Just a short little piece of fiction, focusing on Dallas Romero. Somewhat inspired by Numb Belligerence by focusfixated of sucker-love dot com . . . It's nowhere near the same, though. I just liked the 'count from ten' idea and decided to spin it for my own use, ;; (And I just realised the last line/s is/are kind of the same. That was not in the least intentional.)

I suppose I should offer a bit of a disclaimer, as well, though it's really small. Rei is not mine. He belongs to a friend of mine. If he was, well, Dallas wouldn't be in the situation portrayed in this. Instead, he'd be thanking God Rei's not a woman. Otherwise he'd be suffering from having well over fifty mouths to feed :D;; Yea. Ignore me. Just read.

He stopped. He faced the wall; leaned against it. The sudden cold against his heated forehead felt good, for even the fleeting moment it was present. Ten. Counting backward from ten. It always helped calm him down.

Nine. Eight. Goddamn it, Rei. I hate you. Go away. Leave me alone.

He sighed to himself, needing the moment he had decided to give himself to calm down. He turned around, his back now against the wall. His hands travelled to his face. They slid down his features, before two fingers pressed harshly into his temples. Maybe, just maybe, if he pushed hard enough he could compact the headache enough it would implode. It would hurt so much more for a moment. Just a moment. Then he'd be at peace again until he forced himself into another situation like the one he'd just escaped.

Seven. Six. Why do you do this to me? Why must you torture me?

He winced. He fought back tears. He couldn't be weak. For once in his life he had to be strong. Honestly strong. Not the fake strong he always showed people. He never wanted people to know the real him, though. The scared child inside a man's body. Screaming. Terrified. There was always a monster in his closet.

Five. Four. You're killing me. I'm going to die under this pressure.

He slid down the wall. He was starting to hate life, and everything it offered. Only two of those things were true. Only two of those things did he wish were taken away. His feelings. Rei. If they had never entered his life, he would have spent the rest of it blissfully ignorant. Everything would have been okay. Nothing ever works out as people want.

Three. Two. At least you'll be happy that way.

He brought his knees under his chin. He covered his face with his arms. The first tear fell. The smaller the target, the harder it was to hit. The less weakness that showed, the less chance someone would be trying to hit in the first place. But even harder to get after was a moving target. He couldn't bring himself to move. To get away. To hide himself somewhere he controlled. He wouldn't have to let anyone in.

One. Why do I love you so fucking much?

It didn't work.