Upside Down [mxm] [editing]

Prologue

"Alex."

His voice was smooth and low, something crossed between a lover's purr and the burgeoning anger that Alex knew was lying just beneath.  If Alex didn't watch his step - or more importantly - his words, then he knew he'd rouse that anger and the night would be ruined. But how was that new?  He'd ruined so many nights in an all too similar fashion.

"Julian."  

Alex's response was playful, toying, the use of his long-time partner's full name as a part of this less than fun game.  He was trying to lighten the mood, trying to tease, his lips curling up at just the very corners of his mouth as mischievousness played behind his eyes. It wasn't a time to be lighthearted; this was the broaching of a serious conversation that they'd had time and time again, but Alex wasn't ready to give into it so easily.  He hoped that he could derail it, he hoped that their night could be saved.

He hoped wrong.

From his vantage point in their kitchen where he was cleaning up from dinner, Alex was able to watch as Julian's head dropped heavy and resigned into his hands. Alex loved those hands, he cherished them, they were one of the few benefits of having a surgeon for a boyfriend.  Julian may have always been late, always been tired, but he was always very, very good with those hands. 

In that moment, though, instead of feeling the bone-deep want for Julian to touch him with those hands, Alex felt his stomach twist into a knot. The only time Julian sat like that, elbows pressing into his thighs with dark hair spilling through skilled fingers, was when he'd had an especially long and awful day at work. Normally this was the time where Alex would console him, giving him love and affection in order to stave off darkness and despair. Tonight Alex had been the one to cause it, and he had no idea what to do.

"Alex."  There it was again.  His name.  But the purr was fading and the vile ichor of disappointment and impatience was rushing to fill its place.  "You promised."

And Alex had.  But he would promise Julian anything, he would give Julian anything, he loved the man more than anyone in the universe.  Alex had meant that promise too, and he still did, he just hadn't meant it for that day, that week, month, or even year.  "I know."  All the steam had been taken out of him as he ran bare toes over cold tile, gaze dropping to the floor as he did so, watching the senseless patterns he traced. "But does it have to be right now?"  He sounded half his age all of the sudden, a golden curl flopping down onto his forehead solidifying that notion.  Alex argued for a living and he was damn good at it.  But this argument was one he'd lose, and he knew it.  And in doing so he'd end up losing, twice.  "Does it have to be tonight?"

"How many times have you asked that?"  Julian straightened in exasperation, turning on the couch to look across their loft, a place which had seen so much more happiness than it had this flash of disillusionment and anger.  "How many times in the last five years have you pushed this conversation to the next night?  And then the next?"  A soft laugh escaped Julian's mouth before he scrubbed his hands over his face. "How many times have I let you?"

Somehow that single question stung more than the other ones, Julian's defeated tone giving Alex the sudden need to cling to the granite countertop lest his knees decided to give way.  Over the years Julian had made Alex's knees weak in one way or another, but not like this, not because of the night and everything suddenly turning upside down and leaving Alex feeling as if there was no possible way to right it. 

"Jules."  Panic gripped tight at his throat as Alex wiped his hands dry on his slacks, rushing around the island in long strides to cross the dining area into the living room, aiming for the couch and the man that sat so rigidly upon it.  Normally Alex would sashay saucily, feet moving to the music in his head or which was playing through their sound system before climbing into the lap of his lover.  Tonight he knew the lap was no option, Julian's body language being clenched and closed, but it seemed even the couch was off-limits as Julian shook his head and held up a warning hand.

"No. I'm serious Alex.  How many times?"  Both their eyes were blue,  but Julian's were darker, richer, like all those rooftops they'd seen the times they'd gone to Greece for this weekend or that summer getaway. They fit against his complexion perfectly, making him dashing in a way that had always made Alex's breath catch.  Like they did at that moment looking up at him full of insecurity and sadness.  "How many times have I asked, pleaded with you to tell your parents?   How many times have I begged for you to just let me hold your hand in public?  For God's sake, we've shared the same apartment and slept in the same bed every night for five years.  Five years."  Julian shrugged his shoulders, the motion somehow violent and confrontational.  "Five years."  He shook his head softly before wearily pushing himself up off the couch to stand. 

Instinctively Alex took a step forward, trying to close the space between them, to reach out and hold him, to somehow be able to explain.  But there were no words and Julian rejected the notion of contact with a sharp gaze.  "I just want to know that half of what you say in here."  Julian gestured at the walls of their apartment. "I need to know that you mean it.  That you love me. I need to know I'm worth it to you.  We can't get married, and even if we could that's not what I'm asking.  I just need for people to know that I exist, that I'm more than your roommate."

Alex's mouth opened, and then closed, and then opened again.  It was the perfect parody of a fish, and any other moment Alex would have pointed it out about himself, grinning and all too amused as he did so.  But for all his congenial good nature, for all that easy-going there to please attitude, Alex couldn't give Julian what he wanted with this.  "Can't you just try to understand?"

The beginning of that particular monologue was cut off with a quick gesture from Julian as he moved to gather his jacket, wallet, and keys.  "I can't anymore Alex.  I can't care more about your Dad and his issues than I can care about us or what I need."  The leather jacket was slid on without sound, the sharpness of the zipper cutting through the heavy silence between them.  "I can't do another work party where I have to tell everyone my boyfriend can't make it or you going to whatever the firm throws and pretending that you're straight and single.  I can't care anymore that you'd be ostracized at work or your mother would never manage to forgive you.  How can you give a damn about any of that, anyway?   What does it matter when I love you as much as I do?" 

Julian's voice broke then, tears welling up but not falling as he placed his hand on the doorknob with firm finality. Alex's jaw was still working as his brain struggled for something to say, for the right thing to say, but for the past five years, there had been no words to cross the chasm of misunderstanding that spread so vast and uncrossable between them.  And no words came then, either, leaving them to stare at one another, the space between them yawning further and further with each passing heartbeat. 

"Julian."   Alex finally croaked, the name of his other half a heartfelt plea, but once more he found himself rejected that night. 

"No."  Julian rolled his shoulders back and shook his head.  "No Alex.   I can't do it anymore."  

The door was open and shut before Alex could cross the floor, the sound of it closing echoing through their apartment.  "But..."  The word was useless against the door before him, Alex's palm rising up to press against it.  He couldn't run after Julian, couldn't chase him down the multiple flights and onto the street shouting that he could change and that he'd make it all better, that he'd fix it.  It was what he should do.  It would make Julian feel as though he mattered enough. It would make him come home.  "But I love you too."   Alex whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the smooth grain of the wood.

Sometimes, it seemed, even love wasn't enough.