WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

thirty-one | tear in my heart

When Cole arrived later the next evening, he came baring two cups of steaming tea whilst sporting a stupid grin, looking flushed and slightly frazzled in the cold air of the near night.

Alistair smiled, shivery with unease, and took the cup from his left hand. "I was worried you wouldn't show up."

Cole frowned, dark brows knitting together. Alistair suddenly found the worried line between his eyes completely endearing, and had to stifle the abrupt urge to reach up and place his thumb there, against that small ridge, the dip of a small valley. "Why wouldn't I?"

He tilted his head, raised a brow and shifted his weight from one foot to the next. He had to move his hands around the cup to keep it from scalding his fingertips. "That's a stupid question."

Cole rolled his eyes, still smiling, and stepped into the cottage.

As Alistair crossed the room and lowered himself onto his bedspread, he sensed Cole's eyes watching him from behind. His gaze followed him as he reached over to place his cup down. Then, as Cole went and sat himself down across the bedspread instead of on top of it, Alistair internally scolded himself for thinking that he would sit with him like a lover, pressed up against each other, fingers intertwined.

They weren't lovers, he didn't know what they were. But they weren't... that.

The room was silent for a moment as the two got settled down, and then for some time after. Alistair didn't know whether it would be best for him to be the first to say something, but there was a niggling sensation at the back of his mind that he couldn't get rid of, filling up his mouth and throat like battery acid, and suddenly he was stumbling over his words.

"I wanted to—"

"I'm sorry if—"

They both spoke at the same time, and blinked at each other in the silence that followed. Laughing uneasily, Cole gestured loosely with one hand and scratched the back of his neck with the other.

"You go first," he said, a little meekly. "You're better with words anyway."

Alistair smiled, hands folded in his lap. He leaned back against the wall, shoulders slumped, and cocked his head to reveal the slant of his pale neck. He looked down, "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I – well, I can't stop thinking about it – and I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Cole mouth hung open for a moment, before he went to quickly close it again, the mechanics of his mind stirring to life from behind gorgeous brown eyes. Metal clicking against metal. The puff and release of steam as his shoulders relaxed. "No, no – it wasn't you, it's just..."

He hesitated.

Alistair peered at him sympathetically, acting more out of instinct as he reached forward and placed his hand near his – near enough to link two fingers. It was a slow, wary, shaky gesture, but Cole didn't pull away. "You can tell me, if you like."

He looked up, sniffing. A pause. "You're not the first mindrenderer I've met. The first one... wasn't so nice."

A flood of realisation hit him with such ferocity, Alistair almost ripped his hand away from where it was touching Cole's, the fine hairs along his arms standing on-end. It was soon followed by an intense disgust for himself, of the part of him that made him a mindrenderer. Complete hatred.

Cole must've sensed him tense, because his eyes darted up to meet his and his mouth made that perfect 'O' shape. "But you are, I know you are, but I don't think – I don't think my body does."

Alistair slowly withdrew his hand, looking away. "Maybe your body's right, then."

Cole frowned. "'Course it's not."