fellow fugitives

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….”

“y’know, i should probably put somethin’ on…” he said, glancing down to his bare chest and legs. “like… you got a bath robe around here somewhere?”

Feeding off Cameron’s playful spirit Ash couldn’t stop himself from continuing to smile at his questions. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He assured Cam, nudging him with his hip.

Untangling his hand from the man leaning on him he reached lower, bringing his other hand along on the opposite side to firmly grip Cameron’s hips. But that was only a pit stop as his knees bent and his hands found their way to the back of the bare upper thighs before him. With Cam already resting on him it wasn’t hard to simply lift him up with a quick flex of his muscles (hidden though they may be, he had his own secret strengths).

By carefully placing his lover up on the counter he now had much better access to those scraped up knees. Gently, he took the bottle back from Cam and opened another drawer to find some cotton to soak.

“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’.”

“or you feel bad about takin’ mine. and yet it’s mine so i should be able to do with it what i want to…” Cameron always failed to mention that the reason he lost his prosthetics was through an illicit job in order to earn money. Same as every time before, and he had figured at this point that Ashiq probably knew the reason why. 

“You’re right. I don’t want it.” Ash agreed, eyes still on the project in his hands. “I’m not doing this for money I’m doing this out of the uh… goodness of my heart.”

At that point he looked over at his friend, sat curled on his table for the hundredth time. Eyes on the scarred flesh that had been so intriguing to him as a young boy. Thinking back to uncomfortable and unsightly prosthetics that were all Lisa could afford. Back to the thought that he could make something better, make someone better. Or at least happier. And that’s why he did all of it.

“Or at least until that runs out.”

Yes he could joke all he wanted with Cameron about how long he’d be willing to fix him up. But the reality of it was there would never come a time when Ash would turn him away. Some connection that was more than wires and circuits. One he kept to himself.

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. 

Like a child, but he was doing everything in his power to keep himself from shedding any tears. It was to his benefit that he was too tired to sob, or to enact such upsetting emotions, but he could not stop a couple of rivulets. Tensing up even further, and thankful that Ashiq would not be able to see his face as he cried on his shoulder.

“So it wasn’t an issue when it was just an apartment and a degree my Father was paying for?” The question was meant in jest but in the next moment he felt maybe it wasn’t the best time to be joking.

By pure instinct, a chain reaction set off for two moving parts to move in tandem, the moment Cameron began to move Ashiq’s arm went up and back. Clearing a space along the side of his body for the puzzle piece that had so often found its home there. Interlocking parts that had purpose on their own but functioned so much better together.

Face against his shoulder and limbs latching onto him, his own limb completed its fluid motion to rest in the wild mess of Cam’s hair. He wove his fingers among the locks to gently cradle the head they grew on, the warmth of skin and blood beneath them was a comfort him who was meant to be doing the comforting. And still beneath that there were other things to be felt.

Dense as he was, in an intimate moment such as this it was nearly impossible not to pick up on residual feelings. Echoes of thought and emotion beat ceaselessly against the barrier of emotional unavailability, prying open the cracks of exhaustion that had already started to break it down. Shame. The urge to flee. Everything’s going wrong, wrong, wrong.

And then there were the tears.

Even if he wasn’t a psychic he still had his five other senses. Could feel the dampness seep into his shoulder as Cameron cried. Hear the change in his breathing as emotion got caught up in his chest and lungs. Cam had cried on him the day before and he felt just as guilty causing him to do it again in such a short amount of time.

But what could he do? He didn’t want to be like his Father – banish emotion and create an environment where Cam didn’t feel comfortable feeling what he felt. All he could do was let it happen, not mention it, he supposed. But in the still silence of the room and his response to Cam left a bad taste in his mouth.

“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.”

Cameron offered Ashiq a toothy grin when he shot him another look. “upstairs? how luxurious… i can sleep on the couch instead of this table…”

“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.

“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.

Settling his hands back on his hips, Cameron narrowed his gaze at Ashiq and waited for his answer. So petulant when things didn’t go his way, but it wouldn’t take much from his boyfriend to convince him to be a little more relaxed about the whole situation. 

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.

“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.”

The way he said it was so heartfelt: such meager ambitions were his deepest and most sincerest desires. “i’m never gonna get a nosebleed ever again.”

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.

If it were any other bed, Cameron would have been freaking out. Instead, he drifted in and out of consciousness. Peaceful and relaxed, despite missing an arm and a leg.

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.

“hey… you’re not just gonna leave me here this time, right?” he asked, turning his head and opening one eye to spot Ashiq at the adjacent table. “i can sleep here but… you’re gonna have to get me a blanket…”

“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.

“fuck you,” he seethed “if i can’t get this blood out of my jacket i’m gonna fuckin’…”

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.

He stopped in front of his boyfriend, hands on his hips. “where do you keep the hydrogen peroxide.”

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.

“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.

“that’s nice… that you’re a professor. sounds… like you’re bein’ a lot safer and smarter than me,” and he laughed, despite how much it hurt him. But of course, empty amusement was so natural to a charlatan.

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.

(or, ash gives cam a lipstick kiss)

As always, Ashiq arose in tandem with the sun. No need for an obnoxious alarm or multiple attempts at prying himself from the heavy grasp of sleep. The only alert he needed for his eyes to flutter open was an always punctual internal body clock and the ever present paranoia and anxiety of being late for anything.

No, the only thing that gave Ash trouble when it came to getting out of bed in the morning was the iron grip of his husband.

One arm, surely numb from Ash's head resting on it, continued to curl up around his chest, holding him hostage against the warm body behind him. The other lay heavy across his ribs, embracing him so tightly one might think his organs were in danger of spilling out across the mattress.

It wasn't unusual for his barely functioning brain to start its wheels turning by overcoming the loving obstacle that was sleeping beside the man he loved. A few twists here. Gentle kisses there to encourage a contented slackness. Squirming just enough to escape but so careful as not to wake Cameron. A ritual he participated in so frequently he was starting to build muscles whose sole purposes were to get out of bed.

By then he would be awake enough to make his way down the stairs, fumble with the coffee maker, and get it brewing so it was ready for him once he got out of the shower. Ash was so accustomed to this morning routine that he could do it with his eyes closed (and in cases when his insomnia was in full swing, he did). A combination of muscle memory and psychic vibrations could get him down and back up the stairs without a second thought.

In fact, mornings were so procedural he felt as if his brain didn't even need to check in with his body until a good half hour after he was out of bed. Even then, it was just to register the caffeine that was leeching into it as he drank his coffee. By this point he was even running early and had another twenty minutes to spare before he needed to leave for work.

What to do, what to do?

Reaching out a metaphysical hand he was able to sense that the sleeping beauty he'd married was still doing just that. Not that he expected Cam to wake every time he left for work to say good bye. Even less so if he'd been tending bar the night before and hadn't even gone to sleep until well past one in the morning. Even for a man who slept a lot, five hours of sleep was not enough to warrant waking him.

So no, Ashiq didn't need to start any sort of breakfast or have an opportunity to lay in bed a bit longer and risk wrinkling his suit jacket. He would have to rely on himself to stay busy until it was time to go.

Yet, creative as he was, he was admittedly thankful that he felt the familiar step-step...hop! of the dog coming down the stairs before he saw her head poke around the corner.

"Morning, beti..." He greeted her quietly, placing his nearly empty mug on the counter so he could crouch down and pet her.

It had only taken a few weeks for her to understand Ash's routine, realizing it was pointless to follow him back and forth, up and down as he flitted from room to room getting ready. Now she would wait patiently for him to be more stationary to see how he was doing. Or to get a pass outside if she couldn't wait for the wildcard of when Cameron would wake up and let her out.

After a few minutes of petting and mild grumbling about shedding, mental notes to vacuum the kitchen when he got home, he finally took her to the back door and let her go out in the yard. While she took her time he gazed out into the sky, noting what a nice day it was and hoped Cam would take the dog for a walk before he got home. Certainly he would, he was good at anticipating those little nagging requests Ashiq would prod him with - mostly to avoid the prodding.

By the time she was done it was about time to leave, so he joined her in climbing the stairs and entering the bedroom. They broke off briefly as she went to curl up at the end of the bed to await Cam's awakening and Ash detoured into the bathroom.

Hair? Coiffed perfectly, not a strand out of place. Teeth? Brushed vigorously and for the recommended amount of time. Floss? Thrown -

Thrown -

Annoyingly stuck to his finger.

After several hard shakes of his hand it finally loosened and wafted gently to the floor where Ashiq huffed and bent down to pick it up. As he was knelt down he suddenly got a rare suggestive feeling in his stomach and his left hand strayed to the bottom drawer beneath the counter. Mild curiosity that was steadily increasing guided his hand to the bag of colorful tubes he often forgot lay dormant inside.

Pinks, reds, purples... a few more daring shades. Cameron's small collection of lipstick was calling out to him in such a strange way it made his chest flutter. But it wasn't the familiar anxiousness of nerves. Rather, something oddly daring. Encouraging. Tantalizing.

Luck, chance, psychic intuition -- whatever it was -- his hand closed around a tube without thinking. The feeling in his chest intensified as he stood and before he had a chance to let his English Sensibilities get the best of him he was twisting the bottom and leaning in to the mirror. A steady artists hand followed the curvature of his lips, creating an even burst of color on his mouth.

What are you doing, Ashiq?

He wasn't quite sure, but whatever it was, it was already done. Cap on. Drop it back into the bag from whence it came. Close the drawer. No outward evidence. At least, not yet.

The last part of his ritual was coming. Soft careful steps back into the bedroom and around the side of the bed for better access to his husband who had since flung himself onto his back, limbs spread out in the four cardinal directions as if close contact to one another would cause him great physical harm. And then...

Ash's finger tips light as feathers brushing a rogue lock of hair away from his forehead. Giving himself as big a target as possible. And his lips, normally so light they were like a phantoms, now instead they pressed firmly against Cameron's' skin.

The site as he pulled away was so funny to him he almost ruined the entire gesture and laughed aloud. The dark red impression of his mouth as a neon sign across the forehead of the man he loved. An uncharacteristically bold statement, a brand of sorts. The flag of Ashiq Saleem planted clearly in Cameron country. And god... had he been smiling in his sleep before or was that an unconscious reaction?

Either way, time was ticking on and he couldn't stand around and admire his work forever. He could only hope it lasted until he got home.

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.

“you could just make whatever,” he said, almost dismissively. Cameron had brought his knees to his chest, hugging them so he had a valley to bury his chin in as the conversation continued. “i don’t care.”

Something about his tone made Ashiq turn. The easy surrender and apathy when he'd been so playful moments ago. Hungry as he might have been it was no contest when it came to abandoning the cutting board he'd just pulled out to close the gap between himself and his familiar.

"Hey..." He murmured softly, reaching up to place his hand under Cameron's chin as it tried to disappear into the ball he was tucking himself into. It wasn't a strong, forceful grip but rather just the suggestion of an angle where Ash could look into his eyes.

"It's fine. I don't care about the food." In the grand scheme of things he didn't care. Food allocation wasn't as high on his list of priorities as how his familiar felt. It was nothing to make him feel so guilty over, that was for sure. "I'm just happy to spend time with you. To have you nearby."

“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.

“where do you teach?” he murmured, letting his hand fall to the side—his hair cascading down to partially cover his bruised eye. “you’re a professor… teachin’ art, right?”

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."

“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.

This was depressing, and he didn’t wait for Ashiq’s answer before he started to work at his plate again. The food as a peace offering, and Cameron willfully showing how endeared he was by it. “thank you for the food,” he said.

Ashiq was getting tired of making things worse by speaking. Tired of being unable to say what he meant when it mattered to the one person that mattered. An irritation with himself that was steadily rising and  knitting his brows together. A pouty glare at his food as he pushed it around the plate and tried to rework the problem.

He was not a quitter.

"I'm not talking about the food and about dinner - about this­. I'm trying to say..." Several deep breaths to clear everything that had started to fog up his brain. He needed to be clear and say what he needed to say.

"I know that this situation is... its my fault. No amount of... ignorance or upbringing changes what I did and I know that. Which - I'm not saying this to be self-deprecating or to just get pity because I don't want that."

His leg was bouncing wildly under the table. Lip being chewed to pieces as he cycled through emotions and computed them into expressions. "I created an obstacle in our relationship and my instinct was to leave it alone -- to leave you alone and I'm sorry for that. I haven't been close to you because I didn't feel like I deserved that because yes, I feel guilty and I didn't really... stop and discuss it with you. I've just been acting without considering you and I'm trying to say... that what I want... is to fix that."

Like a deflated balloon he exhaled the rest of his anxious energy and slouched down in his chair. This hadn't even been his original topic of discussion he planned to bring to the table. But it was what had to happen before anything else could get done.

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…”

He frowned, genuinely upset by this revelation.  

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.

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.

“hey ash… can i ask you a question?”

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.

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.

“whatcha makin’?” he asked absentmindedly.

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."

“uh… yeah…” Cameron reached up to press his hand into his face—pushing against the folds of skin over his aching skull. The rest of his body fell limp, longing for the comfort of a mattress. Of course, his weary limbs couldn’t understand the hesitation his headache gave him: the enveloping feeling of Ashiq—where he slept every night. The misery and anxiety kept him in a cold sweat, unsure of where to rest his gaze, or his hands, as Ashiq pulled the blankets back to throw them over Cameron.

It was an impulse that Cameron tore his arm away from his face to reach for Ashiq. Grab hold of what he could, which from Cameron’s angle, was only part of the fabric of Ashiq’s pants. His arm hung there, dangling off the side of the bed as he watched Ashiq from his low view, resting against a pillow. Eyes keeping on him like a flame at the end of a matchstick: the pressure of heat held in place in the hope of ignition—an expectation that Ashiq would keep his word.

Cameron looked at his old friend. In the moment, he saw himself let go, laughing it off and turning over to go to sleep. I’m tired I don’t know what I’m doing… But hadn’t he already asked Ashiq to lie with him like they used to? A familiar ritual, one that was dear to his heart. It was embarrassing to recognize, as a man who professed so much animosity in attachment, his yearning for intimacy. Like an addiction, he thought—it wasn’t good for him.

He smiled a little bit, staring at Ashiq. It was just one night, it wouldn’t hurt anybody. Not like his actual problems or his job—the only thing at stake was his pride, and after throwing up and almost fainting he had none of that left.

Just a plea, a small tugging—and if Ashiq didn’t answer he’d sleep it off and pretend it never happened.

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.