impulsive energy; surging spectrum

The impatience wasn’t just in Cameron’s tone but his whole attitude and body language. But instead of letting it bother him in any way, it just made Ashiq smile. There was something so incredibly amusing to him the way Cam expressed himself freely. He was so used to guns for hire or other collaborators he worked with to have an air of nervousness when they spoke to him about anything other than business. So much so that it rarely even happened.

Maybe that was why he liked Cameron so much.

Rising from the chair he’d draped himself in he reached up to give the pouting face before him a few gentle pats. He could usually use his own unflappable demeanor to soothe any rattled party but he figured the other man was looking for a little more.

“Come here, let’s take care of those scrapes and see if I can’t tidy up that jacket. Wouldn’t want you to lose that, now would we?” The smile turned to a grin. Teasing Cameron about his clothes when they had both seen Ashiq be just as obsessive about his garments.

His hand slowly fell, trailing down the muscular shoulder and arm to the calloused hand planted firmly on hip. Some gentle weaseling managed to pry it loose and he carefully laced their fingers together, a woven basket of their contrasting skin tones.

Using this handle he playfully pulled his lover along to another room. One whose cabinets and panels held something much more sinister behind them than the towels and lotions probably now askew in the bathroom. A full counter with drawers and cupboards full of medical supplies in case of… an adverse event. They happened from time to time so he was glad to be accessing them in less dire circumstances.

Pulling open a cabinet with his free hand he pulled out the bottle Cameron had been looking for and offered it to him. “Can I get you anything else, darling?”

Cameron was silent, steadfast in acting out at least some of his petulance. Yet the way that Ashiq handled him always managed to dull the edges of his emotions. Still there, as evident in his face and in his demeanor, but no longer sharp enough to lash out and hurt anyone.

Letting Ashiq lead, Cameron followed behind dutifully. He was practically hanging off of Ashiq by the time they had stopped in the other room. Cameron’s hand, similarly, had traveled from Ashiq’s cheek down to his shoulder and to his chest in meandering affection. 

Of course, when the bottle was presented to him, Cameron’s hand snapped up to take it from Ashiq. He gave him a mischievous smile, and leaned back slightly to talk to him. “aren’t you gonna do anythin’ about my scrapes? or am i supposed to deal with that myself?” he asked with a playful tone.

In the next beat, however, his expression softened to confusion, as he had to imagine if there was anything else he actually needed from Ashiq. Mouth barely open and eyes unfocused. “uhhhh....”

“Don’t promise me that.” Ashiq bit back but with less anger than his expression suggested. “Maybe you were left down here as punishment for breaking your promise last time. Or the time before that.”

He could have gone on with that for another full minute if he felt like it and it still would have been accurate. If he did the statistics for it – and he wouldn’t – there would likely be results proving that a little less than half the time he was making new prosthetics for Cameron due to natural growth, comfortability, and ease of motion. And then the majority would show that he was back in the basement with another scowl on his face because the old ones he’d spent weeks on were now missing or damaged.

“Let’s see you are a….” His eyes closed briefly, projecting a list of specs he knew by heart. “Twenty…” His hands left the tangle of wires to turn a crank two clicks and compress the shell of the prosthetic to match the circumference of Cameron’s upper thigh. Customizable long term wear was his specialty. Or it would have been if his parts stayed with his friend long enough.

“You can sleep in the bed if you want. Lord knows I won’t be in it since now I have to be down here.” There was still some bitterness in his voice but at the same time Ashiq was trying to be sympathetic. He knew it must’ve been hard to wait around with limited mobility while he worked and in some ways he didn’t want Cameron to suffer more than he already was.

“oh come on,” he laughed. “you don’t gotta rush this and lose sleep over it... like i told you, i don’t have any appointments or anythin’.”

A shift in his expression: tight lips pressing together with incredulous eyes. “and, of course, i could always pay you for the work but you never want my money ‘cause you got too much of it or... somethin’.”

There was something he had always seen and so rarely felt that stirred within him. His cousins or their wives kneeling down to their crying child, soft soothing words accompanying the simple but powerful gesture of pulling them in for a hug. Creating that safe space a parent should create to make their kid feel invincible and protected for all eternity.

He’d mostly seen it for scrapes and bruises and when someone wasn’t sharing their toys. But he knew it could apply to a different kind of sadness. A whole separate world of hurt that he’d never felt entirely comfortable sharing with his own parents. The only occasion when some of it had slipped out when he had come home from New York, unable to even exist in the country without Cameron. Something about his demeanor perhaps had made his Mother stop fussing about his plane-wrinkled shirt and she squeezed him tightly until his Father walked in.

There was no rule that this level of comfort needed to come from a parent or that if Cam asked his own Mother that Lisa would not oblige. But as he lay next to his friend, a man he cared for more deeply than he thought himself possible, he wanted nothing more to envelop him in a tight embrace that might give the impression he was untouchable. Immortal. Safe. Sound.

Of course, all of that was just empty words left hanging in the air. Too cowardly to act.

“I know you are…” Ash remembered this plan and his doubt that working with a ruthless demon gave any sort of certainty he’d make it that long. “But until then…”

Until then, what? He could say a million things about what Cam should and shouldn’t do that would just start more arguments. Ashiq loved to think he knew best and in this case he was certain he at least knew better. But none of that would reach Cameron in this state. Falling on deaf ears and all that.

“Until then… now you know I’m here. And you can always come here or stay here…” He suddenly felt a misstep in his words, a tightrope he walked and an uncertain ripple of the wire. “Or invite me along for backup.”

“i couldn’t do that,” he replied. “you have... a house... a job... i can’t ask you to get mixed up in stuff you’re... not mixed up in anymore...”

Cameron reached up to dig the tips of his fingers into his face—pressure points to keep his headache and sorrow contained. Everything felt... wrong. What was he doing here? Why had he decided to come back and see Ashiq? Spilling his guts out, making an absolute fool of himself. He hated this feeling and he hated how Ashiq was not only the one who was causing it, but he was complacent in letting it happen, too.

He didn’t want this anymore, he had decided. As his head rolled from one side to the other, he focused intensely on the door. He imagined himself escaping, with no need to take responsibility for what he felt. No critical thinking, and no need to grow as a person.

He didn’t want to bother Ashiq anymore. This evening already had been pretty disastrous, as Cameron assumed that he could just waltz back into his best friends life and everything would be perfect. He could let down his barriers, and let himself breathe for once. Instead, he fumbled and embarrassed himself, over and over again. The real Cameron probably didn’t deserve to see the light of day, anyway.

In the midst of his self-loathing, his hand twitched, and he felt something brush against the hairs on his arm despite nothing being there. A psychic imprint: a feeling that was not his, but was strong enough to permeate throughout his senses. The sound of a rapid heartbeat within the chest his ear was pressed against. The smell of freshly laundered clothes that blended with the fragrance of shower gels. But could he smell it? His nose had been running.

Cameron heaved a languid sigh. Reluctant, almost, to give in to his whims despite his psychic radar alerting him to the invitation Ashiq was broadcasting. A desire to hug him, and to hold him close.

He didn’t dare meet Ashiq’s eyes as he turned towards him. Instead, he was focused intently on the empty space in the crook of his neck that he was about to occupy. His hands clutching tightly to his shirt and his shoulder, as if he needed something to cling to if Ashiq tried to shake him off. His right leg, curling up over Ashiq’s thigh so that they were partially entangled. 

Ashiq couldn’t fully comprehend an answer to his question. Did he really think it was nice? Nice was certainly a blanket term he could toss out over them. Like a rug you’d put out to hide a stain on the carpet or neglect to sweep under. A cover for unsightly things to collect.

Because brewing beneath nice was the terror and uncertainty, the nerve wracking uncharted territory of where their lives had taken them in the last four years. A reminder Ash was given at Cameron’s next statement. A repetition of his safe wording that didn’t match the path he was on. The violent chaotic life that Cam had chosen (no – was in out of necessity) was whirlpool that had sucked him in on countless occasions. But always stuck at the bottom of it was Cam. No way out.

So for a moment he could only take a deep breath. Contemplate this comparison of their lives. Sure, he was always safer when he wasn’t on a wild adventure with his best friend, but things were also so…

“…and less exciting.”

His eyes darted around the face half hidden in shadow before him. Bruising and dried blood under his nose that he’d missed. Cam’s line of work was always a shit show, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes miss it.

“But I hope you’re being safe… and smart. Especially without… someone watching your back.”

“i try to be,” he said, smile fading. “i try... so hard to be...”

Work twice as hard since he was a human—mortal and fallible. Wouldn’t Ashiq know the same feeling? Even between the two of them there were always snide remarks of their usefulness to any particular job. A good demon was worth ten humans, easy, so what could a couple of psychic do that was so special?

Or even one psychic with an addiction problem?

Premonition was a coveted skill. It wasn’t what either of them had, but an approximation of danger as it manifested behind closed doors and missteps was an invaluable asset to have. Cameron was a tool moreso than a person: at his own expense, he could tell you when you were about to die by feeling the moment of death itself. He could feel the ghost of a bullet pierce through his shoulder and he could tell you where armed guards hung around which corners. He was so useful, but did it really matter when his colleagues would never die from a bullet wound? It was as much as his own skin he was saving along with their “well-being”. He was only really ever useful when he was a metal detector rather than an oracle of danger.

But usefulness was all he ever wanted, and he’d kill himself if it was useful enough for his boss.

It was depressing to think about, and it was all he found himself thinking about in the nighttime. Of course, tonight he wasn’t stranded in his van, forced to face the loneliness on his own—but there was very little that comforted him about being around his best friend for the evening instead. As if he convinced himself what he really wanted, he did not need, or did not deserve.

“i’m gonna retire... in a year...” he said, forgetting if he mentioned his plans when he was arguing with Ashiq earlier. “i’m gonna retire and i’m never gonna do any of this ever again... i’m gonna buy a house in the middle of nowhere... and i’m gonna... have a garden.”

He did his best not to be doing so much work when he was doing relationship things. If one could call listening to a man whine about his clothing something normal for a relationship. Still, Ashiq was only half paying attention to what Cameron was griping about as he tapped at his phone.

Meticulous organization was crucial for his line of work and he was sure everyone who worked with him was thankful for his obsession with it. Cascading lists and detailed spreadsheets of contacts and payrolls and a calendar full of meetings, each with their own ball he needed to get rolling. And yet it seemed so simple at a glance.

One tap of a button and six figures were on their way to a man that had more blood on his hands than the one moaning in his bathroom. Check check check and a warehouse was getting a delivery in two days’ time. A pause to scratch at some of the blood drying on his cheek. And that’s when he tuned in to Cameron’s complaints.

“It’s with the first aid, darling.” He answered with a sweeping glance at the other man. From bare foot to messy hair and then over to the open bathroom door, crimson pile of fabric on the floor. “None of that was yours, right?”

“where is the first aid?” he asked, impatiently. “it ain’t in the bathroom, which would be a pretty logical place to put it, but this is one of your evil lairs and all so i wouldn’t know what kind of weird ass organization system you have down here.”

Cameron was reluctant to even answer Ashiq’s question. The pout on his face only grew more irritated, and after a few moments of silence he threw his hands out, exasperated. Giving Ashiq a little spin around: showing him how his bare skin was obviously unharmed, and that if he had gotten wounded, Ashiq would have known.

The only blemish was Cameron’s scratched up knees, as he had to wrestle his adversary down more than once. Even his charming face escaped the altercation unscathed, as usually there was something to wipe off or disinfect when Cameron had to get physical for a job.

“Oh, can you sleep here?”

A sarcastic retort shouldn’t surprise Cameron. Not coming from the man wrist deep in wires and circuits. Thick brows furrowed together half in frustration and half to keep the sweat beading up on his forehead from getting in his eyes under the bright lights necessary for his delicate work.

“I’m fixing up this – shit –“ Hands twisted along with his stern expression as one of the many threads he wove together came up a millimeter short of making the connection he needed. “This spare I had for something else… to give you some mobility in case I’m… busy.”

They both knew it was a possibility, a likelihood even. With the fine work he did, Ashiq was often fixing, updating, or streamlining things on top of the regular work he was usually trying to do. In fact, this emergency visit was setting him back more than he would have liked but it was a request that was impossible to deny.

As sour as he was – thinking about the hours of work ahead of him and mourning the loss of the beautiful pieces Cameron had lost – there was no denying he always dropped everything for Cam. Though if he were wiser the frequency of which the other man ended up on his table should have been a hint to stop enabling such reckless behavior. But just as much as he could figure out what made machines function and tick, he was clueless about some of his own habits.

“And you wouldn’t have to get left anywhere if you stopped losing my shit.” Another dark look at his patient. “…but I’ll take you upstairs to sleep. That table’s not comfortable.” And he spoke from experience, the handful of times he’d worked himself to the bone and been too exhausted to climb the stairs had garnered him enough memories of waking up stiff and half as rested as he’d hoped.

“yeah, i’ve done it before, when you left me here,” he shot back, but the acerbic comment lost all sharpness when Ashiq clarified that he was working on a generic prosthetic for Cameron. In case he was busy, and wound up leaving Cameron to fend for himself in the engineer’s home. Cameron pushed himself upright and strained to look at what Ashiq was working on: preemptively judge the look of the leg he might be wearing for the next couple of days.

Face wrinkling up in disapproval, he wasn’t particularly thrilled that it was going to be an older model—with an out-dated and frankly ugly design that made his leg look like they amputated an over-sized Ken doll and stuck it on him. Still, he brought his knee up to his chest, curling up and resting his head on the surface. In the silence, he was at least grateful that he was going to have something while he waited for Ashiq to produce a new set of prosthetics.

“i’m sorry, like i’ve told you for the billionth time it was an accident and i promise it won’t happen again,” an empty pledge, if anything. “i’m eternally grateful that you keep me up and runnin’ and let me stay here when... i need to be fixed up.”

Two limbs that he hadn’t meant to lose: those prosthetics were custom made, and getting the parts for them were always such a hassle. Not really a hassle for him, but moreso for the engineer who was obligated to repair and replace the missing machinery. Did he feel bad for making the guy work more? There was almost some sense of palpable shame, but it was all but drowned out by the desire to spend a week on the table in the engineer’s basement. 

It was almost like a vacation: instead of palm leaves and martinis, it was welding equipment and health nut drinks from the fridge. A different kind of luxury that Cameron was genuinely enthralled with—the icing on the cake always being the handsome man who spent the whole time invading Cameron’s personal space to fix his prosthetics.

Of course, he was never very happy about Cameron’s inability to stay out of trouble. Cameron offered halfhearted apologies, and in the silence that had permeated between them, he felt the need to reassure his friend once again.

He couldn’t finish the sentence, his voice fading and returning to him as an inner monologue. As one might assume, he was preoccupied: standing hunched over the sink with barely anything on, and just couldn’t muster a creative threat despite resentment building up inside him with every passing moment. 

But others, including the man who resided in the other room of the innocuous bunker, would know that Cameron’s hesitation to finish his sentence came from his good natured temperament. Good-natured, of course, towards those he was fond of, and not of the poor fellow whose blood had gotten on his favorite leather jacket.

Muttering to himself, he shifted on his feet and continued to gently sponge at the stains. So preoccupied, he hadn’t noticed the draft that seeped into the wide open bathroom door. All of his clothes were on the floor—not really salvageable from the scuffle earlier in the night—with only a pair of brightly colored briefs covering his unmentionables. 

Minutes passed, and he only grew more frustrated. Sifting through the drawers and cabinets of the bathroom proved unfruitful, and Cameron had slammed them all shut before steaming out of the bathroom. The sound of bare feet slapping against the concrete was anything but funny, but coupled with the colorful underwear and the look Cameron wore, it was a little bit amusing.

Ashiq knew he shouldn’t call it prying to have Cameron ask such an innocuous question about his life. It was the kind of question anyone on the street could have asked him and yet the nervous flutter was back in his chest.

“Oh… yeah. I’m in the uh, Art History Department over at Tulane? It’s not that far of a drive, but its still kind of weird because I’m… you know, used to riding a bike to campus.” As he spoke a projector played the familiar film in his head, his route to work and his name on the door to his office. “I mean in London I took the train up from my parents place in Chelsea to Cambridge and that was… a two hour trip? Sometimes three depending on the day. But that wasn’t every day and I just did reading or research….”

Ideally he would have just answered the question and willed Cam to fall asleep, preventing any further discussion. Yet there some form of underlying guilt in the silence as he paused. He knew he owed Cameron more than that. More than just a simple summary of a simple question. Even if Cam hadn’t divulged so much about his job and his troubles with his new found family, he owed Cameron… everything.

This was his best friend laying beside him - wasn’t he the one person Ashiq should be able to talk to?

So he pressed on. Anticipating a follow up despite the fact Cam seemed to take his teasing seriously and thought he only had the right to ask the one question.

“I didn’t really know where I wanted to go when I finished school and I just kind of… wanted to get out of London again -” Another little pause, he used it to take a breath and pretend he wasn’t forwarding the tape through the relationship drama he was trying to run away from. “- wanted something… different. My doctoral advisor had two schools he recommended me for - this one and one in um… Wisconsin. But I remembered going to Louisiana with you before and… I thought it might be nice to go back.”

His brain was slowing down. Something about being in his bed and looking at Cameron. Or maybe the fact that he’d only rested for about 3 hours in the last few days. But now that he had the other man in front of him he didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to give up any moment he could spend beside him. He just had to keep talking. Keep Cameron engaged.

“And it is. Nice, I mean. It’s nice to be back here.”

“…with you.”

“you think so?”

He was incredulous. Ashiq could see it in the curl of his lips, and the flicker of his eyes as they surmised the man laying next to him. But it was in the next beat, the next breath, that the scrutiny washed out, only for a cynical amusement to saturate his demeanor. after you yelled at me and i puked in your kitchen sink? 

yeah, right.

A chortle, and he broke his visual hook on Ashiq. Letting his gaze rest on the ceiling, instead of on the body next to him. 

It was only in the silence that followed that his actual reaction to Ashiq’s answer could manifest: hot springs bubbling out of dry, cracked rocks. He swallowed, noticing how his throat felt so scratched up. A professor. That distant figure of authority that he was so infatuated with: embodied by ghost who he didn’t really know how to make sense of. Longing and lust colored his thoughts, all before jealousy ripped through the canvas and left him fixated on a spot with a tight jaw.

It was too much for him. He probably shouldn’t have asked, but lest Ashiq have any notion that something was amiss, Cameron suddenly turned his head back to him and smiled.

Excuse wrapped around lie wrapped around feigned innocence. With his back to Cam he didn’t feel compelled to withhold an eye roll of his own, unsurprised by the back peddling. And again it wouldn’t take much sleuthing or even a touch of magic to find out the truth about what had gone on in his home but he didn’t see a point to it. They both knew what was going on and it would only serve as the spark of an argument in what could also diverge into a nice night.

So he would drop the issue. Cameron could do what he pleased and this wasn’t news to either of them.

“Mmm not entirely sure yet…” All his meals began as vague ideas, building blocks with familiar themes to stick them together. Protein, vegetables, aromatics. Chicken. Onions. Rice. “I had more options this morning but… somehow I’ve run out of a few things.”

Of course, just because he wasn’t going to pursue the inflammatory train of thought didn’t mean he couldn’t still tease his familiar about it. A playful offering to show he would move past it just like all the other things Cameron got away with.

Shifting uncomfortably—the sound of guilt in the adjustment of his limbs. Cameron was becoming antsy, and the lofty perch of a stool was an awful place to be when glowing red with shame.

He didn’t say anything, only looking away from Ashiq once more. Trying to keep his mouth shut, lest he say anything else incriminating despite Ashiq making it obvious he didn’t care to punish Cameron’s heinous food theft.

Trying, of course, and failing, because the sound of silence was worse than the sound of his own voice.

The ensuing gentle laughter helped ease some of the nerves that fluttered up in Ashiq’s chest. Perhaps if Cam could settle into a familiar jovial mood he could follow suit. It felt unlikely with the vines of every feeling he’d pushed down in the last few days knotting up in his stomach ready to squeeze the life out of him. But he would certainly try.

“Hmm… another one?” He mused quietly. A weary half smile followed by a slight nod. “Yeah, of course… you can ask me– uh, go ahead.”

He had almost slipped. Been so careless as to invite an invitation to ask him anything. In anticipation of what might be coming his mind immediately went to some of the questions – and questionable acts – he could be probed about.

Most recently, and in such close proximity to Cameron once more, he immediately jumped to thoughts of the night before. Cam pale and pleading, not himself and preparing for some kind of end. And Ashiq’s own nerves as he pressed forward and their lips met. A kiss initiated by a man out of his mind and one the other party was still unsure if he even remembered. A glimpse back into drunken nights and stupid youthful urges that had grown into something deeper and meaningful to Ash.

Still, he was trying not to put any stock in the action - as he well knew people did wild things under certain influence. And he could have been ruminating on it for nothing. For all he knew, Cameron just wanted to know what thread count his sheets were.

“yeah, another one,” he breathed out. “’cause… i—i actually have a lot… but i’ll… i’ll just ask the one i was thinkin’ about.”

The smile faltered, and he was left in silence. After realizing there was so much left unsaid, so much he wanted to know—it became hard to pick what exactly his question was. The tangent that prompted it was something about the fire: the aftermath and further explanation on what Ashiq did when he really thought Cameron was dead.

But then, lying here like this with Ashiq again, Cameron thought back to psychic linking and hotel bills from 2008. He wondered what happened to that, and where Ashiq was now. So selfishly he wanted things to be like they were once more, and he was getting what he wanted, right? But who knew who Ashiq was anymore—the guy hated talking about himself the same way Cameron did. He hadn’t divulged much, and even if Cameron would slowly piece together the puzzle, he felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. A vulnerability: laying himself out like this, without much comfort beyond spoken assurances.

Lying to himself, this whole time: he wanted them to be on the same page again, but all that had happened was the aftermath of them having varying perspectives on where the page should be. Ashiq yelling at him to quit his job, where Cameron only had a faint inkling as to what it meant for Ashiq’s job to be a professor. The cosmic chance of barging back into Ashiq like this, he supposed that this was only natural, and maybe he was being impatient.

Again Ashiq was met with an urge to laugh. Some mild disbelief that that was what his boyfriend was  concerned about out of every distasteful thing about their situation.

Granted, that issue had bubbled to the surface of his mind a few times since their vacation gone wrong. But it was always fleeting, always formed out of frustration and loneliness when he lay awake at night trying to stop the record of his actions as they replayed over and over again in his mind. But a majority of the time Ash was preoccupied by work and the added stress of still being useful while not doing anything of real use.

And he wanted to joke, to use crude language to loosen up the tension but he just wasnt there yet. “I- I mean I would… do that. I’d do anything to…”

To fix it? There was no fixing it. He had already done his best in aiding with the healing process and there wasn’t much left to be done. To make Cameron forget it? Make them both forget? He knew how his own brain worked and unless the R&D team came up with a procedure to remove memories it would stay with him forever.

Or to make up for it. A Sisyphean task if there ever was one. A permanent mark - a scar - on an otherwise beautiful and pleasant relationship.

All he could do in response was make excuses. “I miss… I miss you too, and now that things…. things are cooling down I can - I want - to be close to you again. Be around you. Be with you….”

“you are around me! you are with me!” Cameron pointed out, exasperated by Ashiq’s request. “we’re havin’ dinner right now… what else do you want?”

Cameron could figure, easy enough: some kind of severance from his guilt. Aside from taking him back, forgiving him, letting his enemy into his home once more, constant assurances and forcing his usual charms, Cameron didn’t know what to do.

A few beats as he stared at Ashiq, wondering the merits of a relationship built off of regret and tolerance. Certainly, he was fond of Ashiq, but if this was all that was left for them after the incident…

It hadn’t been that long, he told himself in solace. Healing takes time, even if modern medicine can regenerate his hand in less than a week.

The already present blanket of tension over them had clearly grown heavier, weighing down Ash’s shoulders. It was clearly his doing – the guilt that poisoned his mouth and the worry that poured forth – so it only made sense he should be the one to cut it. Bring some light into his dark, always too serious features.

“Yeah, I’d like to um… come over more. See you… more.” Despite the small mound of food on his plate Ash seemed to be chewing more on his lip than anything else. “It doesn’t have to just be for dinner or lunch or… whatever. I mean, it can be. I can bring food I just uh…”

Ashiq took a deep breath. He was clearly not fooling Cameron into thinking things would just simply go back to normal. Used up all his deception on his coworkers and employers. That and he didn’t want to deceive Cam any longer. Couldn’t bring himself to honestly love if he lacked honesty.

“I- I know you can take care of yourself, Cam, I just… I still feel….” A vague gesture of his fork toward the scar on Cams hand that he had looked at a dozen times since his arrival. “Even if you’re over it and you don’t care and you just want to move past it I just feel so… so guilty… about what I did…”

He was silent as he listened, concerning himself with the food on his plate. That tasted better than the conversation Ashiq was trying to feed him.

A pause after pulling a languid bite off his fork. Giving a look as if he was ruminating—digesting what Ashiq had said. He was nervous, and guilty, and Cameron couldn’t blame him. Yet, that itch in his hand would never go away, not even after Ashiq had, at great risk to himself, smuggled a tissue repairing serum to mend the gaping wound. Had it not been for Ashiq, Cameron would have a barely functioning hand, but every step of recovery reminded him of who caused the injury in the first place.

Cameron sighed, looking down at a piece of food on his plate. He stabbed it, and twirled it against the sauce with his fork, resting his head on his other hand. “i know ash…”

“like i told you,” he sighed. “i don’t know if i was gonna shoot you but that was a possibility for me. the whole, i’m gonna shoot my boyfriend, was mutual—and i’m sure if i shot you i’d be like, beggin’ you to let me suck your dick to make up for it.”

The tangent made Cameron think of something as he dropped both hands to the surface of the table. “i miss havin’ sex with you—we haven’t been that close since you shot me…”

Ashiq’s breath caught in his throat as Cameron’s hand caught his pants. Yes, he had already said. He had promised. Four years spent lying about every conceivable aspect of his life and before him lay the one man he was always honest with. Like some fucking Robert Frost poem there were two roads stretched before him and while he would speak until he was hoarse on the real meaning of such a poem he would waste no more breath hemming and hawing about which path to take.

His hand over Cams, gentle, a comforting squeeze. “I’m coming… I’m just going to change.” A reassuring notion both that he would keep his word and that he was still Ashiq Saleem. A time and a place and an outfit for every occasion.

The urgency with which he broke free from Cam’s grasp was not to escape him but rather an eagerness to return. Hasty steps to his dresser, the middle drawer open and another guilty display of his unyielding devotion to Cameron. Some hoodie abandoned in his New York apartment that he slept in when everything became too much. Prickling embarrassment in his stomach that he had to mask by pulling off the sweater he’d worn all day.

Even though Cam was one of the few who had seen it all there was still a believable amount of bashfulness and mild embarrassment he could rely on from being undressed in any sense. It was well within his character to fumble with a t shirt and pull it over his head quick as he could to cover his bare back and the aging burn scar he realized Cameron had never seen. An exclamation point on the constant reminder of what had kept them apart so long.

Once his shame and skin had been covered again it was just a quick trip to the threshold to shut the door (out of preference, comfort) and turn off the light (out of habit, secrecy). And then it was just his best friend waiting for him in his bed.

A slow crawl and a careful shimmy under the sheets. An attempt not to jostle Cam and exacerbate his headache. But that was as far as he had planned. Laying on his side with his knee practically touching Cameron. Every unspoken thing resting on the pillow beside him as he looked the man he loved in the eyes and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Cameron had only stolen a glance from Ashiq while he was undressing, as psychics can always gleam when a person is staring at their turned back. There was no need to stare, no need to affirm what he had seen so many times before. Having ashamedly voiced his desire for intimacy, he felt it was enough, and shut out the rest from contemplation. Eyelids fluttering, but the image that he was left with was marbled scars on clay skin. The slab, as had been formed in his mind, immaculate because Ashiq floated somewhere above injury and degeneration.

As if he was some kind of angel or ghostly specter (or some kind of asshole with a real job that contributed to society).

Not that Cameron had never seen Ashiq get hurt: the image of him mutilated under rubble and debris seared so badly into Cameron’s mind as a child that he, in retrospect, considered the memory traumatic. It followed him when he thought he’d lost Ashiq to another building collapse: a fiery ruin. Morbidly he wondered if there was a body (like the one he left as a child to call for help), or if the guy had all burned up into dust. He would never go back to end his musings, because the truth of either would have been impossible to swallow.

So, the image of the untouched, the unmarked skin Ashiq wore in Cameron’s memory was like the cloak of a ghost. Perfect in the afterlife, because life was imperfect to take him away so suddenly.

Meandering through this thought, Cameron finally opened his eyes to see the rustling beside him. Ashiq keeping a modest distance from Cameron, which prompted him to chuckle as his head fell to the side.

Keen eyes and a mental catalog were already outlining holes where things had been that morning. Their absence was both unsurprising and mildly vexing to the man who had gone out and done work half the day. Of course a slothful day of rest was incomplete for Cameron without a snack. Perhaps that was the reason he wanted Ashiq out of the kitchen.

“Well…” The witch began, one fluid motion bringing him to full height with a handful of goods. “…I want what I always want. I want you to feel comfortable doing whatever you want.”

The smile that followed, tossed casually over his shoulder, was genuine and heartfelt in nature. He did, in many ways, want Cameron to be happy and do as he pleased. It was only a slight addendum that he had a vague yearning that their desires would align more often than not. Not that he’d ruin his sentiment with whinging. Although what followed probably sharpened the effect of his loving smile.

“Besides, it seems you’ve already eaten. So I’m just cooking for myself, aren’t I?”

Going against his question, he had still pulled out enough to make enough food for a pair rather than a solitary diner. It went against Ashiq’s very nature to make a single contained meal for one. Always extras, always enough to feed the world. If the world was who watched him from the stool.

A fit, like a snarl, but he had learned how to be discreet in his disagreement. Only rolling his eyes once more, and glaring at the scenery through the kitchen window. “i haven’t eaten—,” he lied, but bit his lip in regret. “i haven’t eaten… much. it’s not like i haven’t uh—eaten all day but it’s been awhile since i have.”

Another half-truth—true enough to receive some dinner from Ashiq regardless. Not that Cameron would ever protest food prepared for him, and not that Ashiq would ever prepare a meal without thinking of his familiar (despite what he had just told Cameron). Another reminder of his incessant charity, and Cameron’s petulance for complaining anyway.

Cameron’s claws danced along his knee—anxious tapping to pour excess energy into. Not all of the missing food had wound up in his stomach, so in truth he was hungry, but he was trying not to show it.

Little escaped Ashiq’s notice when it came to Cameron. A combination of keen observation and the unseen threads that wove their lives together kept all his actions on Ash’s radar so he didnt even have to turn around to know Cameron had stopped following him. But it was little instances like these that set the two apart from others in their positions.

A witch was meant to command their familiar. To use them as an energy source and a helper. As a master and the being meant to obey. For Ashiq, though, the connotations behind such a relationship had never felt right. It made him uncomfortable to even imagine taking advantage of another being for his own selfish desires.

So he could have demanded that Cameron come into the kitchen. He could have invoked some ancient underlying power that would erase all notion of refusal. But he wouldn’t. Not to Cameron. Not even if he was being pointlessly lied to.

Instead he let the silence sink in for a moment. Always pensive, it wasn’t unusual for Ash to take a few moments to respond. The light tap of his finger tips on the handle of the refrigerator while he took inventory of its contents were like a ticking clock making it painfully clear how much time he let pass.

Finally, crouched low to pull ingredients out, he spoke. “I just want you around, Cam… but I’m not going to force you.” And all the subtext that came with it. I’ll never force you to do anything. I know you do what you want and even though I could stop you, I never will.

Anticipation had sucked the air out of Cameron. Holding his breath—but the answer that came from Ashiq only made him groan in frustration. A strange noise: sucking air in to verbalize discontent, filtered through the vocal chords of a cat who didn’t care much for having an inside voice.

“oh come on…” he chuckled, planting his fists on to his hips. “okay, i’m around, i’m here—and then what? what do you want me to do? you want me to help you cook…”

The resentment in Cameron’s voice was faint, overshadowed by the bewilderment he always got whenever Ashiq was capable of remaining calm and delivering such a line. With the conviction of a well-trained actor: Cameron still thought it was dubious that Ashiq didn’t see his familiar as a utility like most other witches did.

Wrinkling up his nose, as if his whiskers were twitching, Cameron let out a displeased exhale. Deflating, as his arms dropped to his sides and he languidly made his way to a stool—his stool—in the kitchen. Slouching back on to the wall, as if he was some kind of delinquent, watching Ashiq ponder the contents of his fridge.

One of the many things that drew Ashiq to Cam was his incomparable ability to lift his spirits and pull him from his thoughts. Despite how entrenched in his own anxieties and the inevitably tense conversation that would follow dinner, everything came to a crashing halt at Cameron’s offering. Mouth open, ready to scold another grown man for not eating all day, the only thing that ended up coming out was a soft laugh.

“Health what juice??” He chuckled, peering over at the carton in Cam’s hand.

Ash certainly recognized it, having bought the one he was looking at for Cameron as well as having several in his own refrigerator. It was something about the juxtaposition of Cam trying to be accommodating and setting both of them at ease and the weight of what needed to be discussed pressing down on them that was pulling a rare smile out of Ashiq. An endearing factor of his boyfriend. A reason not to pull a trigger.

“I got that for you, lo-” Ash faltered briefly. Guilt still ate away at him and had taken hold of his affectionate term for Cameron. “..looks like you didn’t want it though. So sure, I’ll take it so it doesn’t go to waste.”

While he waited for focus to leave the assortment of drinks available, he dished a more moderate amount of food onto his own plate than Cameron had. Other than worrying, he did most things in moderation and eating wasn’t excluded in that. However, from time to time he admittedly grew so distracted by life that he had ended up in Cam’s position having gone half or all day without eating anything.

So it was with this underlying hypocrisy he glanced back at his boyfriend to note, “You shouldn’t go all day without eating.” He paused to check how much food was left in the dish he’d brought. “There should be enough of this that you can eat it tomorrow, too. And if you need food I can bring you more…”

Incredulous eyes hooked into Ashiq when he couldn’t bear to utter the word love. It was enough of a transgression that Cameron paused to frown, almost scowl at the man who had just brought him food. Cameron’s jaw clenched, and after the fleeting moments of scrutiny, he let his attention wander back to the juice in his hand. Shaking his head, and exhaling—like he had given up on something—he shut the refrigerator door and gave Ashiq his juice back.

But not before reaching in and snagging himself a beer.

The well-intentioned warning translated into scolding for Cameron, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. “i just forgot.” He pulled out his seat and set himself down. “i wasn’t hungry or nothin’… i wasn’t doin’ anythin’ so it’s not like i needed to eat.”

His retort was half-hearted—he didn’t really care. He wanted to eat and get whatever this was going to be… over with.