Decembers

The snow drifted on the air, the little flecks of stardust stinging their eyes and burning their lips. Michael stared up at the sky, trying to ignore the cold that was slowly seeping through the back of his shirt.

"This is nice. I hardly ever get to spend time with you like this. I'm… calm." He said the word like it was foreign to him, squeezing his boyfriend's hand.

James rolled over onto his side and smiled, moving his lips across Michael's cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. "I don't like looking at the sky. I like looking at you."

"I like looking at you, too," Michael smiled, but didn't turn his head, eyes remaining fixed on the clouds. "I want to stay like this forever."

"Mhm, forever," James pulled his lips away, and raised himself on his elbow. "I like the sound of forever. I feel like I could love you for twice as long."

"Yeah." Michael nodded, still enraptured by the snow. It was piling up now, glittering mounds of it.

James looked at him. "It's so strange. I've known you for less than a month, and I already know that I love you, and that you love me back. You do love me back, right?" A tiny frown line appeared between his eyes, and Michael finally managed to look at him.

"What? Yes. Of course I do." The promise left a strange taste on his lips- salty and sweet and bitter and sharp. It hadn't felt right coming out of his mouth for a long time, now, and he wasn't sure if it did this time either. It brought a smile back to James's face, though.

"Really? How much do you love me, then?" James nudged him, but Michael didn't answer straight away. "Well?"

"I'm thinking." Michael closed his eyes. He always hated this part, the part where you talked about forever, where you had to give something poetic and meaningful and wise, all at once. He toyed with a couple of metaphors, tossing the word forever between his fingers. Finally, he smiled, and looked at James. "From here," he said.

"What?" Michael was met by a confused expression. "Mike, just give me a straight answer."

"I am being serious," he protested. "I am. I love you… from here."

"You're an idiot," James huffed, flopping down onto the snow again. "I wish you wouldn't play around like that." Michael sat up, staring down at the younger boy. There was something in his eyes, but he couldn't quite place it, wasn't sure he wanted to.

James sighed, averting his eyes. "Never mind. It doesn't even matter."

"Hey," Michael leaned down, pecking James on the lips. "I'm sorry. I do love you."

"Yeah, I know." A smile crept back onto his face.

Michael took his hand and lay back on the snow. "And I am an idiot."

"Yeah. I know that too."

Winter melted into spring and back into winter again. The snow bled life into blossoms and fruit and autumn leaves, but when its time came round again it found that the pale imitation of rain had taken its place, lashing against the window, not quite loud enough to drown out rising voices.

"James, please. Don't go out in the rain, you'll get sick." Michael hovered at the top of the stairs, watching James heave a backpack over his shoulder. It looked heavy, but he was too petrified to help. "Can't we just… talk about this? We can talk about things, right? We're supposed to be adults."

James laughed, rough and mirthless. "Are we? I'm only twenty two. Last I checked, I'm still in my wild years."

"Jamie, don't make me beg. Just wait until morning, so-" his voice faltered under James's cold expression.

"So you can what? Convince me to stay? I don't think you want that any more than I do," James dropped his keys, cursing. "I can't do this, Michael, not anymore."

Michael looked at his feet, hand tightening on the bannister. "I think you've made that quite clear," he said in a small voice.

"Oh, so now I'm the villain," James shook his head in shock. "You're unbelievable. Who was the one accusing me of stealing the limelight? Making you live in my shadow, and I quote, holding you back?"

Michael's face twisted. "It's true, though, you never let me talk, just because you were the precious Jamie, the hot one, the younger one, with more friends and fans and more attention, and, and more!" He gestured angrily at the other man's body.

"I never did that on purpose and you know it," James dropped the bag on the floor with a thump. "You hate talking in front of crowds, I was trying to protect you-"

Michael's eyes were wide, challenging. "Oh, you were trying to protect me. How stupid of me. That's a perfect explanation why you slept with one of our best friends, you should have said that earlier."

James stiffened. "Shut up."

"I see it now," Michael started walking down the stairs. "Sleeping around with people in a direct attempt to hurt me, then hiding it from me for weeks- I feel positively coddled."

"Shut up!" James clapped his hands over his ears. "It was a mistake. It was a mistake, and I'm sorry, and if I could go back and change it, I would."

"That doesn't change anything, though, does it." The words left a sour taste in his mouth, but they were true. Michael could feel the hurt in his chest, bubbling over, ten times stronger than it had been before. He'd never believed that heartbreak could be a physical thing, but he knew it now, it was impossible to ignore. He sighed, leaning against the wall. "Do you think there's any hope for us?"

James hesitated, then shook his head, very slightly. "I don't think so. I'm sorry."

"Me, too." Michael reached out a hand to him, stopping himself at the last moment. A thousand words burned at the tip of his tongue and for the life of him he couldn't say a single one. A last plea made its weak attempt, sounding as fragile as he looked.

"Jamie, please. We can… try again, I don't know. I can forgive you, I know it, we just… we just need time. I love you, please, Jamie, please don't go."

James bit his lip, eyes as bright as Michael's were dull. "I'm sorry, Michael. I can't. I just can't." He stepped forward, taking Michael's head tenderly in his hands and kissing his forehead. "Goodbye."

James picked up the bag, and left without saying another word. Needless to say, he didn't look back.

Michael mouthed an answer, throat dry. He sat down on the stairs, hugging his knees to his chest and staring through the frosted glass. He hadn't seen any stars in a long time, he realised, snowflakes or otherwise. There was no calm here, no stars, just hurt, an endless sea of it. His fingers tingled, the ghost of those stars still clinging to them, and he held the hand to his chest, watching tears start to fall without registering it. From here, he'd said. I love you… from here.

Michael closed his eyes, and whispered with the strength of all the stars and two Decembers.

"To here."

One day, he might believe it.

Thank you so much for reading xxx

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