Frost

[xie_xie_xie]

This is a short story I wrote for the holiday challenge at qaf_challenges. It's nothing like anything I've ever written before. It's short, it's extremely sad, it's set during Season 2, on Christmas Eve. It broke my heart, and yet I think it's exactly what happened.

It was originally posted here, and got the least amount of feedback I've ever gotten on a story - even though I think it's the best thing I've ever written. Setting aside my usual begging for feedback, I'd be genuinely interested in your thoughts on this piece.

Beta'd by gmta_nz, icon and banner by roc_abs, proofed by vlredreign, written for my beautiful wife _alicesprings' challenge.

Frost
by Xie

I was sitting at my computer, the monitor the only light in the loft. Justin was sleeping, and I’d turned off the light over the bed when I left him there, tangled in the sheets.

I couldn’t sleep.

I’d dropped Justin at his mom’s for Christmas Eve. I knew going there would fuck with him, but when I suggested we go to Babylon instead, he’d given me a disgusted look and said he’d get a ride some other way if I didn’t want to drive him, but he was going.

He was restless and quiet after I got him from his mom’s just past midnight, and I felt a headache start in the back of my neck while we rode up in the elevator. He went straight to the shower and was in there a long time. I’d showered before I picked him up, so I didn’t join him, just stared at my computer and waited for him to come out and tell me about his evening.

But he didn’t. He just got in bed. And I just sat at my computer.

We were going to Debbie’s the next day, an annual homage to the tacky and maudlin that I somehow had let myself get roped into every year since I met Michael. I’d gone there after my own family’s Christmas dinner, where I’d never managed to force down more than a forkful of turkey, to have a plate loaded with sausage stuffing and turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy, followed by pumpkin pie smothered in canned whipped topping.

I heard a sound from the bedroom. I swore. He hadn’t been asleep ten minutes.

I walked into the room and he was curled into a ball on his side. I thought maybe I’d imagined the sound, when he kicked out his left leg and made a strangled noise. I knelt next to him, put a firm hand on his shoulder, and said his name once.

He thrashed out with his left arm, and I calmly leaned back so he didn’t make contact, then gripped his shoulder again and repeated his name, louder. He froze, opened his eyes, licked his lips, and rolled onto his back. He looked at me for a long minute. I didn’t say anything.

When I brought Justin back to the loft after he got out of the hospital, he would sometimes cry after I woke him from a bad dream. There were a lot of things Justin didn’t do anymore. Crying was one of them. And he didn’t cry now. He just stared at me. I stared back.

Then I got off the bed, stripped off my jeans and t-shirt, and climbed in with him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t cuddle up to me, just let me lie along his back and drape my arm over him, let me put my head on his pillow, his head under my chin.

And I waited for him to go to sleep again.

After a few minutes, I thought maybe I was wrong, maybe he was crying. I lifted my head and looked down at his face, but his eyes were dry. Open and staring, but dry.

I bent my legs, fitting them to the exact curve of his, letting my hand slide down over his hip and settle his ass firmly against me. His spine was rigid, but I wrapped my arm across his chest and pulled him into me, and I felt the tension go out of it all in one instant. His neck curved and I felt his hair against my cheek.

I thought about fucking him, but his body wasn’t welcoming me the way that meant he wanted to be fucked, or touched, or jerked off, or kissed. That didn’t necessarily matter, because usually all it took to get Justin in the mood was one soft kiss on the back of his neck, or a murmur against his ear, but for some reason tonight I wasn’t in the mood, either.

He took a deep breath. I felt his ribs expand with it. I wanted to look at his face again, but I didn’t. I just lay there wrapped around him, wishing he were asleep.

I used to watch Justin sleep before he got bashed. He did it the way he fucked, without holding anything back. He let himself go all the way to sleep, his lips parted just a little, his lashes lying on his cheeks, his skin flushed, his body soft. Justin had the amazing ability to sleepily open his arms or legs or body warmth up to me when I wanted that, and to curl away, his cheek on his arm, when I’d had enough.

I couldn’t remember the last time I saw him sleep like that.

Even now, after really intense sex, he sometimes would fall into a deep sleep. I would stare at him, willing it to stay peaceful, but it never did. If I watched him long enough, I could see his breathing get uneven, his eyes start flickering under his closed lids, and hear little sounds in his throat.

And then I’d wake him up. And watch him struggle to get out of the grip of the things in his head, to see just the loft ceiling and me and the darkness beyond the bed.

I used to ask him about his dreams, but it was always the same one, over and over. It never changed. So I stopped asking. I didn’t ask that night.

After ten minutes I felt his breathing get deeper and more regular, and I waited a little while longer and then carefully lifted my head and looked down at his face. His eyes were closed and for a few seconds he looked like he used to look when he slept. Then his lips moved, just a little, and his breathing hitched, and he moved his hand up and stuck it under his pillow.

He didn’t move again for a long time, and I finally got out of bed and went back to my computer and turned it off. I meant to grab some water out of the refrigerator and go back to bed, but now I was the one who felt restless. I walked over to the window and stood staring out, seeing a few buildings lit up for Christmas off in the distance, little dried up crusts of dirty snow up against the curb. My breath made a frost on the glass.

Comments

[cuemypulse.livejournal.com]

This was beautiful. A sad sort of beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_alicesprings/]

Sigh. Just sigh. That's all I can do. It's so. freaking. sad. I think maybe that explains the lack of feedback?

It quite possibly is the best thing you've ever written, but it's not my favourite thing you've ever written. I'm a sucker for the mix of schmoop and sex and angst and humour. This is so melancholy, and almost hopeless in feeling. It just hurts.

But it's so tight and wonderfully written. Like a few others have said, it feels complete. It's concise, but not clinical at all. Amazing atmosphere. So sad.

My fave bits;

We were going to Debbie’s the next day, an annual homage to the tacky and maudlin that I somehow had let myself get roped into every year since I met Michael. I’d gone there after my own family’s Christmas dinner, where I’d never managed to force down more than a forkful of turkey, to have a plate loaded with sausage stuffing and turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy, followed by pumpkin pie smothered in canned whipped topping.

It makes me feel nostalgic, and like I want Justin to be able to share the nostalgia with Brian. And;

When I brought Justin back to the loft after he got out of the hospital, he would sometimes cry after I woke him from a bad dream. There were a lot of things Justin didn’t do anymore. Crying was one of them. And he didn’t cry now. He just stared at me. I stared back.

Then I got off the bed, stripped off my jeans and t-shirt, and climbed in with him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t cuddle up to me, just let me lie along his back and drape my arm over him, let me put my head on his pillow, his head under my chin.

And I waited for him to go to sleep again.

After a few minutes, I thought maybe I was wrong, maybe he was crying. I lifted my head and looked down at his face, but his eyes were dry. Open and staring, but dry.

I bent my legs, fitting them to the exact curve of his, letting my hand slide down over his hip and settle his ass firmly against me. His spine was rigid, but I wrapped my arm across his chest and pulled him into me, and I felt the tension go out of it all in one instant. His neck curved and I felt his hair against my cheek.

S.a.d. Justin doesn't cry anymore. God only knows what was going through Justin's mind during that time.

I love the image of Brian wrapped around Justin, and just doing what he can to help, even though it probably doesn't feel like much to him. I'm pretty sure Brian carries guilt about the bashing around with him every day. Even now. nd it must have been so much worse back in season 2.

Great work. :)

[orlith.livejournal.com]

I think that the greatest tribute to your writing is that I've started thinking of these people as real, and that I very often confuse the show's storyline and your storyline, and I have to try to remember real hard about which happened on teleivsion and which happened in your writing.

Beautiful story.

I wonder if a person ever gets past the violence done to him or her? Your story reminds me that all those things from the past just sort of bubble around and are remembered in the strangest of ways.

Travis

[plasticine-star.livejournal.com]

A little late in commenting here but...
This was a strange story for me because it gorgeously written but at the same time for me it was really painful to read because it's so realistic, it does not feel like a story it feels like what really happened.

Brilliant but it made me so sad....

[kitkatbyte.livejournal.com]

That was really relaxing, and although it wasn't the happiest fic ever, it wasn't horribly sad. It's sad that Justin has to have nightmares every night, but at least Brian is there with him.

[mandysbitch.livejournal.com]

I went searching for this fic because you mentioned it was the prequel to the story you wrote for me for qaf_giftxchnge - however, it took me a while to read it because I was too busy having conniptions over the existence of Xena/Queer as Folk fic! Man, fandom. Still surprising me after all these years. What crack were you on when you came up with that idea? I should probably read it... they're all gay icons I'm sure they fit together in - well, very interesting ways. ;)

But on to this fic, you know, it's just a lovely as the sequel. If anything, it's a little more poignant - more futile, I guess. Sadder - but in a good way because I love tragic-beautiful. It's like my favourite thing in the world - and Brian is classic tragic-beautiful, hence, he appeals to me no end.

Thanks for writing the sequel and sending me here. Don't know if I'll get around to that XWP/QAF fic but I'll keep it in mind... cheers.