Heaven Beside You, Hell Within

Chapter 1:

"If only it were that you knew..." The young brunette pinched a lock of golden blonde hair between his middle and index fingers. The still younger male, the blonde, sound asleep, made no indication of feeling the former's touch. The brunette stood, releasing the hair, and exited the motion-sensor equipped hatch, leaving the boy to his whimsies and fantasies as he dreamt. Running a hand through his hair, the man thought to himself about his uncontrolled lust toward his first mate. His walk slowed, and finally, he stopped and slumped against the wall; locks of his hair poked between the fingers of the hand supporting his head. He turned so that his back fully embraced the freezing metal that made the wall, and he slowly slid down until his ass was firmly on the diamond plate steel that was the floor. He draped his arms halfheartedly over his knees that were bent upward and let his head loll back and make contact with the wall. He sat in the silence - sans the buzzing of the fluorescents that lit the airship - and contemplated his cure.

The past while had caused him, the brunette, much undue stress. He wished to be able to convey the emotions that drove him, but could only bring himself to lust for the boy. He lacked the courage to act on his feelings. He felt so strongly for the boy, and cursed himself, the leading man, for being fearful.

He momentarily opened his eyes upon hearing footsteps, distant in a corridor, but once they had ceased, he resumed his sulking. To be self-piteous was more so disgraceful to one usually so confident and wise than any other. He wondered how he would continue living like this, knowing full well that it would only be increasingly more difficult. Rationale was something that came naturally to the man, but now it failed him. He was caught up in the game of Romance instead of the game of Psyche that he favored so. He was completely flustered; he knew not what to do with himself. All outcomes of his current situation rooted from a simple, yet impossible question: "Does he return my feelings?"

If it were that the blonde did return his counterpart's feelings, it was well hidden, and it troubled him not. It is known that the guilty are apt to confess while asleep, but the brunette had watched the boy sleep for nigh on a month, and the boy had not uttered a word. This did not trouble the man, for he preferred to see peace as opposed to calamity from his young first mate. Desires to be open with the boy filled his heart and mind, but he simply could not comply. He had come near, oh, so preciously near to those lips only nights before, but could not risk letting his own make the contact with those that they desired. He hungered for the boy's love, and tore himself to shreds in his private cabin for being so scared and weak. Self mutilation was also quite pitiful in the eyes of onlookers, but what exactly was the man to do? He was, after all, only human.

He grunted and let his head hang between his knees. He had been reduced to a self-loathing mess because of his lust for a boy that he had traveled with for, what seemed to be for him, years. Pitiful. It was the only word to describe it. He dared not let on to anyone his true feelings, for they would ridicule and snigger, making snide remarks to the man who lusted after a boy. He could not bring himself to be subject to such torture, especially in the event that his feelings were not returned by his lusted.

He sullenly climbed to his feet and slowly walked down the corridor to his cabin, hands running along the cold metal anywhere he could reach. The feel of the metal gave him the feeling of detachedness, allowing him to be set free for the time being. Never taking his eyes from the cold, hard floor, he entered the warm private cabin that he hoped could one day be a room for two; himself and his blonde. He unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it to the floor. He thought that as long as everyone, save the current pilot, was still slumbering, he could shower without interruption. He looked out of the wall of windows, seeing dawn break, the cold gray of early morning turning to a subtle yellow-orange. His heart was lifted slightly with the calmness of the morn. He discarded the rest of his clothing, leaving them where they fell, and walked barefoot across the solid metal to his washroom, grabbing a towel on the way. He looked himself in the eye via the mirror and saw immediately the face of a heartbroken and lonely man. Were it not for his current depression, he would have been enraged to the point of smashing the mirror, however, were he not depressed, he would not look so ragged.

He twisted the handle for the hot water, and, of course, freezing cold water spurted from the shower head. He grimaced as it pelted his skin, growing slowly warmer. He put his face under the water, and it was barely hot enough to cause a reaction. He let the water pelt his face until it began to scorch. He pulled his head out and breathed deeply as the water ran down his body, heating every inch of tangible flesh. The steam clouded his vision and he knew that soon the entire washroom would be flooded with the vapors.

He relaxed as the water hit him, letting go of his earlier stress. While he was relaxed like this, nothing could faze him; he was completely calm. In fact, he was so calm that he began to become drowsy. He turned the water back to cold to cool off, and then shut it off completely. He grabbed his towel, drying off his face again, and wiped the condensation off of the mirror above the sink. He now looked peaceful, so perfectly peaceful. He smiled gently and wrapped the towel around his waist. He walked back into his cabin and sighed heartily after the brisk air outside of the washroom hit him. He paced over to the small kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The common knowledge that all of the water on the airship was recycled slipped his mind as he let the cool liquid run past his lips without restraint. He set the glass on the counter and walked over to his bed. He hadn't slept, and so he prepared himself for a nap. He dropped his towel and climbed into his bed, pulling the thin sheet over himself. As his mind slipped, it wandered back to thoughts of the blonde.

Author's Notes: This is my first fic in a while, and it is dedicated to Nyx. I originally had a lot more written for this chapter, but it started getting confusing, so I decided to do some clean-up and scrap the last fourth of the chapter. Hope you all still enjoy anyway. I want any and all feedback, flames included, just so I know what I can improve on. 'Preciate it.