@terminusvitae || Likewise, Lovewise
Alastor had seen this movie to the point of knowing the lines by heart and being able to recall them on demand, and that level of repetition failed to diminish his enjoyment of it. He thought there’d be nothing better to spend the time doing, but he would be wrong-- and he’d be glad of that fact.
His fingers skimmed along his friend’s hair; it was deceptively silky, harmless unlike the blazing heat it evoked. He smiled at the thought of having a fire that only his hands could touch and remain unscathed. There was a lot of that, about Chaos, that he enjoyed. But sometimes that happiness came tinged with shame. The warmth of enjoyment drowned it for a while, but there were times when it bubbled up and bobbed along the surface regardless.
It was greedy, what he was doing, wasn’t it? To spend so much time with Chaos. To be the only one to touch his hair. To ask him so much of his passions. To want to see the way his eyes lit up when telling a story. To nurse the bruises from a fight, or put ice on a busted lip. To want to hear his chuckle at a joke, the rich belly laugh earned by something truly amusing, or watch the curl of his lip and the quiet snort earned by a pun he wouldn’t admit aloud to finding funny. Though Al wanted to believe that such things were infinite and that Chaos had a right to give it freely to whomever he wanted, they were only human, and their time here was so short. Al couldn’t help but wonder if maybe his being around so constantly made it... easier to divert the sweet things he found in Chaos, take them away from others who would want them.
Chaos asked for his attention, and he gave a low hum of acknowledgment as he attempted to pull himself from his thoughts. He wasn’t paying attention to the movie anymore. He was happy enough to spend ever more time with Chaos, no matter what. Even with the shame churning inside him from his selfishness.
He shut his eyes, and placed a gentle kiss onto the crown of his friend’s head. He wouldn’t see the way Chaos made himself small -- physically impossible now, but he closed himself off with the way he curled up.
Alastor stilled to the point where he wasn’t sure he was breathing. How would he be, anyway? All the air had left the room. He withdrew so that he was no longer touching Chaos. The television turned off. Wasn’t aware when he’d pressed the button. Didn’t matter.
He shifted around from his spot on the couch. Slid down to the floor, right beside Chaos. Needed to be level with him. Needed to be on the ground before his knees gave out. His heart kicked a Broadway musical against his rib cage while he thought-- nothing. He had nothing.
He stared at the empty television, to his and Chaos’s reflections on the glass. The reflections’ hands were too far apart. Alastor moved his own until the one on the TV was holding onto his friend. His more-than-friend. The one where, had this truly been a movie, he would have spent two hours and a montage trying to earn the love of. He had to say something. This was where he’d say it. So many movies where the lead character knew all the right things to say, what to do, blessed with the gift of pithy quotes, but he wasn’t them. He wasn’t them.
Still, he had to say something. He turned to Chaos and--
“You could at least say that to my face, asshole.”
