Strangers

"I've missed you"

It had been two weeks, yet Kristian still felt hollow.

He had slept away half of his day and he was still tired. His thoughts had kept him awake, torturing him. His head was a cage for his wild mind, and during nights like that, he only wanted to let the thoughts free, allowing them to fly away like birds seeing freedom for the first time.

He listened to music. He made tea. He stared out the window. He called his family.

It didn't help. The only thing that could help him now would be his boyfriend, but the only thing he ever needed was never there.

***

Kostya was performing again. The music was loud, and his fans were jumping to the beat, but Kostya couldn't lose himself to the music like he usually could. He sang parts of the song off-key in distraction. All his thoughts and guilt was churning in his body. Kristian's voice had been so hurt, so broken, and it was Kostya's fault. All over again.

He came back to his hotel room, with Benjamin waiting for him on the bed. Kostya got undressed and fell down next to him. Ben kissed his forehead.

"Hi baby."

Kostya groaned. He was not in the mood for this.

"I know you want it. I can tell that you like it."

Benjamin kept on kissing him, and eventually Kostya gave up and began kissing him back, pretending Benjamin was someone else, losing himself to the pleasure of human contact.

***

Citrus was purring on Kristian's lap. His parents had just told him that he could come home to them. His bags were ready for him, standing in the hallway. All he had to do was to get on a plane and fly home. 

But something was holding him back. Was it the smell of the apartment? The gentle footsteps of Pluto wandering around the house? Or the city of Kiev, the busy streets and the lights reflected in Dnepr like stars? Or just the memories? The memories of moving in, of mounting IKEA furniture together, of Kostya guiding Kristian through Kiev, walking along Dnepr hand in hand with the sunset twinkling in the horizon? Or was it...

Stop it.

He doesn't come back just because you're feeling sorry for yourself. Man up, Kris.

He angrily wiped a tear away from his face. Fuck this, he thought, fuck everything, and grabbed his bags before locking the door and leaving for good.

***

"Hi Kristian! So good to see you!"

He was bombarded by hugs before he even had put his foot inside his home. He hugged them back, weakly.

"I've missed you."

"We've missed you too, Kris. But now you're here," his mother said, with a large smile on her face.

He was guided inside, and nothing had changed. Everything was there, the scent, the small windows with plaid curtains, the fridge magnets holding up childhood drawings... Kristian was struck by sudden nostalgia, and tears welled up in his eyes. He swallowed them. He couldn't cry now.

"I have made your bed in your old bedroom, I'll help you move your bags," his mother offered.

"No, don't bother. I'll... I'll carry them myself."

He fetched his bags from the car, and entered a childhood room that looked just like when he left it. Wooden walls covered in posters, a vintage rack made of teak filled with vinyls, and fairy lights strung across the ceiling (a little girly, yes, but Kristian didn't care. They were aesthetically pleasing.) This was his hideaway, his bubble, the place he could be himself and shut the world out. He stroked the backs of his books, pages upon pages of emotions printed on cream paper. His parents hadn't changed a thing. Everything had stayed the same, except the person who had lived there.

He opened his wardrobe, and on the inside of the door was the same poster of Mélovin, looking fiercer than ever, with a white contact lens and his black leather jacket, the same jacket Kostya had put around Kristian's shoulders on their late night trips around Kiev. The man in the photo wasn't just a moment frozen in time. He was Kristian's ex, a person he knew and loved until everything broke off. He knew everything; he knew the shirt Kostya was wearing, he remembered the smell and feel of it, how it was just fitted enough to show Kostya's muscles. He knew how Kostya would always put his socks on after he put on pants, he knew how he would eat his vegetables first, he knew how Kostya liked to tease Kristian until he snapped, and having pillow fights, and listening to the radio, and being the big spoon, and having long conversations at night, staring up in the ceiling cuddled up around him...  Kristian broke down, crying and holding around the door, his forehead resting against the hardwood, tears dripping down on the floor. He felt dissolved, like an uncoated pill, like paper being torn at its edges, like he was falling apart. Maybe he was. Did it really matter anymore?

---

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did, please leave a vote! <3 I have no idea how Kristian's childhood home looks, so I just imagined it in my head. Also, please read Mechanical Gods by DAlecLyle. I usually don't like Sci-Fi, but that is a really good story! (aaaaand it is boyxboy ;))