, major character death (obviously), unrequited love, cursing, 'a little bit of this, a little bit of that' ahh fic, mild internalised homophobia, my horrendous writing and characterisation of uzair
how come I see you and ache instead?
AU where Hamza kills Uzair instead of Siyahi
based on my face-blind ass who thought it was Uzair being killed instead of Siyahi in the first movie during the movie's climax
It wasn't the first tug of the thorned vines pulling against Uzair's trachea that broke his spirit to fight. It wasn't his fingernails scraping his neck in stringy ropes of dead skin cells, muscle and blood. It wasn't even knowing that Rehman was too far away to save him.
No, it was the realisation catching up to Uzair that Hamza Ali Mazari would be the one to kill him.
—✿—
'Somewhere in South End when you were fun'
Uzair's gaze was soft as he watched Hamza light up like a child with a new toy as he rummaged through the new guns Shirani had gifted them. The day was already filled with festivities, and it was as if the pressure of the Major's demand had completely left Uzair's mind.
'You took my hand and you made me run'
There was something about the way Hamza pranced around with the guns with him, Rehman watching them from far away. Uzair wasn't usually this trigger-happy (who am I kidding, he always had a finger on the trigger, but let's pretend he was a normal man for today), but Hamza's presence had opened some sort of floodgates within him.
"Don't get reckless," Hamza eventually said to Uzair.
The taller man laughed freely. "We'll be fine."
He felt young. Not that he was particularly old, but he never had anyone his age around him. Siyahi liked Donga. Donga was...well, he was Donga. Rehman bhai loved him, don't get me wrong. But Uzair respected him far too much.
'Up past the prison to the seafront'
He always felt a little left out.
Well, that was until Hamza turned up.
Uzair really hoped that he would stick around longer than the others. There was this spark in him. Potential.
'You climbed the cliff edge and took the plunge'
The Major's plans with the ammunition succeeded. Everyone was elated; celebrations ensued and even Rehman didn't show any restraint in getting drunk with Uzair, Donga and Siyahi. The only man missing was...
'Why can't we laugh now like we did then?'
...Hamza.
Where was he? In his drunken haze, Uzair lamented about the man's presence to Donga and Siyahi the whole night.
"Man, is he your wife or something?" Donga nudged Uzair, the taller man flopping around like an overgrown toddler. "Why are you so worried about him?"
That struck a nerve.
Why, someone didn't need to be your wife for you to care about them. Not that Donga would understand that.
"Isse 'attachment issues' kehte hain—" Siyahi began.
"—zyada biology mat chuda—"
"—psychology—"
"Shut up." Uzair mumbled, unheard.
'How come I see you and ache instead?'
The next few days, Hamza was distant.
"Hamza—"
The longer haired man turned away from Uzair as soon as he saw him in the hallway. He wasn't at his kabootar-khana of a house either. Uzair didn't know what he had done to receive this behaviour.
'How come you only look pleased in bed?'
Everyone in the gang was going around whispering, 'Yalina. Jamali. Yalina. Jamali. Yalina Jamali.'
Uzair didn't quite like that.
He followed along with smiles, sure, but the prospect of Hamza getting married was...not good. It surely wasn't bad; I mean, who wouldn't want to see their best friend getting married? And Yalina was a sweet girl. But Hamza getting married would mean responsibilities. Duties. Duties that would hold him back from romping about with Uzair and Donga and Siyahi and all those other idiots whose names he couldn't be bothered with. Why did Hamza need to get married?
And married to Jameel Jamali's daughter, no less. That dumb politician couldn't say something genuine to save his life. Everything about him screamed fake. Artificial.
Uzair couldn't trust him.
And Uzair didn't know how to feel.
'Let's climb the cliff edge and jump again'
Getting blackout drunk at your best friend's wedding seemed to be the natural thing to do.
'Pineapples are in my head'
Hamza looked good. Smart. A little strange, with his hair and beard done instead of being left frizzy and free.
'Got nobody 'cause I'm braindead'
The good thing was that Hamza was talking to Uzair again. The jokes were a little stilted, but it didn't matter. As long as Hamza spoke to him in his soft voice. Looked at him with his mossy green eyes. Smiled at him with—
'Somebody said that I'm a fuckin' slum'
The bad thing was that Uzair felt like screaming every time he saw Hamza holding Yalina's hand? Brushing a lock of soft, curled hair away from her ear? Rehman, a little tipsy, congratulated them every other minute and Uzair's ears had blood rushing into them, blocking away the music and merriment around him.
'Don't know where I belong.'
Uzair always thought these types of whims were faced by those watery-eyed, fair-faced women in films. Not men, surely. He had seen Rehman bhai lament over Ulfat, but this?
'Maybe you're I'm fucking dumb.'
He'd dropped his pocket diary at the table as the Major rambled about more ammunition. Hamza bent to pick it up along with Uzair, and their hands brushed for a moment. Uzair froze, but Hamza picked the diary up without a second thought.
'Maybe I'm just a bum.'
Dazed, Uzair wondered how Hamza would've reacted if it was Yalina's hand instead of his.
'Maybe you're I'm fucking scum.'
'Don't you go psycho chum'
'I want you for the world'
'I want you all the time'
At the end of the night, it was Hamza that carried Uzair's telephone pole of a body out of his seat. By this time, Uzair was far too gone to care about what people thought about him. Even what Rehman bhai thought about him.
'Five thousand footsteps in your wet dress'
"Tu theek hain?" Hamza asked, a smile hidden under his now-freed locks, as if something was funny. "You drank too much."
'Back to the house with your arms around my neck'
"Why did you have to get married?" Uzair groaned as they walked—or, well, Hamza walked and Uzair was dragged.
"I don't see the problem." Hamza rearranged his grip around Uzair's shoulders. "You got free food. I got someone I loved."
"You don't love me?"
'We drank pork soda with tangled legs'
Now, Hamza laughed.
"No, seriously." Uzair slurred. "I love you."
"Kam peeya kar, bhai."
Uzair did something stupid that day. He was drunk. His head was spinning and Hamza was along with it. He planted his hands on either side of Hamza's broad shoulders and pressed his forehead against Hamza's.
His lips twitched and he wanted to ask a plethora of questions, 'wasn't I enough? What's all this about love? You've only known eachother for a few months. What about us? Why not me?'
He just said, forcing a joking smirk, teeth bared more in desperation than mockery, "don't forget about me."
'I won't forget how you looked at me then'
A beat.
Hamza gently pushed him along, thank god.
Uzair slumped as he was dumped to Rehman bhai.
Hamza stopped avoiding him after that. They were friends again, and Uzair couldn't find it in himself to protest.
'I know I'm no sweet prince of love'
Gun forgotten. Running. Head throbbing with the pain of slamming it into the centre console, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Leaves crunching under his feet. Blood ran along his temples.
Hamza. A traitor.
'Those times that we got drunk'
Hamza was the one who got pushed into the thorned bark, but Uzair was the one who felt the pain.
'Maybe Jamaica rum'
Uzair was a hotheaded man from the start. In his rage, he didn't notice when Hamza had tangled him in the thorned vines. His chest ached, and Uzair didn't know if it was the ache of betrayal or the sting of sharp spines digging into his skin.
'Maybe some Johnny Dub'
Hamza pulled. Barbaric.
'Maybe you still think of us'
Death wasn't merciful. Uzair's neck didn't snap. Instead, his throat was squeezed. Spots dancing in his vision.
'Phone buzz, and still I jump'
Their first meeting. Hamza jumping as Uzair's gun shot almost thirty bullets at once.
Another pull.
Football. Picking Hamza's burly self up in joy when he won against Donga and Siyahi.
Hamza lets out a scream. Guttural.
Laughing his ass off when Hamza coughs like an asthmatic after one puff of a cigarette.
Uzair felt the ends of his limbs go numb.
The chase through Cheel-Chowk.
A snap.
Rescuing Rehman bhai from the Lyari Task Forces.
It wasn't the last tug of the thorned vines pulling against Uzair's trachea that broke his spirit to live. It wasn't his fingernails scraping his neck in stringy ropes of dead skin cells, muscle and blood. It wasn't even knowing that Rehman was too far away to save him. Maybe he was dead already.
'Why don't I say it then?'
No, it was the realisation catching up to Uzair that Hamza Ali Mazari was the one to kill him.
'I want you all the time'
—-—-—-
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