a beautiful lie

“Well, of course, you like talking about yourself,” Celeste didn’t bother fighting back her grin, “You always were rather self-centered,” she gave him a soft click of her tongue. She let her own arms cross over her chest as she met his gaze.

“Touche, m’good lady, touche.” Lance retorted, a snort of a laugh exiting his lips before he shook his head. “I prefer t’e term confident, you must be t’inkin’ ov some ot’er handsome Irish stud.” He finished, adding a playful wink just to add to the gently humorous banter. 

“So, apparently trash talking is not talking about garbage. Who knew?

“Oh? Yea’, I ‘ear it’s also called throwing shade, I personally, t’ough,” he paused to put a hand on his chest as if he were being genuine with his next statement, blue hues touched with a hint of mischief. “--prefer talkin’ ‘bout actual garbage, what’a topic.” 

SOME MEME 

          It was like a jolt of electricity, the four words his heart had longed to hear, but were they truly meant? His gaze flicked up to search Salim’s, almost sure he hadn’t heard what he had, was it some phantom that had spoken and broken the silence between them. Smoke hovered in the air from the cigarette that hung limply from Lance’s calloused hands, the Irishman blinked a few times, certain that he hadn’t really heard it. His throat and mouth went dry, so he pulled another drag from the cigarette, finishing it off and dabbing out the embers in an ashtray. Lance didn’t smoke often, stress normally caused it, another way to deal with his emotions if he weren’t able to knock them out in a fight of some sort. He was a man of many vices, violence and alcohol were the primary go to’s. But every once in a while, one could catch him with a cigarette between his lips. 

          With a slow exhale Lance leaned back in his seat more, letting his right arm rest on the back of the chair some. He didn’t mean to be so silent, Lance was sure now he had heard correctly and that it wasn’t some fantasy of his trying to pry its way out of his mind. What was he supposed to say? That he was happy his affections were returned? Then what? They’d live happily ever after on some fucking beach in Ireland. As if. They were broken creatures, monsters in their own right, the two of them had drawn so much blood and expelled so much hate, they were sewn from the same cloth. 

          Lance wasn’t the same kid that fell in love like a naive and hopeless creature, when they met at their lowest, joined a cause to get rid of their demons, only having to kill others’. It was a time of war and Salim had been his solace, the calm within the storm, something he had only ever been with his little sister. So naturally, he clung to it as if he were clinging to a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean. 

             But like everything in his life, Salim had left him and he had went back to drowning like the HELPLESS bastard that he was. Struggling with his demons alone, life was a battle and Lance was an everlasting warrior. He remembered every face of the people he had hurt, every name of the people he had killed, it was his penance. The marks on his skin were to remind him of the monster he had become. Lance wasn’t the same. But then again, neither was Salim, their lives had gone in different but possibly equally as destructive paths. What did it even mean to love anymore? It wouldn’t be the same love, like when they were still young, posed under the stars on watch. Or in the streets of London, too close to home for Lance but still an enjoyable event, because he had been with Salim. It wasn’t that kind of love, no matter how much either one of them longed for the days when the darkness hadn’t consumed them. 

                                         What broken unlovable creatures. 

            Lance swallowed the dryness down, forcing his unsteadiness down as well, composing himself to express no reaction yet. He was good at that now, distorting his emotions into something they weren’t, been hurt too many times, done it mostly to himself, always had a problem with falling fast and hard, such a sucker for love. The sodding idiot love too hard, always had, always would, it would ultimately be what killed him; a broken heart. That love, the one they had, it had been left on a train. What a fool. 

                Panic had filled him, urgency as well, it was like someone had cut a piece of him from his person and had walked away with it forever. Not ‘til now did Lance know what it was that he’d been missing, whatever had been left of the good inside of him had vanished the same day Salim had. That dryness was worse now, he almost coughed, but kept it in his throat. The memory playing against his skull like it had just happened only yesterday. He was still in love with Salim, Lance was certain he always would be, to have those feelings returned made his chest ache, if love wasn’t the problem, then why had Salim really left in the first place? 

               His calloused hands pawed at his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open as well. Delicately Lance pulled an obviously aged piece parchment, what it might have been at one time was forgotten but the words that had been hastily scrawled out on it were still decipherable. Lance inhaled like he had been holding his breath the whole time, perhaps he had been, pale gaze dropping before he slid the parchment to the middle of the table. The last thing he had of Salim, or so he’d thought, it still brought a lump to form in his throat, ravaged with the dryness of it already. 

         Lance leaned back again, staring at the parchment, it had been opened many times over the decades, thumbed at in a drunken and lonely state, it was the last reminder of the good he had been. In his darkest moments it was this reminder to keep holding on, that there was light in this world. The memory of Salim had gotten him through so much, what would the presence of the man do now. What did it mean to still be in love with one another? The ideal of each other, the facade that they could be happy? Was that why Salim had left? 

            That was his ultimate question, if love had not been enough to stay, if Lance hadn’t been enough to stay then what the fuck made Salim leave.  It was one of the main things that had always haunted Lance, the devastation of being left alone with nothing but a short scrawled out note on a piece of paper. Two words— two little words had destroyed him more than the absence, the abandonment, ‘I’m sorry.’ was all he had gotten compared to the vast amount of time they had spent with one another, the poems and songs, they’d shared, the experiences. All of it had meant nothing, he had to convince himself of it, to hate more, to detach himself from feeling ever again. 

            His tongue flicked out of a parched mouth to lick at his lips, words unable to form, so he remained silent, staring at the piece of paper for a long time, almost nervous to look up and ask any of the questions he had from so long ago. They say time heals all wounds but after more life times than Lance wanted to recall, his wounds were still as fresh as the day they had been inflicted. Finally, his gaze clawed upwards, searching, pleading, begging for something, if Salim truly meant that he still loved Lance, then he’d get something, some kind of answer. It should have been water under the bridge, but they were broken creatures, they’d always bring back the venom of a wound.

              Bringing the small note out had not been an attack, Lance genuinely had questions he wanted answered, perhaps now had been the worst of moments to bring it up, but he was being open, he’d always been that way. Wore his fucking heart on his sleeve, barred to everyone, he’d become so used to the stabbing pain of a broken heart that he almost expected it by now. Which he was sure would be no different now, feelings would be hurt, old wounds reopened, if they pursued the offered topic. The questions still unspoken, but his eyes, they were doing the talking, the pleading; why? was I not enough? all the questions were hurtful and they laced his blue gaze. 

              More than questions, though, there was love a return in the statement declared, of course he still loved Salim, why would he carry a reminder of their separation with him for so long if he had ever fallen out of love. A part of him would always belong to Salim, no matter how much time separated them, no matter the darkness that was consuming the both of them. One thing would always be for sure, Lance would never stop loving the man before him.

YOU’LL HAVE TO EXCUSE ME

                I’M NOT AT MY BEST

          I’VE BEEN GONE FOR A MONTH

                      ❝ eat my arse. ❞

               “As temptin’ as t’at is, I’ll ‘ave t’decline--” Lance returned, smirk pressing at his lips in thorough amusement for the passing phrase which had fallen from the woman’s lips. “Nice conversation starter t’ough, very bold.”

             The Irishman shifted, gaze falling elsewhere before he nodded, clearing his throat after a moment. Large and calloused hands slipping into his hoodie’s pockets almost on instinct rather than anything else. “I s’pose t’at’s alright, if ye need time to t’ink it over, I understand.” His gaze remained else where, not really able to make eye contact at the moment. Lance shrugged back a step as if to leave. “J’st, y’know, let me know when ye do know what t’say.”

         Lance had just shuffled through the door before he was greeted, with what seemed to be great enthusiasm, which brought a grin to play at his lips. His keys found their spot in a small glass jar on the in-table just as one entered the apartment. Nodding lightly he made his way over to Kida, his one hand finding its place on her arm, his lips meeting the top of her head before he pulled back and smirked. 

         “T’at I am, no news still, m’supposed to wait fer another call, t’en I’ll know when m’leavin’ again.” He returned, shifting away into the kitchen in order to open the fridge and grab a bottle of water, cracking it open to take a good gulp, moving back into the same room as Kida before he hummed. “Until t’en, m’all yours.”

        Hollis’ “attempts” to be out and proud followed a pattern-like series of events; first he’d let Lance talk him into doing something minor just to change routine, then he’d reluctantly go through with it only to spend all his energies on not being noticed instead of trying to have a good time with his secret partner, only to ultimately grow to resent both Lance and the experience and revert back into himself to deal with his personal demons for the next couple of weeks putting further strain on their already imperfect relationship. This time was no different. Hollis was doing his best to keep it together by taking advantage of the open bar, but even in his intoxicated state he still felt like every glance was a slight at him and Lance, that every whisper was gossip about the two friends that seemed too close. It was all too hard to bear. Still, this was his boyfriend he was talking too, and no amount of whiskey could change that fact. Hollis wasn’t blind to the chinks in Lance’s sturdy armor and he wished he could’ve simply manned up and apologized, yet all he could seem to do was boil in his personal turmoil, completely unable to appeal to reason.

“I don’t wanna be here, so I’m not gonna be here. It’s a simple as that,” he said, still playing the jerk and dropping his head from the shame. His inability to look Lance in the eye stemmed from both his desire to seem like nothing more than the man’s roommate and from his own guilt at his deplorable behavior. Feeling exposed, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around his man and find safety once more, but the potential scandal of such a scene shook Hollis to his core. Alcohol would have to be his guardian tonight. “Last time I checked, you weren’t my mama. I can hold my liquor. I’m fine.” Head still canted downwards, Hollis ran his thumb around the rim of his glass for a moment before throwing his head back to down it all in one gulp. That’s better… “I’m not about to strip and make some outrageous toast in front of your family if that’s what you’re worried about,” he garbled out as he slammed the empty glass down. Hollis figured that he and Lance had stood near each other for long enough and pushed up from the bar, except he stumbled backward a couple steps, his balance below standard. “Jesus, I said quit hovering. You want someone to think you’ve got a crush on me or something?” Hollis was a pro at invalidating “suspicions”, his voice even getting a little louder in case someone near had started to wonder about the two men. “I don’t need you, Lance. Back off.”

        There was a heat building up in his chest, it was beginning to slowly crawl no claw it’s way up his throat, anger, hurt, reluctance to keep his mouth shut. Lance certainly wasn’t one to just roll over and take whatever was given him, despite the situation, no matter this was NOT the place nor time for anything that was going on between them, Lance wasn’t about to let this go. It was childish, stupid, even--- but his ultimate problem was that he cared too much and instead of maintaining a level head, he let the sick bastard’s blood rear its ugly head in him. Burning his throat and making his mouth dry and hot. 

         This was his sister’s wedding, he had to get his shit together for Joan, he wasn’t going to do the first thing his hurt feelings and aching heart made him do. That was how he got into fights, at the bars, in the street, where ever someone wanted to start shit, Lance was the first to respond with his anger. In that manner alone he was like the man who dared to demand to be called father. It was something Lance was always working on, perhaps it was his anger which had helped excelled him in the military, drove him to be passionate in other forms, releasing his emotions in other fashions because as much as he had his father’s anger, he hated himself for it.. So he took control, restraining the violence his tongue would have expelled with the flash of emotions that shot through him as Hollis became more insistent on being left alone once again pushing off to move away only he stumbled some and instinctively Lance reached out to touch the other’s elbow to help steady.

        Pale eyes scanned over the brunette, concerned and confused, conflicted with what he should do with this whole thing. Having shoved his anger down to the pit of his stomach Lance shook his head and put his hands up before the muscles in Lance’s neck and jaw drew taut, keeping his tongue in place as he took a deep breath and glanced across the dance floor, catching sight of his little sister the happiest he had ever seen her. The Irishman shifted, hands moving to fiddle with his tie before he closed the distance between Hollis and he, gaze moving up to try and catch Hollis’.