EastEnders 1. Chapter 1

Walking slowly into the flat, he stopped by the pillar and turned to face me. I hung back by the door, suddenly, inexplicably awkward. The hard part was over. I had done it; I had left; I had walked out on my family home with nothing more than the clothes on my back in the sure and certain knowledge that it was the right thing to do. So why was I standing here, nervous as a teenager on his first date?

The memory hit me of the first time I had stood here in this flat, awkward and nervous; unable to resist his whispered plea to _come back to mine_ but not sure what to do or what to say once I got there. There had been a voice in my head - a voice that sounded worryingly like my mother - screaming at me to leave before it was too late. But then he had moved in close, the scent and the shape and the sheer presence of him filling my senses; and desire quickly took over, my body providing the instructions my brain had failed to do. All other thoughts banished until the morning when higher brain functions kicked back in and the guilt flooded back with it.

But there was too much baggage now. Too many words said that couldn't be unsaid, deeds that couldn't be undone. Maybe desire, maybe even love wasn't enough to wipe out those bad memories. The rush of euphoria that had filled me at _let's go home_, the feel of his arm around my neck, pulling me close, was fading now. Fear was creeping in in its place. I hadn't exactly given him time to think. Maybe he had changed his mind.

Christian ran his hand over the back of his neck in a familiar gesture and gave me a smile. "Look, I need a shower after my run. Why don't you stick the kettle on and make us a cup of tea -" he gestured towards the kitchen as though I hadn't made a thousand cups of tea in this flat before "- and then we can talk."

"Talk?" I repeated stupidly.

His smile widened and he took a step towards me. "I think we need to talk, don't you?"

We did. God, yes, we did. Part of me wanted to start talking and never stop, telling him about every little thing that had happened to me in the last three months, the tiniest minutiae of every day we had spent apart, but I knew I never would. He wouldn't care about most of it; and the bits he would care about I couldn't share with him. Couldn't relive that pain all over again, couldn't make him hear my despair that I could never be the man my parents wanted me to be. Even if I could find the words, he would never understand.

But right now, standing here in this place where the good memories far outnumbered the bad ones, talking was the last thing on my mind. I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't make me sound like a petulant child asking where my kiss was - or more accurately, wondering why I wasn't being shoved up against the nearest wall and my clothes ripped off.

I settled for taking a few more steps into the flat, narrowing that gap between us. "We should talk. But Christian..." Was I imagining it, or did his breath catch as I said his name? "...it's been three months."

I didn't need to clarify what I meant, I could see it in his face, hear it in his halted breath. But he still stayed where he was, keeping that distance.

"Look, Sy..." he said after a brief pause, and I couldn't help smiling at the sound of my name again, said as only he said it. "I don't want to rush you into anything."

I dared another step forward. "It's taken us a year to get here. How is that rushing?"

Christian sighed. "You're just done this...amazing thing," he said, raising his head to meet my eyes. "A huge thing. I just think you might need time to breathe a bit."

"I don't need-" I began, but he cut me off, the words rushing out of him.

"I can't do it again, Sy." Those brilliant eyes blazed into me and I could see the hurt and the fear in them. "It nearly killed me last time. I can't wake up tomorrow morning to find you gone, changed your mind, run back home to Mum and Dad. Not again."

I couldn't stop myself flinching at the tone even if I knew where it came from. He was protecting himself just as I had so many times. He winched, seeing my reaction, closing his eyes briefly as guilt flashed across his face. He raised a hand as if to touch me; then let it drop back down by his side, his head dropping down to follow it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

I swallowed, and while still keeping the distance between us, I reached out to run my fingers down his forearm and take his hand; completing the gesture he was unable to make. He let me take it, entwining our fingers together. The electric shock always present at his touch surged through me again; and somehow I suspected I wasn't alone, even though Christian didn't raise his head to meet my eyes. "Yes, you did. And you're right. I wouldn't do that to you again - though I don't think Mum and Dad would have me back after that public display anyway. Not to mention walking out on Bushra and all the Aunties." He let out a small chuckle and I could see his shoulders relax a bit, but he continued to stare at the floor.

I couldn't think how to put into words what had changed, why I was different; I didn't really understand it myself. I thought I had explained myself well enough out in the market, but I couldn't blame him for being wary. I took a deep breath and continued. "I wish...I could go back. Change things. I can't bear to think of you hurting like that."

Finally, he looked up and gave me a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I did some stuff I wish I could take back too."

I took those final steps forward, closing the gap between us to the thinnest breath of air. He didn't come to meet me but he didn't flinch away either, holding himself still as we looked at each other. "Clean slate?" I asked and his smile softened. My skin was humming at his unbearably close presence and it would have been so easy to give in and kiss those tempting lips. But I needed him to hear it first; needed to be sure that he understood it was different this time. "I meant it, I promise. I'll still be here tomorrow and for-" I stopped myself from saying forever, not wanting to presume. He looked at me with a question in his eyes. "For as long as you want me here. This is it. I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" he breathed.

I nodded. "I love you."

And as if the words were the signal he'd been waiting for, that last breath of air between us vanished as his lips met mine, his free hand reaching up to entangle itself in my hair, the other, released from my grip, snaking round my waist. Hot, hungry mouths plundered each other as months-worth of pent-up lust flooded through me, sending my limbs weak and shaky. I gripped the back of Christian's vest to steady myself as the sheer force of him pushed me backwards. Our bodies hit the wall as one.

Unfortunately, we had forgotten about the entry phone on that wall and pain throbbed through my shoulder as I hit it, sending the bloody thing clattering to the floor.

"Ow!"

Christian pulled back, breathing heavily, and looked at me with concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt-" He must have realised what had happened as amusement flashed across his eyes and a chuckle rose from deep within his throat. "Oops. Sorry, babe." He ran both hands through my hair and down my face in a well-remembered gesture, and a shiver passed through me as he brought my face forward and placed a soft, closed-mouth kiss on my lips. "Want me to kiss it better?" he murmured, his mouth mere centimetres from mine.

I should have kept the same light, teasing tone, thought of a witty flirtatious reply, but it was hard to think over the blood pounding in my ears. Fierce joy, relief and - yes - love were bubbling out of me and I couldn't control the grin on my face. All I could do was whisper, "Yes please."

For a brief moment he looked surprised; then serious as he gently rubbed a thumb across my lips. The flat was silent and still, the only sound our ragged breathing, the only movement our heaving chests as we looked at each other. Then his face lit up as he cracked an ear-splitting grin the mirror of my own. He twisted his fingers through my hair and pulled me into him for a bruising kiss.

We pulled apart after too short a time, our foreheads resting together as he whispered, "I love you."

Then I got my wish as I was promptly shoved up against the wall - not the _nearest_ wall, but the nearest free of sharp objects - and yes, my clothes were ripped off. _Shame,_ was my last thought before all conscious thoughts were thoroughly banished. _I rather liked that shirt._

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note: First chapter of an expected six covering the whole weekend after the reunion; updates should be fairly quick. Reviews are, of course, very much appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So yeah, I said quick updates, didn't I? Oops. I forgot that everything being in my head did not necessarily translate to getting down on paper quickly. Won't make any more rash promises but will do my best to update as soon as I can.**

**This chapter was getting insanely long so I've split it into two.**

**

* * *

**

We lay side by side for a moment or two, not touching while our breathing got back to normal and the world ceased to spin. Then I felt an arm curl around me, pulling me in to Christian's side and I happily obliged; nestling into that snug gap between arm and chest, my own arm across his stomach, my leg over his, my head resting just above his heart, taking comfort in hearing the beat as it slowed.

I had always felt like I fit here; that this was a space made perfectly just for me. Even at my lowest points, when the shame and the guilt threatened to drown out everything else, I could always find quiet here, in this space. My head was silent now for the first time in months. It had been crammed with so many noisy thoughts for so long, I had almost forgotten what it was like to lie here in peace, my mind empty. No need to move, no need to think; no need for guilt or shame or despair. Just listening to the sound of our breathing.

_In, out, in, out..._

I felt lips press gently against the top of my head and I smiled, curling my mouth against his bare skin.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

My echo seemed inadequate, barely expressing a fraction of the emotions filling me. But it would do.

_In, out, in, out..._

"Can we talk now?" Christian mumbled into my hair and my whole body tensed, just for a moment.

Maybe it wouldn't do.

He must have felt my reaction as he began running one hand up and down my spine in soothing, circular motions, while he reached the other hand up to my hair and stroked it, pushing the damp, curly strands behind my ear.

"Please?"

I relaxed. I couldn't do otherwise under the assault against my senses, my nerve-ends tingling at his gentle motions; but I also knew he was right. I owed him some explanations. That didn't necessarily make them easy to express.

"What happened to my tea?" I asked.

I felt rather than heard him chuckle, enjoying the interesting feeling of his chest moving under me.

"I seem to remember I gave _you_ the job of putting the kettle on."

"Ah, but then I got distracted," I said, raising my head to look at him, deliberately keeping my face straight.

He matched me, serious look for serious look. "So you did. And who's fault was that?"

"Yours. Always yours." We both cracked into huge smiles in unison and I reached forward to give him a brief kiss before slumping back down again.

He resumed his gentle stroking of my hair. "So if I make you a cup of tea, then can we talk?"

I pretended to think about it. "Deal."

Pressing another quick kiss to the top of my head, he pulled himself out of bed and headed to the kitchen. I propped myself up on one elbow to watch his familiar movements as he filled the kettle; drinking in the sight of him, gloriously naked, bathed in the warm summer sunlight escaping through the not-quite-closed blinds.

Way back at the beginning, I had been shocked - and to be honest, more than a little turned on - by how comfortable Christian was in his own body. No trace of shame as he walked around the flat, naked as the day he was born. At first, I would avert my eyes, hide my own shame for as long as I could get away with; dress as quickly as possible, scurry under the covers. But after a while - and after Christian started taking the piss out of me for being too scared to look at a body I had tasted every inch of not half an hour before - I started not to care. Then I started to revel in it, stare at him openly, rejoice in the fact that gorgeous, powerful, muscular body was _mine_. The shame faded over time. How could anything that beautiful be wrong?

He must have felt my intense gaze; or perhaps he just knew me too well. "Are you perving on me?" he asked without looking round.

"Nope!" I called back cheerfully, not taking my eyes off him, and he flashed me a quick grin over his shoulder.

"Yeah, right."

Had he changed? I wondered as I watched him search for clean mugs. Were his shoulders bulkier than the last time I had seen him like this? The flat had changed too, I realised. The kettle had moved; the lamp was in the wrong place; there was a new picture of Christian with his sister on the bookcase.

I felt a brief pang of something I couldn't identify. Regret? Guilt? Sorrow? It was selfish and ridiculous, but part of me felt he had no _right_ to have changed. To have lived his life; growing, changing, moving on. Forgetting me. How many other people had he been with since we parted? A painful twisted knot began to form in my stomach at the thought, but I couldn't stop my treacherous brain from running on, picturing a procession of random strangers here in this bed, _our _ bed. Or worse. What if they weren't all random strangers? What if he'd met someone, someone he'd really liked, someone he could see a future with? If it hadn't happened yet, it would have only been a matter of time. I couldn't expect him to sit around and pine for me for the rest of his life; I might have thought less of him if he had.

I tried to force myself to calm down. He hadn't met someone. He wanted to be with me; he had invited me home, told my parents only yesterday that he loved me, told _me_ that he loved me. But that was because I had finally worked out what I needed to do, chosen him over my parents. What if the realisation had taken me longer? What if this certain knowledge that I couldn't live that way any more, couldn't lie to myself every day for the rest of my life, couldn't stop loving Christian no matter what I did, had come next week? Or the week after? What if I had realised too late, when Christian had moved on for good?

The panic gripped me, bile rising in my throat as the images assailed my head; Christian meeting someone, falling in love with them, sharing his flat with them, walking round the Square hand-in-hand with someone _who wasn't me_…

"Hey."

I had been so caught up in horrible thoughts I hadn't even noticed him leave the kitchen. He crouched down, arms resting on the shelf by the bed, and smiled softly at me. "You all right? You looked miles away."

I managed to smile back. "I'm good."

Christian looked like he didn't quite believe me. "You stopped ogling me," he said with a pout. "I thought I'd better come over and do something about it." He leaned forward, still smiling, and captured my mouth in a gentle kiss; and whether he somehow knew some of what was going through my mind or not, he had come up with the right answer for it. When we heard the kettle boil and he started to move away, I slid my hand round the back of his neck and pulled him back into me, deepening the kiss; exploring his mouth with my tongue, delighting in the familiar taste of it. He responded in kind, gripping my hair with both hands as he kissed me back. At last I broke off, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat as I sat back on the bed.

I opened my eyes to find him looking at me; still smiling but with concern in his eyes. No, not concern; fear. I felt a stab of guilt for having caused it. "What was that for?" he asked.

I shrugged and smiled; wishing I was a different sort of person and could find some way to properly express all the confused thoughts in my head. I settled for; "I love you."

The hint of a frown vanished and he beamed at me. "I will never, _ever _get tired of hearing that." And he reached over and kissed me again. "I love you," he repeated as our foreheads rested together, our breathing shallow.

"The kettle's boiled," I murmured and he rolled his eyes at me.

"I had noticed. If only _someone_ hadn't distracted me. So whose fault was it this time?"

"Hmm…still yours."

He stuck his tongue out at me before getting to his feet and heading back into the kitchen; and I rolled onto my back in the middle of the bed and allowed my face to relax into a smile. What was the point of worrying? There was no going back. I was here now; and at this moment, there was nowhere else in the world I would rather be.


	3. Chapter 3

"So…?"

I stared down at the contents of my mug, clasped in both hands. Christian had given me _my_ mug; the one with the spots that I had got into the habit of using whenever I was here, and the gesture had made me smile. Part of me couldn't believe he'd remembered.

"So," I echoed. We were sitting up in bed together; my back against his torso, his arm around my neck, one hand splayed across my chest and the other carefully balancing a mug of tea on his knee. It was an old, familiar, comfortable position.

I swallowed, hard, and continued. "What do you want to know?"

He sighed; and his breath moved my hair, tickling the back of my neck. "I don't get it, Sy. I don't really get any of it."

_And you think I do? _I wanted to say, but kept quiet, sensing there was more.

Christian seemed to be having some trouble getting the words out. "I mean…" he said eventually, before pausing and sighing again. "I mean, two days ago you stood over there-" He gestured towards the door with his free hand and I mourned the loss of it from where he had been idly stroking my chest hair. "-and you told me you were _cured_. That you weren't attracted to me any more."

I winced. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just…explain it to me. Please?" He dropped his head down to rest on my shoulder, and I felt his lips curve into a smile against my neck. "Anyway, I think we've just proved pretty conclusively that that was not, in fact, true."

"Oh, I don't know," I said, twisting my head round to look at him. "Are you sure you don't want more evidence?"

He gave me a stern look back, but I could see with relief the twinkle in his eye. "No more distractions." Then he grinned. "Though I may hold you to that later."

"I look forward to it."

Twisting round, he placed his mug of undrunk tea on the shelf by the bed before settling back and wrapping both arms around me. I leaned with gratitude into the embrace, skin against skin.

"I don't get it," he repeated. "I thought…even if you didn't want to be with me, I thought you'd accepted who you were. How did you ever think it would work?"

I thought for a moment, not sure what to say. How could I begin to explain what it was like, waking up every morning knowing I had lost everything; my family, my future, Christian, maybe even the mosque. Knowing my parents would never accept me as I was, knowing I had almost destroyed my family, knowing I had hurt the business, probably wrecked Tam and Shabnam's marriage prospects along with our reputation…knowing my own mother wished I was dead. Not I could tell him that last part. It still hurt too much to put into words.

And I didn't even know if he knew about what I had tried to do. How low I had got. I didn't know how far the Square gossip had gone, though Tam had told me that Ian and Peter had helped Dad when he found me. Would they have told Christian? If he knew, would he ask me about it? I hoped not. Explaining why I had gone through with the therapy was bad enough, explaining what was going through my mind when I had taken those pills would be impossible. I barely remembered making the decision to do so; only that overwhelming feeling of emptiness. Numbness. Hopelessness. For one awful day I had lost my faith; and that was the final thing I had left to lose.

He was still waiting for an answer. "I'm not sure," I began slowly, "that I did think it would work. Not really." I reached one hand up to grasp his, running my thumb along his wrist; trying to convey in actions the reassurance I found it so hard to put into words. "I was so desperate. To fix my family, to make amends…"

I felt him stir as if he wanted to say something, but he displayed remarkable self control in keeping quiet, letting me talk.

"He had all these testimonials on the website from people saying he had helped them," I continued, ignoring the small 'ha!' from behind me, "and I thought…it had to be worth a try. I thought it couldn't make me feel any worse than I did already."

"Oh, Sy…" He pressed his lips to my hair as I kept going, needing to get the words out before I lost my nerve.

"I had destroyed our family and I had to do something to convince my parents I was serious about changing things. I couldn't be with you, and I…" I swallowed and made myself say it. What was the point of holding back now? "But I couldn't stop loving you either. And it hurt too much. I was desperate for something, _anything_ that would stop me feeling like that."

"You could have been with me," said Christian. I blinked back the tears that were threatening to form in my eyes. This was why I didn't want to tell him. His voice was rough, as though he was holding back the tears himself, and I could hear the hurt in it. "That's all I ever wanted, for you to be with me. _Really _with me."

"I couldn't," I repeated. "I wasn't ready to walk away from everything, to give up on my family. Not then. And you said you never wanted to see me again. I thought I was doing the right thing, staying away-"

He interrupted me. "I didn't mean it, Sy. I was hurt and angry, but I could neverturn my back on you…"

"I know," I said quickly. I squeezed his hand. "I do know. I had to believe you didn't want me anymore cause that made it easier somehow. I thought I didn't have a choice."

We were silent for a moment, holding each other. I could feel wetness on my neck and closed my eyes, not wanting to look into his face and see the tears.

"So it was your decision then?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Your parents…you weren't forced into it?"

I shook my head, still not opening my eyes. "I found him. It was my choice."

"Bet they were thrilled though," he muttered darkly and I sighed, trying to think what to say. After everything, I couldn't blame Christian for being angry at my parents - there was still a slight bruise on his face where Dad had punched him yesterday - but I didn't want to make it any worse.

"They supported me. As Tam put it, I do think they were trying to help in their own totally dysfunctional way." As I spoke, I could picture the scene; and even though it was a scene tinged with pain and confusion, I still felt a stab of loss. I could see them in my mind; my brothers, my parents, my home. Would I ever see them like that again, with that sense of cosy familiarity? Or would any future family scenes be awkward and uncomfortable, even hostile - if my parents ever let me set foot inside the house again, and it was a big if.

"Tam thought I was insane," I added. "He kept making sarky comments about how it would never work."

"I knew I always liked Tamwar."

I smiled, as much at the bittersweet memory as Christian's dry comment. At the time, lost in that fog of despair, not knowing which path was the right one, I had been hurt and confused by Tamwar's seeming lack of support. But he had never given up on me, not really. He had been the first member of my family to really get how I felt about Christian. He probably knew it better than I did back then.

I wondered what he was thinking right now, whether he would understand why I had left. Whether he understood it or not though, I somehow knew that he wouldn't judge me for it.

"So what changed?" Christian asked, and I pulled myself back to the present.

"What do you mean?"

"You said before that you weren't ready to walk away from your family then. What changed?"

I was silent for a moment, once again trying to find the words to boil a mass of confused thoughts down to something he would understand.

He nudged my shoulder with his own. "You went pretty fast from telling me you were cured to making the choice to walk away. Something must have happened."

Images flashed through my head; Allan, cold and disapproving as he dismissed my feelings as an abnormal response; Dad, embarrassed and silent as he watched me cry; Tam, confused and awkward, the one person who seemed to notice and care how I felt; and Mum. Something clutches at my heart as I picture Mum, stood in the kitchen, hopeful, even eager to start the cycle all over again. To do to some other poor girl - not the cream of the crop of course, not after my messy public outing, but some plain younger sister from a halfway-decent family - what I did to Amira. And that awful dawning realisation that it would never be good enough. That I could beat myself up every day for the rest of my life, trying to be the son they wanted, and it would never be enough. Didn't I get the chance to be happy? When or where had I ever been happier than here, wrapped in the arms of someone I loved more than I knew was possible?

"It's difficult to explain."

Christian planted a soft kiss on the back of my neck. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you," he added, tightening his grip around my chest to emphasise the point.

"I think the therapy helped." I surprised even myself with the statement and I certainly surprised Christian.

"Helped?"

"Not the in the way they intended, of course-"

"Of course…"

"-but yeah, it helped." I was being economical with the truth to be fair, but I had to find some way to explain it to Christian when I barely understood it myself. "Just talking about it all, even to someone trying to convince me there was something wrong with me, helped me sort out a few things in my head. And the more he attacked my feelings for you, the more I wanted to defend them."

"Do _you_ think there's something wrong with you?" Christian's voice was hoarse. I answered the question almost before he finished asking it.

"No. I am as Allah made me." As I spoke the words, a reflection of what I had said before in the Square, I marvelled again at the certainty I felt. The peace that had filled me ever since I had come to that realisation; the knowledge that even if Christian didn't want me back, I was who I was and it was okay to be me. It seemed so obvious now, I almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of not seeing it before.

"And I realised something else," I went on recklessly, still giddy with that feeling. "I always thought that if there was some sort of switch out there, some magic cure that would make me straight, that I would take it in an instant. But not any more. Because that would mean not having you in my life. And whatever happens…now, with us…I wouldn't give up the time I've spent with you for anything."

There was silence when I'd finished. I began to regret the words as it dragged on. Had I gone too far? I was almost too scared to look around and see Christian's expression, but as the seconds ticked by I forced myself to twist my head round and look at him.

His eyes were closed, tears glistening on his cheeks.

"Christian?" I said uncertainly.

His eyes flew open and he smiled at me; a genuine, full-bodied smile that reached all the way up to red-rimmed eyes, full of warmth and love. He nodded, still not speaking; then he gently took the mug from my fingers, placed it on the shelf, and suddenly rolled me over so I ended up on my back, Christian covering my body with his.

I smiled up at him, light-headed with relief and sudden arousal. Propped up on one hand, he reached out and ran the other through my hair, caressing the side of my face. "Do you have the slightest idea how much I love you, Syed Masood?" he murmured.

"Planning on showing me?"

He leaned over as though he was going to kiss me; but stopped just above my mouth and whispered; "Patience is a virtue. I told you before, you're not going _anywhere_." Proving his point, he pinned my arms down with his hands and began planting soft, feathery kisses along my collarbone.

_Bastard_, I thought happily.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm not really part of the Chryed community, I only lurk on the edges and haven't read many other Chryed fics, so really, really chuffed that people have taken the time to read and review when I'm not 'one of you'. :) Thanks again!**

**I do intend to cover the whole weekend eventually - from both points of view - but am not going to make any rash promises about updates. I'll be hopping between this and my other fic, 'Deep in My Heart', for a bit.**

* * *

"Bushra."

The question (or the statement or whatever it was) was so random I nearly choked on my pizza. "I'm sorry?"

Lying in each other's arms all evening may seem like a romantic idea, but there comes a point when you both realise you're sticky, starving, and smelling of sweat and sex. Stomachs rumbling, we had managed to let go of each other for long enough to shower and order some food.

I was stretched out on the sofa, my feet in Christian's lap, idly enjoying the messy decadence of it; eating pizza without plates, the grease spilling over our fingers as we indulged. We were both half-dressed, Christian's only concession to the pizza delivery boy being a pair of jeans he had hastily pulled on when the buzzer rang. The teenager had flamed red to the roots of his hair as a half-naked Greek god attempted to flirt with him, while I hovered in the background with slightly more clothing on, suppressing my laughter. Part of me wanted to hide to spare the poor kid any further embarrassment, but I stayed in the kitchen, needing to show Christian there would be no more hiding, no more shame.

The last meal we had had together, all those months ago, had also been a takeaway pizza. It wasn't meant to have been. Meals together back then were a rare and precious thing, to be savoured and enjoyed, even if they invariably lead to a rushed conclusion as we took advantage of the few moments we had.

Christian would sometimes cook as he waited for me to make my excuses and sneak over, but the precious memories I hugged to myself in secret were those handful of occasions when we had somehow found the time to cook together, working in companionable silence or chatting away over nothing. We worked together preparing food every day of course, but this was different. It was a cosy domesticity that both delighted and terrified me. It was too easy for my treacherous imagination to run away with itself, teasing me with images of a life I could never have.

As the wedding drew closer it had become harder and harder to get away with Amira a constant presence at home, arguing with Mum over tablecloths and dress fabric; my opinion repeatedly asked for but never heeded. Vague excuses that left Amira assuming I was at work or with my family and my family assuming I was with Amira would no longer cut it. But we had somehow managed to find a Sunday afternoon together - my parents out, Amira shopping, Tamwar uninterested in where I was going - and we had made the most of it. My mouth twitched into a smile at the bittersweet memory; the afternoon's activities had left us ravenous but the fridge was bare, so we ordered a pizza and I had hidden in the bathroom when the delivery came. I wouldn't let myself see Christian's expression when he came to get me. I spent months pretending not to see that expression, refusing to see his sadness. Deep down, I knew that seeing it - acknowledging Christian's unhappiness - would eventually lead to losing Christian from my life altogether, and that wasn't a possibility I was prepared to face. It took Dad's accident to force that decision out of me. Despite the summer heat, I couldn't help a shiver.

I had thrown on one of Christian's T-shirts after my shower. He had laughed at me for that, lounging on the sofa in nothing more than his boxers while he held up takeaway leaflets for me to make the choice. It was roasting in the flat and he must have assumed it was down to my delicate sensibilities (which was, granted, a fairly ridiculous notion after the last couple of hours). Deciding Christian's ego didn't need any more of a boost, I didn't tell him that it was neither embarrassment or cold that had made me wear it, but some sort of desire to keep the scent of him close to me. It was unbearably soppy, I was well aware, and of course the soft fabric was no substitute for those arms around me. I shifted position on the sofa. Nope, definitely not admitting to that one.

"Bushra," he repeated, and I tried to work out what we were talking about that might have lead him to this subject. My mind was all over the place at the moment as peaceful enjoyment of the present fought for space with memories of the past, but I'm fairly certain we were having some friendly banter over pizza toppings. "Just…something you said before, about walking out on Bushra and her lot." Finishing his last slice, he licked the grease slowly from his fingers and my breath caught in my throat, mesmerised by the sight. He seemed oblivious though, resting his now free hands on my legs and rubbing a gentle thumb over my ankle bone.

"So there was some sort of gathering of the curtain-twitching brigade going on," Christian continued, ignoring my eye-roll, "and you just walked out on the lot of them without even stopping to pack?"

I threw my final crust into the pizza box on the table and leaned back against the sofa cushions, wondering what he wanted me to say. "I wanted to find you. Once I'd decided to leave, there didn't seem a lot of point in hanging round."

He nudged my knee with his elbow. "Don't get me wrong, I am very, very, _very_ glad you did…very glad…"

I raised an eyebrow. "How glad?"

"…but you couldn't have waited until the visitors had all gone and you had a chance to at least pack a toothbrush and talk to your mum and dad?"

"Packing would have been a bit presumptuous," I said with a smile, trying to deflect the question. "I didn't even know if you would have me back."

"Yeah, you did," he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine. We held each other's gaze for a moment and for once, he was the first to break the contact, glancing back down at his hands as a flush spread over his cheeks. He was right. I had known what I needed to do, and walking out of that house, there had been no doubt in my mind then that he would take me back. The doubts had crept in later. "So," Christian went on, clearing his throat, "you still haven't told me what happened, exactly. Did Bushra and Zainab's sniping at each other get too much and you thought, 'hey, nothing could be worse than this'? Or did you just have an epiphany and walk straight out the door?"

I smiled. "Not straight out the door. I said goodbye to my parents and Tam first. But apart from that, yeah, the epiphany part's pretty much exactly what happened." The scenes replayed again in my head as I spoke. Had I actually said 'goodbye'? I hadn't, I realised - I hadn't wanted to say the word, didn't wanted to acknowledge out loud that this action could mean the end. But giving Tam our grandfather's Qur'an was probably a stronger goodbye than any words could have been. He had looked so confused when I walked out the door. I wondered if he understood by now what I had been trying to say to him.

Christian looked sideways at me, his hands still idly caressing my legs. "Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?"

I sighed. "Christian…"

He leaned towards me, resting his head against the back of the sofa. "I'm not trying to push you, Sy, honestly, it's just…I still don't understand. Not really. There must have been something that…I don't know, must have been the final straw. Something your mum said?" There must have been something given away in my expression as he leaned closer, brow furrowed. "What was all that stuff you were saying in the market about mouldy meat?"

"Stringy meat."

He rolled his eyes. "Right, yeah, stringy meat. Well?"

I paused for a moment, trying to weigh my instinctual need not to keep secrets from him against his probable reaction to news of a matchmaking party. He would never understand why my parents chose to do what they did; or how close I had come to going along with it for a while to keep them happy. "Does it matter?" I tried one last time.

He looked at me sadly and the expression twisted something deep inside me. I had been the cause of that look in his eyes too often and it hurt a little more every time. I couldn't deny him anything when he looked at me like that; those bright, clear, uncomplicated eyes clouded over with sadness. "It's all right," he said quietly. "It's fine, you don't have to tell me. Look, why don't I make us some coffee-" He began to push my feet from his lap and I stopped him.

"No, wait." I sighed. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just… Please don't judge them too harshly, okay? They were honestly doing what they thought was best."

Christian looked alarmed. "You're scaring me now. This is something worse than the 'therapy'?" I could _hear_ the inverted commas in his voice and it made me smile.

"Not necessarily for me, but maybe for someone else." He raised a puzzled eyebrow at me and I sighed again. "They were trying to find me a wife."

There was a pause. Christian's face seemed to shut down, his eyes hardening. I had to resist the inappropriate urge to laugh; I had clearly found the one thing that would leave him speechless. (Well, the second thing.)

He exhaled and blinked a few times. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but...don't you already have one?"

It was my turn to be left at a loss for words. Whatever I had expected it wasn't that. It was the first time either of us had mentioned Amira since the day she left. Not that we had spent a lot of time talking in the last few months, of course, but it had been a pretty taboo subject even when she was around. We almost never mentioned her here, in this safe haven we had created together; we never talked about the difficult stuff after the early days, when it would inevitably lead to a row and me storming out. In those last couple of months before the wedding, there had been almost some kind of unspoken agreement not to acknowledge a thing that was going on outside these four walls. He never asked and I never mentioned her. To do so would have made what I was doing to her - to both of them - real.

"Yeah, I do," I said, at a loss for anything else to say.

"And they didn't learn anything from what happened to her? They were prepared to sacrifice someone else's happiness for the sake of your mum's _reputation_?" He was almost beginning to scare me a little. I'm not sure I had ever seen him this angry; not the usual Christian explosion of anger, all noise and fury and easily forgotten, but a calm, chilling anger that didn't sit right on his face at all.

I pulled my feet from his lap and twisted round so that I was sitting next to him. His arms were folded across his chest and I reached out a hand to try and take one of his. After a moment's hesitation, he let me, unfolding his arms and curling his fingers around mine.

"Please don't hate them," I said gently; and something inside me twisted painfully at his answering snort of anger. "They just…don't understand. Look how long it took me to work out that I can't marry some poor girl and _make_ myself straight, and I was actually living it." I rested my chin on his shoulder and attempted to smile. "Give them a chance?"

I could still feel the anger radiating from him, but he turned to meet my eyes. "I don't get it," he said; then he chuckled, and I could feel a little of the tension drain from his shoulders. "Oh god…how many more times can I say that tonight?"

I smiled - genuinely this time. "You don't have to get it. Just…be patient. With them and with me."

"But they _saw_ it, Sy. Your mum _knew_. She saw how miserable Amira was, how miserable you both were, how much you were struggling, the pain it all caused…for god's sake, you tried to kill-" He broke off, the muscles in his shoulders tensing right back up again. Mine did likewise as I froze.

The silence seemed to drag on forever. I needed to be the one to break it but didn't know how. I wanted to stop this conversation, or preferably to rewind time so that we were still in bed, wrapped up in the warm, familiar comfort of each other and not ripping bandages off old wounds…but it needed to be said. The wounds hadn't healed yet. Maybe this was the time to start.

"You heard about that," I managed to get out eventually.

He raised his head back up to meet my eyes and I saw with sadness that they were red around the edges. "Yeah. I heard. Did you really try to…?" He trailed off, looking lost.

"I don't know," I said, trying to keep the tone light. "To be honest, I don't really remember it. Probably because of the bottle of vodka I swallowed first."

Christian twisted his mouth in a sort of smile. "Yeah, well, it'll do that to you. The memory loss is one of the better side-effects."

"I take it doing really stupid things because they seem like a good idea at the time is one of the not-so-good ones."

"Something I can vouch for on far too many occasions."

There was a pause while we looked at each other.

"I should have been there," whispered Christian.

I shook my head, swallowing against the lump in my throat. "We could do "should have'"s all night, Christian, it's pointless. I should never have thought alcohol would solve anything, I should never have run away from Walford…I should never have proposed to Amira in the first place if you want to go that far back…"

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have given up," he insisted, reaching up and angrily brushing away a tear. "On you, on us…if I'd been there…"

"I wouldn't have let you be there, I would have pushed you away like I did before." I sighed. "I was a mess, Christian, but it was _my _mess. I needed to sort through it for myself."

"You could have died," he choked out. On impulse, I reached my hands up and ran them through his hair and down the sides of his face; mirroring the gesture that had so often brought me comfort.

"But I didn't. Allah was watching over me." I rubbed my thumb gently along his chin as I smiled. "Doesn't that tell you something?"

He reached up and took hold of my hands, interlacing our fingers together. "Not really. But I'm glad it tells _you_ something."

I rolled my eyes. "As long as we're on the same page."

Christian still seemed to be struggling with something. He had let go of one of my hands, but he took the other one between both of his, playing with it and tracing patterns on my palm with the tip of his finger.

"What is it?" I asked after a minute or two of this.

"I did come to see how you were," he said eventually in a small voice. "I didn't hear about it and not care."

"I never thought you didn't care," I said, though a tiny weight that I hadn't even noticed was there had just rolled off my heart.

"But you had your family," he went on, "and I thought it was best to just…stay away."

I frowned. My family? I had gone back to the flat on my own for nearly a week before Mum had bent far enough to ask me to come home. And even then, it had been a pretty chilly reception for a while. It had taken her weeks to almost start treating me normally again. Or did he mean before that, at the hospital? Again, the voice that still crept in into my head last thing at night echoed in my mind once again. _It's better, my son, that your father never found you…it's better that you were dead..._

"My family?"

"Yeah, I saw you with Tam, laughing together, and I suppose I thought…" He sighed. "I thought that you had made your choice. You didn't need me making things complicated for you again. I thought it was best to leave you with your family and try and move on - not that I managed it. You're too deep in here." He laid his hand over his heart with a shy smile, but I barely noticed the gesture through the haze of painful memories.

If I closed my eyes, I could see it again as clearly as if it were happening in front of me; seeing Christian, laughing and smiling with some man, clearly out on a date, moving on with his life. The stab of pain was as raw now as it was then. And then stepping out of the car to see Mum, cold and unyielding as she held up a match to my life...

I swallowed. "It wasn't quite like that."

"What do you mean?"

I was silent for a moment, not sure what to say, before he took gentle hold of my face and turned it towards him.

"Tell me."

I couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If this is going to work...you and me...then we don't keep things from each other. I want to know. Do you want to tell me?"

I did. I closed my eyes, just for a moment. "Yes."

"Come here then."

For a moment, I was confused as Christian got up and repositioned himself on the sofa, spreading his arms and legs wide. Then he raised his arms and beckoned me into them and realisation dawned. With relief, I crawled into that welcoming embrace as he wrapped his arms around me, one leg hooked over mine. He reached up a hand to push my hair back and then placed a gentle kiss on the side of my head; and I felt the tension drain out of me to be replaced by that warm contentment that came from being surrounded by love.

"Go on then, tell me. From the beginning. Not leaving anything out."

"Even if you might not want to hear it?" I said, trying to give him an out.

He kissed my ear again. "_Especially_ then. I'll try not to interrupt, but you know me." He began to chuckle. "I can't guarantee anything."

"I suppose that's the best I can hope for."

With that quiet strength behind me, somehow I found the words. And I talked as the shadows began to lengthen and the world grew dimmer around us; letting out the pain and the fear until my voice grew hoarse and the spluttered indignation of my listener turned to murmured words of love and comfort.


End file.

EastEnders, Romance