Fanfic: All The King's Horses (1/1)

[smokingmirror]

Title: All The King's Horses
Author: Avarice
Rating: R
Pairing: Tybalt/Harley, Mikhael/Harley, Mikhael/Tybalt.
Spoilers: Mikhael and Harley's temporary breakup in the comics.
Summary: Harley gets to know Tybalt during a difficult period in his life, and finds that they're not so different.
Word Count: 17183
Date First Posted: 24-02-2003
Date Revised: 23-05-2011
Beta: Tink.
Awards: -
Notes: Harley POV, This is AU, because it branches off from BMB canon from the time Mikhael finds out that an anonymous person kissed Harley at a party, and Harley failed to tell him about it, so Mik kicks him out. Some events have been changed to make it 'what if?', as well as some being added before a critical canon juncture. Apart from those little changes, it hopefully sticks to canon strips fairly well, and explains the situation regarding the Dean from Mik and Tybalt's past. This represented months of work, as I'm not terribly good at writing volume quickly. I hope you enjoy it!
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism. -- In my LJ I got some of the most wonderful, thoughtful, and personally satisfying (as an author) feedback I've ever gotten for something I've written. And I was lazy and I didn't always respond to it all. I'd like to take the opportunity to sincerely thank every single person that ever replied to this fic, it has been a personal favourite of mine for years, and to have had such an amazing response to it, still makes me very happy. I still go to the LJ pages listed below to read it because it makes me terribly thrilled and pleased.
Also Archived At: LJ 1 2 3 4 5 6
Sequel: Blood From A Stone, by Tinkerbell. Written for my birthday. Omg, thank you Tink, this was the best pressie I could've gotten :)

I didn't mean for it to happen. If nothing else, please believe that.

There are some things that just... are. Like dipping your toes into a fast-moving stream. It's exhilarating and cold, a shock to the system. You can always pull your toes out again, but you never forget the chill, the way your skin felt, and the feeling of danger.

You can walk in the shallows, skirting the current and feeling invincible.

You grow to like it. It's different from what you know.

Before too long, you're knee deep, the current pulling on your legs, and feeling like the king of the fucking world, or at least Humpty Dumpty, sitting on that wall. Stupid, but unbreakable.

Then, the water grabs you. Envelops your body in a cocoon, sends you screaming and spluttering downstream.

And it feels fucking wonderful.

It's not the stream's fault... you tempted it. But, it takes you away.

And, try as you might, you know you'll never get to the same spot on the bank where you once were. That safe, warm place where nothing exciting ever happened.

What's done is done. I can never go back.

*~*~*~*

It was so stupid. I was in the supermarket picking up a few things we were running low on; milk, cheese, bread... the basics.

I was in the coffee aisle, looking for Mik's favourite blend. There was one tin left of Brazilian Monte Alegre. With relief, I reached up to grab it.

I actually ended up grabbing the hand that got there first. From the faint smell of cologne, I guessed it was a man, though the hand was deceptively soft.

"Well, hello," a smooth voice brimming with amusement said to me. I snatched my hand back instantly, as if scalded.

"What are you doing here?" I spat, surprising myself at the vehemence of my words.

Tybalt seemed unfazed, and tossing his hair over his shoulder, merely looked down into the basket he carried that was similar to mine.

"I would have thought it was obvious, Harley."

I glared balefully at his groceries, then into his smiling face.

"You're following me to the store now? That’s lame, even for you."

"If only it were true. But alas, I have to stop and get food for myself every so often. Why, feeling lonely? I could follow you around for a while if you like."

"No thanks," I said caustically, stepping back and clenching my fists. It pleased me to see Tybalt ruefully rub the bridge of his nose, and put a hand up in 'surrender'.

"Don't fret, I won't try and kiss you again," he paused, the silence heavy as some of the amusement slipped from his features to reveal something... raw, "that is, not until you beg me to."

I should have walked away. Just flipped him off, called him an asshole, turned around and walked away.

Instead, I stood flushing, wondering why that embarrassed me so. Tybalt looked at me a while longer. He could read my indecision and panic, I know he could. He didn't capitalise on it, though. As a matter of fact, he started to leave.

"I won't keep you. I wouldn't want to miss my half past twelve stalking appointment." He tapped long fingers on the coffee tin before putting it into his basket.

He was having the last word, and leaving.

Like fucking hell.

"Hey!" I yelled in a loud voice. Loud enough for him to stop. He turned slowly and gracefully, I would say like he was pirouetting, but I'm not gay enough to be into ballet.

"That's my coffee, jerk," I said stubbornly.

"Yours?" he chuckled then, a husky sound that filled my ears. "Finders keepers, baby doll. Better luck next time."

I took a step forward. "I want it more than you do."

"It's his favourite, right?" Tybalt said suddenly. He brought the tin to his face and sniffed at the lid, smiling. "Mmmm, the best kind of coffee. First thing in the morning, have it black and bitter to jolt you awake. Or, give it lots of cream and sugar for that slow, sweet start."

I gaped at him, and briefly -- albeit hysterically -- wondered how he could know such an intimate detail of our lives. Black coffee was Mikhael's getting up coffee, sweet meant he would crawl back into bed with me.

How? How could he-

"Where do you think he got it from?"

The thought traveled through my system like an IV drip of acid. What was somehow more infuriating was his matter-of-fact tone. At least if he was gloating I'd feel nothing about slugging him.

"Listen," he continued, ignoring my sputtering, "I know where I can get more. Meet me at the café next door in an hour, and I'll have some for you."

"Why don't you just give me that one?"

He grinned looking equally pleased and annoyed I'd caught him out. "And miss out on another opportunity to see you?" Tybalt dropped the tin back into his basket and turned around. "See you soon," he remarked over his shoulder, before leaving me alone in the coffee aisle to ponder exactly what the fuck just happened.

And where I would be in an hour.

*~*~*~*

Okay, so I met up with him. Yes, bad Harley. But I wanted that coffee, and he was going to give it to me.

It's not like I wasn't expecting a catch, I'm not stupid.

I spent two hours with him that day. If you asked me what we talked about, I wouldn't be able to tell you -- it is a warm blur in my memory. The only word I can think of is... nice.

He was really nothing like I'd imagined, and I had imagined a pretty damn nasty guy. When he wasn't overtly being an ass, Tybalt was -- as much as it pained me at first to think -- gracious and elegant in a way I thought long forgotten by most men. I thought Mikhael was the only one that had the gentleman thing going...

It was like comparing Jerry Lewis' absent-minded and dorky professor to his more suave, confident counterpart. Essentially the same guy, with the same drives and notions, but in vastly different packaging.

And yeah, when it came down to it, it wasn't all that bad.

I took the coffee home to Mikhael. He put it in the cupboard, and I sat down on the sofa and felt guilty for the rest of the day. We had desperate, need-for-absolution sex that night. He didn't notice.

*~*~*~*

It was three weeks before I saw him again.

I found I quite liked the little place next to the supermarket where we had met up. A cosy atmosphere... it became habit to stop by there if I was in the area.

I would sit in a velveteen wing-backed chair that faced the door and sipping slowly, I would nurse the one drink until I finished it, or until it went cold. As I would watch the door, my right leg developed this jiggle. Anticipation?

I wouldn't have admitted it then, but I know better now.

Sip, jiggle, jiggle, sip, jiggle, sip, sip, jiggle, si--

Mid-sip, the man who had been in the recesses of my mind for the last few weeks stepped into the room. I realised I'd never seen him before when he wasn't just watching me. Wondering if he put on the grace and charm merely for my benefit, I watched carefully, hiding behind a mug.

Of course it was an idle thought. Even in the most casual clothes I'd ever seen Tybalt wear -- an untucked ivory collared shirt and dark brown trousers -- the man just glided from place to place.

I had a choice, and had to make it quickly. I could hide. Behind the chair, on the floor, or even quietly sneak out.

Or, I could do what I planned to, and sit up straight in the chair, defiantly daring him to turn around and see me.

Be careful what you wish for...

He turned, almost in slow motion, eyes sweeping over the room, coming to rest on me. I could see the small smile tug at the corner of his mouth from across the room. Thirty seconds later, an unhurried stride brought him to my chair.

"Hello, Harley," he said without preamble and sat down.

*~*~*~*

So Mikhael and I broke up. It was a temporary thing. I just had to have some space from someone who obviously didn't trust me. Working at Aurora's café and then going home with her each night, I honestly didn't think of Tybalt, too caught up in feeling miserable for myself.

But then he did show up, with a rose and an invitation. It was a chance to interact with him without feeling like I was cheating on Mikhael. Of course I wasn't before, and aside from the gentle flirting (all on his side) there was never anything going on.

And call me a sucker for artists, but I wanted to see what kind of work he did.

Got the full treatment. Champagne, limousine, honesty. Being officially single, even if only on a temporary basis, did get me a little more on the defensive than I had been in the shaky rapport we had established over the last 2 months or so. The boundaries had been shifted, and he was taking advantage of that.

I was abrupt with him early on in the evening, but he responded to everything with an unfailing smile and a charming frankness. During the evening I found myself admiring his attitude, and his work.

Tybalt was definitely a talented artist. His work was passionate and extravagant, with a definite sense of humour, if on the black side. It had a lot of character, and seemed to me that the art mirrored the man in its desire to attract attention to itself.

With a hand resting on my hip, we investigated the gallery, and he talked me through both his pieces and works by other artists. I appreciated his way of explaining. Intellectual, but not with the pretentious art terms that made me roll my eyes.

Tybalt always spoke in a tone as if he was imparting some glorious and delicious secret to me and me alone, with his head inclined in my direction, a twinkle in his eye. I half-imagined he could make his grocery list sound forbidden and naughty.

I'd been to many functions like this before, but it was different. I wasn't encouraged to be quiet and not talk or make fun of things, I wasn't left alone while Mikhael went and played aloof artist man. Tybalt took my elbow and introduced me to people I'd seen a dozen times at a distance but had never met.

He actively talked to people. Dealers, other artists, the owner of the gallery. He wasn't so reserved that the crowd made him nervous. He didn't back down from anyone who came to him with intelligent conversation.

You would think that having just broken up with an anti-social boyfriend would mean I would feel uncomfortable with his polar opposite.

When talking to someone else, he included me in the conversation, as if my input were invaluable. When talking just to me, he had the enviable knack of making me feel like there was no one else within a twelve-foot radius, even though people surrounded us.

Eventually we worked our way through the crowd to find a quieter corner, Tybalt grabbing two glasses of champagne from a tray on the way. He held out his flute expectantly. I stared at it a moment before clinked mine with his, which satisfied him.

"Have you enjoyed yourself this evening?" Tybalt asked me over the rim of his glass.

I paused before answering. "It hasn't sucked," I replied meaningfully.

"I have had a very pleasant time. You have been an exceptional companion this evening, with refreshing and insightful comments on what you see." Tybalt's lips curled in an understanding smile. "And you handled the pompous people well. It's not all fun and games, I know, but I'll take you somewhere more fun next time."

I was so pleased with his praise I almost missed the rest of what he said. Almost.

"There'll be a next time?" I questioned softly, more to myself than anyone else.

"Won't there be?" he asked -- more demanded, really -- and drained his glass.

I shook my head. "You know something? You're too cocky for your own good."

"Perhaps," he conceded, "or perhaps I'm just someone who knows what I have to offer, and how good I can be, given the opportunity."

I almost believed. Everything he'd said and done all night had been nothing short of charming, winsome and downright charismatic. And one glorious PR exercise. With a firm set of the jaw, I looked up at him. Tybalt was regarding my face carefully.

He leant back against the wall and dropped eye contact, studying his fingernails. "Tell me, Harley... your band. Are you any good?"

I blinked. Definitely not what I was expecting. "Good? We're great!" I answered loudly. "We have great original songs, and are getting better gigs all the time."

"But you're still not signed with a label..."

"Well, no," I scratched the back of my neck. "We just need an exec to listen to a demo. That's all they need to do, and we're in for sure."

"I see," Tybalt tapped a tapered forefinger against his lips, "so all you're saying is... you're good and you know it, but just need to be given a chance... right?"

"Yeah, that's r-" My mouth snapped shut at the implication. Ow.

"Does that make you more or less cocky than I?"

I opened and closed my mouth a few times in an attempt to answer, but nothing really came out. Just as well, I didn't have any words anyway.

Tybalt pushed himself up off the wall and inched closer. "I didn't ask that to embarrass you, Harley. Just to determine whether you understand where I am coming from," he paused, before adding, "I see that you do."

We shared an intense moment of eye contact. It seemed to last forever. It took an eternity for him to glide closer to me. I could see with clarity the perfect bow of his lips, their coral pink shade, and his white teeth. Closer...

The raucous sound of someone laughing loudly at one of their own humorous anecdotes broke the spell. I stepped back from him a pace and looked away. My face was growing warm. Tybalt spared an annoyed frown for the loudmouth before cupping my elbow in his hand. I automatically began walking, the way I had all night when he touched me to lead me somewhere.

"Come with me," he said in a gravelly voice. "There's a quiet room not far from here..."

*~*~*~*

"Let me kiss you." His words caught me off guard. Dimly registering it as a demand more than a request, I turned around incredulously. His face was so... bare. It nearly hurt me to look through the crack in his armour, for that's what it was.

"You're asking me?" I queried, trying to make light of the situation.

"Strictly as a formality," he replied. The chinks realigned themselves, the nakedness gone. I only saw what he wanted me to see now, which incidentally, was desire at its most potent.

He leaned closer. I smelled his aftershave, musk and spice, felt his warm breath on my cheek. So very close to me, he whispered, "I don't want to get punched again."

And then he kissed me.

I remember his first kiss. It was unexpected and unwelcome, and I felt sick to my stomach. It was none of those things this time... though it did make my stomach queasy. It's more commonly known as 'butterflies'.

His mouth was flavoured with the champagne we'd both had to drink. Mine too, but somehow it tasted different coming from him. At least, his tongue dancing over my taste buds made it seem different, though maybe I was too preoccupied to really notice.

It only occurred to me then that I was running out of breath -- he had robbed me of my oxygen and I gasped. Tybalt pulled away from my mouth slowly, allowing me to inhale.

"I think I fell in love with you the moment I met you."

My pupils couldn't have dilated any more if they tried. My hands shook, cold sweat trickled down my neck, and in the face of such declarations I was graceful and elegant in speech.

"...oh."

" 'Oh' indeed," he murmured before I felt his mouth and lips once again. He coaxed my lax tongue into movement. My legs stopped working then, something wrong with the knee joints. They failed to support me, and I started to fall. Luckily, I threw my arms around his neck and didn't kiss the floor. Instead I kissed something else entirely.

Again... and again... and again.

Later on when I thought back to this moment, I remembered being terrified of falling. I also realised I'd already dangled one foot over the edge of a very dangerous precipice.

He shuffled me backwards, until the back of my knees hit the couch that I vaguely remembered being next to the wall. I fell down into a sitting position and away from his succulent lips. My skin was flushed and I'm sure my cheeks were as scarlet as his hair. And if they weren't before, they were after I realised my eyes were level with his stomach.

Tybalt moved then. I saw his chest, then shoulders, throat, chin, eyes. I looked down on him as he knelt in front of me. A hand came up to stroke the side of my face, and he smiled. Then fingers curled around the back of my neck and he began to pull us together again.

I grabbed Tybalt by the lapels of his shirt and pulled him to me.

I didn't really know what I was doing, all I knew was that kissing him felt like touching my tongue to a battery -- not smart, but it gave me a buzz.

That, and I kept doing it over and over again.

The couch dipped on either side of my thighs as he moved up to straddle my legs. I had to keep my face angled up if I wanted him to keep kissing me... and I did. I really did. Tybalt's hands hooked in the collar of my shirt, thumbs brushing my collarbones.

The tug of my shirt didn't register until he had both hands on my bared chest and sliding down. I'd had my eyes mainly closed up to that point, but they opened then. I saw his hands on my skin, and it flushing in response, heard my raspy breath and felt... out of control.

"Please..." I choked out my first word in a good long while, putting my hands over his, "stop," I panted out, weakly pushing them away.

Tybalt's mouth was already descending onto my neck. He kissed me there and pulled back, eyebrows raised slightly. I answered the silent question by attempting to solidify the jello of my legs and stand. Quite difficult when he was on top of me, but I tried nonetheless.

His hands slid down my arms and took my hands even as he stood. Tybalt held them for a moment, his usually perfect hair slightly mussed. I really wasn't sure what he was going to do or say. It wasn't like he'd been working with an unresponsive party.

"Well," he said, and hoisted me up to my feet. We nearly touched noses. "I'd better get you home, then."

*~*~*~*

The ride back to Aurora's in the limo was not entirely uncomfortable, nor was there the baited banter of the trip to the art gallery. He directed the driver to put on a specific piece of classical music, but didn't blast it. Instead, he left it low and soft, so that it tickled my ears.

Tybalt picked up the bottle of champagne we had sampled on the way in from the ice and gestured to it. The last thing I needed then was more alcohol. I already feared my judgment had suffered greatly. I politely declined. Tybalt shrugged and poured out half a glass for himself.

He was draining the glass when we arrived at our destination. I know knew he was finishing because I was using the reflection of the tinted windows to watch his Adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed.

The driver pulled up in front of Aurora's apartment block. I opened the door and shimmied out, only to have Tybalt slide out behind me. "I always walk my... companions... to their door," he smiled. We walked up the path together until I got to the main door. I turned around to say goodnight and stepped back until I hit the door, slightly startled. He was right behind me.

He was so close once again, I could see the different colours that made his eyes green. "I would say I'd call you," Tybalt ran the back of two fingers down the side of my cheek, "but I don't think you'd give me your phone number..."

I couldn't deny that. I still felt skittish about a lot of things, and having Tybalt ring Aurora's whenever he pleased wouldn't exactly alleviate that. His fingers reached my chin, and he gripped it gently, angling me up for a kiss. I was expecting a big tongue affair like before, but he surprised me with a lingering but purely lip kiss.

Brushing his thumb across my lower lip briefly, he showed me his teeth once again before he took a step back and began to walk away. I watched, unsure of what was going to happen next. But he just kept walking.

"The café," I said softly, though it was loud enough for him to hear me. Tybalt had reached the door of the limo, but turned slowly. "I'm working from 10 until 5 tomorrow..." I let the sentence dangle, not even sure of what I was offering.

He smiled enigmatically. "Alright." Before I knew it, he'd disappeared from sight, and the limo pulled away from the curb.

Still up against the door, I let it support me for a while before sliding down slowly to sit on the concrete doorstep.

This feeling was not unlike falling.

*~*~*

Tybalt visited me the next day, and the day after that. Not every single day, but enough so that I came to expect his presence, and notice his absence.

He brought gifts with him -- little trinkets, really. A flower, candy, chocolate, some hand-drawn card that had perverse and yet still amusing double entendre.

His visits broke up my day. A familiar face to get coffee for, trade banter with, and was a pleasing conversationalist. It didn't hurt that he tipped well, either. And a few times I let him take me out to lunch during my break.

Aurora would frown at me. I knew I didn't exactly have her blessing, but she kept quiet about it most of the time. A 'tut tut' with her tongue and a quick shake of the head was her usual response. But Tybalt was a paying customer, so she let it slide.

There was the day she told me it wasn't right to lead someone else on while things with Mikhael were still unresolved, like I was fishing for her approval or something. And you know, I missed Mikhael. I missed him so much, but I told her in no uncertain terms that things with him would stay unresolved as long as he didn't approach me first, and that I wasn't leading Tybalt on.

She didn't look convinced, and I couldn't blame her. Even I wasn't sure I believed that last one.

Aurora didn't offer her opinion after that.

Tybalt and I clocked up four lunches, two afternoon coffees, one movie after work, and a brunch together. Before I knew it I had been -- I guess you could call it 'seeing him' -- for two weeks. I didn't notice the time go because... to be honest, I was waiting for it to get bad. For him to be an asshole or a jerk, something I could latch onto and hate, and for it to signify an end to this weird relationship we had going.

A relationship where we parted company with short kisses that scalded my lips like a brand.

It was strange to be hoping for something awful to happen. If it did, at least I would know where I stood, what to expect. At least I would have clarity, and not feel so confused and swept away inside. I felt bad for Mikhael who was too stubborn to come after me, and Tybalt who was too stubborn to let go, and me who was too stubborn to admit I didn't know what I was doing.

Or where my actions were leading.

*~*~*

"He's miserable without you," Cy entreated, "he wants you to come home."

"Cyan," Skids interrupted in a warning voice. Cy held up a hand abruptly to silence my other friend. Skids snapped his mouth shut, jaw tight, waiting for him to finish.

"He's so sorry, and he needs you back. Look, you've made your point clear... couldn't you just talk to him about it?" Cyanide finished speaking before gesturing for Skids to finish. I didn't mean to be rude, but I butted in before Skids could open his mouth.

"You know, I really don't think I have made it clear enough," I bit out. "He threw me out, not the other way around. I wanted to talk about it, and he didn't want to hear me, not the other way around. Now I should go crawling back to him?" I laughed. "He needs me... maybe so. But this isn't all about what Mikhael needs. What about me? Don't my needs count for anything?"

Cy gripped my hand across the table. "You're making a mistake, Harl. I don't want to see you two broken up and miserable."

"Because you've always been so pro-us before, right?"

He went quiet for a moment. "That wasn't fair."

I took my hands away. "No, but it was accurate. Since when have you two been such good friends?"

"Since--" he clammed up then, panic flashing across his face for an instant. His eyes yo-yoed back and forth from Skids to myself. "Look, that isn't the issue. The point is--"

"You're trying to guilt Harley into getting back into a relationship he's not ready to re-enter," Skids interjected calmly. We both looked at him in mild shock. He glanced placidly back at us. "That's right, isn't it?"

"You're way off-base, dude," Cy shook his head. "I'm just trying to set everything straight again."

"Maybe... maybe this is right," Skids continued. He waited for one of us to interject, and continued when met with silence. "I'm not saying break up for good, but if Harley needs some time to sort things out, he should have it, and not be pressured into anything. Not by Mikhael, not by you, not by Aurora, not by me."

Cy gave Skids a wounded look. It lasted a second in reality, but felt like a lifetime. "I'm sorry," he said sullenly, offering his hands palms up to both of us, "I want you guys to get back together because... I feel like this is my fault."

"Cyan, your heart is in the right place, but your reasons are selfish," Skids said gently, taking his left hand, "don't you think Harley should be the one to decide what's best for himself?"

"....You're right." He looked at me, somehow seeming miserable and hopeful all at once. Kind of like how I felt. "I'm sorry," he repeated, this time to me, "I feel responsible, and it's killing me."

I took Cy's hand and squeezed. "You didn't help," I admitted, "but it's not you. It's... Mik. He has these trust issues and..." I trailed off, something occurring to me.

Here I was bitching about Mikhael and his trust issues, when I'd been seeing the probable cause of the birth of all his paranoia on a regular basis.

"Harley?" Skids asked, concerned.

"Oh... sorry. Just thinking... what were you saying?" It was a bad segue, but Skids indulged me, starting on a new topic.

I nodded half-heartedly; already knowing the next time we spoke, Tybalt and I were going to have a little chat.

*~*~*

We were halfway through lunch at this little gourmet sandwich shop when I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"I want to know how you and Mik broke up."

Tybalt paused, coffee cup halfway to his lips. And when I say paused, I really mean it. He didn't move a muscle, not for a long moment. I truly thought something might have happened to him. Did he have an off switch?

He blinked then, coming alive again. The coffee continued its journey to his lips where he drank some more. He swallowed a mouthful, a small smile ghosting his lips.

"You know, I expected you to ask this a lot sooner than you have."

"I'm not asking," I replied, tone firm. I needed to know. I wrote him off as an evil bastard, but that was before I spent some time with him. I knew it sounded bad, but I had to know what happened, because what Mikhael told me and what Tybalt exhibited to me were two different animals.

Of course, Tybalt could've just been a great showman.

Which was why I wanted to find out.

Tybalt pushed the plate of his half-finished turkey sandwich away and gestured to mine. "You done?" I nodded, discarding my own unfinished lunch. He stood, took a few bills out of his pocket leaving them on the table, smoothed his trousers and electrified me with his eyes. "Let's walk.

*~*~*

"I suppose Mikhael told you his side..." Tybalt began as we walked. I frowned slightly.

"Are you implying he didn't tell me the truth?"

"Not at all," he soothed, "I just meant he's told you about everything he knows about." He was right. I jumped on him over a play on words. "Really, Harley, sometimes you just have to take words on their face value."

I raised an eyebrow. Coming from him, that statement was not without a mother load of irony.

We moved towards the central courtyard to a bench near this hideous fern arrangement. He sat and gestured for me to sit next to him. I sat down close to the opposite edge of the bench. Tybalt noticed and shrugged. He idly watched some people walking past before he began, fixing his eyes on a distant spot and talking to it.

"The Arts Board was deciding to whom they would bestow their annual grant. It was a big deal; the person who won it would have the university's patronage and be in charge of lifting the distinguished institution's name through their success.

"The Board almost unanimously backed Mikhael's work, though there was some support for my own. Without the Dean's recommendation to me, I wouldn't stand a snowflake's chance in hell."

I watched him carefully as he spoke. The words came out softly, sometimes quite stilted, as if he'd never explained this to anyone outside his own head before.

"But she liked me, and in showing that I liked her, she was willing to consider me as her recommendation."

I straightened up and even slid further back on the chair, away from him. "So you slept with her."

"I did not sleep with her," he snapped back at me. Ordinarily, anyone answering that quickly would earn my suspicion, but somehow, I believed him. His face had an indescribable expression, but it was not that of a liar.

"Fine, you didn't have sex with her. But you were..." I searched for a word, "intimate?"

His silence spoke volumes. After a pregnant pause in which I studied his still features, he took up the story again, noticeably missing a portion.

"The Dean recommended me to the Board, her vote weighed heavily with them, I got the grant, here I am today."

I was confused. "But what about Mikhael?"

"Oh. He left me. Anything else?"

I glared at him. "Don't be difficult."

"This is difficult," he told me, a hard edge in his voice.

His attitude surprised me. I guess, I thought that when he told me this, it would be with an air of gloating, of flippancy, of pleasure. Tybalt looked... annoyed. And bitter. And sad, albeit so carefully controlled. I'd come to understand some of his masking techniques over the past weeks. He wasn't such an unreadable book to me now.

I tried another tactic. "You say he left you... I always thought--"

"That I left him? He would have you think that..." Tybalt shifted in the chair and stopped again. He seemed to be in deep thought, as if gauging what next to say, or how to say it. Finally, he spoke again. "Mikhael packed his things and was out of our dorm before I even got home."

I blinked. That really wasn't what I expected to hear. Tybalt's shoulders had sagged; his eyes were fixed at a spot on the pavers at our feet. Long strands of his hair fluttered down around his face like crimson ribbons. I couldn't seem to see his eyes.

"Why didn't you talk to him?" I asked softly. I almost berated myself at the sympathetic tone.

He laughed softly. "You know all too well what he's like when he's being avoidant." I winced. Considering recent events, I did know all too well. As badly as I felt for Tybalt, though, it didn't take away from what he did.

"He had a right to be. You cheated on him, Tybalt, just to get a stupid grant. Is it any wonder he didn't want to talk to you?" He looked at me then, and I was almost afraid. I was treading on a line with him that could easily be crossed. And I knew him well enough to know I didn't really know him well enough at all, or how he might react.

But, finally getting answers to a puzzle made me reckless and tactless with my questioning. "And then you don't come clean about it, and he accidentally finds out. You must not have loved him very much." The moment the words left my lips I knew I'd pushed too far. His eyes were the green of the sea, but shattered into a thousand pieces. They were faceted, reflecting the light. I couldn't see inside them, but they showed me snatches of emotion. I could currently see indignant anger.

Tybalt gave me a humourless smile. "You're so alike in some ways. You instantly think that my actions had anything to do with not loving him."

I balked. I had assumed he'd never loved Mikhael, because if he had, how could he have done something so awful? Tybalt continued to talk. "Mikhael doesn't talk about what bothers him. If something goes wrong, he isolates himself and plays the perfect martyr. Even if the circumstances had been beyond my control, he still would have left like he did. He loved me, but he never trusted that I loved him back."

His words made me feel sick with familiarity. "You weren't ever going to tell him, were you?" I whispered, my voice sounding scratchy.

"It didn't make a difference to how I felt about him, it was just something that happened," Tybalt answered in a low voice. "He never truly trusted me, and didn't stick around long enough to hear an explanation."

It all kept coming back to trust. We had both betrayed his trust with sins of omission. Oh, his was far larger than mine, but the repercussions seemed to be exactly the same, and exactly as extreme.

A sin of omission was still a sin. And for my slurring of his character, I was in essence as guilty as Tybalt was of deceiving Mikhael. It was just a kiss from someone I didn't even know, but to Mik, it might as well have been cheating on him to get a grant.

There was the longest silence; the only sounds between us were the scraping of my shoes on the sidewalk, and the bustling activity of the outdoor mall around us. Car horns from the nearby street, music from shops and restaurants, and the ever-present buzz of talking from the people around us.

"Would you do it again?" Tybalt fixed me with a questioning glance. I repeated my question, "If you could do it all over again, would you?"

He thought about his reply carefully. I saw him rolling words over in his mind, before he answered. "I am unable to change my past, and am not given to regretful musings. But if I could, I wouldn't have allowed him to be hurt."

His words seemed to have levels of meaning that I had yet to grasp. They brushed the edges of my subconscious, but I couldn't wrap my fingers around them. There was something he wasn't saying, but I just didn't know what.

To tell the truth, I was still feeling shocked by the realisation of the similarity of our situations. In his past, and my present.

It was at that moment I wished more than anything to hate him. To look into his face and feel nothing but contempt. I looked into his face, all right, but I felt none of that. His face was drawn and tired looking, not cocky or smug at all. It carried the same kind of sadness I'd been wandering around for weeks wearing when forced to think about my situation.

I didn't hate him. I hated his actions with a fiery vengeance, but try as I might... he escaped my fury.

No, I looked into his face and I hated myself.

"I have to go," I stood up abruptly. "I have to... go," I finished lamely, unable to think of any kind of excuse.

He raised his eyes to me, looking quite resigned. "Alright, Harley," he said simply.

"Thank you for lunch," I stammered and turned, stumbling backwards a few steps before walking away quickly without looking back. Escaping him and his sympathy-procuring eyes and liquid-smooth voice. Trying to outrun my understanding of him.

I almost quite literally ran away from him. It wasn't until I was a good fifty feet away that I turned around for one last glance. He sat in the same place in the same position, watching the cars go by.

I spun around and ran the rest of the way back to the café.

~*~*~

Tybalt didn't show his face for a few days. At first I was grateful for the breathing space. I needed to digest what I'd learnt, and couldn't do it with him hovering. But after the fourth day, I began to worry. What if something had happened to him?

I'd had time to remember back and analyse the conversation. Every word, pause, expression and gesture ran through my head. There was just something about the way that he said everything, his voice, his posture, his eyes, that rang genuine.

Gullibility was something I could never be accused of. I could smell a rat at thirty paces. So either he was flying too low to be detected by my radar, or he was telling the truth. It was his side of the story, of course, but then again, my previous reference point had been Mikhael's side.

I thought back to Mikhael telling me his story. I'd always just assumed his Evil Ex had just screwed him over and left him high and dry. He never told me he left without talking to him. He never mentioned he packed up and left without another word.

Tybalt could have lied about that. But some things were just too raw to fake. When he told me that, I saw in his face the reflection of Mik telling me to pack my things and leave.

For a good two days I loathed myself. I'd put myself so much higher on the moral scale than him. I was so perfect. And yet I was walking down a path, my stride in his footprints. I couldn't give myself a clear answer, so I sought out someone else's.

"Skids, am I a bad person?" I asked, something in my voice sounding so desperate.

He had the comforting sense to look utterly mortified with my words. "What are you talking about, Harley?"

"Me. I let some jerk kiss me, and then didn't tell Mik because I knew it would upset him. Behold my surprise, I was right. And now I'm broken up and... I feel like I'm a person I was never supposed to be."

My friend looked physically pained at my words. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like? Because I feel like a... a liar and a cockroach."

"You're not," Skids replied firmly, hands clasped around my biceps. "You didn't really do anything wrong, and it's not like hurt was intended. Mikhael is being way too sensitive about this. He should trust you more."

Trust. There was that word again. He was doing exactly the same thing with me as he had done with Tybalt -- not even giving any kind of benefit of the doubt. I thought back to our conversation in the mall... Tybalt was genuinely affected by the events. Though I suppose Mikhael wouldn't have ever known if he had cut off all contact, and left like I'd been told.

Like I believed he did.

A long time ago I would have been horrified at the comparison, but I started to wonder how different Tybalt and I really were.

It was around that time that I also began to wonder whether Mikhael was the one with the problem, and not us.

*~*~*

Tybalt's house was on a fairly nice street, in a nice part of town. Two storeys straight up, not much of a yard, but I don't think they had that kind of thing back when the house was built. It looked Victorian, or something.

Though it still felt weird to admit, I was a little worried about him. It had been four days after all. It didn't seem like much, but when you'd lived over the past weeks where he hadn't let three consecutive days go past without paying me a visit, the deviation made me wonder. Plus, he'd been pretty upset the last time I saw him.

The old style wooden door had a gilt knocker. I touched it tentatively, before rapping twice and quickly. I stepped back and waited. There was shuffling on the other side, and I heard the sound of a key turning.

The door opened and I was faced with someone who was most definitely not Tybalt.

He was taller by a good few inches. Quite possibly even taller than Mik, though it would be a close call. Blond hair fell in a perfect wave, half obscuring perfect blue eyes with a perfectly straight nose, down to perfect lips and yes, a perfect chin.

"Can I help you?" he asked in a pleasant baritone.

"Tybalt O'Donnel?" I got out, playing with the hem of my jacket.

"I'm sorry, I'm Apollo N--"

"Oh, I know you're not him," I hastily corrected, "I'm looking for him." I suddenly felt like I was in the completely wrong place. What if I'd gotten the address wrong? "Is he... uh... home?"

He raised an eyebrow and gave me a quick once-over. "Is he expecting you?" Apollo asked after a long pause. Oh, so I had gotten the right place.

Why did he sound so suspicious, though? I was nervous and totally not cool, and that fact was not hidden at all well. "No, he's not expecting me. I just... I haven't seen him in a little while... I... wondered..." The eyebrow raise vanished, replaced by a frown.

Just who the fuck was this guy? I didn't have to tell him anything, no matter how great he looked. I mean, he wasn't my type, but he was gorgeous. Come to think of it, what was a Greek god like him doing answering Tybalt's door anyway?

He gave me a patronising smile. "Look, if you haven't heard from him in a while, there's probably a reason. I don't recommend you following him home again."

I felt utterly sick. Maybe Tybalt had just been a fine actor, and he and the blond bombshell got together to laugh at me every night. This was the defining moment of his jerk-dom that I'd been waiting for. I scowled and drew myself up to my full height. Granted, it didn't make a dent against his, but I felt better. If I were going to walk away, it wouldn't be with my tail in between my legs.

I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and stepped away. "Fine. Just tell him Harley stopped by to say 'fuck you'," I said caustically and turned.

"Harley... wait... you're Harley?" I stopped walking and turned again slowly. "The Harley Goldman?" he stepped forward, opening the door up further.

"Yes?" I confirmed in a guarded voice.

His face broke out into a genial smile. "I have standing instructions to let anyone named Harley in." He laughed in that way people do when they say something that's amusing only to them.

I stepped to the threshold slowly. "How do you know who I am?" I asked. He had stepped inside and away from the doorway to allow me to enter.

"I've heard a lot about you," he replied. After a moment's hesitation I stepped in.

"Funny, he's never mentioned you to me," I remarked idly, then realised how rude I sounded. The comment was taken in his stride, though. He stuck out his hand. I shook it slowly.

"It doesn't surprise me. I'm Apollo Newburg. Can I take your jacket?" His sudden change in attitude caught me slightly off-guard, but I let him take it from my shoulders anyway. "I carry the dubious honour of being Tybalt's best friend." He hung my jacket on the stand next to the door and gestured to a hall to the right. We walked through.

"I don't mean to pry, but... do you live here?" I asked Apollo.

"Yes. Technically, Tybalt owns this house, but there's a lot of upkeep on it, especially for one person. I live here and we share the living expenses."

"Oh." I followed Apollo meekly through a nicely decorated sitting room.

"Would you like something to drink?" he offered.

"No. Thank you. I'd just like to see Tybalt."

"Certainly. He's in the studio. Come with me." Apollo walked me past a decorative staircase to the back of the bottom level. There was a white door ajar. He gave me another pleasant smile and knocked on the door with his knuckles before opening it. His tall body obscured my vision, but I caught a glimpse of red hair.

"'Pol," an irritated voice said, "I don't want to be disturbed."

"Oh, I think you might need a break," Apollo answered, blithely ignoring the edge in Tybalt's voice. I stepped out from behind the blond to see Tybalt sitting on a stool, his back to the door. Shoulders straightened up and he turned on the swivel top of the stool.

"Who are you to tell me what you think I--" he stopped, seeing me. He waited for a very long moment, studying me unabashedly, "--need," he finished, standing up. Without the hem of my jacket to play with, I resorted to twirling a silver ring I wore on my thumb around and around.

"I'll leave you two to it, then," Apollo backed out of the room and shut the door behind him. We were alone.

He walked over to a bench and picked up a rag, wiping his hands.

"It's a beautiful house," I offered first, to fill in the silence. Tybalt gave me a small, brittle smile and a shrug.

"My inheritance," he answered.

Silence again.

Tybalt leant back against a tall wooden table, crossed his arms and ankles and gave me a curious look. "So what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"The recent lack of you in mine," I said. He raised a red eyebrow ever so subtly. I elaborated. "You haven't been to the café in a few days."

Tybalt digested this information over the course of a long pause. "You seemed upset. I thought it best that you had some time to think."

Truth was, I didn't want to think. The more I did, the less the option of Tybalt seemed like a bad idea. He could have so easily leapt on my weakness in my deliberation over the past few days like some carrion bird. The image of Tybalt as a squawking vulture popped into my head, making a very inappropriate laugh burst from my mouth.

Tybalt looked puzzled. "What's so funny?"

"I was worried about you, asshole!" I exclaimed. He looked a little surprised at my statement, but ended up taking my words as a compliment. A grin broke out slowly over his face.

"Really?"

I threw my arms up in the air. "See, that clinches it. I've been wanting and hoping to find something horribly bad about you -- and don't think I haven't been looking! -- but it hasn't happened the way I thought it would."

Truth. I thought he'd lie about the breakup, but he didn't. I didn't like what Tybalt did by any means, but god help me I actually sort of understood.

I expected to hate him -- his arrogance and confidence and manner. I ended up getting to know him -- and like that man.

He walked towards me slowly, taking even and steady steps. "You sound disappointed."

I glared. "Why can't there be something horrifically wrong with you?"

I knew I sounded like a rude prick, but he took it all in his stride. "I'm going to take that as a commendation and say 'thank you'." He was only three steps away from being pressed up against me. I stood my ground.

Over the past few weeks, I'd been blatantly ignoring Tybalt's sex appeal in a vain attempt to stay sane. My defenses were almost worn down to nothing in that department. I did my best not to stare, but it was hard given what he was wearing. Tybalt wore a smudged white shirt. It was open, showing me a sculpted torso. The shadow of dark red hair trailed down over the soft curve of his lower belly to disappear beneath the waistband of thin gunmetal grey pants. I followed the line down, to see bare feet. His hair was tied back, though parts had worked their way out, the red locks that hung down made his face look long.

"So you don't think I'm arrogant?" Step.

"I don't think you're as arrogant as I first thought," I corrected, refusing to step back, but leaning my body backwards a little.

"But you were worried about me." Step.

I wished he'd not bring that up. Though maybe my more immediate concern was how close he had gotten.

"Let's get one thing straight; I still think you're cocky, sometimes conceited and have selective honesty."

"I'm working on it," he breathed, stepping forward that last foot and joining our lips together. It was a long, deep kiss, which turned into a series of long, deep kisses.

We hadn't kissed like this since his show at the gallery, and it was every bit as electric as I remembered. His hands traveled down my back to my hips, where they pulled me against him. Involuntarily, I laced my fingers around the back of Tybalt's neck, keeping him close.

I felt his hands on the bare skin of my back, as he had lifted the hem of my shirt up to make contact with skin. His hands were cool against my flushed and heated flesh. They soothed and stoked fire all at once.

I stumbled backwards a few paces, and Tybalt used my momentum to carry me backwards so that my back pressed up against the door. I felt the knob digging into my hip and made a small sound of discomfort. His lips broke away from mine, and he moved back just slightly so that I wasn't forced against it. Supple fingers stroked the place where it had dug into me.

"Not here," he murmured, planting little kisses on my swollen mouth. Tybalt pulled away from me then, short of breath. His eyes held desperation. I knew because I felt the same kind of urgency.

The doorknob creaked as it turned, and I felt the draft from outside on my shoulder. Tybalt's hands slid up my body slowly, mussing my clothes, and brushed either side of my face with the back of his hands.

"Come with me," he entreated in a voice thick with desire... for me.

I nodded mutely.

Taking my hands, Tybalt led me out of his studio. I wasn't forced to go anywhere my feet weren't willing to take me. When we got to the staircase, one look into his eyes and I climbed them voluntarily.

My sneakers sank into the plush carpet. I watched in a kind of drunken fascination as Tybalt's pale, bare feet did the same ahead of me. The stairs curved up and around to the top level. My hand, damp with sweat, slipped on the polished wooden balustrade many times, though I didn't trust myself to walk without holding on.

I kept my head down, just watching my legs move automatically one after the other up the stairs, so that it came as quite a surprise to me when I reached the landing. Tybalt pressed me momentarily up against the balustrade, allowing me to feel his hard and beautiful body up against mine. Lips ghosted close to mine before he pulled away and offered me his hand.

I took it. He rubbed his thumb across the tendons on the back of my hand, and led me towards the door at the other end of the landing. Almost as suddenly as I was in the room, I was pressed up against the inside of the closed door, being kissed like I ached to be.

He did more with his hands this time, rolling up my t-shirt to clamp his hands around my bare stomach. I shivered in delight. The palms were so soft. Tybalt pulled me up away from the door and lifted my shirt even higher. I automatically raised my arms, and he peeled it off my body.

Tybalt's open shirt allowed me to see much of his gorgeous body, but I wanted to see more. I skimmed my hands over his shoulders and flicked the shirt off them. His skin was smooth and cool to the touch, though as soon as my hands came into contact with it, it began to heat up.

So it came to be that we were both naked from the waist up and panting. He ran those soft palms over me in something near to awe. I hadn't felt this cherished or desirable to anyone in so long. His eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of the gold hoop in my belly button. Tybalt touched it gently, then again, tugging on it. I inhaled quickly, the little bolts of pleasure shooting through me more than addictive.

Tybalt's hands reluctantly left the ring only to be engrossed in unbuttoning my fly. I kissed his neck and panted into his shoulder as he did. His skin was salty with sweat and it tasted good to me. My hands wound their way into his hair, snagging on the elastic band that held most of it away from me. I wanted to feel it loose and run my fingers through it, but I wasn't sure if I could.

Tybalt looked at me and inclined his head slightly. He wanted me to. His fingers halted at my waist as I gingerly pulled the band out of his hair. I felt his gaze on my face as I concentrated on removing it gently without tugging.

Waterfalls of copper hair fell about his shoulders. The strands framed his face perfectly, and seemed to soften some of the distinct lines. His eyes shone more in the red glow of his hair. I stroked it wondrously and he smiled like a large cat. Tybalt leant forward and kissed me. My fingers tightened in his hair and I whimpered.

Before I knew it, I was stepping out of a puddle of denim jeans on the floor, and he was pulling me by my underwear towards the bed.

*~*~*~*

I squinted at the bright light in my eyes and rolled over to bury my face in the pillow. It smelled nice. Different, but nice. A strange combination of fresh linen, spicy cologne and sex.

Tybalt.

My eyes blinked open, but I hastily shut them. Sunlight poured through the window and it hurt. I turned away and propped myself up. The pale cream sheet and dark red woolen blanket that had been keeping me warm slipped down to pool in my lap. I looked around the room. Tybalt's bedroom.

It was not as decorative as the rest of the house, but still lovely. It seemed to be mainly red and white, accented with black. All the furniture was timber and seemed heavy and old. A small gilt mirror was on the wall, as well as a few paintings. I couldn't tell whether they were his own or done by someone else.

It wasn't really what I expected. Not that I'd given too much thought to Tybalt's bedroom, but the odd idea had crossed my mind of him having mirrored ceilings and a 6 foot tall framed photograph of himself. But the room was pleasant. It had a nice feel to it, as well as being slightly exotic and interesting.

There was a small analog clock on the bedside. I squinted again, damning the horrendously bright light that my eyes weren't adjusting to. The big hand was pointing to the 6 and the little hand was--

The door swung open. I heard a quiet creak and a soft footfall. Something about the situation made a previously inactive modesty gland fire up, and I pulled the covers up to my chin. Tybalt entered the room holding two steaming mugs. The smell of rich coffee tickled my nose.

He wore a robe trimmed with lace. Ordinarily a guy wearing that would have elicited mocking laughter from me. But for some reason, the garment fitted in well with the décor of the house, and suited him as well. It was definitely not feminine.

The first thing he did upon stepping into the room was put the coffee carefully down on a chest of drawers and moved to close the deep red drapes. The room's harsh light diffused into a warm, pink glow which was far kinder on my bleary morning eyes.

"Better now?" he asked. I nodded mutely.

Tybalt picked up the coffee mugs again and handed one to me. It smelled palatable and good and hot. As I took the mug from him, the covers dropped away from my shoulders. I felt a little exposed and vulnerable, and scrabbled to hitch them up again. Tybalt laughed softly and sat reasonably close to me on the bed, warm mug cradled in his palms.

I sipped the coffee, for it gave me something to do. Sat and wondered what I was going to do next. I'd never slept with anyone else before, I'd never been in this awkward and alien situation before.

Never slept with anyone else... ever. My brain chose then to bombard me with memories from last night; of fingers curled in red hair, teeth at my neck, hands everywhere at once. Smooth skin and hard muscles pressed up against me. I involuntarily reacted to some of that imagery and was grateful for the pools of fabric at my waist.

I ended up gulping the hot coffee down with my nerves, feeling Tybalt's eyes on me as I did so. My stomach turned, not used to the slightly stronger brew so quickly first thing in the morning. Tybalt's eyes still bore holes into me.

I looked at him, then. His expression was quite neutral, I couldn't tell much from it at all. The silence hurt my ears.

"I thought I was prepared for this particular part," Tybalt said unexpectedly.

"What part?" I asked, though I had a good idea what he was talking about. I wanted to hear him say it.

"The part where you wake up in my bed looking disheveled and sleepy and incredibly sexy," he replied matter-of-factly.

My cheeks went pink and I scratched the back of my head with my hand. Sure enough, my hair was spiking up every which-way. Tybalt rested his mug on the bedside and moved a little closer again. His thumb brushed my blushing cheekbone slowly and gently.

"I'm not prepared because you look far more beautiful than I ever pictured."

".....oh," I said, feeling incredibly warm. A small smile touched his lips, and I was utterly enraptured by him, and everything about him.

"Yes, 'oh'," his smile widened and he took my almost-empty coffee mug from my hands. He leant closer, and I dove from my wall willingly, sailing towards the ground with a smile on my face.

"What time is it?" I asked, hands fisting in the blankets around my waist. I felt the heat from his body on my naked and tingling skin.

"Not time to get up yet," Tybalt answered before his lips touched mine.

I don't remember speaking any more after he bore me to the mattress once again.

*~*~*~*

Aurora was none too impressed with me when I turned up late for my shift. I listened to her complaints with feigned contriteness. Putting on my apron, I couldn’t help but think that she should’ve been grateful I turned up at all; Tybalt had put forward some very convincing arguments for playing hooky. After spending the morning with him, my resolve had held out just long enough to reluctantly decline his offer of a morning shower.

“Where were you last night?” Cyanide quizzed me, stopping by after class.

“How do you know I was out?” I asked, wiping the bench.

“Aurora rang me when you didn’t come home. She said you went out after your shift without telling her where you were going. Asked if you was with me or Skids.”

“So what, you’re all my keepers now?” I answered quickly, rubbing the rag furiously.

Cy put his hands up in surrender. “No one’s saying that. She was just worried.”

“I went out. No big deal,” I shrugged.

“Ok, fine,” he chewed on a large oatmeal cookie and looked at me over his hands. “So where were you, then?”

About then was when I lost my cool. “What is it with everybody wanting to know every detail of my personal life?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Who’s ‘everybody’?”

“You, Aurora...” I opened my mouth to list someone else and snapped it shut again. I had nothing. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I’m sorry, Cyan. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” There was a pause in conversation. Maybe he sensed it wasn’t the right time to push, because he left it at that, and for that I was grateful.

“I can tell you what I was doing last night if you want...”

I gave a tired smile. “What did you do last night, Mr Torres?”

“Supervised a teen girl pizza and movie party,” he groaned and put his head on his folded arms, “Mama was working late, I got lumped with the chore.”

“Sounds hideous,” I mock-sympathised.

“I was lucky I didn’t come away with my toenails painted sparkly pink.”

We stood around and talked for a while until Aurora shooed me off to serve customers. Just as I was walking away, Cyanide reached out and grabbed my arm loosely.

“Harl, I know this is kind of a messed up time, and you might need to go off on your own for a while -- I get that. It’s just...” he sighed, “I know I’m tangled up with Ronnie sometimes, but I’m still here for you, and so is Skids. If you need us, we’re always going to be here to listen to you, or help out, or anything you might need.”

I realised then how little I’d had to do with my friends since this whole business went down. I hadn’t told them anything, hadn’t even told them that I was dating -- was that what I was doing? -- someone else.

Also, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d even gone out to do anything together! That just wasn’t like me at all.

Apart from being unfair to them, keeping my best friends out of my life, I needed to tell someone. It was so much to deal with on my own.


*~*~*~*




I made a bigger effort to be around my friends after my talk with Cy. We hung out and did all the things we’d always done. We jammed with Rasheequa, and practiced for a gig that she’d been able to get us. Skids wasn’t that inclined to bring it up, but occasionally Cyan would touch on the fact that I still hadn’t spoken to Mikhael. But that was something I wasn’t willing or prepared to talk about yet, especially not with them.

Especially since I spent all my time not taken up with my friends and my job with Tybalt.

He took me out to lunch and to dinner... out to clubs. We danced together! He could really move, too. Tybalt knew how to have a good time, and I found myself enjoying his company more and more.

Particularly when he would take me back to his place...

I admit, I felt weak in the physical department. It’s not like since I lost my virginity I’d actually been living the life of a monk, or even someone who had sex regularly, but moderately.

I was used to a lot. Of sex, of intimate physical contact, of a whole lot that I’d been doing without for weeks. Yes, poor hormonally driven boy, but apart from just pure lust, it had always been a way Mikhael had shown he’d loved and cared for me. Even the simple touches, brushing my bangs out of my face, letting me lean on his shoulder as he watched tv... I missed it.

He was firm with me when I needed him to be, gentle when I needed that. Tybalt was unlike anyone I'd ever hoped to be with, in that the dream of a sexy and skilled lover was far outstripped by reality.

Simply put, he was amazing. Every touch had a purpose, eliciting a response. Every touch was specifically geared to overload my senses and make me crave more. Every touch did just that.

There was no one else in bed with us when we had sex. Tybalt wouldn't allow either of us to carry any baggage into the bedroom. It was only ever him and me, which freed up much mental power to spend a lot of time exploring each other in the most intimate ways. He discovered exactly what it meant to be sucked off by someone who had their tongue pierced, and I learnt the immense pleasure the creative use of long red hair could provide.

I began to only scratch the surface at what his body was capable of, and by default, mine as well; the answer to both questions being 'anything'.

Tybalt provided me with what I sorely missed. But it was more than that. He wasn’t just a crutch for physicality because Mikhael wasn't interested. I was starting to... really like him for him. In that way.

He was a good companion, fun to be around, related well to me, smart, attractive. Devoted to me and my needs, and we had mind-blowing sex.

I was falling in love with him, and falling hard.

*~*~*~*

Tybalt flopped on the bed next to me, chest rising and falling almost as much as mine was. I rested my hand on his chest, tracing the damp skin. He caught my fingers and kissed them, breathing that little throaty chuckle I loved so much.

He pulled me closer, resting my head on his chest. I started out facing his toes, but found the view entirely too distracting, so I turned. He noticed why I did and smiled in that lazy tiger way -- heavily lidded and showing everything up to his eye teeth.

Tybalt traced a finger up my throat to my chin where he tugged gently on my goatee. "Are you free Saturday?"

I yawned. "When on Saturday? We have one more rehearsal at 11 before the concert that night."

"I was thinking Saturday morning for breakfast. Around... 7 o'clock?"

"7? Why would I be here so early?"

Tybalt grinned at me. "Well, obviously you'd be staying here the night before..." he trailed off, tongue slightly skimming the inside of his lips. I shivered and let my eyes slide shut as his fingers ran over my cheeks.

"So, you're still coming?" I asked him as he pulled me closer again, running his teeth across my jaw.

"Always," he growled.

I pushed away from him a little, mock exasperated. "I meant Saturday night."

"I know," he pulled me up further so our faces were across from each other, "I'll be there."

I shimmied down and put my head down on his chest once again, cheek touching bare skin. This was my decision.

I'd decided to stop skirting around what I was doing. If it were up to me to verbally tell them, I'm not sure I could mention to my best friends that I happened to be dating and sleeping with my boyfriend's ex.

Boyfriend. Mikhael. I still didn't know what to do about it. What to tell him, what to do. Maybe that was still to come. But first, I knew I was tired of keeping everything to myself, making excuses and telling half-truths.

I listened to Tybalt's breathing even out as he began to fall asleep. I stayed wide-awake. It was time to come clean.

*~*~*~*

I ran backstage, sweat pooling at the base of my neck making my hair wet. We kicked ass out there. The crowd wasn't huge, but it wasn't too small, either. They were enthusiastic and revved up from the band before. By the time we got on stage to do our set, they were ready for just about anything.

It was one of our better performances. I grinned at my friends and grabbed them all in a huge group hug in which we bounced and hollered loudly.

Ours was the last set of the night. After the show, everyone was going to mingle, have a few drinks and soak up the success.

Rasheequa and Cyanide went to get drinks, Skids availed himself of the bathroom, and I searched the milling crowd for Tybalt.

I found him towards the other side of the room, arms folded, holding a half-empty bottle of beer. It seemed he caught sight of me before I him because he was smiling at me as I walked up. Tybalt uncrossed his arms and opened his body to me as I reached him. Sliding his arms around my waist, I angled my face up for him to nuzzle my cheek.

"Great set," he purred into my ear, "you're really improving."

I pulled away slightly and looked up at him. "Think so?"

"Definitely. Your voice is much stronger in that note in 'Angel', and your delivery is a lot more confident and dynamic."

I was fairly well shocked and pleased. He actually paid attention to my passion, and he wasn't faking it. That was genuine interest.

Mikhael could never do that. It wasn't that he didn't support me or didn't think I had a good voice, but he could never really appreciate my music. In the end, it was all just noise to him. Tybalt gave me his support, which stemmed not just from liking me but also a love of my style of music. It made a difference to me, it felt different.

"Thank you," I said sincerely, standing on my tiptoes to take charge of a kiss on his lips. "So where were you standing? I couldn't see you from the stage."

"You were looking for me?" he grinned. I glared at him. He always picked up on the wrong thing.

"No. I just couldn't see you, is all."

"Riiight," he said. I glared again and he tilted his head to the side, changing tangents. "Not surprised you didn't see me. The only place safe from being trampled was a table at the back. I didn't have a really clear view of the entire stage."

I was somewhat disappointed and couldn't help sticking my bottom lip out a little. "You never saw me sing?"

"I said I didn't see the whole stage, not that I didn't see you. I wasn't really interested in looking at the rest of the band," he kissed my lip softly, then with more ardor.

'The rest of the band' reminded me. Suddenly, butterflies were in my stomach, because Tybalt was here to meet my friends. We'd talked about it before I came. Actually, he told me not to rush it, and if I didn't feel like introducing him to them, it was ok and he'd leave early.

But that wasn't fair. Not only was I not being fair to any of my best friends in letting them know what -- or who I was doing in my life, but it wasn't fair to Tybalt, either. Being The Secret.

I looked around nervously. 'Sheequa, Cy or Skids weren't in sight. A hand touched my cheek, guiding my face back to look into his.

"You don't have to, Harley," he said, shrugging, "I'll wait for you at home with a congratulatory bottle of chardonnay. Or beer," he raised one eyebrow slightly and smiled faintly.

I knew then that I would introduce him, and I would stop playing with everyone. I rubbed his arms. "No. They should be joining me any minute now. I'd like you to meet them."

Tybalt nodded, the smile on his face reaching his eyes just that little bit more.

As if on cue, 'Sheequa and Cyanide found me. I turned around, Tybalt behind me, and stepped forward.

"For you, Mr Goldman," Cyan passed me a beer. I looked into his face. His eyes still looked slightly crazed. After the euphoria of playing, it always took him a little to come down. Not saying we're all psychos, but we could stay majorly buzzed long after the gig was over.

"You rocked out there," 'Sheequa smiled, punching my arm happily.

"We rocked out there," I corrected, a large smile on my face. I grabbed them both in a hug and we bounced a little. I felt their arms go a little limp around me, and I remembered Tybalt.

I pulled back and studied both their faces. 'Sheequa looked calm and curious, an eyebrow raised. Cyan looked shocked, to put it mildly. His eyes jumped from Tybalt to me and back to Tybalt.

I decided to get some words in before anyone else spoke. "Guys, this is... Tybalt. I've been hanging out with him for a few months. Tybalt, this is Rasheequa Jackson and Cyanide Torres, my good friends."

'Sheequa stuck her hand out and Tybalt turned it over and kissed it. I was prepared for her to rip him open and give him the feminist lecture of a lifetime, but she gave him a small smile, unsure of what to do.

"Rasheequa, I believe I've heard a lot of good things about you," he said smoothly, with all the charm I’d come to expect. The effect was instantaneous, and the normally gung-ho ‘Sheequa uncharacteristically blushed.

He then turned to the sputtering Cyanide. "The inimitable Mr Torres. I must say we meet again on interesting terms." This also produced a flush, but of the enraged nature.

"Goddamnit, Harley, what are you doing with this bastardo?" Cy spat, never taking his eyes away from Tybalt. I felt rather than saw Tybalt's smirk, like he was about to detail exactly what I had been doing with him, but a look from me curbed a reply to that particular question. He stood there calmly and sipped his beer, putting the almost empty bottle down on a nearby table.

"Cy, I know it's weird but--" I trailed off. I really couldn't think of any way to finish that sentence, not when he was looking so increasingly angry.

"But what, Harley? He's a liar and a snake and a stalker and you broke his nose, for fuck's sake!"

"I'm in good company with a saboteur then, aren't I?" Tybalt put in caustically, matching Cyan's menacing forward lean. Cy took a step forward, a snarl on his lips. I made sure I was between them, a hand on either chest and shoved them both back with all my strength.

"What are you talking about, and where have you met before?" I yelled over the top of the noise around us. That implication hadn't escaped my notice. Tybalt was calm enough, except his eyes were taking on a slightly dangerous edge. Cy on the other hand looked suddenly like a deer caught in headlights. That didn't bode well.

I turned to my friend. "Cy, what is he talking about?" Cyanide was sullen. He wouldn't look at me, instead choosing to glare at Tybalt. Well, he did until I properly stepped in front of him and made him meet my eyes. Not easy being so much shorter than him, but I wasn't bullshitting him, I wanted to know.

Cy began to crack. "We can talk about this later," he shot another dirty look at Tybalt over my head, "when we're far far away from here." He grabbed my arm but I shook his grip from me.

"No, I want to hear it now," I demanded.

"It's really quite simple, Harley,” Tybalt interjected, sounding delightfully polite, “I first met your friend as he was putting some delightful chemicals in my washing machine after breaking into my house."

My mouth fell open a little, but I couldn't help the disbelieving smile on my face. "You didn't, did you?" It slowly faded when Cy's sullen expression changed to one begging me to understand. "Is it true?" I asked him.

"He's harassed you and followed you home. That doesn't exactly make him boyfriend material."

"Well, unless you've had a boyfriend, I don't think you can really judge," I snapped back.

"Dammit, Harley, stop splitting hairs!"

"Then don't avoid my question! Is it true?" Cy stayed silent, muscles working in his jaw. I folded my arms across my chest. "You broke into his house."

"It was a payback! For the spiders."

"I liked the spiders!" I shot back.

"Yeah, well, some of us didn't." Cyan matched my pose and folded his arms across his chest.

My eyes narrowed, and 'Sheequa backed out of my peripheral vision. Little pieces that hadn't seemed to make sense earlier started to. Mikhael and Cyanide's burgeoning little friendship, based on mutual dislike. Of course.

"He put you up to it, didn't he." Cy didn't say anything, but I had already figured it out; I wasn't really asking a question.

Cy blew air sharply from his lips and shook his head. He gestured sharply with his chin in Tybalt’s direction. "Why are you defending him?"

I was just about to answer when a bluish blur zipped past me and latched onto Tybalt.

"Tybalt! I can't believe you made it! I thought you said you already had plans," The figure said, wrapping arms around Tybalt's lithe frame. For his part, Ty looked a little surprised.

Cy and myself, however, mentally picked ourselves up off the floor. No, it wasn't a hallucination, Skids did just come barreling over to hug Tybalt. But the shock wasn't over. Tybalt gave a small smile and half-returned the hug.

"This place was my plan. I didn't know you were going to be here... but I'm happy to see you all the same." Skids brightened at this and smiled cheerfully. The smile turned questioning as he turned around to look at us all staring aghast and confused at him.

"What's going on?" he asked warily.

Cyanide blinked owlishly. "'What's going on?' What the fuck are you doing?!"

Skids' jaw ground a bit at the question. "Saying hello to a friend, Cyan. I do have other friends besides you."

"You can't be friends with that," Cy pointed an accusing finger.

Skids looked irritated. "What's with you, anyway? I can be friends with whoever I like. It's not like we've spent that much time together recently, I don't see your problem."

I glanced at Tybalt's face. He looked thoughtful, with a dawning understanding. Well, that made one of us. I guess I still looked pretty shocked because Skids turned to me, defensiveness colouring his voice. "We met over the internet, but really clicked. He's a good guy and we have fun together."

I opened my mouth to speak but Cy beat me to it. "Well, in any of your 'having fun together' did he happen to mention that he's Mik's ex?"

Skids' head snapped around to look at Tybalt. Tybalt closed his eyes, looking slightly pained. Cy pressed it. "I didn't think so. You know, he's just the guy that's stalked our best friend for months. I'll bet it wasn't even a coincidence he found you on the net."

Tybalt gave Cyanide a true look of death. "Do you want another black eye? Because just keep flapping your gums."

Cy stepped forward, but I pushed him back again. Skids was ready to stop Tybalt, but he didn't rise to the challenge.

"Did you know?" Skids asked Tybalt in a low voice. I'd never heard him use that tone. Tybalt looked right into his eyes and spoke equally as softly.

"No, Skids. I didn't know who your friends are. And I've never lied to you about who I am, either."

I couldn't take it anymore, the personal connections between everyone were alluding me. "What the hell is going on?!"

"What's so hard to understand, Harley?" Cy said maliciously. "Your fuckbuddy's been making sure all his bases are covered. Three against one are much better odds, right?"

"Cy, I can live without your opinion for five seconds, ok?" I hissed at him.

"Wait, wait," Skids held up his hands. His eyes slid between myself and Tybalt. "Are you two...?"

Tybalt put his hand on my friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Skids. I-"

"Don't talk to me just now," Skids ducked out from underneath his arm, refusing to look at him.

I took a step forward. "Skids."

"Not now, Harley," he said, also refusing to meet my eyes, holding his hands up warding everyone away. His face was angled down, but he was hurt. I knew that much.

"Skids?" Cy seemed to have lost some of his angry edge in concern. But Skids made no exception for him, either. His eyes didn't raise above chest level.

"No, please," he said. "I don't want... I have to go." Without another word, Skids left.

His exit stunned everyone, and left us all silent for a few moments.

"He's upset," Cyan said quietly, turning to me, "he's not the only one."

"I'm trying to explain, Cy, I really am." It seemed his calmer approach was more frustrating than his anger.

"Just tell me one thing. Have you seen Mikhael?"

"No, I haven't seen him. He threw me out of our home, and he made it pretty clear to me he did not want to talk, or hear anything I might have to say. I haven't seen him because he hasn't come to see me!"

Cyan turned pale under his olive skin. He looked at me with sad eyes. "Turn around." I couldn't help it; something in his voice compelled me to look.

Across the bar, over the noise and all the mingling people, I saw Mikhael. Our eyes met, and for a long moment, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his. My feet seemed stuck, I couldn't move. His face was immovable and expressionless, and before I had a chance to shake myself out of my stupor and do anything he turned in a swirl of black leather and left. My mouth opened instinctively to call out to him, but no sound came out. Not a scream, a word, a whimper.

"I had a feeling he might come," Cyanide said, "it would have been the perfect opportunity to catch up with you. I know he'd been wanting to see you for weeks," he stopped and shook his head, laughing. "Well, I'd better not keep you any longer. You're obviously a busy guy. C'mon, 'Sheequa."

They walked out, leaving me alone with Tybalt. He put a hand gently on my shoulder. "I'll take you back to your sister's."

"No," I said firmly, ignoring the itch in my eyes, "take me to your place. Please?"

He paused a moment. "Alright, Harley," he slid his hand down to rest on the small of my back as we left the bar.

*~*~*~*

The drive back to Tybalt's was conducted in silence. As he drove, I stared out the passenger side window. When we got to his house, he unlocked the door and hung his jacket up. My feet carried me straight upstairs. Legs felt so heavy, like my heart had dislodged itself from the centre of my chest and weighed down my limbs.

I pushed the door to Tybalt's room open and half-flopped, half-collapsed on the edge of his bed. Tybalt followed presently. His fingers hooked into the collar of my jacket and I let him take it off me.

"What's happened?" I asked him, my eyes wet. "Did I just ruin two of my oldest friendships?"

"It was a fight," Tybalt said, "everyone has them."

I shook my head and gave a little hysterical laugh. "That was not a normal fight."

"It was a very normal fight." Tybalt sat next to me, the bed dipping slightly as he did. "Give it some time. I don't know about the other one, but Skids is smart. I'm sure you'll be able to talk to him soon. Figure something out."

I looked at him strangely. He talked about my friend as if he were his friend, too, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the two of them meeting wasn't a coincidence. It was just too perfect.

"Was it true what he said?"

Tybalt began unbuttoning his shirt. "Which part?"

"That you met over the internet."

"It's true. Purely accidental, I assure you." His hands paused a moment. "He was lonely, and I was looking for someone to talk to. We met up and we just... hit it off. He's not like anyone else I know," Tybalt shrugged his slim shoulders slightly and continued undoing his shirt. "I didn't know he was your friend, and I wasn't messing with him, either."

I watched him talk, and I knew in my heart he was telling the truth. I found myself hoping Skids found it within his heart to forgive us -- both of us.

Tybalt leant back on the bed for a moment before sitting upright. He held his cordless phone in his hand. "Call him, if you like."

I shook my head. "No... no. I don't want to flood him. It'll be better if I try tomorrow." I looked up into Tybalt's eyes then. They were so green, and they glittered. I couldn't remember whether I'd ever seen eyes that were so beautiful. "Would you hold me?" I asked him, "I just... need--"

Tybalt wrapped his arms around me, and held me close. With a shuddery sigh, I let him comfort me.

*~*~*

I tried calling Skids the next day, and the day after that. Aurora was short-staffed and couldn't give me any time off to pay him a visit, and by the time I finished my shifts, I was too exhausted to get to the uni to visit his dorm. So I rang him in between customers and on my breaks. I got his machine every time. If Skids was there, he wasn't picking up.

It was so frustrating. I knew my friend was shocked and hurt, and I knew the best thing he could have was time. But I couldn't help wanting to fix everything.

Three days worth of phone calls left me feeling tired and in poor spirits. I rang Tybalt's doorbell after work. I'd finally earnt myself a 'get out of jail early' card, and Aurora let me off the hook without having to close up.

Apollo answered the door with his familiar genial smile. "Hello, Harley," he moved out of the doorway and held his arms out for my coat.

"Hi, Apollo. Is Tybalt here?" I handed him my jacket and he hung it up.

"In the sitting room." Apollo pointed in the right direction. I smiled wearily at him and walked through. There were audible voices coming from the room. Tybalt was obviously in there with someone already. I nervously poked my head around the corner.

Skids sat on the chaise lounge, one leg curled up underneath his body, sipping from a mug. Tybalt sat on the opposite side, legs crossed, with a mug of his Brazilian coffee cradled in his hands.

Tybalt saw me enter the room and acknowledged me with a nod and a smile. Skids turned around to see who he was looking at. He caught sight of me and quickly looked away. I cringed visibly. Tybalt gestured to a chair sitting directly opposite the lounge. "Would you like to take a seat?"

I wasn't really sure that I should, but Tybalt nodded encouragingly. Hey, if he was encouraged, maybe I stood a chance. Trying to stay positive, I smiled winsomely, knowing that I probably looked like a total tool. Tybalt raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly.

"Harley, can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine," I said, watching Skids, hoping he'd look at me.

"Great, I'll just go get one, then." To my horror, Tybalt got up gracefully and exited the room, leaving Skids, heavy silence, and myself alone together. We were quiet maybe thirty or forty seconds, but it might as well have been thirty or forty minutes.

I scratched my arm uncomfortably. "So, you guys talked?"

"Yeah," Skids answered softly, finding something incredibly interesting in his mug. There was a pause where I thought he wasn't going to answer, and desperately tried to think of something else to say when he unexpectedly continued. "I'm still not alright with some stuff, but... I have to remember that he's been a good friend to me." For some reason, I felt that what he said could also be applied to me in some way.

"Skids, I--"

"I've got some things I want to say first, Harl," Skids interrupted, "is that okay?"

"Sure," I said, falling silent. Skids took a deep breath, and began speaking.

"I know you're going through something huge. It's been upsetting and not pleasant for anyone. But even before that I felt a little out of the loop. And I ended up making a new friend, who took time out to be with me a little when you guys couldn't. I'm not... I'm not angry. I just feel really unimportant to you right now." He met my eyes then with his soulful hazel pools. "Why couldn't you tell me what was going on in your life?"

"I... I couldn't tell anyone," I admitted, "it was so much. This guy who I thought I hated with every part of me actually turned out to be kind of decent, and nice to me. The shock of being thrown out, plus that... I wasn't sure what was happening or how to handle anything. It was very overwhelming."

"If it was so overwhelming, maybe it would have been good to share."

I got up from the chair and sat in Tybalt's spot across from him. "Yeah. I should have. I did the entirely wrong thing, and I know that now. Skids, I promise you I will never do that again." I put my hands on his knee. "I thought I'd lost you as a friend, and I've never felt pain like that before. You're too important to me to lose. I won't ever take that risk again."

The great thing about us was that that was all the apology and explanation needed for him. Skids put his mug down on the little coffee table quickly, wrapping his arms around my neck. I hugged him back so tightly. "I love you," he whispered into my ear.

"I love you, too," I choked back into his neck. We sniffed and teared up and were generally less than manly, clinging onto each other like little kids. I started it first, though. A cough turned into a little laugh. His sniff was really a giggle. And we held each other and brokenly laughed. Why, I don't really know. At least, we did until we both heard a tsking tongue.

"In my living room, no less, and me without a camera." Tybalt stood in the doorway, a small smile on his face. Skids and I broke apart, laughing embarrassedly, but with a whole lot of relief, too. He winked, whether to me or Skids, I don't know -- I think both of us -- and made to leave again.

"Wait, you don't have to go," I called out after him.

"You need more catching up time," he replied without turning around, "take as much as you want."

I watched his languid walk simultaneously admiring the view and appreciating the man. And I also noticed Skids watching him walk away, too.

"So, do you think you two will be friends again?" I asked.

Skids nodded slowly. "Yes. I mean, the guy you told me about seemed like a scary and mean guy. And I am not happy at all about the things he did to you -- and I told him so -- but that's not who he really is. We've all got layers, and underneath the snobby attitude, he's... funny. And a good listener. And fun to be around."

I watched Skids talk, watched him really believe what he was saying with every part of him. And I knew it was true, because it seemed we were finding out the same things about the same guy at the same time. What are the odds? Which made me think...

"Skids... are you... that is to say... do you have a crush on him?"

"No!" he answered awfully quickly, cheeks going slightly pink. Whether from indignation or guilt I couldn't tell.

"I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you did. He's handsome and charming and stuff," I suddenly felt awfully awkward asking whether my best friend had the hots for the guy I was seeing.

Skids patted my leg and gave a little smile. "I really don't, Harley," he said and left it at that. I wasn't entirely sure I believed him, but he did sound serious enough that I dropped the topic. It wasn't worth pursuing right now.

We lapsed into a momentary silence again, my mind turning to more serious matters.

"Have you spoken to Cyan?" I asked quietly.

"Yes."

"How is he?" I ventured, knowing the answer couldn't be that good.

"He's... still pretty angry. I don't know whether it's more at you for being with him, or me for being friends with him," Skids sighed. "He's yelled a lot. But that's just because he's upset."

"I know."

"But... he's also sad. He misses you like I've missed you. I know he doesn't want to be mad."

His words gave me glimmering hope. "Do you think he'll speak to me?"

"I think so," Skids said, looking thoughtful. "None of us really wants to not be speaking to each other." We sat in silence for a few moments, and I drew much comfort from the presence of one of my oldest friends.

"So, you going to talk to him?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think I'll go around to his house tomorrow. You could come too. We can sit down together and--"

"Harley," Skids interrupted gently, "I didn't mean Cy."

I stopped abruptly and knew two things; I knew who he meant, and I knew it was time.

*~*~*

For some strange reason, I thought the door to Mikhael's apartment might have gone through some drastic changes in my absence, but it was exactly the same, just how it always looked. I swallowed, throat thick and palms sweating, and knocked on the door.

It took a few moments, but I heard soft footsteps on the other side of the wood and it opened.

Mikhael wore baggy pants and a torn shirt, splattered with dried paint. He didn't look too impressed to see me. His face didn't even twitch from the blank expression he opened the door with.

"Hi," I said quietly. He just stared at me.

"Look, we need to talk." More staring. I don't think he even blinked. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

"Could I come in?" He finally blinked once, and then began to move. The way our meeting was going so far I thought he might slam the door shut in my face. But I was surprised. He moved back and unblocked the doorway. I whispered thanks and walked in.

I was unprepared for the painful jolt of familiarity walking into the apartment we'd shared for almost three years caused. Everything looked almost exactly as I remembered, except there were a few changes... the side table and lamp had been moved across the room. The major sofa was on the opposite wall, tv moved to match it. Some photographs from the walls were gone, as were some familiar paintings. They were replaced with other paintings. Very different from anything I'd really seen of his -- dark and abstract. They were either very new or very old.

There was nothing around that was even close to actually being mine. Personal items like shoes, clothes, magazines, my guitars -- normal parts of the decor -- were all gone. And of course they were, he'd told me to clean them out what seemed like months ago. There was nothing of mine left here. Nothing except the memory of once having lived here.

I wrapped my arms around myself and turned. Mikhael closed the door and walked past me. He didn't speak, just tidied the impeccably clean room. I decided to just blunder into it.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk at our gig."

"You were busy," he said shortly. His voice sounded gravelly from under use, and I realised the last time I'd heard him speak was when he was telling me to get my things out of his place.

"I would have liked to talk all the same."

"What would have been the point?"

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "The fact that it's been over two months since we last actually spoke to each other properly obviously means nothing to you."

"You're right."

My legs wobbled, but I didn't fall. I expected it to be hard, expected this kind of reception, but to really hear it from him sliced me open. "Mikhael, don't you care about what's happened to us?"

"You don't. As a matter of fact, you seem to be enjoying your freedom quite a bit."

"Look, I just want to sa--"

"Say what, Harley? Tell me what?"

I looked at him despairingly, knowing what I asked was so much. "I want us to be at least a little okay."

"There is nothing you can say or do to make this okay," his voice was hard and dark and so finite. It hurt my ears and my head to hear it. "Ever," he added, half turning away from me.

"Then what is there for me to do, Mikhael? You're so damned close-minded, and this is exactly what got us to this point in the first place!" I made a frustrated noise and hissed to myself, "Why did I even bother showing up?"

"To rub it in, maybe? Congratulations, Harley, you can break up with me and find someone instantly who is madly in love with you."

"I broke up with you? What relationship were you in? You kicked me out, told me to remove all my stuff and didn't want to talk to me. I waited for any opportunity that you might come and see me, but you didn't."

"You didn't exactly come and see me, either," he said coldly.

"How could I? You threw me out! Think I was comfortable with the idea of starting up meaningful dialogue? I wanted to but I was afraid of what you'd say or do. You didn't seem like the man that I loved at all."

"That makes two of us," he said softly. I wasn't sure if I was meant to hear it or not, but I did all the same.

We fell into the worst kind of silence. There was nothing in the air between us. No rustles, coughs, sounds of any other human being. Dead, cold silence. We stared at each other from across the room.

"Has he told you he loves you?" Mikhael asked abruptly.

I contemplated a smartass reply, or a 'none of your business' thing, but it really was some of his business. "Yes," I replied softly.

"Do you love him?" The question was torn from his throat, like it was so hard to say. No would be a lie, and yes would destroy him. I chose to stay silent. Mikhael looked at me a moment longer before nodding slightly and walking past me to the door again.

"I think you'd better leave," Mik put his hand on the doorknob but didn't turn it. He stopped, broad back to me, frozen. I was hesitant whether I could actually leave with him blocking the doorway like he was.

Mikhael then spoke in a soft voice. "You can't trust him," he warned, "he'll stab you in the back, it's in his nature."

"Anything's possible. I guess," I said after a moment, walking closer to the door. His wrist turned the knob and the door opened. "But I think I'll talk to him about it before I boot him out of my life."

Mikhael stood next to the door, his resolute face cracked slightly. I couldn't bear looking directly into his eyes, so settled for just below them. "I'm sorry that you never had more trust in me, Mikhael."

He stayed silent and stoic, looking straight ahead far above my own height. After a moment's deliberation, I stood on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He hadn't been expecting it, and as such didn't have time to pull back.

"Goodbye," I said, my heart tearing inside. He didn't reply, and there was nothing more I could say. I walked out and didn't turn back. The door shut quietly when I was halfway down the hall.

*~*~*

That was the last time I spoke to him. We didn't see each other after that. Sometimes when we got a gig, I would look out into the crowd and I thought I saw him, but I was never sure whether it was just me, or he was actually there. If so, he never stuck around.

Cyanide and I were once again on speaking terms. He wasn't happy, and hated my boyfriend with a passion that bordered on insanity -- and I thought he was bad before -- but for me, he accepted that I was happy, and focused. I put more energy into Boyband than ever before, and we became tighter and better for it.

Though sometimes I sensed an undercurrent of discomfort, Skids embraced Ty and me back into his life. We would often do things all together, and I made sure I was sometimes busy so they could spend time with each other.

Tybalt asked me to move in with him on a Thursday, over dinner. By Saturday, I was boxing up my possessions again and shuttling them over to his house. I understood that he was different from many guys, but the differences were some of his really attractive qualities. And he was honest with me, romantic and caring, and hot as hell.

I still loved Mikhael, of course. I have to do the trite 'a part of him will always be with me', but it is true. It didn't work out, over the simplest and yet most important thing, but I cherish the years I spent with him and what he gave me. I take that into my new love.

It isn't exactly a picture perfect romance. But I'm not perfect, and neither is he. We come to this with hearts that have been broken and have healed -- or are still healing -- and a hope that we might be able to get it right. I mean, we both loved the same man, and now we love each other.

Perfection is overrated.

 

~finis