A/N: Okay, so I know I said it was the actual end, but I couldn't sleep last night. I like to story plan when I can't sleep, which is a pain at the moment because I'm between stories, so you have Hmmharper and Honujama to thank for planting the seeds of unanswered questions that just need to be resolved at 3am. lol. I typed it out in an hour this morning so it's not polished, it's short and kind of dirty, but I really want to move on to a new story and I'm not good at multitasking multiple MC's, so I hope it's not too bad.
Extra – Gian
Everyone has decisions they make in their life. There are the decisions you make which you know are right or wrong, and then there are the ones in between. It's the ones in the greyscale that really stick with you, which play on your thoughts, and which come back to you at the oddest times to test your resolve.
For Gian, Mekhi was one of those grey decisions.
It wasn't that Gian thought what he had done was wrong. On the contrary, he had known Mekhi fairly well, and knew all the reasons for the guy's odd juxtaposition of shy innocence and brash cockiness that made him unique. He also knew of Heito, not directly, because as he had later realised Mekhi had declined completely to mention his brother during their conversations, rather he knew him most through the comfortable ramblings of their granddad. Marcus had talked of his grandchildren a lot, Mekhi always with a glow of paternal pride, Heito always with considerably less affection. And then there were the half snippets of stories, chunks of information about this party and that guest, passed back through a somewhat despairing Millie. Then there was the indirect information Gian had had filtered to him through Mekhi, of the nameless older man the teenager was seeing in secret.
The whole situation had reeked.
Because Mekhi wasn't an average seventeen year old. And Gian knew how easily he could be drawn into a situation – even one he wasn't really in to – because he'd done it himself.
So Gian had never doubted his decision to tell Marcus about what was going on. Not even when Sue had passed on information she'd got from Will; that Mekhi had stopped speaking to any of his old friends in school, and that he was hanging out with a rough crowd from the town where his boarding school was based, sneaking out at night to drink and get stoned. He'd heard from Marcus that Mekhi had passed his A-levels and got into university though, so it could hardly have been that bad.
Around the same time as Mekhi went to university Gian had moved out of his flat in the nursing home, but he'd still gone to visit a few of the long term residents who he was close to. Marcus was one of those, and Gian listened to the ever more despair tinged stories Marcus told him of Mekhi at university. Mekhi almost never came back to the home, Marcus had told him with that weary, hollow eyed look of regret that drew out the lines in the old man's face whenever he spoke about his youngest grandchild. And so the day that Gian finally bumped into him again, and his decision slipped into that murky area between right and wrong, was a surprise on so many levels.
Gian realised something was up as soon as he got near to the apartment door. He could hear shouting, and it wasn't the companionable bickering of two old people in love, but the full blown furious bellows of two men. He'd stopped, he'd meant to turn around and leave, but something like curiosity kept him in place: It had been two years, perhaps there was something that could be done or saved, perhaps there was forgiveness to be had and bridges to be mended.
The door flew open, banging against the wall behind. And the boundary between right and wrong faded into a murky bottomless pit of doubt and regret.
It was definitely Mekhi. But it was like those last two inches of height he'd been so desperate for had stretched everything out. It wasn't just that he'd lost a lot of the muscle mass he'd worked so hard to maintain when Gian had known him, it was in the hollowed out wasting of his cheeks, the grey that darkened his eyes, and the dull unhealthy sheen to his skin. It wasn't that he didn't still look good – Sue's direction had obviously rubbed off because the way he was dressed paid homage to his new leaner body, and the gaunt look made him look more like an alternative model rather than the Abercrombie type he'd been before. To anyone who hadn't known him before, Mekhi still looked handsome; he was just the kind of guy who was blessed to look good even if he was dressed badly, or looked like he could do with a good meal and a decent night's sleep. But Gian had known him when he was brimming with life and energy, when those golden irises he shared with Marcus had sparkled with mirth, deep flashes of warmth occasionally crinkling the edge of his eyes.
Gian had friends who'd changed when they went to university – they'd changed weight or got in with a different type of crowd – this was different. He could see it in the bitter golden eyes that narrowed for the briefest cruel second, before they opened wide in surprise so over the top that it was clearly mocking.
'Oh Gian, how wonderful to see you,' Mekhi drawled, his lips curled in a smile that managed to suggest a thousand different emotions except for happiness. Then his head craned over his shoulder, back towards the apartment, and there wasn't even the fake smile sent in Marcus's direction. 'Gian's here to listen to your bitterness now, Marcus, I'll leave you in his capable hands, I'll find somewhere else to stay.'
'Mekhi,' Gian hadn't meant to do it, but his hand caught around the guy's upper arm as he went to pass. He watched fury flash across Mekhi's features, it was gone so quickly that Gian reeled, but his hand snapped open before he'd even realised why. Mekhi turned slowly, his weight slipped onto one leg, his head dropped to one side, his lips parted slightly and his eyes turned surprisingly warm.
'Mmm? What can I do for you, Gian?' Mekhi's words slid from suddenly rouged lips like a honeyed promise, and Gian had watched films where the actors had looked less genuinely interested. 'I don't suppose you're offering a bed I could borrow… or share,' his tongue darted just behind his lips, and an exaggerated breath left them as he leant forwards into Gian's personal space. Mekhi was still the shorter of the two of them, and he look he fixed Gian with through dark eye lashes was like a promise. 'You wanted to fuck me right?' his breath whispered against Gian's ear. 'You always thought I could be talked into anything… well these days there isn't much talking required.'
'Mekhi, what the hell are you doing?' Marcus's voice snapped through the evening air. It tugged Gian out of the haze of confusion that left him a little dazed still. Mekhi had no such issues, the seductive look had gone as if it had never been. Bitterness fell back over his features and made the nineteen-year-old Mekhi look twice his age, but rather than making him look ugly, it made him look oddly broken.
'Quick Gian, Marcus might threaten to throw you in jail… oh wait, I'm nineteen now, I can fuck who the hell I want,' Mekhi snarled and he and Marcus descended into a second round of shouting.
Gian watched, and he wanted to stop them, he wanted to embrace Mekhi who was so clearly damaged. He took half a step forwards to do so, and as he did he remembered the look he'd received when he'd touched Mekhi uninvited a moment ago. So he stayed put and he stared. From the side-lines he observed the two people he had once been jealous of because of their closeness, because of the fact that they were the idea of a family Gian had always wanted, and he watched, and he knew that this now – what they had become; the hollowed out shouting that was left where once there had been love and affection – was because of him.
Mekhi snorted, 'whatever, Marcus, I'll leave you to your preferred grandson and go find someone with more physical tastes.' Mekhi turned his back on Marcus, and caught Gian's eyes in his. 'If you get fed up of sucking up to old men and want something more rewarding to suck on,' Mekhi sneered. 'My number's still the same, don't leave it too late or I'll be busy.'
And with that, Mekhi walked away, and stained Gian's decision grey.
...
Still, it wasn't like that was the only decision of dubious success in Gian's life, and while he never bumped into Mekhi again he did hear from Marcus that the guy had settled down somewhat when he had graduated and moved back to Thailand to work for his parents. But that didn't change the fact that the relationship between Mekhi and Marcus never healed.
Gian had a lot more elderly friends than average people his age did, and so he had been to a lot of funerals, said goodbye to more people than he wished he'd had too. Yet of those elderly acquaintances, it was only really Marcus that he had considered a true friend, and when he fell ill Gian didn't think twice before contacting Mekhi to let him know.
So he knew Mekhi was in the country. Marcus had told him as much when Gian had made his last visit to the hospital before the old man's passing. Words had been shared, apologies made and accepted, and it was with a small twist of jealousy that Gian saw the relief and peace that gave his old friend in his last days.
The church was one local to where Marcus had lived with his wife, and it was where she was buried too. Gian parked on the edge of the country road that was lined with vehicles drawn almost half into the Hawthorne hedges that lined the edge. Even though he knew Mekhi was in England, even though on some level he had known Mekhi would of course be here, Gian still had to catch himself against a moment of surprise as he caught sight of Mekhi.
Marcus's youngest grandchild was stood to one side of the entrance to the church grounds, his face set in a soft smile as he shook hands with Marcus's friends. It had been twenty years, and so of course they were both different, but Gian suspected his transformation was less dramatic. Mekhi looked better, his skin was that bronzed tan colour that suited him so well, his body looked strong and healthy, and he obviously kept himself in shape these days. It wasn't so much his physical appearance though, it was the lightness to his eyes that had been so absent the last time they had met. Mekhi glanced over his shoulder, and that warmth in his eyes blossomed into something else completely.
Gian paused as he saw the man by Mekhi's side. He was a little older than Mekhi, a little taller, his hair a little paler, his body a little leaner, and his eyes – turned down to Mekhi to return the warmth and affection sent his way – were exactly the same shade of golden hazel that Mekhi had shared with Marcus.
Heito was stood just behind Mekhi, not touching, but tucked in to provide reassurance and warmth. Gian had been to enough funerals to know that family drew together at these times, but that look he watched them share was not the platonic love of brothers. He doubted anyone else would notice, because people who did would assume they were just lovers, and everyone else would just assume they were just close brothers. Gian watched as Mekhi's eyes grew suddenly bone weary, and the younger brother's hand drifted back, rested against Heito's fingers for a split second, and Gian saw rather than heard some faint words of encouragement leave Heito's lips.
Then Mekhi turned back, he looked up, and his eyes slid past the group of people who were filing into the church grounds, they drifted down the road, and they settled on Gian.
'What's wrong, love?' a hand squeezed Gian's fingers, and the man he'd briefly forgotten about flashed back into Gian's consciousness. But Gian couldn't look down at Rhys, because he couldn't look away from Mekhi. Gian gave his civil partner's hand a brief squeeze back as he watched a storm of emotions flash through Mekhi's features. There was anger and resentment first and foremost, they flared hot and bright and dared him to come any closer.
Then Heito was leaning over Mekhi's shoulder, and he whispered something into his brother's ear. Mekhi didn't exactly relax, but his rage tempered somewhat. With Gian's eyes still held in his Mekhi turned his face and pressed a kiss against Heito's cheek, before stepping forwards and striding away from the church. His long legs – clad Gian noticed in a beautiful and no doubt tailor made suit – ate up the distance in moments.
'What's going on? Who's that?' Rhys leant up to whisper in Gian's ear, but Gian didn't have a chance to answer, because Mekhi was already stopped in front of him.
'Gian,' he said simply.
'Hello, Mekhi,' Gian's reply was a little less curt, a touch softer. 'I've just come to pay my respects.'
'Of course,' Mekhi's words were still harsh, and Gian could see the tension in his jaw. Mekhi glanced over his shoulder, and Gian followed his eyes as they met Heito's, the elder brother's look was pointed with something that Gian didn't know the man well enough to understand.
Mekhi turned back with a sigh, 'you never met Heito did you?' The question was a dud, because they both knew he hadn't. Gian shook his head anyway. 'Perhaps we'll have a chance to talk afterwards, if you're staying for the wake?'
Gian tried to hide his surprise. But he was trying very hard not to feel a lot of emotions right then, and he didn't want to know what his face looked like.
'Of course… I should,' Gian glanced down at a thoroughly bemused looking Rhys.
'We should take our seats,' Rhys saved him with a few simple words and a reassuring smile.
Except Mekhi was shaking his head.
'No,' he took a deep breath. 'You should come in with us, there's space on the pew. Marcus would… Grandpa wouldn't want you shoved in with everyone else.'
'Mekhi I…' Mekhi's eyes hardened, suddenly flashing with the determined anger he'd initially seen.
'If you have a problem with something, Gian, then please save it. Our plane back to Thailand is tomorrow, please don't ruin today.'
Gian swallowed down the uncomfortable feeling in his throat. His eyes drifted over Mekhi's shoulder and Heito was staring at him, and where Mekhi's emotions were an open book the elder brother gave away nothing. Gian tore his eyes back to Mekhi. He saw briefly the lost and broken teenager he'd bumped in to twenty years ago, and then remembered the peace and contentment in the look the older Mekhi had shared with Heito moments ago.
Gian sighed. 'I still don't approve, Mekhi. Marcus wouldn't either,' he spoke softly, and knew Rhys was going to have a thousand question later that Gian was going to be unwilling or unable to answer. 'But he would want you happy, I'll sit with you.'
'I don't need your approval, Gian.' Mekhi snapped, and the he too sighed, and some of the indignant anger left him at that. 'But thank you, for looking after Grandpa,' Mekhi held out his hand, and in the beautiful spring afternoon, with the Hawthorne blooming, and the air fresh, the two men shook hands and put their history behind them.
A/N: That's honestly it. Probably... unless someone asks really nicely ;)