SO MUCH UNDONE

by James Kythe Walkswithwind
m/m implicit

	He looked up when the wind blew the curtains across his line of sight.
He pushed them away absently, knowing that he should tie them back or
they'd simply continue to blow in his way.  but it didnt matter- he hadn't
been able to see the papers in front of him for sometime.  	He leaned
back and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.  Watering again,
must be the light was too dim.  Perhaps he was just tired.  Or maybe
his sister was right and he needed glasses.  It was probably one of those
things; there was no other reason for his eyes to water.
	With a dejected sigh he shoved the papers away, no use trying to work
on them anymore right now.  He turned his head to stare out the window-
the rose patterned curtains were still billowing out, obscuring his vision.
Like they knew, knew what he was trying to see and 
helpfully doing what they could to keep him unseeing.  He would have
been grateful had he not hated that rose-pattern ever since his sister
had put them up.  Hadn't even asked him, just one day they showed up
hanging in his bedroom.  He'd asked her to take them down but of course
she'd refused.  Muttered something about brightening up the place and
did just as she pleased.
	He ought to take them down himself, show her that he still had 
some rights, some say in what his own room looked like.  He glared at
the curtains, and then sighed.  It wasn't worth it; he felt too tired
today to do anything about it anyway.  He'd felt tired yesterday, too,
or he might have taken them down.  He was just tired, that's all- the
only reason he left those stupid curtains hanging.
	He considered the papers again, but instead of spreading them out he
placed his hands against the desk and pushed.  It was all for nothing,
no point in making sure some silly papers were filled out and signed
and correct and filed with all the proper offices.  Who cared if the
beaureaucrats had their numbers in line?  
	What had they ever done for him?  What were they doing for him now?
It caught him again, in a wave, and he let it take him.  Dropping his
head forward he let himself cry until he knew he was going to drown.
The grief wouldn't ever go away; he knew, despite what all the 
well-wishers said it would never go away.  How could it when everytime
he closed his eyes he could hear his voice, laughing, arguing, whispering,
loving.. silent..  
	His shoulders shook until the chair creaked beneath him.  He had only
enough presence of mind to pray no one walked in.  He wasn't ashamed
of his grief, but honestly it was so much harder when someone was nearby.
Whether it was simply someone watching, or the knowledge that even in
their sympathy they could not understand his pain..  he wanted to do
this alone.  He wanted to call his name and not watch someone flinch.
He wanted to reach out for him and not have someone take his hand- someone
else, someone who had no right to take his hand and hold it close. 	He
wanted to bury himself in grief until there was nothing left. 

	He should have been staring out the window savouring the 
memories, watching the good times to take the edge off the bad.  He should
have been throwing himself into his work to drive the grief away.  He
should have been picking up the pieces and trying to move on.  He should
have been standing utterly still, too much in shock to breathe. He should
have been doing anything else but holding one hand out to draw back rose-patterned
curtains so he could see the sun rising-  morning or night he really
didn't know, and stepping forward into that sunlight until the heat burned
everything away.

	The fall killed him instantly, breaking his neck.  Even from the second
floor that should have been difficult but he'd fallen head first- feet
entangled in curtains, billowing in the wind.  They buried him next to
his partner, where he'd always said he belonged.  That night Ben and
Ray drank a toast in the privacy of Ben's apartment to lost lives, lost
love, and promises of never losing chances.

the end

James Kythe Walkswithwind     
jkw@u.arizona.edu	                     Authorise Questions        gila@jbx.com