EastEnders 1. Chapter 1

_**This is something new and slightly different. I'd be really interested in your thoughts in a bid to help me figure out where I'm going with it, but either way, I hope you like. **_

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The glass filled slowly, fighting with the disobedient water to be quiet, to fulfil its task dutifully. Christian was a heavy sleeper, the large arch of his chest would rise and fall in unconscious heaves as shallow breaths whistled on contented sighs, nightly, but the water was asked to go quietly nonetheless. Syed didn't like to wake him.

He turned the tap and drank in soothed gulps, enjoying the murmur of sound in the near silence of home at dawn. Silence had been something to fear at times, that let him be crushed in hateful doubts or left hollow in the reminder of being alone. He hadn't forgotten. It could be a comfort though, reminiscent of prayer, a calmer state where thoughts could float and things would slow. He liked that, that hadn't changed.

A vulnerable row of goose-bumps suddenly pricked his skin and he thought how cold it was in here, colder than yesterday. Placing the glass down on the glistening counter to free his arms to wrap themselves, he rubbed his nakedness. It was December he supposed, the dressing of boxers and the creeping sun streaks through the slats of the blinds are not the things to keep you warm.

"_Are you going to stand there all night?" _

His breath shuck, the familiar sense of heated hands on bare skin startling the tips of his nerves, the murmur of Christian's sleep roughed voice humming through his ear. He smiled, sighing as he calmed into the feel of touch, his warm chest pressing the chill of his back. There was a comfort in the grip of Christian's arms; it had been there when there was a terror in it too. Something about the firmness of forearms and the way padded finger tips played on the soft of his stomach. Protective strength and gentle affection, as if he had been waiting for it before he knew.

"Technically, it's morning," he smiled. "That's what the sun means."

"It's before eight, it's night time."

The correction widening into the stretch of a vocalised yawn, Christian hung his head sleepily into the morning ruffle of Syed's hair.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, earnestly. "I've just finished, I was trying to be quiet."

"As a mouse," Christian adored, bending his head to press hot waking lips onto Syed's shoulder skin.

"I like waking up and seeing you," he mumbled into the soft warmth. "I need to make the most of it."

"I know…but it's only five days, you'll barely notice I've gone."

That Syed knew that last utterance was a lie gave him more of a comfort than he was prepared for. He wanted Christian to miss him, to hurt a little when he found he wasn't there. His head pressed itself back into the crux of Christian's collar bone, a silent apology for a cruelty he didn't understand.

"Why do I have to notice at all?" Christian grumbled, turning him, keeping him in the hold of his arms. "Getting on a train to train is stupid, I don't like it."

"It's practical Christian, and for the same reasons I told you when I first booked it. If I do it partly in Leeds I can do the intense course..."

"Intense massaging?" he chortled, low. "I think I'd like that."

"You said that first time. It was Leeds or Manchester and I don't know Manchester. Anyway this way I'll get qualified ten times quicker, if I pass..."

"'Course you'll pass. You couldn't fail at anything if you tried…"

Syed gave a dismissive laugh, an anxiety and a past Christian suspected was less than funny.

"…and if you did I wouldn't even make fun of you mercilessly," he added, smoothing his nose into the dip of Syed's throat.

"You romantic."

The cool of the sink pressing the base of Syed's back, they stood, skin caressing slowly in the silence.

"It'll be fine you know," Christian murmured.

"I know."

"You do your thing, get reacquainted with the north, and you come home."

Words breathed into his listening skin, Syed closed his eyes. The walls of the flat blinked from light to dark and he held onto the feel of loving touch.

* * *

A crush of pink paint hung itself on the greyness of the shrunken wall and he felt the unnerving strain of apathetic eyes stare out at him. It was a single room, cramped and unkempt with the damp half stench that comes from lack of care, but it would do he guessed, and only partly because it had to.

"I can do it for like sixty or something…" he heard the voice cogitate, "…but you've got to get your own food. The last guy just ate everything and I'd come in and they'd be nothing left and he'd leave like a beer, that's it. Twat. Oh and don't steal the beer right?"

"I don't drink."

"What, like _ever_?"

He didn't need to turn to be aware he was being looked at with an expression of discomfort, the custom flex of the mouth, silenced, and the creased display of the brow. You have to fit in, be popular, liked, something that's special but won't offend, that fits with what they want. His breath caught a little, knowing he'd slipped already. He was tired, just tired, he knew he could do better than this.

"It's no problem, I just…not really a beer man, you know."

"Yeah, cool. So like Paul's here sometimes, he might take the sofa. But usually it's just me and Michael. And India, my girlfriend, but she doesn't pay rent, obviously and…"

The foreign voice continued, a mundane nothing ramble that told him that he'd recovered, that he wasn't going to be asked to leave, that he was okay. The cold flutter of agitation calmed in his chest and he resumed tracing his sore eyes over the carelessness of part re-painted walls, a streak of change slopped over the old but standing abandoned, a mistake and one unimportant enough to be left un-dealt with. The bed at least was fine. It looked clean and it was nice enough, lacking the bed spread of blue stripes with the neat black trim, and he was only partly surprised at that, but it was fine. It's alright, he promised on a whisper. Its fine and you'll be fine.

He had stayed with an old friend for a few nights, since it happened. Well, as old as it could be, as he could let it, but Graduation wasn't that long ago, he told himself, and it wasn't strange to just turn up late off a train with a bag asking for a place to stay. It was no big deal, and when he was fiddling in the kitchen at 3am it was because he was young and fit and needed the sustenance, nothing else. He'd always liked Rhys, kind and funny and almost put him at ease. He liked him for now as much as anything, the right distance between someone he knew and who didn't know enough. It couldn't be for any longer though, there was no space and the girlfriend had started parading on the sofa in her bra, touching assets for attention that was promised as secret. He needed something permanent, and saying that out loud would stop hurting soon.

He was being spoken to his shaking thoughts said and he turned to stare at the interrupting voice, confident skinny leg bent, black ruffled jeans scuffling the bitted floor. The guy looked back at him, shifting his gaze from him to the walls attempting to express some sort of pride, he imagined.

"So, what do you think?"

It was cold in here, and it didn't smell like home.

He caught himself. That was a good thing, it was a smell that was new and dirty and fresh and he didn't need anything other than this. This was exactly how things should be and he'd be a man about it. Flash the smile, the lift of the mouth and the white spread of cut teeth that said happiness and complete comfort.

"It's just what I wanted," he heard his voice say, proud of himself.

"Alright, move in tonight if you want. Rooms all yours Syed."

* * *

"Do you think there's room for me in your suitcase?"

Syed laughed, pulling his smiling face from the crux of Christian's neck.

"That would be the biggest suitcase ever made."

He stroked his fingers up the curve of his bare spine.

"You said it yourself, I'll go, I'll do it, massage things or whatever I'm doing, and come home. No need to suffocate in my luggage. And I'll call you whenever I can…I want to hear your voice."

"You'll be too busy painting the town red, eating pies and chips with gravy or whatever these people do," he pouted into skin.

"That's exactly it, I did that all through university and…"

"I'm going to miss you," Christian found himself murmuring, unsure whether he had imagined the way Syed's body had tensed, just slightly, under his hold. "Come back to bed and let me show you how much."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you very much to those who reviewed after reading the first chapter – twas (and is) lovely and appreciated. Feeling a bit bleugh so I finished this on a work day(!) and thought I'd post. I hope it works ok for you and as always great to hear what you think. **_

* * *

The taste of heat and sticky sleep filtering through his parted mouth, Syed breathed in the scent of them. This is how their naked bodies smelt when they were wrapped in sex laced sheets, that musty salt on his lips was his lover's satiated sweat. Syed stroked the thick tip of his tongue over the traces on his own mouth, suddenly needing to remember, to take it with him where he went.

"That was amazing," he murmured, purring his nose into the mattered soft hairs on the depth of Christian's chest.

Syed smiled, adoring the flash of pride in confident eyes and the grateful squeeze of hands cupped past the base of his spine.

"I told you I'd miss you."

"I don't have to go you know," he heard himself say, surprised at how natural the concession felt as it spilt from his lips. "You were right, there's no point in going all that way when I can do it from here soon enough. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone on against what you wanted."

Christian lowered his head, trying to read Syed's face as much as trace over the confusing words. "Since when is it just about what I want?"

"It's not but..."

"Anyway I do want you to, I mean I wish you didn't have to stay away and I'll miss you like crazy but I want you to do this. I know how much getting back to work means to you. I was only teasing before."

"I know."

"What about you?" Christian asked quietly, stroking a hand through the ruffled mess of his hair. "Do you still want to go?"

"Yeah. Maybe. _Yes_. I don't know it just feels a bit weird, starting something new and...I don't know, it's a change that's all."

He paused a second, giving himself a moment to tell his mind what he needed, a skill he had hoped to never need again.

"It's just some training, I'll just think of it as an extra uni course. It'll be fine."

"Course it will," Christian said softly, firmly. "You were sorted then and you'll be sorted now." He watched him in the silence. "Uni was smooth sailing, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

The street noises filtering through the kitchen, he hid himself under the shield of Christian's shoulder, squinting to the unwanted light piercing through the slats of the blind.

* * *

The yellow of the artificial bulb pierced out and Syed, bent and bemused, surveyed the glaring gaps on the fridge shelves.

"Have you seen my mince?"

"Haha no." Rhys laughed, loudly, in that not over the top but free way that Syed had always liked, and continued systematically lifting up the bases of a row of canned baked beans. "Am I supposed to be keeping track of it?"

Syed stood straightened, turning around to glance around the kitchen, small but clean, for a final flawed search.

"Those beans are off you know," he nodded over to the cupboards, watching consideration flash over his uneven features before merging into an indifferent shrug.

Rhys was different from the sort of friends Syed would have at home. White with the paleness of it and red cheeks that said activity and who are you to know what sort, yet the difference didn't stop at skin. He was care-free, just a usual boy, or a boy of twenty-one which Syed suspected in passing thoughts was at least less than a man. Nothing overly mattered to him, few things were a disaster or a plague of concern and that was something Syed admired, that was nice to be around.

Moving the scraps of abandoned coursework, he squashed himself glumly into the cleared sofa cushion.

"It was sausages last week, now this…"

"The beans?"

"The mince."

"Where was the last place you saw it?"

Syed raised an eyebrow. "I don't know I didn't really think about it. In my hand before I placed it in the fridge I guess."

"Mysterious," he concluded, collapsing large heavy legs onto the couch, creating a slight dip where Syed sat. "Shit. James and Paul came over before playing yesterday. Maybe it ended up fried or congealed in them? Sorry. Still, must feel good that your student loan's single handily fuelling Leeds to Rugby Varsity glory. No?"

"I'll get back to you on that."

"Have my pizza. It's only margarita, it's alright for you."

"There's no pizza in the fridge."

"I hid it behind the TV," he said matter of factly, leaping up on a jump to man handle the electronics. "That bloke Marie was with for about a month dumped her or something and she's eating anything that's not nailed down. She was gutted you weren't here last night, I think she wanted to cry on your shoulder."

"Me?" Syed flustered. "What's wrong with you?"

He turned his head back from the heave of the television and grinned.

"Lucy was here, I had my hands full."

His head shaking, Syed gave him the expected extolling smile. He smiled, because something told him he should want to. Three years away from home and the surroundings of carelessness and sex still seemed strange at times, a little bit less than comfortable. It was not being used to it, he supposed, just one of those consequences of being the Muslim who only pecked on the cheek or chaste kissed if a nice girl asked. It was probably just that, he'd start dating seriously soon, find the right fiancé, and it would seem as natural as it should. Rhys was so confident with it all, though without the pressures and the permanence he imagined confidence in this may come easy. Average looking, a sport build but nothing athletic and a face that was more kind than handsome, but the girls liked him. They'd often spend the night, the neighbouring thin walls hiding little, and sounds that should be private could rarely be avoided. It unsettled Syed sometimes, the hard echo of masculine noises filtering under his skin. He was embarrassed, that's all it was, and the way it felt was just discomfort.

"She's nice, you know," he told him. "One night you should take her on a date that doesn't involve going to watch your friends play rugby."

"An interesting idea, I'll consider it."

"You should do, unless you want to end up like James."

"Oh Christ, you should have heard him last night, a particular level of twat. _'Oh yeah she had the biggest tits ever made, like Jordan or something, but not plastic so like soft but still massive, real massive.'_ I swear he actually re-enacted the helicopter motion at one stage."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"I woke up with his phone wedged into the side of my face, so he'll probably be round to get it in a minute. If you're lucky he might give you an exclusive second showing. You know how he likes to try and freak you out. Ah Pizza!" he grinned, holding up the battered box victoriously. "I'll put it in."

"I'll just eat some cereal, it's yours..."

"Shut up, it's fine. I must have downed half your mum's food parcel last week."

"She packs more like I'm at war than university…"

"Don't knock it. You know what the most Carol ever sent me? Tic tacs. And they were half eaten."

Catching his smiling eyes as he walked past him to the microwave, Syed laughed. It always felt odd to hear someone call their mum by her name, an unnatural distance that had to be pitied. Rhys had done it from first year, the result of divorce and fractured feelings and it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. It saddened Syed though, that anyone could lose that, the nurturing bond that even at times of frustration he knew he would always cherish. He'd call his mum later, thank her for the food again.

"It's in."

"Thanks," Syed nodded from the sofa.

"I'm eating some too, those beans are off," he called, walking out the door. "I need a piss."

The sound of the door bouncing back against the wall, Syed kept his eyes on the television and his flicking of the channels.

"You've gone to the toilet. You don't have to come back to give me running commentary."

"Good to know…"

Startled at the unfamiliar voice, Syed looked up.

A tall guy, ruffled rugby shirt hanging on shaped muscles, a blend of dark short waves and piercing blue eyes stared out at him.

"I'm Andy. James asked me to pick up his phone."

There must have been a silence in which dazed confusion flashed past Syed's face, as he heard him add, "He's hung-over and I was passing…sorry I just walked in, the door was open so…"

"No, no it's fine," Syed murmured, getting himself up from the sofa and straightening his jeans. "It's my housemates fault for wanting us murdered in our beds…"

"Murdered on the sofa, but equally bad I guess," he smiled, kindly.

Syed laughed.

"Luckily no kleptomaniacs though. The phone's just here I think, I'll get it for you…"

Picking it up from the kitchen counter, he walked back to the living space, passing it to the receiving hand quickly with a chased brush of rough skin.

"There you go," he smiled, his fingers finding their way into a waiting pocket. "Oh I'm Syed by the way."

"Hi Syed."

He turned to walk out the door, Syed ready to go back to where he found him. "Thanks for the phone," he called, lifting his hand slightly as he passed. "See you around maybe."

"Yeah."

His legs pausing, the alarm of an expected ping shook them to move and he turned, stomach growling, to the microwave.

* * *

Turning into the nestle of warm chest, Syed paused.

"I can't believe you just used the phrase 'smooth sailing'."

Christian laughed.

"I can't believe you actually said me appearing to think something was a bad idea was enough to stop you doing it."

"Funny. I mean it though," he promised quietly. "This is good and it's right…making sure that we're ok is everything."

"Hey," Christian murmured, moving to show the expression of his eyes. "We're more than okay. Going to Leeds for a bit won't change that. I _love_ you."

"I love you too."

Syed buried his head further into the chest, clinging to the words promised through physical closeness. He found himself beginning to kiss slowly, multiple kisses on tired skin, needing the contact of caress and taste and the rewarding sound of familiar moans.

"_Mmm Sy_…your train, you'll miss…you need to pack…"

His body moving to straddle, he clung to the feel of approval and hidden murmurs that said love and want.

"There's time."

"What are you do- " Christian hitched, his depleted desire forced to return as he felt dedicated lips work down.

"_Whatever you want." _


	3. Chapter 3

_**There may be a little wait for the next chapter but I thought as I had it, I'd put this one up early. Thank you to reviewers, your thoughts are always really appreciated. **_

* * *

The suitcase sat heavy on the bed, a dishevelled weight of escape lounging itself on the quilt. Syed had decided to pack meticulously. It was what people did when they planned trips, mini breaks with lovers to country lodges or stop-aways for work to corporate hotels. Normal people for normal occasions, with plans and time to pack. It was pleasant in a way, sort of pleasant in its normalcy.

"Are you sure you have enough coloured t-shirts and cheque shirts? I don't want you running low."

Christian's head popped itself around the door of the spare room, and Syed turned to see the helpful grin smiling back at him.

"I think the twelve you got me out will be sufficient, but I thank you for your concern."

"I don't want you running naked around town do I?"

"I'd probably just turn it inside out…"

"Eugh what are you, a smelly boy."

"Yes," Syed said flatly, turning to hurriedly order the heaped contents into their container. "And a late one. Why didn't I do this last night?"

The scrunch of hands coming to wrap his waist, he found himself smiling to the feel of Christian's touch.

"I guess you thought you'd have more time this morning," he breathed. "Then things just…_got in the way_."

Syed flushed slightly, a redness of cheek he hadn't felt in a long time. He knew Christian thought nothing of it, liked it even, was pleased. That was what he wanted after all wasn't it, to please him, to give him anything he wanted and to be good and wanted and right. It embarrassed him in the aftermath though, the thought of it, that in such an aching sacrificing way, that could be the aim. Things had got in his head that meant sex had not only been about the purity of them and that was something he didn't like.

"Well they shouldn't have done."

Searching for the weak softness resting beneath his right lobe, Christian kissed the skin gently. "Don't say that," he cooed, moving his lips to whisper in his ear. "There can never be anything more important than you touching me."

He felt Syed's body flitter between relaxing and tension, in that fusion of controlled helplessness he would never not crave.

"Other than me touching you of course, that's a given."

"Maybe," Syed sighed into his hold, letting himself smile at it, telling himself to focus on that.

"_Definitely_. I'll miss it too much, I'm going to have to sleep in those sheets."

He laughed softly, wriggling reluctantly free to flatten the contents of the case.

"And I'm the smelly boy?"

"That's not smelly," Christian defended, "that's…"

"Romantically filthy?"

The silence that fell made Syed turn, staring confused at the sight of Christian standing in abrupt muteness.

"You have literally just described my perfect existence."

Syed grinned widely, using the burst to attempt to force the zip past breaking point.

"As long as you wash them by the time I come home, you can exist however you like."

"Well no, romantically filthy isn't any fun without you. It's more…sad. One horny bloke and his porn."

"Have I missed the romance part there?" he puffed, failing in his exertion.

"Exactly, there isn't one. I'll just have to light a candle or something."

"To set the mood?"

"For myself."

Syed shook his head. He had wondered what Christian would do in his absence, just the odd thought of how he would pass the time. It wasn't as if he didn't have a life of his own but Syed found himself picturing how Christian would be left behind, living one temporarily without him.

"You'll have to just contain yourself for a few days won't you. Roxy and Jane can take care of the rest."

"The rest is no fun," he near pouted.

"Oh please, four nights out on a row getting wasted without me here to moan? I think you'll survive."

Christian smiled, mock valiantly.

"I'll soldier on."

* * *

"And the soldiers are only doing their jobs right, you know that. I mean this isn't a war against Islam, this is a war against terror."

"'Cos terror's bad."

Syed flicked his gaze from one pair of impassioned eyes to the other, debating why he had ever walked into the politics zone of re-fresher's fair and how he could quietly slip out of it. The two volunteers stared back at him, seemingly, to his dismay, expecting some sort of response.

"Terror is bad."

He was embarrassed for himself with that effort, considering re-opening his mouth to mutter something about the teachings of non-violence and not being overly political if he was honest, but they nodded back enthusiastically, reaching for what looked worryingly like consignment forms.

"You don't want him in the Party. Adores taxation, loves it, it's all he talks about. And don't get him started on the autonomy of single mothers."

Confusion crumpling his face, Syed turned in haste to see the owner of the voice. Smiling sapphire eyes shone out at him, athleticism emblazoned on a towering body through the print of the shirt and the curved strength that ran under it. Andy. It had been over two weeks but Syed supposed he had always been good at remembering names.

Safety found within the crowd, they laughed, a mix of guilt and bemused mirth.

"You looked like you needed rescuing," he smiled, lips lifting to add, "Not that you couldn't look after yourself of course."

"I don't know," Syed rued, shyly. "I was doing a pretty terrible job. Give it another minute and I think I'd have been Treasurer or something. I only wanted a free pen."

"Don't we all, that's how they get you. It's Andy by the way," he added.

"Yeah, course, that's it. Syed."

"Yeah."

Running his fingers over the loose of his jean thread, Syed found himself wondering what words to say next.

"James get the phone okay? I've not seen him."

"Yeah he got it fine. Though as I just wandered in, you know I could have been anyone. You're very trusting."

Syed paused.

"You do know him right?"

"Barely, bit of a tit. But don't worry, I do know him," he laughed kindly. "I'd be a really incompetent thief if I was willingly going back to my victim weeks later. Though I guess technically in this case you'd have been more of my innocent accomplice."

Syed glanced his eyes down.

"Yeah I guess I would."

"Syed!"

The sound of his name on a keen female yell made him turn and he watched as a familiar statuette blonde made her way through the crowd.

"I thought it was you," she smiled, her mascara smudged eyes batting unknowingly on her pretty pale face.

"Hey, you okay?"

He watched concerned as she sniffled through a nod.

"Oh Marie this is Andy. Andy, Marie."

They smiled at each other, Marie wiping the black flecks from under widening eyes before turning attention back to Syed. Biting her lower lip, her expression sided on crestfallen.

"I ate your special meat."

His eyebrow noticeably creasing at the blurted bizarre words, Syed paused.

"My what?"

"Your meat, your special meat. I didn't mean to, I've just been going through an…emotional food time, and it was always just sitting there in the fridge in these neat little packages and the next thing I knew I was eating it. I've been feeling terrible so last night I decided to definitely tell you," she said forlornly, her sweet features torn. "I'm really sorry Syed."

"It's ok," he reassured, attempting awkwardly for support. "Really."

"I'll buy you some more."

"It's fine, honestly. Please don't."

She smiled, her lips curling half tearfully in relief, with a passing thought that some men were still as lovely as she had hoped.

"I'm going to make you dinner later, whatever you want," she beamed. "God I've got a lecture now, I'll be late. But I'm cooking later!" she waved, pushing her way back through the crowd with more of a cheerful jump than from when she came.

Turning to Andy, Syed gave an embarrassed smile.

"She's had a rough time recently…crap boyfriend issues I think."

"I think you're just very popular. Pretty girls, political parties…everyone wants a piece of you Syed. I better head off myself though," he said, taking a few steps backwards.

"Yeah sure…"

"If I hang around too long they'll stick me back on the rugby stall and I'll have to stab my own face. Just be vigilant on your way out, 'Respect' are lurking. Don't be tempted by the key-rings, they'll probably want to kidnap you."

"I'll be careful," Syed nodded, solemnly.

Flash of rugby colours swathed on his back, he watched him as he turned, twisting his head back to call, "I'm warden at Ainsleigh hall, come by some time. I can trick you into helping me with another crime spree."

Syed nodded quietly with a little smile, hidden thoughts jarred only by the bump of passing stranger's bags.

* * *

His brow crumpled, Christian stared at the last ditch attempts of Syed's fight with the luggage.

"Oh c'mere," he sighed, leaning one powerful arm on the weight as the other dragged the zip shut. Syed watched, torn between annoyance and gratified satisfaction.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome" he grinned, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. "Anyway, forget about me left alone, you're the one let loose…with masseurs no less. Probably complete perverts the lot of them."

"Those ten minutes where you tried to convince me I'd actually signed up to a rent boy training course were clearly hilarious Christian, let's not try and repeat it."

"If only because rent boys probably don't get trained…"

"_Christian._"

He held his hands up subtlety in retreat, mentally putting prostitution in the list of joke topics that produced his name being said in that disciplinarian warning tone. He'd remind his brain repeatedly that it was a list being made to avoid, not utilise when other body parts were in charge.

"I don't think they'll be much time for perverts on the loose anyway. The schedule's insane, you've seen it. I'm up at 6 tomorrow!"

"You're always up at 6, well various…"

"Yeah but I go back to bed afterwards. This will be the first five days I've done a day's work in since I was…well, sacked."

Christian could see the slight smile and hear the rueful laugh, but felt the need to push forward nonetheless, stroke a hand up golden arm.

"Sacked for no justifiable reason. If they weren't your parents we'd have taken them to a discrimination tribunal."

He watched the flash of discomfort wince over Syed's dark eyes and chastised himself momentarily for unthinking attempts at care.

"I just mean...don't go up there thinking that you haven't got your head held high. You weren't dumped for incompetence or putting your hand in the till…"

With the echo of the last words leaving his betraying lips, Christian found himself wondering if he should ever be allowed to speak again.

"I know," Syed said sweetly, placing a reassuring slow kiss on the edge of his hovering mouth. "Employment head will officially be held high, I promise. Not that catering has many transferrable skills, or at least transferrable to massaging…but I'm sure I'll figure something out."

"Yes you will," Christian smiled.

"I won't be doing anything if I don't move quick," he groaned, catching sight at the time. "I better go."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thanks in part to a spare afternoon, in part to the death of the worst Chryed plot to ever grace canon, I finally got back to this. As ever, it's a look at Syed's past and present. Any thoughts would be very much appreciated, thanks. **_

* * *

"I feel like a twelve year old girl."

The clunk of the miniature wheels rattling past the lip of the door, Syed dragged the weight unceremoniously into the startling chill of the winter air.

"It's a suitcase with wheels Sy."

"I don't understand why you've even got one," he grumbled, momentarily softening at his stare of smooth curving power. "You could carry a ton weight if you wanted, why do you need wheels?"

The street door rattled shut, Christian turned his head to grin.

"Makes me feel like I'm an air hostess."

Syed's eyebrows rose, his voice emerging flat.

"You know you'd only ever be the pilot and would kill us all."

Christian slid the keys safely into his coat pocket innocently.

"Too occupied with the cock pit?"

"Turning this into a Carry on Up the Pilot scene really will not help."

Syed's tone was un-amused and as Christian watched him launch into the journey to the tube, he made a few large strides, catching up to hover by his side.

Shrieks from the market and horns from the road bustled and beeped through their silent walk, the unrelenting quiet scuttle of rolling wheels a constant clawing background drone.

Mumbling, Syed heaved it over discarded chip wrappers, a trodden souvenir of someone's night-before.

"Look it's _so_…clunky and you have to drag it…"

Christian sighed.

"Because you're yanking it like an axe murderer. You look like you want to hurt the suitcase. You should be handling it like you want to take it on a fun outing."

"I want to take it back to the shop and get a normal one that you carry."

"He was just born with wheels, he can't help it. He should be loved regardless, or _more_, as wheels happen to be fabulous. Who made you this way? Did you grow up with suitcase fascists?"

"Is that your new word for them…" Christian swore he heard Syed murmur.

He looked at him as he walked, the unnoticeable added breaths in his chest, tiny tension lines on the softness of a perfect face.

"You're getting all traveller stressed and arsey."

Syed stopped abruptly.

"I am _not_ arsey!"

Bringing his thumb to ruffle through stray strands of dark hair, Christian rested his hand on the side of Syed's face.

"In an entirely gorgeous way," he smiled into strained eyes. "All fuss and fire."

Heated skin and strained pulse weakening, Syed could feel any attempt to maintain frustration ease away with the soothing strokes. He smiled, despite it all.

"You love me fussing?"

"I love you _any way._"

Syed's lips stretched into a grin, shaking his head slightly at Christian's satisfied expression. He laughed, turning back to the awkward luggage, his heart flustering with an ache as he glanced back up to see across the street.

Tuts and foreign mumbles of home visibly muttered under breath, Syed stood watching as a small familiar figure battled at a distance with a disobedient pram. His feet found themselves twitching, automatically expecting to move in order to assist. In a fleeting few seconds he considered it and changed his mind again, that binary dance of indecision that always emerged in these times. She was struggling, he thought and he could help, his hands moving to stand his suitcase up to let him run.

As if she could sense it, with barely a step of his taken, her eyes flicked up. She stared a little, giving him, _herself_, a moment of looking, before making her heart remember, before slamming the wheel into line and hurrying wordlessly on her way.

Syed hovered.

"Come on baby," he heard quietly, feeling the touch of a hand on the dip of his back. "Let's stop off and get you a coffee for the tube."

* * *

The froth of the coffee spurted out defiantly, horrifically, and he cursed it loudly under his breath for the third time that afternoon. He had a degree, he was a functioning male with skills and charm and he could work basic appliances, fulfil simple tasks. He could do more than that, this was just temporary to pay the bills until he was settled and able to think again. He could do more, if someone would give him a chance and respect him and he would show them how good he could be, show it to all of them, but in the meantime he would do this, and he'd learn to do it well.

The red bottom of his lip found itself wavering, just a little way, and he stopped the swiping of napkins for a second, left the foam to sit on the counter, let himself stand back, just for a minute. _Get the small things correct and the big things will be next Syed._ He could hear the encouraging tone of her Pakistani iambic drone as he stood. It didn't matter that she was hundreds of miles away, that they all were, or that she had last said it when he had been fifteen and exasperated at GCSE French and threatening to never look at a verb again, he could hear it. He stood and he pressed his palm to his straining chest because he could hear her, because it had been five months and he was trying with everything he had and he still couldn't breathe at the thought of his mum.

"Clearly I don't want to rush you, but when you've finished doin' whatever it is you're doin', feel free to serve some customers."

He turned quickly, rubbing the front of his apron guiltily as if there were signs there, as if thoughts were stains and weakness could be wiped away.

"Sorry Jenny…the cappuccino machine was playing up again. I was trying to fix it for us."

Her mouth started to falter, her attempts at co-worker antagonism even weaker than the day before. He seemed sweet enough and was clearly beautiful or something, but she wasn't about to stand there fiddling her blonde hair coquettishly, tracing her fingers along the pull of her pony-tail and twisting her shoes slightly because of it. She didn't have to be a bitch though and he seemed so new, like he wasn't supposed to be here and hadn't as yet been ruined with the self-awareness that with a face like that he could in some sense belong anywhere.

He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach twinge with a pitied ache of what you'd define as guilt if it were not so misplaced. From the brief factual exchange offered in the murmurs from a hidden life she knew there was barely four years between them, not an age gap that insisted on nurture or a protection of another's childlike vulnerability. He looked so young though, and those pressing eyes were asking for something even if they did not say what.

"It's okay," she promised, repentantly. "I shouldn't have snapped, it took me a few weeks to learn to use everything. There's a secret to it. Here."

Her five foot six frame bobbing against the launch pad of the wall, he watched, rapt, as manicured nails forced their way into the disobedient machine, jabbing in near violent proficiency.

"Should work now," she said, the shift to calmness done matter of factly, with a hint of a smile that Syed found himself needing a little too much.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, give it to its owner," she insisted, turning to do her own work. The tables wouldn't see to themselves and he'd have to learn sometime. Everyone did.

Placed carefully for approval, precision froth dusting proudly, it's waiting owner grumbled, crouched in his cushioned seat. The eight minute wait was unacceptable, but with the pacifying angle tweak of his laptop screen and the blocking out of squealing children inappropriately let out in adult spaces, he contented himself to a mildly displeased grunt.

Syed bit his bottom lip into an awkward apologetic smile and back tracked for escape, faltering as he noticed a half familiar shape curved in the booth of the corner.

She looked pretty today. The thickness of dark hair strands had still not been allowed to fall from the constrained scrape that said purpose and lack of frivolity and there was a tiredness to her which sat with effort on large brown eyes, but she looked beautiful, Syed thought.

It had been three days into the job when he had first served her. She'd had two children with her then, a son and a daughter, though there may have been another at home, and he had found himself taken away for a moment by the way her accent had clung to each motherly command. She was alone today, sipping peacefully from a satisfying mug. Syed's stomach dipped a little in disappointment. He liked to serve her, but he supposed with the foam disaster and how busy the place could get at this time of day, it was natural that customers would float in undetected. Maybe some other waiter had given her her tea today and that stacked chocolate cake with decadent icing that she would pretend she rarely ate but embraced it with the precision slice of the fork like no prisoners would be taken. She'd come in next week, he told himself, she could be relied on for that.

"Table five, eight, and ten are waiting!" he heard, turning anxiously to see the glare from Jenny's flustered face.

He smiled, striking at reassurance.

"I'm already there."

* * *

"I will get there Christian," Syed repeated slowly. "There's really no need to come with me through the barrier on the off chance I lose the ability to find my own way to the platform. Or the train station for that matter."

"Maybe I like the tube. Maybe I find it's scent…erotic."

Syed narrowed his eyes.

"Then you can keep that particular fantasy to yourself."

"If you're allowed to fuss, I can too," Christian said, checking the zip on the resting suitcase. "Two whittling fish wives, it's almost sweet. You know I could put the drama in queen…or the other way round…either way, this can't come as a shock."

"I'm not actually going to war you know."

"Basra, Yorkshire…it's all the same."

Syed laughed.

"You southern sod."

"You're southern."

"A southerner who's spent over a quarter of his life in Leeds."

"Christ, I never thought of it like that…"

Christian fell mute and they stood silently, the rush of returning commuters and frustrated crowds blurring past.

"You better go," he said quietly.

He considered adding 'And don't think about your mum' but he found the temporary sense to think better of it. Christian knew reminding someone not to think about something would do anything but help them forget, and there was no genius revelation he could utter that would stop the torturous dance he suspected Syed's mind had not tired of doing to itself.

"Yeah I should."

He nudged his body slightly towards him, stroking his hands down the line of Syed's jacket, tugging him closer with it.

Christian murmured;

"Text me when you get there."

"Of course."

Leaning in to take the last distance away, he pressed forward his closed lips, slowly, opening for a chaste moment to undetectably steal a fragment of his lover's taste.

Syed bit his lip gently on a releasing smile, raising the edge of his thumb to gesture his departure.

"I should…"

"Yes."

"Don't miss me too much," he said, flashing a grin as he walked.

His heart fluttered with a knowing tug as he heard a truthful call.

"Speak for yourself Syed Masood."


	5. Chapter 5

**_As always, thank you hugely for reviews x _**

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* * *

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"This seat is sticky. I don't like crisps. I can't eat things that are round. I want chocolate buttons!"

'Chocolate buttons _are_ round' Syed considered informing her, but as he watched a two foot tall mess of sugar and lopsided pigtails thrust its way violently onto the neighbouring seats, he told himself not to take his bad mood out on a four year old girl.

He wasn't in a bad mood as such, just a tense one he supposed. He was traveller stressed and arsey, Christian had been right. Bastard. He missed that bastard already, his smug glinting face when he knew he'd won and wasn't afraid to go on about it. Syed wanted to kiss it, put his thumbs caressingly on the groove of his cheekbones and laugh through chasing lips that would only shut up with the press of his curling mouth. He smiled a little, shaking his head at his pathetic inability to stay seventy minutes apart, imagining Christian's ego near bursting if he could at a distance hear Syed's thoughts.

There were times he didn't like to hear his own thoughts, let alone inflict them on the one he loved. Now was one of those times, and he knew not because of fears of narcissistic boyfriend encouragement. Bad thoughts had been threatening to slither out for days now, and their insistence was getting louder as the train dragged itself forward. He was grateful for the failing drone of the heating vents, the chugging grind of the weight on the buried tracks, and even the tantrum fuelled squeals of fellow, short passengers, not wanting to visit Nan.

"She smells like wee!"

A choking spurt sound burst the air, and he lifted his newspaper up as protection on realising the noise was his laughter and the mirth was still spread guiltily on his face. 'Barely half a year living with him and I'm now ten years old', he rued with a grin.

He was undeniably grateful; another minute had passed in which he'd avoided sending his thoughts down a path he couldn't let them go, and he could listen instead to the mundane blurring sounds and if needed, think of him. Syed wondered what he'd be doing now, probably at Roxy's, or laid out on the sofa in his underwear talking to the TV. In their home, hopefully. He might be balancing grapes on his stomach, clapping himself for each one he slam dunked into a bird like mouth in substitute for Syed's missing humouring pats. The thought of that waiting for him, the ordinary wonderfulness of it and the twinge of belonging, saw his chest tighten a little, made him consider creating a scene, to scream he shouldn't be going, that they should meld metal and turn the train around. He was aware he'd had that feeling before.

"I don't want to go to Leeds!" a panicked child cried.

"People talk funny, it's weeeird. I'm going to hold my breath until you take me home. I want to go home!"

* * *

It was just like any other day, or so he had been telling himself from its beginning. Evening was coming and whilst the soothing whispers he had been telling his head had failed him, he hoped Mosque would not. Prayer _was_ routine, that was one of its comforts. He knew where he was then and he wasn't judged for his weakness for needing it. He was loved, still, he thought. It wasn't always felt, he'd admit that, but he knew after what had happened he didn't deserve certainty, he should feel the doubt. The money was supposed to treble, after all this time he could still remember how clear of that he had been. Even as he felt the rough of his father's hands push him out the door, part of him believed a terrible mistake had been made. Someone must have counted wrong, a banking error or slip of mind. They'd laugh about it once it was discovered, as they beamed with pride and praised him as their decent son. They would laugh because of course it had worked, and it had worked because it had to. It would fix anything he had done.

Nothing had been fixed. He was still left with the dirt that had stained him and his attempts to cleanse it had only made him more unclean. So he was here, back in a city that had felt like home but now could only make him feel alone. He hoped Allah was still watching him, though sometimes when the night was particularly cold he doubted that he had been blessed with that. It was impossible to not hope that he was still loved by Him, to cling on to the faltering belief that He thought he could be saved. He was loved, and he was loved because he had to be.

The Mosque was a few minutes from work, or _the temporary means to pay the rent_ as he had reminded himself through every hollow shift, and there was a small joy in that. The two things he had in his life nestled him between them, though eventually he supposed, _hoped, _that would pass as a better job would be his soon. He would lie in bed sometimes, that bed that he had been telling himself was his and not a strange guest or temporary stay, and he would think of the plans he could make, run through the successes he could gain from them as they filtered from thought to dream. The plans would change nightly, some outlandish some almost practical, and his mind would race over every shifting detail, jump from one fantastical comfort to the next. The ending never changed though. They would both love him again because of it, that bit always stayed the same.

His eyes caught with the sting a second, a gust of air blustering through the trees and to the bareness of his face. It was getting to spring time, he thought, it should be warmer than this. The arching glisten of the Mosque hung into view and he stood a moment, stopped pulling at the threads of his coat and its promise of warmth and hovered, giving himself the sight. It was beautiful really, and he liked to be near it. He liked it because it reminded him of the one from home, the grand width of the entrance doors and the calmness of the promised inner rooms. He could hate it for the same reason. Today he liked it though. This day, because it was both a marked day and an ordinary one, and achingly, that both of those were the same. This date would run into tomorrow and then another would come, and then the next.

It had been six months to the day since he had lost his home.

Today was just an ordinary day that would in turn be repeated and added to in time, and with that thought filtering through attempts at calm, he walked inside to pray.

* * *

A visible motherly fluster and mutter to the carriage ceiling, Syed watched sympathetically as a prayer was sent to the God of childrearing. It seemed to be working, an exhausted miniature demon allowing herself to be swept up as the train groaned itself into its destination.

"Last stop Leeds station", the incomprehensible drone rang, piercing its siren like drudgery through the shrinking walls around him.

It was time to move, except his legs were weighted to the sticky comfort of the floor and the beat in his chest was stealing every other breath.

"Rebecca where did you get chocolate buttons from?" he heard be exclaimed as he was passed, a devilish grin over a maternal shoulder being flashed at him as she poked out a smeared and dark tongue.

He smiled suddenly, poking a little tongue back.

'Get bloody up', he told himself as he forced out the strength to stand, smiling awkwardly at the rotund ticket inspector waddling his way forward to check the necessity of a wheelchair call.

Platform air flooding the freshness of chill onto his skin and the comforting disobedient rattle of the suitcase wheels singing and dragging behind, he let himself breathe. This was nothing he couldn't do, and he was quite capable of doing it alone. He was being ridiculous. It was just a visit, five short days with a purpose and then he'd be home.

He ran his fingers inside the cloth of his jacket, let himself touch the ticket that promised a return. Christian was waiting, and would be teasing him mercilessly for his soft co-dependent ways if he only knew.

Moving his hand to leave the paper promise settled, Syed felt the buzzed vibration of his phone. The screen lighting back at him, his lips stretched to a smile.

_I miss you and your arsey gorgeous arse already. I'm a girl, a pathetic needy mess big girl. Fucking ashamed of myself, stop laughing. I love you, come home soon xxxxxxxx _


	6. Chapter 6

_**The Syed has landed. As always, really great to hear what you think thanks! x **_

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* * *

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'No obvious signs of perversion' Syed considered to himself, scanning the few fellow trainees scattered around the induction desk.

A podgy middle aged balding man, with a glint in his eye at the possibility of touching bare flesh was probably a perfectly nice gentleman, a nervous figure facing retraining from a humiliating recession. The pretty bosomed blonde with the sleazed groping companion was just a barely twenty girl being waved off by a sex hound boyfriend, less likely to be an erotic tag-team charging twice for double the pleasure.

Perfectly normal people, queuing orderly to prepare for a perfectly normal job. 'Bloody Christian' he rued, standing grinning in the shrinking line as his fingers punched at the mobile keys.

_Not one pervert in sight. Perverts expect perverts everywhere, you've clearly just got a problem. Don't drag me down with you xxxxx _

'Crap' he muttered as the screen changed to send. 'That handed him a response…'

"Do you have your paperwork, Sir?"

The familiar rhythm of a northern tone jolted his eyes up, noticing with an embarrassed flush that he was at the start of the queue, that a slender brunette was looking at him, waiting for signs of action.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was in a dream…here," he said, brushing the softness of her manicured hands to pass her the neatly folded papers, organised and triple checked and checked again.

"A good dream I hope…_Mr. Masood_," she discovered happily, lifting the first of the forms.

"Syed, please."

"Oh," her eyes lit. "It's Samantha."

His lips stretched politely, trying with care to stop his eyes from drawing attention to the 'Hi I'm Samantha' tag sitting proudly on her chest.

"That all seems to be fine. You're all checked in to the accommodation ok?" she enquired sweetly, her large eyes widening with genuine concern.

"Yeah, thank you. I think I'm all sorted," he smiled, his face lighting with the sort of handsomeness that made Samantha's and any bored worker tingle with the glow. He could do this, he'd be fine. "Thanks very much."

"If you need anything, just let me know. Anything at all," he heard kindly offered as he wandered away, biting his lip at the vibrating words in his hand.

_Not what you normally say ;) You're so high maintenance, you big girl, stop texting me and get some work done. Go learn a rubbing technique for a really big stiff muscle xxxxxxxx _

He rolled his eyes with a widening grin, pulling the suitcase with the vigour of striving steps.

* * *

He yawned. The depth of it startled him, though with the burning ache in his heels and the droop of his lids, it probably shouldn't have. His brain must have stopped working, a gradual collapse from gnawing tiredness with the early signs of blurring sight. Raising his palms to rest on his closed eyes, he rubbed wearily. He did it slowly, supportively, pausing a second to let them take the weight of his sagging head. It stayed there resting a while; in a fleeting lack of masochism he had no desire to be cruel. That didn't mean he could stay like that though, and he released a groan as his hand gave his hair a disciplinarian scrunch.

'Fill in two more and then you can go to sleep', he heard his mind promise.

He'd been doing that a lot the past half year, he realised. Going beyond the chatter that most normal people babble to themselves and opting for instruction, sometimes supportive, other times laced with bribery, if needed, forceful and unforgiving. It was a logical product of being by yourself more he supposed, or at least needing to be everything when others were not there to fulfil their roles. Tonight's reward was sleep, and after eight hours of coffee and orders and bills it was decent encouragement. Avoiding more eight hours like the last was in itself inspiration enough.

He wedged himself out of the gap in the sofa, the age of the cushion sucking him in like quick sand, and settled his body with a sigh to begin writing his name again, checking dates and promises of skills. He could promise a lot of things, he thought, and he could probably deliver. His mum had always said he was clever, could work hard, had all the charm. His dad had never said much, bar questioning whether cheating had been involved in acquiring top grades or chastising talk of ambition as empty show. Neither were unbiased, he guessed, and it didn't mean anything now, not really. He had his degree, and a few months from the café. They'd seemed to like him and they'd probably give him a good reference if he asked. He'd build on that, and do something great, and the rest…the rest would hurt less after that.

"What are you doing?"

A soft inquisitive voice broke the fragility of his thoughts and he glanced to the doorway, giving a half smile to the almost familiar girl standing there.

"Just…doing some job applications. Sorry, do you want to use the table?" he said, lifting the papers from the small coffee bench in front.

"It's almost midnight, what on earth would I do with a table…" she gently smiled.

"Sorry," he shook his head at himself.

It was an impulse, someone walking in and him walking out, and he considered the preference for it as he murmured nervous thoughts.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. I thought Luke was out and Michael was with him…"

Syed didn't see much of them. It wasn't something he minded, feeling relief most nights when they weren't around. He didn't know them well enough not to like them, but he gained some comfort from the lack of need to fake conversation or get close when he wasn't sure about anything in his mind.

"He is, I'm waiting for him," she said, her mascara greyed eyes holding his gaze. "He won't be back before two."

She stood there comfortably, dark jeans clinging to slender long legs, dirty blonde hair playing past the black of a small nothing top. Syed had introduced himself once, he thought, bumped into her in a man's t-shirt in the pretence of the kitchen one morning. India was with Luke, she had dark hair, this wasn't her, he could remember that much. She was just standing there like she was settled, like she wasn't going anywhere, and he bit his lip to redness as he shifted in his seat.

"It's Lucinda by the way."

"Yes," he found himself smiling in relief, the awkwardness starting to filter but remaining for him at least. "I'm Syed."

"I know."

He looked at her with those words, surprised at how taken aback he was at someone he was apparently sharing a house with saving the memory of his name. He couldn't be sure if the tingle of his skin was because he liked it, or because he didn't.

"You're the room-mate," she stated slowly, walking a little towards him with a measured purpose. "The quiet one, who sits in his room, and doesn't play. The quiet one who sits in a dark room on a Friday night with a little light and fills in job applications."

Syed's mouth wavered open a little, unsure how to respond to that, though he supposed the facts were accurate.

"I want to get them in for Monday," he found himself saying.

"Are these not jobs you want?"

"Yes. They're internships for property firms, they're really impressive." He didn't quite know why he was speaking, saying things he hadn't told anyone that in this moment he felt the need to say. "Well-known ones with some good prospects. Lots of money at the top and they're still hiring graduates so…"

"So why so sad?" she whispered, her lips shaping the sound as if it were secret.

"I'm not sad," he balked, shaking his head in an attempt to suggest the erroneousness of the words.

He kept his eyes on the chipped ridging of the table, fiddling with the papers as she spoke.

"You look it. When I walked in here, you looked all thoughtful and sad. I think you just need a break…"

"Maybe…" he murmured, lifting his head up to give a conciliatory smile.

His tongue stumbled a moment, the sight of her silken top falling to the floor leaving him without formal words. She stood there, hand scrunching through streaks of blonde mess, the lift and strokes edging away the last covering of a tiny noir bra.

"I think you need to smile," she stated calmly, resting a thumb on the top of her jeans.

"I…"

A hand moving out of sight to her back, laced black straps started to weaken, her fingers coming round to her shoulders to encourage the strings to fall. Syed sat frozen as a bra feathered to the floor, the softness of curved breasts bared against the tightness of zipped jeans.

"I could make you smile."

His breathing was trapping itself and the need of it forced him to find the blood to move. Papers grabbed, he dragged himself from the suction of the sofa, edged towards her to get out the room.

"I'm sorry, _I can't_…" he stumbled, unsure where to place his gaze.

"If it's Michael, you shouldn't worry. We're open, I do what I want."

She paused with a whisper, moving her hand with a sliding smile to stroke the denim of his groin.

"I can do what you want."

His breath held at it, his hand finding the thought to shift, to gently take her wrist and force it away.

"No, I…I'm sorry, no."

He stumbled out the room, striving to complete the smallest of distances until he was behind his own private door. Under the erratic beating of his droning heart and the slam of the wood against the frame, he heard the insulted cry;

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

His back pressed hard as his chest breathed, he began to tell himself to ignore the mocking answers flooding to his searing brain.

'You're being a good Muslim, you avoided temptation.'

He ignored the hidden whisper that screamed he had felt no temptation to avoid, and the fear that knew there was something irredeemably wrong with that.

* * *

"Sy!"

His feet curling into the foreign sheets, Syed smiled, clinging to the phone and the comfort of the ecstatic response.

"It's not too late is it?"

"Course it's not, soft head. I was just thinking about you. I'm wide awake."

"Good. Not that you're wide awake, just that I didn't wake you."

"I didn't think I'd get more than texts until tomorrow, with the insane schedule and everything," Christian muffled, shuffling into the warmth of the quilt. "You've had the welcome meal then?"

"Yeah, yeah all done. Got back to the room about midnight and just got into bed. Introductions took a while, apparently I've signed up to something where you have to join in and bond with strangers," Syed smiled, hearing the teasing mirth listening back.

He blinked through the dim light shining from the bedside through the dark of the room, and lowered to hush his voice.

"I wanted to hear your voice."

"Me too" Christian murmured, shifting his body unknowingly to the empty warmth of Syed's side of the bed.

"So how is it? Everything okay? The people can talk a lot, but are they nice? Decent rooms? Have they given you your own white robes yet?"

Syed laughed, stifling a yawn through the onslaught of questions.

"We get white robes?"

"In my mind you do."

"Not as yet, maybe tomorrow. Maybe that's why we start so early…for the fittings."

Syed paused, pulling his knee to the chilled bareness of his chest, glancing around the unfamiliar surrounding space.

"It all seems nice... I mean I don't really know yet, we only did the induction and the welcome meal. It's hard to tell by polite small talk over a quick bit of rubbery chicken and I haven't checked the room for mice yet, but everything seems okay. I felt good when I got here…everything seems alright."

"See, I told you it would be."

"Yeah... What about you anyway, you okay?"

"In the nine hours we've been apart I'm surviving. Just. Neither starved nor set the flat on fire attempting to feed myself."

"I'm impressed."

"Thought you would be," Christian said, reaching a hand to fiddle with the obsolete candle sitting sadly by the side of the bed. "It's boring here anyway, tell me more about there. You've barely told me anything."

"Nothing's happened, I've literally just eaten chicken."

"So what you're trying to tell me is that you've not learnt that rubbing technique?"

Syed's flattened mouth stretched into a badly hidden smile.

"Not as yet."

"Well make sure you pay attention, you don't want to miss it."

"You mean _you_ don't?"

The responding voice dripped lustful and low.

"The passing on of knowledge and experience is fun for everyone."

"_Christian._"

Christian sighed, squashing his hand roughly down his face.

"You have to be up in five hours."

"Yes."

"Which means I really shouldn't be getting up now."

He smiled, hearing the familiar laugh of sweetness and failed chastisement merge with his through the echo of the phone.

"I could be tired tomorrow..." Syed promised quietly. "If you need me to be."

"_No_, I don't want to be responsible for that. You need to be awake and alert."

"Probably. Sorry."

"Sssh get your sleep. Don't you worry about me, I can take care of myself...I'll just think of this morning. Plus I've still got these bed sheets that smell like you."

"Not quite an old man and his porn yet then."

"It's only been nine hours. Ask me in seventy two."

"I'll make a note."

The startle of blurred night noise filtered briefly from the outside to the silence of the room, and Syed quietly dropped his chin onto the groove of his knee.

"I love you."

"I love you Sy."

"I'll call you when I can tomorrow okay."

"Yeah," Christian smiled, stroking his thumb along the base of the phone. "Have fun trainee masseur Masood. You're going to be great."

"Night."

"Night gorgeous."

"Christian…" Syed started.

"Yeah?"

"Wash those sheets."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Due to Changehenge's superhuman efforts to write Syed sex, I rushed a bit of Syed angst. It's nowhere near as fun as sexy Syed, but hey, he's always sexy. Possibly an intense one (necessary mid-way, ouch) I'd be really interested to hear your thoughts thank you. **_

* * *

The dark edge of the hour before morning shadowed through the crease of the curtain and Syed blinked his lids slowly. He'd been chasing the comforting blanket of sleep since two, but it had evaded him, taking his balance as he went from stark wake-ness to the passing depths of the dark. Distorted shape of memory had seeped through the longing of a fading present, desire and fear aching in the blur of dreams. A small boy, grown but always a son, crouched abandoned, shards of ice with burning fire haunting his shivering flesh. Lips stretched in the ecstasy of laughter, a man's touch, the heat of adoration, wrapped round the tingle of skin. The figures, dark and white had swooped through unconsciousness, a placeless dull ache when waked, but the morning was coming, and they were quietening, resting for the dance of cruelty and comfort that would come once more with the night.

Syed blinked, harder. Sleep had barely happened but he was feeling swamped by it, his eyes squinting with the heavy weight of tiredness and half dreamed thought.

"Christian..." he murmured, reaching a hand down to trace the line of his stomach, pressing his spine back to feel for the locked press of a warm, firm chest.

The shallowness of his breath quickened at the absence of being held, and his eyes jolted open, grabbling to ground himself with the reality that came with sight. Red tinges were flashing from the bedside table, small numbers glaring out from the blackness of the room. 4.46am.

He sighed, stretching his arms up to scrunch a palm down his aching eyes, slowly tracing a thumb over the heavy lashes falling on his cheeks. He was supposed to be at training in just over an hour, the memory of that was clear. His gut sank. He was feeling okay about starting it, he thought, despite the bad night's sleep. Yesterday had gone fine in the end and there had been moments when he'd almost been excited about things, about the challenge, getting back to doing something for him, and today would go fine, he was sure. He'd just had a disturbed night. The mattress was a little harder than he was used to, lacking the soft strength of the one they had chosen for home. He shook his head, sliding his body forwards through the cool sheets to sit and dangle his legs on the edge. It was more than the mattress.

The bumps on his skin pricked through his thoughts and he registered the chill in the room, how even after five hours in a supposed cocoon his body was left cold. He rubbed his hands for friction up the bareness of his arms, lamenting how he should have brought a top to sleep in, something to keep him warm.

Dropping from the edge of the bed, he hopped sleepily to the bathroom, wincing past the iced hardness of the tiles under foot to grab the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, quickly sliding his arms into its fluff. It was passable, the sort of warmth that was complimentary, that anyone could have and was only something like comfort because of it.

Reaching blindly for a light switch, Syed balked at the sudden florescence watching him, his pupils widening with its unforgiving glare.

'You look really rough' he sighed, catching his reflection in the wall stretched mirror out the corner of his eye.

He'd been without settled sleep before, more times than he could allow himself to remember. This was nothing really, he thought, and he had banks of peaceful hours from the past few months to carry him through. He was never a particularly good sleeper, at least not alone. He couldn't see himself saying it, but the way Christian held him, the way Syed slept on him, in him, by him, gave him as much comfort as any waking moment could. Maybe he didn't like to admit that he still needed comforting sometimes, or at least that feeling of security that came with hearing the sound of Christian's steady breaths. Maybe he didn't like to talk about the years he didn't have that, the times when he would have done anything for strong arms, even in imitation, to hold him…and the times he did.

He put the tap on quickly, turning it hastily to get the rush of the sound, to shove his hands under the flooded wet jolts and focus on the frozen chill of it, the force of it against his skin.

He couldn't do this for an hour. On instinct, he considered calling Christian, but dismissed it, certain he'd be in a gorgeous coma at this time, and unsure what he'd even say. 'I woke up at half four and needed to talk to you' seemed insane even to himself at this point, and he wanted to let him sleep. He'd have clients later, and he needed to be rested for that.

Fastening the tie on his gown, Syed looked out towards his unpacked case, heaped at the foot of the bed. He could study for a bit, that seemed the best idea. He'd calm himself, focus, and then he'd start things with work. That was a good plan, he thought, nodding as he reached to turn off the unremitting flood of the tap.

Wiping the wetness of his hands down the towelling on his front, he caught himself in the mirror, his image staring back from the glass. He paused, giving himself the reassurance of a half-smile before turning off the light.

* * *

He stared blankly at the image reflecting back to him, the gasps in his breaths visibly shaking through the tightness of his chest. His hand found itself reaching for the grip of his tie, loosening it, his eyes focusing on the glass to watch as he did it, as if it were all separating, as if he needed to see the lessening pants of his lips to feel the calmness that could come.

He looked at himself, the neatness with the beads of water dripping down his motionless face. The suit seemed a lie this morning. The suit that had been specifically chosen, pain stakingly saved for, for this longed for time. It didn't look like a sign of hope today, a small step on the way to success, and when he stared into the clarity that came with the shine of executive glass, he didn't see the formality of the shirt or the stricture of the grey stiff jacket. He saw the bareness of a t-shirt, white against his skin and tight, worn knowingly for attention, attention he hadn't wanted yet ached for more than he could say. The suit seemed a lie today, and he had so wanted it to feel right.

The interview was in ten minutes, the interview for a position where he could start to be something, anyone, and all he could do was crumble, to add to the pressured panic by rushing in here and thinking of last night. As if he had had to, he'd found himself searching for psychedelic lights, standing on the outside of the heat of freedom, men, and sex, hovering in the shadows of something, of the grit and joy that he could barely breathe from watching. He'd been stared at from a distance, a pair of stalking eyes that seemed kind but wanted something. He had thought about what it would be like to give it, and he had willingly stood there waiting.

A groan escaped him, and he dragged his hand through his hair, scrunching painfully to force sense through his scalp.

He didn't know why he did this, the sickening twist of the tempting knife, almost searching for ache of weakness and self-hate. He found himself doing it sometimes, before something important, a day that was special, as if he didn't deserve the goodness, and didn't to the extent that his body should actively seek to ruin it. Just get the glimmer of potential, the warmth of change within fragile finger's grasp and then punch out at it, fit and scream and turn it inside out until there is nothing left but bloodied ash. He deserved nothing after all.

"Fuck" he exhaled, throwing the water back onto his face, breathing in the shocked coldness of it, staring frozen at the drenched brown of his palm. He wasn't a bloody _martyr_, a self-pitying harming snivel of someone. He hated the sound of it in his head; just the thoughts alone were enough to send his mind spiralling into disgust.

He _refused_ to always be destructive, to be the child who touched the pan when he knew it was close to the fire, to be the man who jumped into flames because there was a part of him that knew he should be burnt. Maybe he wanted the destruction. Maybe there was something familiar, comforting even, in picking at the scars. Or maybe, and he'd have to whisper this in the darkness of hidden thought, he simply liked the feelings that caused it, and the scabbing scratching rip that followed was worth it for what went before. He had liked the smell of the man and the soft roughness that sat under the hard line of his jaw. He couldn't like it though, he couldn't even think of ever wanting it. Instead he'd think about his attachment to tempting himself with the desire of it, of seeking it when he was within the grasp of something good, and lambast himself for that. He was better than this, there was hope in things, in today, and he could do it. He'd let himself have it.

A lock rattled with a hard click and Syed froze, stationary, watching the reflection of a stall door open, and a young suited figure emerge to walk to the sink.

"You here for the internship?" he heard himself be asked, a tall confident looking face glancing back at him.

"Yeah…"

"There's a lot of nervous faces out there, like they want mummy or something," the guy laughed, turning the tap as he washed. "It's just survival of the fittest though really. If you're good enough, you're good enough. You think you'll be alright?"

Syed stared forward, forcing his tie up to return to the stiff of his collar.

"Me?" he said, broadening his polite smile into the flash of a stretched grin. "I'm going to be brilliant."

* * *

"So how did you think that went?"

Syed smiled sleepily, handing back the collected brochures to a peppy Samantha, standing with an expression too happy for the end of an early morning session. He imagined anyone hired as the general dogs-body was ecstatic at any assistance they could get.

"Hmm okay I guess," he mused. "I mean it was really good thanks, interesting. I just…I've been doing some pretty ad hoc work recently, I've got a bit used to not using my brain. I was surprised how scientific this all is, I'm not really trained in that."

"What work did you used to do?" she enquired, jumping on the unexpected opening.

"Oh, I was…"

His words were cut short at the feel of a silent vibration in his jean pocket, the sensation shifting to his hand as he took it out to view the name flashing on the screen.

"I'm sorry Samantha, will you excuse me. This is my partner," he said, holding the phone up to register at a seemingly hidden disappointed face. "I better not ignore him, it might be important."

A freshly lip-sticked mouth muted and hanging open behind him, Syed answered to hear a comfortingly familiar voice launch casually in his ear.

"Have you seen my grey top Sy? The t-shirt, dark grey?"

Syed's eyebrows creased.

"Why would I have seen your top?"

"I don't know, you might have seen it before you went. Or stolen it to take with you so you could sleep in my clothes."

"Yeah course I did," he hushed, walking to the almost privacy of a corner. "That and a lock of your hair."

"So you don't know where it is?"

"What?"

"The t-shirt?"

"Oh, no. Have you looked in the washing basket?"

"Yeah, it's not there. I've got to meet Jane in a minute."

"Wear something else then."

"A sound idea," Christian declared. "Ha! I literally can't dress myself without you."

"In half an hour that'll hit you and you won't be laughing. I don't envy Jane, the psychotherapy that will follow…"

"She does shit therapy, it's all sighing and greasy food. I like the greasy food…" he mused. Halting his fourth search through the bottomless basket, he asked "Are you alright?"

Syed paused, twiddling his thumb down the line of his jean.

"Yeah I'm fine."

"Good. Did the training start okay? I should have opened with that…"

"It was alright. Busy, a lot to learn. It's kind of harder than I thought it would be, but you know, I can do it, I guess. It was interesting."

"Interesting's great."

"Yeah. There's a science to it, pressure points and stuff. I was never that great at the body stuff, I didn't pay much attention in biology."

"I disagree wholeheartedly."

"Funny," Syed blushed, glancing around to check the proximity of other ears; seeing the room was now empty but for him and a row of chairs.

"I don't know what school you went to but they certainly didn't teach _that_ at mine."

"It was probably legal to you're so bloody young," Christian pondered, half in pleasure, half in alarm.

"I don't think it's ever been legal to teach what you're thinking about."

"Dirty psychic. Anyway, shows what you know, I'm thinking of my sister…"

"Eugh."

"…who I have to meet…four minutes ago."

"Yeah I've got to go get lunch anyway. Don't forget to get dressed."

"Maybe," Christian non-committed. "I have to find some way to amuse myself whilst you're having a joyous week away."

"Yeah…" Syed paused. "Listen I've got to go. I'll speak to you later okay."

"If I've not been arrested. Bye bye bye."

Syed smiled to himself, hearing the sound of a kiss blown before the beep of the end of the call.

"Bye..."


	8. Chapter 8

_**The flashback was written ages ago but I've finally got round to randomly inserting the present day bits. If you've forgotten, Syed's been in Leeds for a day and has just left Christian on the phone to head for lunch… **_

_**I've been heading to this bit for a while, so really great to hear what you think of it. Thanks! **_

* * *

"And then my boss told me I was never allowed to stroke the ferret again."

Syed wrinkled his forehead slowly, trying to piece together how an innocent question about previous employment had led to the etiquette of ferret personal space, and just why he had attempted polite small talk with strange people over lunch.

"So that's when you decided to train as a masseur Jade?"

"Well I like using my hands and that had always got me in trouble in previous jobs, so it seemed logical."

He stared at her for what he thought may have been an hour, giving some serious consideration as to whether she was a plant, to whether she'd been sent by Christian to make his head implode. She seemed nice enough, thirty or something with scraggly carefree hair that said she was still seventeen, and she didn't deserve to have his mood, or his fear, or whatever it was making his chest tight, taken out on her. She seemed nice, and Syed grinned with almost enthusiasm;

"Brilliant."

"What about you", a male voice said, "What did you do before?"

Syed smiled a little, genuinely, trying his best to be pleased at the interest. It was Stephen, or Steven, or something, and he was friendly, the sort of straight young piece of basic charm that Syed was comfortable around, that he could be friends with if he decided that was what he would like.

"Err a bit of a weird mix really," he laughed, wriggling back into the increasing hardness of his dining seat. "Catering for a while, and property mainly, developing."

"In Leeds?"

"No. Well…some of it. I went to uni' here so…I just worked here for a bit before going back to London."

Syed almost smiled to himself at how simple it sounded as a sentence, how pleasant it seemed in recollection. He wasn't even lying; that was the chain events, that's what happened. A few links of screw ups and pain were excluded he supposed; it was amazing how different it sounded with those omissions.

"My sister's thinking of coming here next year…" he continued. "Did you like it?"

"Me? Yeah I…I liked it. It… it depends on the person I guess."

"Yeah, 'spose it does. What you're like, what _you_ like…who you meet. That's what matters then. Makes me sound eighty but it stays with you too. You never forget it do you?"

Syed traced the edge of his thumb along the non-existent groove of the table pine, and shook his head slowly with a polite smile.

"No, no you don't."

* * *

His knuckles tentatively grazing the hollow of flimsy wood, Syed watched himself as he knocked on an unfamiliar door. He'd been passing he supposed, the library was near and it would have been strange not to drop by when he was so near. Rude even, as he had asked, and at the time had seemed good humoured and kind, the sort of thing he liked in a friend. It had been a minute though. He was probably out, with the team, with a girl, somewhere other than here.

Syed nodded to reinforce it, turning to walk away and press down the twinge of disappointment that had crept up unknowingly.

"Syed?"

His name dragged him back, spinning to stare at the opened door, a figure leaning a stretched arm against the frame.

"Andy."

He smiled, his fingers rubbing their way down the damp black of his vest before moving naturally to stroke through his hair and the fresh wet of sweat.

"You said that like you were expecting someone else."

Syed dipped his head slightly, his lips curling a little as his gaze dragged itself back up.

"No…I, you just surprised me. I thought you might be out."

"Yeah, sorry I just got back from a run. I was in the bathroom getting cleaned up. Do you want to come in?"

"I was just passing and I remembered you said you were warden here so… But you're busy…"

"I was," he said. "I'm not now."

He leant his body back against the door, his hard weight holding it, the silence gesturing a space for Syed to take himself through. Syed smiled gratefully, as the polite acquaintance in him told him he should, moving to press himself through the offered gap slowly to find himself inside.

The rough click of a lock snapped and he turned to see Andy fiddling with the door, his face contracting with the effort of stiff force on shoddy wears.

"Safety measures," he explained, gesturing to his work. "I thought they'd get bored trying to break in here after a few months but apparently it never gets old. Came back from a lecture the other day and there were pants on my bed. No one's I knew..."

"Bet they don't put that in the job description," Syed smiled slightly, murmuring as he glanced back at the neat smallness of the room. "I've never been in a warden's room before."

"They're barely better than what you had in first year. Still no room for luxuries like chairs," he laughed apologetically, clearing a space on the book covered bed. "Sit down." He smiled. "Give me a minute, I just need to finish changing. I must reek."

Syed watched as he walked into the en-suite, shutting the door behind him, leaving him suddenly alone in the small living space. It was nice, he thought. A cramped cupboard and wardrobe wedged in to the side of the bed frame, and the bed itself sat almost spacious and appearing strangely warm. His body found itself wavering for a moment, unsure why it was reluctant to follow the natural suggestion to sit itself down. He managed to ignore it, perching himself on top of the quilt, tentatively nudging himself so his back rested against the wall, one leg outstretched as the other curled up a little bent.

At the sound of the door opening, he moved his head up, his eyes shifting quickly at the half bareness of the figure walking out. A loose grey tee resting past his face, Andy pulled it casually down, his unassuming muscles flexing in the movement.

"I considered getting a bean bag at one stage last semester," he smiled easily, walking to the hidden miniature fridge at the side of the bed, "but then I realised I'd be the guy with the bean bag, so…"

Syed laughed in agreement, "Yeah that's true."

"'I'm having a beer. I'm guessing 'special meat' means you don't drink, right? Do you want a coke or something?"

"Yeah," he paused for a second, hit with the shy warmth of the sensation, of knowing that he had noticed him in passing thought. "Thank you."

"There," he smiled as he lent over the bed, Syed releasing a tiny shiver at the chill of the can.

Pressing himself further back, Syed's flickering eyes watched as Andy wedged himself comfortably against the wall, a small space settling between their stretched legs and his body mirroring his own.

The crisp crack of his opening can breaking the silence, Syed focused himself on the sizzling brown of emerging saccharine froth. He took a sip quickly, the cool sugared liquid hitting the back of his throat and his fingers quietly tapping the tin of its case. He wondered if he should be saying something, worried how strange it seemed to turn up and not have anything particular to say. He wondered why this was a problem, why normal boyish silence was in this minute making his stomach flip in an unfamiliar way.

"How's your friend?"

"My friend?" Syed echoed, glancing back at him at the sudden words.

"The girl. The one who couldn't stop eating because she was sad."

"Oh, Marie," he nodded. "Yeah I think she's better thanks. Well it's been a week and there's less food going missing, so I guess that's sign of improvement."

"She has a crush on you."

"What?" he spluttered. "No she doesn't."

"Yeah she does," Andy smiled. "She did a little blush thing when you spoke, it was really sweet."

Syed shook his head, leaning down to drag his fingers thoughtfully along his leg.

"What's the matter, don't you like her?"

"Yeah, yeah she's lovely, just…"

Andy's voice fell quiet and low.

"Not quite your type."

Syed looked up at him, quickly, the words seeming to need some response that he was unable to give as his opened mouth hung there silently. It appeared as if it hadn't been noticed, Andy's gaze resting forwards, as he lifted the bottle of his beer to the parting of his lips.

Syed bit the edge of his mouth gently, putting his drink on the side as he felt the chill frost through his thighs. He turned himself back to him, unable to not stare as the drip from the bottle rim was licked quickly, the swallowing throat contracting slightly as the muscle pushed in and out. There was a heat in Syed's skin that he couldn't get his mind to explain, a tightening of his chest as if there was a weight of pressure that he had not been aware of until now. He'd seen someone drink before, he'd talked, he'd been near masculine beer and the smell of its otherly sin. There was a heat in his skin though, and his widened eyes would not look away.

Air seemed to stop as a firm hand stroked his face, just the rough strength of the fingers brushing past the flush of his cheek. He was being looked at, there was breath against his lips and he found himself shaking as in a craved rush they were touched. His breath hitched at the sensation, the firm mouth urging his to open, the rough softness of wanting lips parting through a shy tremble. An exploring tongue nipped; the fused taste of alcohol and man leaving him heady, the gentle touch of encouraging flicks as intense as firm relentless drags.

_This is what it is to have all rational thought slip away_, and as the muscled firmness of another's body slid to press over his, Syed could barely hear the exhaling murmur;

"Fuck, you're gorgeous."

His head thrown into the chill of the pillow, all he could feel was the weight leaning over him, a broad firm chest pressing his and muscular thighs sliding through the movement of lips. He wanted it, to be crushed by it, to feel the dominating sensation of a strong large body writhe on him. A moan escaped through his shaking throat, a different hardness pressing him with a sudden unfamiliar rush. He felt a satisfied curl through his hovering mouth, and then the haze of his senses feeling the loss of joining lips.

The drone of his heart beat pounding in his chest, he could feel the firmness of thighs still wrapped in his, see through half clouded eyes a knelt body leaning over. Syed blinked heavy lashes, slow, watching in the haze as athletic arms flexed to lift up a tee, the material casually falling to expose taught skin. He'd seen men bare before, more than this, victorious and naked in showers or boyish running for dares. He'd never seen this, one man stripped for him, nothing but sexual intimate intention and the ease of it. If he could focus on sight, he would see the licentious gaze drifting over him, see the sweet look of pleasure being smiled at him. He could barely form words for the vision though, and as claiming lips moved down to his, he simply felt.

He felt the loosening of his belt, leather being pulled and the vibrating drag of sliding metal zip. He sensed the tug of denim past a boxer clad private need that was beginning to ache. He heard the deep moan that shuddered through him at the electric fire of a firm hand touching and stroking.

"I can go down if you want."

There were words being breathed into the heat of his skin.

"I mean before, don't worry I have something…"

He could feel low whispers start to filter, his body growing cold as his mind started to wake. The words were freezing him, playing with the heat that wouldn't leave from his skin. He wanted it. The words weren't turning his stomach to freeze, it was that in the midst of the ache, he wanted what they were offering. He could taste bile.

His hands moved mindlessly, nudging at the curve of leaning arms, hearing the objecting murmur come from his own lips, wordless and useless, drowning under the weight of it. He felt a mouth on his throat, it was clawing now, trying to devour him, cover him the taste and the scent that had tempted him, played to his weakness.

"No!" he screamed to find strength, a forceful shove of his palms on grabbled chest and skin leaving breaths shaking, shocked eyes staring into him as he raced from the bed.

"What's wrong?"

Words were being spoken to him he thought, but he couldn't let himself hear them. He couldn't if he wanted to, every thought, every shred of sense dedicated to breathing, to clambering himself to the door.

"Wait Syed, wait…"

He felt the kind touch of a hand on his shoulder, the burn of it halting him, making him turn. He shouldn't have done, his chest aching at Andy standing there, half naked, heated, and real.

"I'm not…" he said, the defiance coming out shaking. "I'm _not." _

"Why did you come here?"

"I just thought…" he stopped, the words trailing to the simple honesty of it, to an almost whisper. "I thought you were nice."

Andy moved visibly, murmuring quietly;

"I am nice."

They paused, Syed finding himself hovering, the sight of another's confused silence halting him, almost filtering the heated dark in his veins.

He moved his leg slightly, unsure where to go but suddenly newly aware of a looseness, of jeans shamefully manipulated, a belt sinfully undone. The bile ran back to him, the breath in him trapped, making him pull at the door quickly, yank it futilely as a trap.

"Let me out," he shook. "Just let me out! I don't want to be here."

"Okay okay," Andy calmed, his hands, those hands, moving to unbolt the door, take the lock and set it open.

Syed stared at the freedom, the easy gap, suddenly unnerved by it, by what the outside meant. It wasn't safety, it was different now. He was different, and there were others out there. Rhys and James and men he didn't even like, it all came back to here, and they'd know, he was sure of it.

"And you don't tell anybody," he heard himself forcing. "_No one,_" as if saying it gave him power, as if begged words meant he was now in control.

He knew he wasn't, the frozen chill holding him, clouding the almost sympathetic look Andy gave him, the supposedly comforting promise that "We barely know the same people…and I wouldn't even tell anyone I knew you."

Syed looked at him, wavering with the beginnings of tears for the certainty of it as he grabbed for the door;

"You don't know me."

* * *

"It's nice this getting to know you thing isn't?"

Syed smiled at her, the scraggly haired sweetness making him nod kindly as they walked out the afternoon session, a collected stretch of back muscles that were aching from too much discussion.

"We were thinking of going into the city for some food tonight, get out the complex. Are you going to come? I think the university's round here is it? Or the clubs? I get confused," Jade laughed.

"Umm…" Syed found himself faltering, his chest starting to tighten. "Maybe. Thank you, I just…I'm not feeling great, I might have a quiet one in."

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you okay?"

"Yeah…yeah thank you," he nodded, biting his lip at the thoughts. "I'm sure I'll be fine after a good night's sleep."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Sorry for the terrible delay – especially Changehenge and GiantSeagull as they left (lovely) reviews for the last chapter. **_

_**The last time we saw the boys, Syed was trying to settle into Leeds, but it was proving more difficult than he had hoped. **_

_**If you enjoy, feel free to let me know what you think – always lovely to hear thoughts. **_

* * *

Syed sat, perched up against the bed as if undecided on the appearance of being settled, and held the familiar pages in his hands. Without focus, he felt the crisp softness under touch, the sensation always strong enough to filter though his thoughts in another place. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. 'I should have gone out last night.'

They'd think he was strange, ignorant probably, and he regretted not going when they had asked. It didn't overly matter what a bunch of strangers thought of him, he had more important thoughts than that. Would have been nice though, to have been able to achieve the normalcy of it, function like an adult who wasn't afraid. He had thought he'd been getting used to that, the past six months, existing in a way that others seemed to manage without a thought. He'd found himself talking more, saying things that he had wanted to, just a few nothing words that others would dismiss as mundane. Christian would smile at him, as if he could tell, just that little change of comfort, that now seemed to be there in laughing in the kitchen or chaste kissing in the street. It seemed so easy for others, and it was for Christian, without a doubt. It screamed from him, utter confidence that was plastered on an exuberant gorgeous face. He loved him for it, beyond words adored him for it, but he supposed at times he envied it too. He just needed some help he guessed, and he supposed there was nothing wrong in that. There was something about being back here though, it made it feel as if he'd barely made a change at all.

He sighed, shaking his head at the ridiculous internal statement, despite the grain of truth. Training didn't start until ten today and it gave him time to get his head together, to study and try and get some peace. It just wasn't working though, and he placed the Koran down as he felt his mind slipping from a fragile grasp. He found himself wondering where they went last night, whether they found themselves as lost tourists in the dark. He'd been that himself a few times here, times he wanted to forget. You didn't need to be outside in a crowd to be lost though, and as he stared back from the bed at the blur of the wall, he could remember that.

* * *

Inching the quilt to wrap the last remnants of space, he pulled at the heavy weight to reach the top of his neck. His body huddled in its softness and with limbs curled under the cover of skin, he clung. It was warm there, almost.

He scrunched his fingers in it slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to find himself barely a year ago, snuffled with flu and suffocated by phlegm and motherly love. 'This is why I was right Syed, Leeds is too far. You should be near, with your family.' The thought of it could have led to a smile, but a sound fell that was more of a whimper, a short quickly stopped sob on the exhale of a breath. He didn't have a cold and she, with her remedies of spice and hugs, wasn't here. He was sick, irreparably sick, and in the blurred crowd of shame and betrayal, she was the last person he could call. He pressed his nose into the thick warmth of the quilt, breathing deeply through dampened shakes to grasp the scent. He didn't know what he was searching for, and despite the tightness of the hold, he wasn't sure it was there.

Shabnam had revelled in the need of it, laughing hysterically as he squashed its inflated marshmallow into a meticulously labelled black bag. She'd need no reminders of home, she had rolled, when she could finally escape this place. It was to save them money, he'd told her, no point in buying new bedding when he could use the one from home. She had smiled, telling him she'd believe him if he liked. He never could lie, and despite chasing her through the house, had been grateful for her accepting the pretence. The black edge was fraying now, the colour of the blue fading into a shadow of its past. He pulled it quickly, scrunching it again to feel it on his chest. Everything was different now, he didn't know if it could ever be the same.

"Syed!"

A knock hammering through him, his head flew up at the sound.

"Are you dead?"

He curled his legs and stilled, clinging to it and the hope that Rhys were get bored and go away. Ignoring him had worked a few times; he had been left assumed to be sleeping, as if any rest could come when he closed his eyes.

"Not to sound like your mother…" he pressed, "but when 'you last eat? It's been like three days since you've been out there. You're like a weird old man hermit who doesn't leave the house…or in your case, room." A small laugh muffled through the door. "People will talk."

His head jolted.

"I'm fine," he yelled.

"Oh he's alive. Let me the fuck in then."

"I'm busy…" His fingers scrunching through his hair, he scrambled for words, "…revising."

"Six weeks early? Abandon the Asian stereotype Masood, it gets you nowhere."

He shook his head, heart sinking at the thought that his friend just wouldn't leave. A week ago they were laughing on the sofa, care-free, as if he had been normal, as if he was okay. He didn't know what had happened, if he had woken up dirty one day, or it had been there all along. Even good boys do stupid things, he had told himself, you can be forgiven for confusion or failing to pass a test. Except he couldn't quite be convinced it was fleeting, that it wasn't something dark and wrong in the pit of his gut. That was the terror of it, the back of his mind told him, that the years of secret dreams, squashed down with the bad thoughts, meant what he had done was not new. He had always been wrong inside; he had just managed to convince himself he was right.

"You'll give yourself a hernia," Rhys yelled, "or…a breakdown."

"Come drink orange juice, we're going to the pub. Usual twats off the team, we're 'gonna talk biceps – oh and that Andy guy. You know him?"

Cold shivered through Syed, flashed with memory of smiles, sweat, and the sinful ache of hard desire.

"No. No. Why would I? Just go, go. I've got…I've got to do stuff."

"Fine. I'll go drink beer and admire another man's astounding chest in an incredibly masculine manner. I'll knock drunk later, drag you out."

Listening for footsteps quietening away, Syed clambered out of bed, rushing to check the bolt with a forceful rattle. Forehead falling to rest on the door, he breathed. The lock solved nothing, but at least he was alone. Almost. His eyes slid to the prayer mat resting on the floor, left unrolled in the passing days' constant use. It was all he had and he had been begging; for forgiveness, for answers, for anything Allah would do. He knelt, clinging to the murmurs that fell from his lips. "Allahu Akbar." It was all he could do.

* * *

His t-shirt half pulled past his head, Syed struggled through cotton at the sound of his phone. Diving to beat the ring, he exhaled;

"Hello?"

"You forgot your little hat."

He paused, eyebrows meeting as his brain registered Christian's voice but little else.

"My little hat?"

"Yeah, your little hat thing."

"All I can think of is beanie or condom and as I don't wear either, you'll have to help me out here…"

"Stop being awkward," Christian said, smiling. "Your little hat, your prayer hat thing."

"My tagiyah."

"That's the fella. I found him sitting on the chair in the back room, alone and abandoned, and now you can't even remember him, poor thing."

One hand holding the phone to his ear, Syed contorted to thread his belt through his jeans.

"Because your description made no sense, you're just putting words together randomly."

"You should tell me what it's called then."

"I have, twenty four times."

"It's like a foreign language…no wait, it's _literally _a foreign language. I don't even know French, well except voulez-vous couchez avec moi, ce soir, but that's incredibly practical…_was, _I mean it was incredibly practical. What was my point…"

Syed rolled his eyes.

"I dread to think."

"Arabic! It's a foreign language, and it's a bloody difficult one. This isn't me winding you up, I'm just slow."

"Oh stop it. You poor challenged thing, least you didn't try and use it as a really flexible bowl." He paused, letting the belt dangle. "I'll teach you another twenty four times, I don't mind. As it's you."

"You could just get me word of the day Arabic toilet paper or something. Do they do that?"

"For some reason, so far no one's thought to put a sacred language onto the most unclean product possible."

"I can't describe how much better that idea sounded in my head."

Syed laughed, gently.

"Don't worry. I didn't think you were actually thinking of wiping your arse with my religion."

"Because that would be insane and incredibly offensive and only a complete twat would make a statement that would infer to that."

He smiled.

"Thank you for the phone call. It was really sweet."

"Only you could describe this as sweet."

"It was sweet you cared I'd forgotten it, very sweet in fact."

"I do try," Christian sang. "Anyway, do you want me to post it? Or is it easier to buy a new one? You're probably not short of suppliers in Leeds. Though we have been chatting and he is quite attached to the idea of a postal adventure, it'd be mean to rob him of it now. If I do it special delivery, you'd definitely get it for Friday?"

Syed paused, glancing at the Koran sitting where it was left at the side.

"Oh thank you," he said. "It's okay. I doubt I'll go."

"But you always go to mosque on a Friday…"

"Since when has my prayer schedule got anything to do with you?"

The harsh tone of his snap startled even him and they stood, abrupt, in the silence.

Christian coughed, stating quietly;

"I didn't say it had."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm really sorry." Syed scrunched his hand through the mess of his head. "I just mean…it's not like I've got a mosque to go to, it's fine. Don't worry."

"Aren't there loads in Leeds? What about the ones you used to go to?"

"At university I mainly went to the one on campus, the prayer room. Then when I came back… that one's not really near here."

"Okay…if you're sure. I know the packing was a bit rushed, just wanted to check."

"Thank you for checking. Sorry for snapping."

"You already said sorry. Can we just block out half of this conversation? We can pretend I said really normal, attentive things."

"You did…well in sentiment anyway. It's not you, _really_, I'm just busy. I've got another session in three minutes and we're learning how not to snap the human spine or something."

"Probably an important one."

"Yeah…"

"Go. Go learn anti-paralysis techniques. I should be getting to the gardens anyway."

"You need to sort out that gym rental, you'll get pneumonia training out there. Or a sprained ankle."

"You can massage me back to health," Christian said softly. "Start with not injuring people though, go."

"I'll call you later okay," Syed murmured. "Bye."

"Bye."

"Christian?"

"Yep?"

He squashed himself down, stroking the edge of the bed.

"I miss you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Big sorry for the ridiculous delay. I've had a lot on and then stupidly started another story (blame canon). Lots of you reviewed the last chapter so I wanted to try and continue. Thanks so much, it's great to hear your thoughts. **

**This picks up where we left off. **

* * *

It must have been late; the pained weight of disobedient eye lids told him that. Midnight. One, maybe. He had banned himself from watching the clock to avoid the wakeness that tracking time meant but it had just led to blurred time, not slower, not quicker, and not the sort that slipped to comforting darkness where there was no time at all.

Insomnia crossed from worrying to annoying, Syed had concluded, when it failed to suggest its reason, when it wilfully chose to discard the bother of basing itself on an actual thought.

It was the sort of lack of thought that had disturbed his sleep the odd night in the first months at the flat, thoughts of no specific crime or singular ache, with no jagged edge or set line, but was no less heavy for that. He hadn't needed an actual thought of his mum or a conscious response to how he felt, he could still lay in the darkness bolt awake. Guilt and hurt were good like that. Then was different to now though, midnight in the north in a single bed. The difference was him. Him, the arch of his back as he spread facing away, the squash of heat and tufts of hair in a pillow chest, the wrap of his arms with the tightness that stayed even when deep in sleep. When Syed couldn't settle on those few nights of summer heat, it had been _him_ who had ensured he had drifted off, even if he had been unaware as he snored drift asleep. The odd hour he had taken himself to the sofa, bored of even his own restless sleep and not wanting to risk being the earthquake that was needed to wake Christian, he still found himself drifting easier than now. He had known _he_ was there, he supposed. There is more than one type of touch.

He shifted his head quickly, the violent shake of a buzz hammering the bedside table. He considered a fly and its relatives were trying to eat him, more on his way to sleep than he had suspected, but in stumbling his hand out, found the vibration of a phone. Blindly, he felt for an answer button.

"So I've been thinking..."

Syed scrunched his hand down his forehead, blinking to the voice.

"Are you going to come back with a Yorky accent? Probably not possible in such a short length of time but after the years you were there it might be lying latent. I don't want to be racist or anything, it's just I'm quite attached to your soft southern drawl...it does things to me."

He laughed gently, sense emerging to understand the lack of sense.

"Christian?"

"No, Paolo. Who do you think it is? What other men do you have calling you at 12.40?"

"None usually, but there's this one right now who's slightly odd. Why are you calling so late?"

"I thought you'd be awake. You were, weren't you? And don't say you are now, I mean before I called."

Syed paused.

"Yeah."

"I do know you, you know. That head of yours may be as mysterious as it is gorgeous but I can tell when something's wrong. I do get it."

His chest tightened.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. You're getting in a mess about the training, aren't you? Worrying about it?"

It wasn't a lie. In the thoughts with no thoughts, it could be even be true. Say it out loud and it will be that way, Syed told himself in a knowingly familiar claim. It was simpler at least, for once.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah I am."

"I knew it," Christian declared. "You were torturing yourself before you even got on the train. You are so much better than you think you are, I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything, I'm just..."

Syed ran the edge of his fingers along the quilt;

"…I don't want to screw up."

"Why would you possibly think you would? Your parents may have tried their best to tell you otherwise Sy, but you are actually pretty great. All of you. Before you know it, along with incredibly loving, kind, and an arse like a peach will sit world class masseuse. You will do just fine."

"This is completely different than anything I've done before though, anything I thought I'd be doing."

He shakes his head;

"I mean I was in property and catering, and yeah I didn't want to do that anymore, but where did masseur come from? I thought it'd be interesting and good for your business but in retrospect it's bizarre. Asian males, let alone the eldest, don't end up learning about oils and stress points. They do tax law or the circulatory system."

"Which is complete bullshit, all of it. You should do whatever you want to do, whatever makes you happy. You haven't got some role to fit, Sy. You're an actual person who can pick your own."

* * *

"Don't look so worried," a soft voice whispers in his right ear. "You're fitting in really well."

Syed smiled, straightening himself up into the seat to express a sign he belongs there and gained an approving nod for the act. Louise was a junior at the company, kind, encouraging, but not someone Syed should be looking to for that. He shouldn't be needing encouragement. He was a man, a knowledgeable one, someone that had done well enough in his internship to be offered a permanent job. He must appear like a success, he had thought, a person that is offered employment, takes it because he knows he deserves it, and never looks to those on the same scale of him for help. Those sort of people were happy. They tell jokes and those around them laugh approvingly, laugh because of course it would be funny though they would do so even if it were not. They have girlfriends, beautiful ones, that they take to the theatre and expensive restaurants in which they later discuss what they had seen. They get promoted and succeed in the most important accounts and people around them care. He must look like that sort of person he thought, and he knew that if he tried with everything, looking would soon enough turn into being.

"I've been to the sister restaurant I think, in London," Syed interjected, the corporate noise dissipating to leave at least two out of six listening. "It's Valenti's, right?"

"Yeah that's right," a mildly interested voice replies. "You're a fine diner, Syed are you?"

"I try my best."

There's a laugh and Syed smiles with them, breathing in the moment. They didn't know he was a waiter at the time and they didn't have to. It was easy, he thought, as he watched two more sets of ears begin to engage. He found himself talking, continuing with where he was and just talking, half of it true, half of it something that was once attached to the truth as if they cared. He was doing it already. Three weeks into a real job and he was here, at a real business dinner and he was being respected, listened to as he talked. He was being what he should be and this him, this him was liked.

"Are you seeing anyone Syed?" a confident voice to his left enquired.

Martin, near forty, deputy head of accounts, dying his hair to avoid the greys. Syed blinked, hoping the attempt to remember every bland white face and what it was about each of them that meant they deserved to be remembered had gone unnoticed.

"Um, not really. I mean –" he corrects, "dating, obviously. You?"

"Christ, been a while. That makes me sound fucking old doesn't it?"

Syed decided it was rhetorical.

"Wife and the kids, you know."

"And the rest," chipped in a smirking Eric – balding, near retirement, office on the first floor, gut like a six month foetus oven.

"The rest?" Syed asks, unsure of whether the etiquette was pretending he hadn't heard it or pretending he'd liked the fact he had.

"The waitresses, the secretaries, the hookers…"

"Fuck off you fat twat, some of us can still get it without paying."

"You always pay one way or the other," Eric grumbles, the grimace widening as he shook out an empty bottle of red.

"Fuck Eric, it's not your wife. You don't have to dine them," Martin lectures. "They see your car, that's enough. You can have the waitress tonight. I don't mind."

"I don't know," Louise surveys, putting her eyes on Syed. "Syed might give you a run for your money."

Syed glanced up, hearing his name and a spluttered fit of mirth spilling from Martin.

"Fuck yes!" he cheers, patting Syed's back with an enthused force that makes him jolt. "That'll show the fat fuck. Wouldn't have a chance with you going after her would he?"

Syed shuffles in his seat.

"What do you say? She's got an arse right," he asks, twisting Syed's hair to the brunette within hearing distance at the adjacent table.

"I…"

"You'd have to be queer or have a shrivelled dick not to go there. Or be Eric," he adds, the joke sending him screeching self-congratulatory into Syed's ear. "I'd bend her over the table right here and give her the seeing to of her life. You would, wouldn't you Syed?"

"Well I don't know…"

Syed paused, six pairs of eyes staring half disappointedly at him.

"…Eric watching doesn't exactly turn me on."

Laughter growls around him and Syed breathed, a smile creeping onto his face. They laugh. He smiles. It's as simple as that.

* * *

"It isn't quite as simple as that."

'It's as simple as you make it Sy."

There's a silence and what Christian deciphers through the phone to be a slight tut. He opts for another tact;

"Are you enjoying what you're doing so far?"

"Yeah I am actually."

"Well there you are then, that's all that matters. And you are going to be great at it, I promise."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah I do."

"How exactly?"

"For one, I know you. For two, I've seen your hands in action."

Syed's eyes roll.

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Yes, end of."

Christian stretches, a melodramatic sigh falling.

"You're not the only one with problems, you know. Whilst you're up there worrying how to ease the pressure in big, stiff muscles, no one's here to do that for mine."

"You poor, poor thing," Syed laughs.

"I know. I might have to revert to the porn stash. Or go crazy and buy a new one. I might Google 'Asian gay masseuse' and see what I come up with."

"Am I supposed to find this funny?"

"No you're supposed to find it erotic. And guilt inducing too. You're supposed to feel terribly terribly guilty that you've shirked your duties and left me here all alone. It's cold turkey and I don't like it. I miss your hands, your lips, your eyes, your arse, your co – "

"And what do you think I'm doing? Am I not missing you? And I don't mean your witty charms."

"You've had more practice than me. You're built for discipline, have endured years of this. I'm a weakling. I need constant attention and I'm not used to not getting it."

"Well you'll have to do your best won't you? In the meantime, pay attention to yourself. You like you."

"You like me?"

"Just wait a few days and I'll be home to show you how much."

Christian smiles slowly, murmuring;

"I like the sound of that."

Syed says quietly;

"Me too."

"Sy?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll call me, won't you? If you need to."

"I'll be fine. I'm over-reacting, I need to get a grip. Stand on my own feet." 'Mix more metaphors' he can hear Tamwar inserting.

"I know I've only been doing this for a few months but I'm pretty sure that's not how relationships work" Christian adds. "There's a wings beneath your wings thing here, a carrying you when you can't walk…"

"You made that last one up."

"Point stands. We do things together. We're a team. Otherwise you're freaking out over training with no one to call and I'm Googling Asian porn."

Syed finds himself smiling, shuffling down into bed.

"It's late. We should go to bed."

Christian murmurs;

"You should be in ours."

"Soon."

Syed pulled the sheets up the chill of his chest.

"I love you. Go to sleep."

"I love you. Night baby."

"Christian?"

"No Asian porn?"

"If you wouldn't mind."


	11. Chapter 11

**Though it seems another world away now, this time was some of the last of a recognisable Chryed – when Christian was an idiot but a good one and Lordy he loved his boy (as love should be), the only annoying woman near Syed was Roxy, and you wanted Syed to be with Mr. Clarke to insane levels – and so I'm going to try and finish it. If I manage it, only a couple more to go. **

**Thank you hugely for the reviews and sorry it took so long! Happy Christmas everyone (click on my name and there's a 'present' from last year, if you like reading about sick and dodgy angels). **

**Dedicated to Carla, for her fine December work x **

* * *

"Does this look wonky to you?"

Syed skewed his head, angling it slowly.

"Er no, don't think so."

"It looks wonky to me."

A sigh fell from Samantha, surveying the 'Merry Christmas' sign with a look that suggested it was trying to destroy her. There was something about premature corporate promotion that sucked the soul, she thought, though catching handsome men for assistance softened the blow.

"You couldn't hold that for me, could you? I'm a bit short."

"Sure," he smiled, taking one edge of the banner offered by needing hands. "Not that I'm much better. I can't even reach the fire alarm in our flat, though I think my partner makes that a bigger deal just to look important…"

He laughed shyly;

"Fire's a hazard. We live above a chip shop."

"I live above an Indian…I mean a restaurant, an Indian take-away, obviously," she mouths, comforting herself that making a fool of herself no longer mattered when she had no chance at all.

"I'd probably like that smell better. Familiar…"

She smiled, trying to decipher the fondness or the sadness in large brown eyes;

"This is your only training, I mean you'll be back home for the holidays?"

"Oh yeah, I'm done in a couple of days."

"That's good then. Bet your mum'll be happy."

"Yeah…"

Syed murmured, suddenly giving the banner more attention than it needed.

"We don't actually celebrate it. She won't mind if I'm not there."

"Oh right… Well you're probably better off out of it. I mean I like Christmas, but you know the mince pies and films. Seeing people you can't stand thing…not that much fun."

"I'm lucky, I don't really have that. Well I don't think Roxy's coming for dinner…"

"Who? I know I don't do myself any favours. It's early and I've already said I'll go to this party, a friend of a friend's cousin or something. My sister says I'm easily swayed and though I didn't think so I guess she's right."

"I'm more of a home-body too."

"I just don't like it. I mean I'm only young, I know I should, but…strangers, random places you don't know. I don't get it."

"No, me either…"

* * *

He held the shake of his breath, listening in the silence to the alcohol seeped snores pulsating from the mound on the bed. It clawed through the aching strain in his chest and he couldn't bear to hear it, yet he clung to the constant drone of it, each cold, comforting proof that he wouldn't have to face the waking.

He grabbed the cotton of his t-shirt from the floor, holding it against him, shivering at its touch against the imagined rawness of his skin. There had to be markings, though in the sickness he could not trace a memory of a physicality that had put them there. The thought made his chest flush, feeling flashes of movements and those trapped only in the wanting of his mind. He threaded his arms quickly, pulling the cloth over his needful closing eyes, resting, grasping the temporary darkness and the reprieve it said it may bring. To dress was shameful in these times, he wondered if acts when naked would forever make clothing sting.

The cluster of the stench and the dirt of it were running through his skin, he could taste the foulness of it, itched from the putrefying rot of the squalor at his feet. Except there was no rot, at least in surroundings. There was a television angled towards the bed, CDs strewn from past browsing on a crafted shelf, pictures of happiness in frames around the room. This was a home, a normal flat where someone lived. He found himself wishing for visible dirt. It was easier that way.

He had kissed him quickly, hard. The force of it had taken Syed's breath but he had let him, willingly drowning in the taste of vodka, heat, and sweat. He could feel himself being pushed against the sticky firmness of a wall, foreign hands tracing themselves down, grabbing and groping with others watching, their eyes briefly glancing before turning to their own. He had touched him in the pound of the darkness, given him the flash of a badness that had, as in the times before, felt so _good_. And then they were somewhere, and Syed had forgotten to care where. He was following men he didn't know to wherever they took him, and he couldn't say whether it was _this_ that was making him or whether that was just him all along.

A popping drone came from the sheets and he turned his head, Syed's breath calming as the snores returned to a steady sound. Out the corner of his eye he caught the leather hanging down and buckled his belt quickly, hand fumbling with a shake. He wanted to be away from this and he wanted to now, telling himself he would walk, he'd run as a taxi couldn't be called if he didn't know where he was.

He stood at the door and he looked down. He couldn't look at the sheets.

* * *

Syed smoothed the maid pressed sheets and perched on the bed. He'd been spending too much time in this room but he had to admit he liked that it was familiar. It was a nothing room and was missing a certain person that would bring it to life but it was safe at least. It didn't feel safe out there and he felt that without taking a foot outside the complex that had brought him here.

He sighed, dipping his head down. He wished in these moments he could say things out loud, that the small voice inside of him that whispered what he felt was worthy of words could be believed. The trouble was there were many words that no one wanted to hear and those same things, though better uttered than kept wrapped and suffocating, he preferred to leave unsaid.

It wasn't getting him anywhere, he was fully aware of that. Talking if there was someone who wanted to listen, he thought, couldn't be that bad. He looked at the mobile sitting tauntingly next to him and grabbed it to dial before he could have another doubt.

At the tenth ring he sighed. Christian had text he'd be at the Vic at some event tonight but Syed was hoping he would be home by now. It didn't seem that way and he began to push down an ache;

"I did it!"

The sound of a body colliding with a table thudded and Syed pulled the phone from his ear;

"You did what? _Christian_?"

"Nothing. What did you do? Who is this?"

"Syed. Who were you expecting?"

"Syed!"

Christian cried, a shriek of happiness and familiar surprise.

"Sy. Sy Sy Sy. Sy!"

Syed's mouth gaped and he pressed a hand into the bed;

"Christian how much have you had?"

"Some Sy. I've had some."

"Some? You sound like you've had everybody's."

"Don't be cross, you're not cross are you? I miss you so much I've turned to drink."

Syed raised an eyebrow;

"Turned?"

"Turn what? I don't know what you're saying Sy. Eugh I taste like shit."

Syed lets out a laugh, shaking his head;

"You're almost making me grateful I'm in another county. Are you ok? Are you by yourself?"

"Why what have they said?"

"Who?"

"What?"

"Christian… Roxy, Jane, where are they?"

"Somewhere. Jane's mad at me…I think. I failed or something. Chip man got her, I forget."

Syed rubbed his thumb along his temple, fully aware that when Christian started using his own names for relatives, considerable vodka had been consumed.

"Have you had some water?"

"Hmmm yes, water. I did that. It was wet."

"It tends to be."

"I think you should just get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow, okay."

"No talk now. You called me…"

"Yeah I did but… now's not the time. It's fine okay, just go to sleep."

"Don't go. I have to tell you something."

Christian pauses;

"I did something bad."

He asks cautiously;

"What sort of bad?"

"I tried to buy barman Ryan."

"Excuse me?"

"At the Vic. I was supposed to buy Jane I think but…I got distracted, or something."

"There's something about Ryan Malloy that's distracting for you?"

"His arse was vaguely distracting."

Syed's voice fell flat;

"_Was it_?"

"I don't remember."

"Yeah let's stick with that shall we."

"Syed?"

"What?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Flannel Pyjamas."

"LIAR! You didn't even take any flannels."

"I got some from housekeeping. They're draped over me."

"That's hot."

"I'm sure. Listen, I think you should just get to bed."

"It's a sad bed without you though, all cold and 'orrible."

"And you haven't got random straight men to keep you warm."

"You. I haven't got _you_ to keep me warm. I mean I've got the heating but… I'm being romantic."

A smile lets itself creep onto Syed's face;

"I got that."

"I'm going to go to bed."

"Good idea."

"You're back in two days right?"

"Yeah…" Syed murmured, bringing himself out of the thoughts. "When I come home I don't want you to have bought anymore humans ok? Or tried to. Just stay away from the whole thing."

"What about animals? Can I buy animals?"

"A goldfish."

"No I want a badger. And a ferret named Steve. And a lama."

"You'd never fit all them in the flat."

"Come home soon or I'll do it. A menagerie."

"Don't worry, I don't want to stay here… Go and get some sleep okay."

He stared at the small window, northern frost crisping the glass.

"And don't forget to take your jeans off."


	12. Chapter 12

***sticks head around door" **

**Well this is a little strange. Clearly I abandoned ship (yeah, she returns with a pun!) but I remembered how much I hated it when people didn't finish stories I liked, and I remembered I had most of this on my laptop. You've probably forgotten what this is..._but_, if you haven't, here's the next chapter. It 'aint great, but hopefully better than nout (I hope everyone still residing in Chryedville is very well) x **

* * *

Dried bran disintegrating into a careless pool of milk, Syed dropped his spoon with a clunk. He had barely an appetite and that was only partly because he detested anything close to communal breakfast. He'd been use to early rising since secondary, from the moment he was taught that sunrise was something to wake for and there was something beautiful in that. There was; even after everything there had never been a part of him that had doubted that. It didn't mean he liked the mornings though and since coming here, dislike was leaning to detest. He was finding himself dreading the alarm clock and if anything it was getting worse the longer he stayed.

He pushed the bowl away in rejection, smiling politely at 'ferret girl' inspecting the tray of baked beans. Part of him wanted to tell her they were congealed twenty minutes ago and for her own health they should be avoided. A larger part just wanted to curl up in his seat and hide. He needed to talk to someone, but he knew someone wasn't random acquaintances or even, to his half shame, The Ever Watching God. It was a person, _his, _and though he didn't blame Christian for being absent, he was aching the morning after of needing him and him not being there.

With only a day and half of classes left; today was full. It wasn't the time to have his mind drift and be incompetent at the thing he had come here to do. He'd be incompetent at everything else but he'd try his best to be a functioning man at this. He had to get on with it and the rest…well the rest would go away soon.

He jumped, the vibration of his phone humming through thoughts and jeans. Pulling it from his pocket, Syed couldn't help but stroke the name on the screen.

_Some drunken tit stole my phone last night. He didn't speak to you did he? Ignore everything he said…unless it was good. Then it was me xxxxx _

_I'm wracking my brains but I can't quite remember anything that could be defined as good xxx _

He shook his head, the phone quickly shaking as he did.

_Then it was definitely stolen. I'm going to report it now. Drunken twat annoying my boyfriend. How dare he? xxxxxxx _

_When that's your job? _

_Fair point. I'll call you later, when you're all done. Make it up to you. I love you. I'll show you how much tonight xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx _

Syed stared at the message, unsure why he doubted its meaning or why right now it made his stomach ache a little cold. It wasn't anger, there was nothing in him that wanted to punish or create a distanced sulk. It wasn't like he minded Christian getting drunk. He didn't _like_ it, but he certainly wouldn't try and change it or pull happy acts apart. He had wanted to talk though, he couldn't avoid that. In the pit of a gut that had been getting more sick for days, it didn't sit well to have worked up to the sense of calling, of talking, and not to have the one he needed to be there. Christian wasn't psychic. He couldn't know the things Syed didn't tell him, even if there were times it seemed like he would hum his way through the bits he didn't like if things were said.

Syed poked at the spoon, floating alone.

They could talk later; maybe he could find the words then. There wasn't any part that was mad at him…he just really could have done with a boyfriend last night that hadn't been acting like he was barely twenty.

* * *

The hush noise came again. Twenty something men and the noise they bring, told this wasn't the place for rowdiness and sent with tail between legs to the periodicals.

Syed just wanted the quiet. The library seemed good place for that, and if he would allow his mind to admit it, it served other, more practical needs; ones that were starting to take on a life of their own. Avoidance. That was a need, one that now seemed as necessary for his ability to breathe as air. Avoidance not just for his thoughts but for people, ones until four weeks ago he had called friends. They were still his friends in their minds, but they wouldn't be, not if they knew. And they would know, everyone, the dirt of the sin was surely plastered on his skin. He'd barely seen Rhys since it had happened, becoming adapt at being gone before he woke in the morning and in bed before he came home at night. He couldn't bear to be near someone who knew him, who would be looking at him expecting normal responses and words that made others smile. He had known he couldn't avoid them forever; that awareness had meant finally leaving the protection of his room. He was ignoring the fact that his current state was just hiding by another name.

He watched the rowdy boys take over a nearby table, convinced as they were being in the right building was enough to get them their ends. They laughed, looking up and giving what Syed's eyes were convinced was a pack of sniggers and he got up quickly to avoid their stares.

The rush saw a bump, blindly colliding into something warm and firm.

"Syed?"

His heart thumped at the sound of it and his skin must have paled.

"Andy."

Syed's eyes widened, dashing from side to side for some sign of escape. Realisation fell with the tightening of his chest that he had trapped himself between two shelves, and in that moment, he was purely convinced years would pass and he would never get out.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," Syed's voice said. "Great actually. Really great."

He wasn't aware at the time nor would his mind ever truly let him as life went on, but this was the moment, the one that lead to all others. The moment when feeling like you're dying became telling someone you were better than they could ever know.

"Really great? Well that's...great."

Andy looked at him kindly, letting him hold onto the pretence.

"You know I'm glad I bumped into you. I was…kind of worried."

"Worried? Why would you possibly be worried?" Syed echoed; he could hear his own high pitched shake. "I'm fine."

"You're great."

"Yes."

"Well I'm glad. But if you're not..."

Andy broke off, not knowing what to do with the next part, as if afraid to rock the pretending if right now that was the plan, "…that's okay too."

"But I am –"

It came out in practically a stutter and Syed hated himself for, amongst other things, being terrible at this.

"Cos after what happened the other night..."

Andy lowered his head slightly;

"I didn't know that you were still...that you weren't okay with it yet."

He looked at him kindly, saying quietly;

"It's okay you know…to be confused."

Syed's lips hovered, stuck in the silence of having everything and nothing to say. He wanted to tell him; just the smallest part, so far in the dark it was light. That part wanted scream there was no confusion, of the feeling itself there was no doubt. Pinned to the bed he had never been more certain and it was in that that his stomach was standing cold.

* * *

Syed shivered; the crisp of early winter combining with the lacklustre warm of rented sheets. He pulled them, huddling with the phone as it buzzed on the bedside.

"I'm sober if that helps."

His lip curled;

"Hello to you to."

"Hello you," Christian said, softly. "Last night's a complete mess you know. It's all noises and wobbly furniture."

"Let's just repress it shall we?"

"At this point that won't be a big ask for me so…yes. I vote yes."

"Okay."

"If you were here this would be when I'd be kissing you…" Christian whispered, breaking the quiet that had fallen.

"Promising to make it up?"

"Promising to show you how sorry I am."

"Pity I'm not there then…"

"No, you're miles away doing important Leeds business things."

"Yeah…something like that. It's been a long day, busy," Syed drifted back. "I'm just in bed now."

"In bed?"

"Yeah, just getting under the sheets."

"I hate those sheets."

Syed laughed;

"These sheets? They're quite posh actually, very white and a bit cold but very soft."

"Soft on your skin?"

"Yes…"

"Are you naked Sy?"

He paused, chest tightening at the realisation of the change.

"I told you last night…I'm in flannel pyjamas."

"_Syed._"

The pause stood a moment. Christian broke it;

"I know you're naked because I know you always sleep naked. I know that because you sleep next to me."

"Not tonight…"

"We can pretend though. Pretend with me. You said you'd just got in bed, pulling up your sheets."

"I did…"

"Are those soft sheets lying against your naked skin?"

"_Yes_."

"I wish I was there. You look so perfect."

"You can't see me."

"Stop being awkward. I don't have to see you to know you look perfect."

"That is such a line."

"A line that is entirely true and therefore ceases to be a line. You even look good in a hair net. First thing out of bed, wet from the shower, all the way to running a hand through your hair when you're making dinner."

"I don't do that. I need the hair net back if I do."

"You do it, you just don't know. Concentrating all hard on your preparations, listening to that music I have no idea what they're saying in, wiggling ever so slightly like some Bollywood – "

"Lollywood."

"…wiggling ever so slightly like some Lollywood…extra."

"Hey! Says the man who took 'Murder on the dance floor' and saw it as a literal challenge."

"No need for that. I have nothing but love for the wiggle. In fact, I miss it terribly."

"You do?"

"Of course. Who wouldn't miss that arse."

Christian paused, a smile creeping that on another night would have been seen through the phone.

"Tell me what you miss Sy."

"You," he said quietly. "I miss you."

"Which bits though?" Christian pressed. "You have to choose and tell me."

"Maybe I don't want to choose."

"That's the game. Tell me what you miss."

Syed breathed, the exhale telling his body to relax, to take his mind with it.

He closed his eyes, with thoughts of comfort;

"I miss your smell."

"Yeah?"

"I miss how you smell in the morning."

"Just the morning?"

"Well, no…" he found a laugh. "But I like the morning."

"Not as much as I do."

"I didn't mean it like _that_. And no one could like the morning as much as you do."

"If we weren't meant to have sex in the morning, God wouldn't have made it so men woke up with a hard on."

"Did you just refer to God and hard ons?"

"I meant in a general way, not your God."

"My God is God. There's only one."

"Sssh this is no time for analysis Syed. Go back to liking my morning smell."

Syed sighed;

"You smell like sleep. But your sleep…like it's you, just yours. It's different than the rest of the day."

"What's the rest of the day?"

"Well if you're working, generally sweat."

"That isn't what you call it and you know it Syed Masood. When I come home from a client or working out, you run your hands on my _tight_ wet vest and you say I smell like…"

"Nothing..."

"Liar."

He breathed;

"A man. I say you smell like a man."

"Mmmmm. And you slide your hands up and rub my chest and you bite your lip, like you're gonna moan if you don't. But you know I love it when you moan."

Syed gave a little noise, a minor display.

"Fuck yes. No one sounds like you. No one makes me so hard, just from a look, just from a sound. You do baby, you know you do."

There was a break in the phone and the scrunch of sheets shuffling. He knew Christian was moving, sliding hands down hot skin with new dedication or reaching to the draw for something more.

"I can't wait to have you back in this bed."

"Mmm…"

"As soon as you are I'm going to grab you and drag you up those stairs. You're not leaving this bed until I am done with you and that will take _some_ time."

"I can't wait to come home."

"I bet you can't. I know what you're like."

Syed breathed;

"I love it when you're desperate. When you beg, tell me you want it, need it. Tell me what you need Sy."

"I need to feel you. To smell you, have you here."

"Mmmm tell me. What do you do need Sy?"

"You."

"When? When do you need me?"

"When you're on top of me and I rub my nose into that little dip of your throat and I can breathe you…"

"And you lick me…"

"Mmm…"

"Say it Sy. Just say it for me."

"I lick your throat, the side of your neck, that bit that's there above me, and I can taste you. As I scratch your back."

"_Fuck_ it drives me crazy when you do that."

"Mmmm I know..."

"Christ you're getting me close already."

"Are you there with me Sy?"

"Ummm…"

"Tell me how hard you are Sy."

Syed's breath caught, a small sound coming from the tightness in his throat;

"I can't…"

"You can, it's okay. You can say anything to me. So gorgeous, so sexy. You can tell me baby."

"No I can't."

"Yeah you can –"

"No. I mean, I _can't_, I'm not…"

Syed's voice hit, falling onto silence.

"Oh."

He breathed, saying quickly;

"It's not you, I'm just…I'm tired."

"Yeah, course you are…"

"I'm sorry, I –"

"No, no…it's…it's fine okay."

"I –"

"Lay back for me," Christian's voice pressed, "we can try -"

"I'm up early," Syed cut off, flat.

"Yeah. Yeah, course."

'Christian', Syed managed in his mind.

"Just sleep, yeah? You should just...you should get some sleep."

Syed listened, trying to hear what he needed from Christian's voice. He didn't know what he needed but, as a goodbye was mumbled and the phone clicked off, he knew tonight it wasn't there.


End file.

EastEnders