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Style unlocks the door to him and Fadel’s apartment after a long day at the garage. As usual, he’s met with the same scent of alcohol that hasn't seemed to have left the room since about 2 months ago. Fadel’s drinking again.
Things haven't exactly been going well for Fadel. It all started with an invitation Style received from Kant to attend some party. Only Style was invited, but he practically begged Fadel to accompany him, of course he did. And of course Fadel couldn't reject him.
“And where is this said party?” Fadel asks, skeptical.
“Uh…some bar I’m not familiar with. We’ll figure it out! Please, Fadel, you wouldn't leave me alone would you? Hm?” Style pleads, suddenly snuggling up against Fadel’s arm with a sneaky pout on his face, his eyes shiny and cunning.
Fadel looks away, scoffing. He acts annoyed, but secretly, he’s endeared by his boyfriend’s perseverance to grab his company. “Alright, fine. But I’m not socializing, and if it’s boring, I’m leaving.” Fadel grumbles.
Style looks up at Fadel, practically beaming, “Yes! Deal! I’ll call Kant right now.” he exclaims while planting a kiss on his lover’s cheek before running away, giggling.
“And you’re driving!” Fadel adds, a playful smile tugging at his lips while he admires his boyfriend.
As they arrive at the location, Fadel’s chest tightens when he slowly realizes that this “bar” wasn't unknown to him at all, in fact, he knew it all too well.
The place that was now bustling with laughter and noise was once a quiet sanctuary where he and his past lover would meet almost a decade ago.
Fadel noticed things. The walls painted a different color, the lights being brighter than he remembers, the now fancy chairs that used to be dull wood. Though, one thing that didn't seem to leave was this gnawing feeling in his chest. The feeling of losing someone. It happened so long ago, but seeing the place in person made the pain feel as if he was experiencing it again first hand, reminiscent of the one he used to dance with on the exact same floor.
In the party, he was evidently out of it. While Style was busy making new friends, Fadel would zone out, sip his drink a bit too frequently, or jerk whenever someone would approach him. It didn't take long until Style noticed.
“Baby? You okay?” Style whispers to Fadel while rubbing his shoulder.
Fadel looks up at Style, then around him. “Can we go home?” Fadel replies, voice wavering.
Style nods, “Of course. Let me say goodbye to Kant.” He doesn't ask why, but he can tell there's something wrong.
The car ride home is silent at first. Style glances at his boyfriend from time to time, contemplating on whether or not he should ask about earlier. Meanwhile, Fadel is staring out the window blankly, his mind wandering where it probably shouldn't. In the end, Style’s concern got the best of him, swallowing before asking Fadel about what happened.
“Hey…is something wrong?” Style asks cautiously.
“Huh? Yeah…it's just…” Fadel answers, never fully completing his sentence, but finally snapping out of his train of thought.
Style pulls over before continuing the conversation, realizing the severity of the situation. He cups Fadel’s face in his hands and looks straight into his eyes in reassurance, “Fadel, you know you can talk to me right? I can sense when something's off. This is really unlike you.”
Fadel hesitates before he responds, unsure of whether or not he should tell Style about this. However, as he looks at the man sitting across from him with worry in his eyes and a voice too warm for him to handle, Fadel decides that he doesn't want to hide anything from him.
“That bar…I used to go there with him. I should've told you right away, I’m sorry.” Fadel admits.
Silence. Style immediately realizes who Fadel is talking about. Knowing what Fadel had to endure, he immediately feels horrible for bringing up the idea of inviting Fadel there in the first place. Even though he knew nothing about the location, he felt bad regardless.
“Oh…I understand. I’m so sorry baby, I didn't know. I shouldn't have asked you to come. Are you okay?”
“...I don't know. ” Fadel’s eyes shift downwards.
“And that’s fine. I love you okay?” Style reaches over and pulls Fadel into a tight hug, gently stroking Fadel’s hair despite their awkward positions in the seats of their car. Fadel closes his eyes as his hand rubs Styles back, “I love you.” he replies, relieved and grateful to have someone love him this much.
But at home, the thought doesn't go away. It eats him alive. Just sitting in that place again was enough to bring back the guilt he had to endure years ago. It wasn't that he missed his ex, no, it was nothing like that. But the thought of someone losing their life because of you is a heavy weight to carry. His mind didn't rest, his eyes remaining glued to the ceiling the whole night.
Weeks after the incident, the feeling never left. He needed something to shut the pain out, something to stop him from feeling the way he was. Most of the time, he’d drink so much that he would wake up with an empty glass in his hand with no idea of how much time had passed since he fell asleep. If he wasn’t drinking, he would lock himself in their bedroom and allow his own thoughts to consume him.
Fadel couldn't stand himself. He hated the way he acted ever since the incident. But stopping would mean feeling the same torment he felt the day he found out he killed someone.
As time went by, the isolation got more frequent, so frequent that he had to sit out work at his burger joint one too many times, which was rare for him to do so.
Almost every day since the incident, Style has had to watch Fadel suffer while he can only watch. He attempted multiple times to get Fadel to talk to him, but he would always say he was “fine” when he obviously wasn't.
At first, Style was empathetic. He understood Fadel. But after months of experiencing the same thing over and over, he started to feel something inside of him. It wasn't jealousy nor anger, but rather this quiet feeling of not being enough, almost as if he was being forgotten by his lover. He tried burying away the ache, because what right does he even have to feel this way, when someone is struggling right in front of him? But the feeling couldn't be ignored. He wondered why he was being pushed away, wondered why he couldn't seem to help Fadel despite how much he tried.
It crushed Style to see him like this. Worse, he blamed himself for bringing Fadel to that place, the place that was now the reason for his current state. On most nights, Style would silently cry himself to sleep because he had no idea how to handle the situation anymore, knowing full well he’d have to relive the same nightmare the next day; coming home to the man Fadel had become.
The loneliness that Fadel once cured him of was now the only thing he felt whilst he stared at Fadel asleep in their bed.
Weeks turned into months, and at this point, Style had given up on trying to stop Fadel, stopped trying to make things go back to the way they were. He would leave early for work, come home, and go straight to their bedroom. He was silent about his own feelings, regardless of how excruciating they were or how often they tugged at his chest. There wasn't a single moment he wasn't thinking about it. But nothing worked in the past anyway, so what was the point?
Every day, spoken words became seldom, and sleeping in the same bed became mundane instead of what used to be a way for them to feel each other's presence after long days at work. The more time passes, the more Fadel starts to feel like a total stranger.
__________
The day at the garage was particularly rough today. Some issue with a customer’s insurance being lost was just one more problem to add on to Style’s already busy and stressful day, not to mention the circumstances between him and Fadel. All he wanted to do was go home, kick his shoes off, and cuddle with his lover, But he knew that wasn't gonna happen any time soon.
As soon as he opens his door to their apartment, he sees Fadel drinking in the dining room, looking heavy-eyed and fatigued as usual. The same smell of cheap liquor fills stings in the back of his nose, that familiar sensation that he was sick of feeling. But today…today was different. Style was going to say something.
“You’re drinking again?” Style asks, a distinct hollowness in his voice.
Fadel doesn't even spare him a glance, swirling the drink in his hand around.
Style walks over to Fadel, standing right in front of him from across the table. “Hey. I’m getting more worried about you. Everyone is. Bison’s wondering why he’s been having to cover so many of your shifts lately.”
Fadel finally looks up at Style, his eyes cloudy. “Go to bed, Style. It’s late.” he says coldly. Style is almost shocked at the lack of emotion in Fadel’s voice. Fadel was never the expressive type, but this time, it hurt even more.
“...No. Can you please listen to me? You can’t just keep doing this and expect me to do nothing.” This time, Style doesn't get a response. Fadel rubs his temples before taking another sip of his drink.
Style keeps pushing. “Why won't you talk to me? This isn't normal, okay? If you just let me-”
"Can't you just leave me alone?!" Fadel snaps, coming out sharper and louder than intended, startling Style which causes him to flinch. Immediately, he retreats, regretting what he said. "Please, Style, not today. Just...give me some time."
The room stays silent for a moment, this indescribable tension filling the space between them. Then, Style just…breaks.
"How much time?" Style suddenly asks, tone numb, but firm.
"What?" Fadel looks at Style, taken aback by the sudden question.
"Look, I'm tired of you acting like you don't have me. Like I'm just…a ghost to you. It’s been months. I tried to be there for you, understand your pain, because I know you've gone through so much. But you can't just keep pushing me away, Fadel." Style's quick but assertive words cut through the thick atmosphere that once lingered in the room.
Fadel straightens his posture, eyebrows furrowed. "...What the fuck, Style? Where is this coming from?"
A short but sharp exhale escapes Style's mouth, barely forming a scoff. "Where is this coming from? I've had to watch you destroy yourself over a guy for the last few months. I’m not gonna act like this is okay anymore."
Fadel's face twists into anger and disappointment, almost offended by what he’d just heard. He stands up from his chair, "He’s not just a guy, Style. He was my…” He stops himself before finishing the sentence, letting out a sigh. “It doesn't matter. He’s gone. Because of me.”
"What about me?" Style says, voice finally faltering, the tough composure he once wanted to show was suddenly gone. Despite his best efforts to keep it together, it didn't take long until he felt his throat tighten, accompanied by a burning sensation behind his eyes, tears fighting not to escape.
“He's dead, Fadel. But I’m right here.”
The words come out before he could even hesitate. He hates for these to be the one of the first words he says to Fadel after months of being distant, but he had enough.
The sentence lingers between the both of them. Fadel looks at the man across from him in disbelief, he almost doesn't even recognize him anymore. But Style? He's never been the one to hold back his thoughts. Heck, he's been doing it for months. He knows he shouldn't continue, he knows he'll say something he'll regret, but the ache he's been holding in didn’t seem to want to suppress itself any longer. What does he have to lose now?
"Have you ever thought about how I feel? To watch you blame yourself over, and over, and over again for this while you shut yourself away from me? I just want you to feel like you're safe when you're with me. I’m here too. I feel like I’m nothing to you." Style adds, his voice becoming more intense.
“Well I’m sorry that your life is so damn miserable. Why don’t you take a look at mine?! Huh!?" Fadel replies angrily.
Style can feel his heart sink. ”Why does it have to be about you all the fucking time?!” he argues.
"You’re unbelievable. I thought I could trust you. You don’t understand me at all!"
“You’re right! I’ll never understand! Because right now, the memory of him feels more alive than me!” Style’s response seems to leave Fadel speechless.
He sighs shakily before he continues, “Look, I know I'm being irrational. For months, I've felt angry and disgusted with myself for even thinking that I deserve more than this, because it shouldn't be about me. I mean, what kind of boyfriend does that? I don't want to feel this way." Tears are now trailing down his pale face, his breath hitching every few words.
“Style…let’s just calm down a bit.” Fadel’s voice is now calm, trying to ease the tension between them as he realizes how fast the situation’s escalated.
Style’s words are almost incoherent because of how uncontrollable his sobbing has become, “I’ve been calm for 3 fucking months, Fadel. I’m done. I'm sorry, but let me be the bad guy for tonight. I’m always the immature and selfish one, right? So allow me to ask for a bit of empathy. Because I can’t even begin to tell you how much it hurts me when you continue to ruin yourself while I stand here helpless, wondering why my presence, my company can't seem to bring you any comfort or happiness.”
“It…it makes me wish I was the one who died instead.”
The weight of Style’s words send shivers down Fadel’s spine.
His eyes are now glassy with tears, his expression containing unmistakable guilt, a stiffness in his shoulders that won't seem to settle. His chest ached, seeing the love of his life who was usually the light in any room suddenly break down in front of him. The blatant hurt in his voice destroyed him like nothing else. The image of Style like this is…unfamiliar.
"I'll sleep at my dad's tonight," Style adds after calming himself down. He turns around, walks to their bedroom with heavy steps, but then stops right in front of the door for a moment. He waits. Waits for Fadel to apologize, stop him, anything, but nothing happens. Style takes this as his “go signal”, opening their bedroom door, tearfully and mindlessly shoving his clothes in a random bag before he walks out of the front door without looking back.
Fadel and Style have had arguments before, but never as bad as this one. Usually, they’d spend time alone to think rationally, and either one of them would make up with the other in a few hours. This fight on the other hand, wasn’t something you could just “sleep on.”
Meanwhile, Fadel doesn't know why he couldn't say anything before Style walked out. Was it because of his usual cold self? Or maybe it was because he didn't know what to do with himself after seeing Style hurt this much because of something he did. Style’s last few words rang in his head endlessly.
Nevertheless, he was someone overcome with grief and loss, blaming himself for someone’s death. Someone that he loved. That type of guilt doesn't just go away, it stays with you until you learn to live with it. To him, isolating himself from his loved ones meant not being a problem to them; perhaps he thought he was saving Style from feeling the same anguish he himself was feeling. Anguish that someone like Style doesn't deserve.
All of this time, what Fadel told himself was protection was in reality just wrecking what they had. Worse, it was hurting Style. Style rarely broke, so seeing him a crying mess like this was a stab to Fadel’s heart. More painful than any of the previous wounds he’s endured on one of his missions.
As soon as he hears the door slam behind him, his knees start to give in, forcing himself to sit on the chair behind him. He lets out a long, shaky exhale before resting his head in his hands, tears finally spilling as he lets the silence of his apartment swallow him whole.
Just like that, Fadel lost someone. Again. And he knew it was his fault.
__________
Style is zoned out, completely occupied by his thinking, when he feels someone grab his shoulder firmly.
“Hey! Sorry I’m a bit late, it's been a while since I’ve been here, I got lost. You’re lucky I could make it, Bison and I were planning to catch a movie tonight. Anyways, what’s up?” It’s Kant. Style invited him to the bowling alley for some drinks. Right now, all Style needs is some company.
Kant wraps his arm around Style’s shoulder, “Come on. What did you drag me in here for?” he teases.
“Can’t two friends share a drink sometimes?” Style says, voice monotone, his gaze fixed on his half finished drink.
Kant’s smile fades as his arm moves away from Style, sensing something wrong. After all, he knows his best friend too well. “Okay…something is weird about you today. You never ask me out for drinks. You’re usually too busy spending time with…oh.” The realization hits him like a brick.
Style lets out a tired chuckle. “Yeah. Oh.” he says quietly, fidgeting with the glass in his hand.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Kant asks, his tone shifting to a more serious one.
“It was just a stupid fight.” Style mumbled before bitterly finishing his drink.
“Well, it doesn’t seem stupid to me. Look at yourself, looking all defeated. You never look defeated. You can talk to me about it. I’ll beat him up if you need me to!” Kant objects, rubbing Style’s back.
Style hesitates before speaking, “That party we went to months ago…he used to go to that bar with his ex and he’s been doing horrible ever since. I just don’t get him sometimes. I know I’m a bad person for this but…he has me and I don’t get why he’s still so affected by it. It sucks to see him like that and I wonder why I can’t help him. I’ve told him multiple times that it wasn’t his fault. Then he completely ignores me and shuts me out, but I’m his boyfriend. I’m supposed to be supporting him.” Style admits, his voice weak and hoarse from crying earlier.
“I get how he feels, but what good is it doing when he ignores me? I don’t feel like I matter to him. I already feel like shit thinking like this, and it's even worse that he's pushing me away.” Style can feel tears building up again.
Kant takes a moment before stomaching what he’d just heard. He sighs, seeing how much his friend is hurt. He wants to punch Fadel in the face right now, but he knows that wouldn’t be a rational or good idea.
“Listen, you’re not a bad person. I understand you. It’s normal to feel that way and Fadel shouldn’t have done this to you. But…maybe Fadel knew how you felt. Maybe he knew he was hurting you with what he was doing and maybe by staying silent, he thought he was doing you a favor. I have a feeling he was just guilty and had a really shitty way of dealing with it. I’m not defending him, but he went through a lot, man.” Kant reassures Style.
Hearing his friend’s supportive words mixed with the alcohol kicking in, Style can’t help but shed tears. “I know. I just… I want things to be okay again. I miss him. I miss him so much.” he confesses, letting himself collapse into Kant’s arms while he cries, Kant gently caressing the back of Style’s head.
Style continues, quieter this time, “I said some really stupid things to him, Kant. It was my fault for even inviting him there. And now I’ve screwed things up even more because I walked out on him. I should’ve just talked to him nicely, I should've been there for him, but now look at what happe-”
Kant firmly cups Style’s face with his hands. “Hey, hey. Look at me. You’ve tried talking to him before right? Exactly. There’s nothing you could’ve done. You did what you could. Why is that your fault? You’re going to get through this. Now stop crying before I start crying with you, man. Let’s just have fun tonight, okay?” He wipes Style’s tears away before ordering another drink for both of them.
__________
“Here’s your burger ma’am, and extra ketchup like you asked for.” Bison smiles warmly at the customer before heading back into the kitchen of Heart Burger, the burger joint Fadel currently runs.
Before he even opens the door to the staff-only area, he can already hear Fadel fiercely chopping the ingredients on his chopping board. Fadel’s been working intensely at the burger joint ever since the fight happened, hardly taking any breaks as a way to “clear his head.” Bison makes his way through the kitchen and walks to the sink to help with the dishes.
“So…are you gonna tell me why you disappeared from work for like, a month, and then come back one day and start working like crazy?”
Bison asks, looking down at the plate he’s scrubbing in his hands. He waits for a response, but what he gets instead is Fadel cutting the vegetables even more aggressively this time. “Really not gonna budge huh? You literally haven’t gotten any sleep in 3 days. Just saying, I have a job interview in an hour so if you like, faint or something I’m not saving you.” Bison teases playfully, an effort to lighten up the mood.
Fadel rolls his eyes and grits his teeth before answering, “Are you done? I’m trying to work here, I told you you didn’t need to come in today.” he scolded.
“Come on, Fadel. We’re brothers, you know?” Bison whines, determined to get an answer out of him. Even though the two brothers banter most of the time, Bison still cares deeply about Fadel and wishes he’d open up to him a bit more, especially because he’s noticed Fadel’s odd behavior lately. Why would Fadel randomly abandon his shifts when he’s worked so hard to keep the burger joint running? He loves the place, especially since Style worked his ass off to get it back for him. He can tell something’s up.
“I just had a bad day. Happy? Now, shut up and serve this to table 8. They’ve been waiting a while.” Fadel ordered while shoving a tray with a burger and fries into Bison’s hands before going back to furiously cutting the vegetables with his eyes laser focused on the chopping board.
“Tsk. Bad day my foot. Whatever, killjoy.” Bison rolls his eyes as he’s about to leave the kitchen. Suddenly, he hears a knife clatter to the ground.
“Shit!” Fadel groaned. He cut the side of his palm badly with the knife.
“What the hell happened? Are you okay?” Bison asks worriedly, putting the tray down immediately and running to check up on Fadel.
“I-I’m fine, just get me a bandage.” Fadel responds, visibly still in severe pain.
“No, you’re not fine.” Bison argues while speedily and anxiously grabbing the first aid kit in their kitchen before ripping the packaging of the gauze. He hurriedly applies pressure to the wound, but it doesn’t seem to be effective. “Fuck, it won’t stop bleeding, it’s too deep. This is really bad…we need to get it stitched up.”
“What? I don't need a hospita-”
“Just shut up and come with me, will you?” Bison argued while quickly guiding Fadel out through the back door and into the passenger seat of his car.
__________
“Oh will you take that look off your face? I helped you just now when I should be on my way to a job interview.” Bison hissed at Fadel who was looking at him with an annoyed expression.
“I don't particularly enjoy being around the smell of hospital beds and blinding lights, Bison. I had it under control.” Fadel shoots back with condescension, followed by a wince from the stitch being tightened on his palm.
Bison snickers, “Yeah right.”
“After I finish wrapping the bandage, you'll be all done. You’re lucky the cut isn't any deeper than it is. Don't forget to replace the bandage twice a day, and try your best not to get it wet. After a week or two, you can come back to get the stitches removed depending on how it heals. Oh, and don’t forget to apply the antibiotic ointment whenever you change the wrap so that it doesn't get infected.” The nurse notes calmly while handing them an ointment bottle and a pack of bandages. “Here.” She adds with a warm smile on her face before walking away. “Thank you.” Fadel remarks.
“So, now are you gonna tell me why you’re so off your game?” Bison demands.
“Will you stop asking me already? Just take me back to the burger joint.” Fadel argues, annoyed.
“No way. You’re going straight home for the day. Shit…I’m late to my interview. You should be fine, I already called him to drive you home, he should be here soon. See you later!” Bison says hurriedly before grabbing his things.
Fadel furrows his brows at his last statement. He grabs Bison by his arm, “Wait. What do you mean he? Who’s picking me up?”
“Well…who else? Style, obviously.”
Fadel’s stomach drops.
“No, no, Bison you don't understand. He…won't come. He-”
“What do you mean? He’s here.” Bison interrupts before Fadel can continue speaking, pointing at someone behind him, confused. It’s Style.
Of course it’s Style, standing there with the slightest hint of worry in his expression, mixed with frustration. An internal panic rises inside Fadel, who is now regretting all the previous times he’s turned down Bison's nosy questions. He hasn't even thought about what to say to Style, but now…he’s here. He showed up.
“I really have to go now, Fadel. Text me.” Bison adds while he checks his phone, jogging out of the hospital.
“Bison, wait!” Fadel presses his lips together and roughly runs his fingers through his hair in complete disbelief of the situation he’s just gotten himself into as he watches Bison disappear from his sight.
__________
The car ride to Fadel and Style’s apartment was completely quiet. Neither of them dared to say anything. The silence was frightening, but facing the reality of their situation was even scarier.
Style insisted on driving which seemed sweet at first, but Fadel could tell Style wasn’t in the mood to talk, visibly still upset and hurt. But Fadel was tired of himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to allow himself to lose someone again because of an argument, especially since this time, that “someone” is the person he can’t imagine living without. He loved Style too much to let that happen.
Fadel unlocks the door to their apartment. It looks almost identical since the incident happened; the chairs slightly out of place, clothes from last week draped messily on their couch, and the lingering melancholy of their last argument. Style turns around, about to leave, when Fadel grabs his arm with his uninjured hand.
“Wait…Style. Can we talk?” Fadel pleads, looking Style in the eye.
Style turns to look at his arm being held back, then at Fadel. “Now you wanna talk?” he replies coldly.
“Listen…I know you hate me right now, but-”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Style interrupts.
“Then just listen to what I have to say. Please?”
Style pauses, then looks around. His eyes land on Fadel’s injured hand. “Your bandage’s coming undone. Sit down, I’ll replace it.”
Fadel was sure his bandage hadn't come undone, and he knew it didn't have to be replaced until later, so he figured this was Style’s subtle way of giving him a chance to speak without openly surrendering to his request. He probably didn't deserve it, but trying was infinitely better than the possibility of losing Style again.
Style guides Fadel to the couch before gently placing Fadel’s injured hand on his lap. He carefully unwraps the gauze, grabbing a cotton swab to apply the ointment on the cut.
“Style…I’m sorry. I should’ve-”
“If you’re just going to apologize, then I don’t think this is gonna work out. I’m leaving.” Style interrupts Fadel sharply.
“Wait…That day, when you left. I-I was scared.” Fadel admits weakly.
Style’s gaze slowly shifts up towards Fadel, his face containing the slightest trace of shock, not expecting such a sudden confession.
“Seeing you walk out of our door made me realize that my biggest fear was about to come true…that I was going to lose you.”
Fadel softly clasps Style’s hands, “I didn't want to be a burden to you. If I couldn’t move on from my past, it was unfair for me to keep you from moving on too. I hate seeing you get hurt. I think…that’s why I kept things from you, but I know now that I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d understand me. I didn't realize how much it was hurting you…I’m sorry.”
Style can feel his eyes watering, the effect of Fadel’s words hitting him.
Fadel’s hands move up to caress Style’s cheek, “Hearing you say those last few words before you left, it shattered something inside of me. Style…you're the reason I’m still alive. I’m a complete asshole for making you feel anything other than that.”
“I can't lose you.” Fadel confesses, his voice cracking. The thought of losing Style haunts Fadel, no matter how hard it is to admit to himself, let alone Style.
“I love you so much. Too much for me to let myself screw this up again. So please…can you give me a chance? To fix this. I want things to be like they were.”
Style doesn't think twice before pulling Fadel into a tight hug, closing his eyes and letting his tears stream down his cheeks. No words, just quiet and irrefutable acceptance. Fadel can feel himself melt into his lover’s embrace, allowing the warmth of the moment to take over him.
“Style, did you really mean it when you said…I made you wish you were dead?”
Style pauses before he answers. “...I was really hurt, Fadel. What stings more than anything is seeing you struggle.”
Style releases himself from the hug, hands gently cupping Fadel’s face, his eyes meeting Fadel’s. “I’m sorry. I said some things that weren't okay. But please, let me give you the help that you need. Let me take care of you.”
“I’d rather die than be a bystander to your suffering.” Style affirms, not stuttering a single word, a declaration of his love.
Fadel can feel his throat tightening, tears forming behind his eyes. Regret fills his mind instantly. “I’m so sorry.”
Fadel wraps Style in his arms tightly again, allowing himself to fully break down in his lover’s embrace. He almost never cries around others, but this time, it was necessary. He didn’t believe he deserved someone like Style. “I just wanted you to be happy with your own life.”
“You are my happiness, Fadel. Just seeing you smile is enough. I told you this, right?”
Style presses their foreheads together, looking straight into Fadel’s weary eyes after wiping the tears from his cheeks, his own eyes glassy. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Fadel replies before leaning in and pressing his warm lips against Style’s, allowing himself to take advantage of their reconciliation before deepening the kiss.
They allow themselves to get tangled in each other, making up for the time they’ve spent apart. Fadel’s wound feels like it’s completely healed; not the one on his hand, but the one in his heart.