Around The World And Back

They meet up from time to time, once in a while, but it's always worth it.

He hates the way that they lights up a room when he smiles, the way that their voice resonates inside of him when they speak.

 

The way they take his hands and pull him in, silently asking for a dance with the most beautiful man in the room.

 

He hates the way they spin him around and pull him back close, their lips are nearly touching and they smile.

 

"Are you having fun?"

 

He pouts and grunts, but they don't mind.

 

They hate it.

 

But they don't mind.

 

They only wrap an arm around him, who raises an eyebrow in defensive confusion. "I don't see what you're being so defensive about."

 

"I'm not defensive."

 

They chuckle at that, and he hates the way their gorgeous eyes crinkle at the sides when they do. They makes circles on the small of his back, and he just stares at them.

 

"Then, would it kill you to smile a bit?" They say, so he flashes them a small smile then frowns again, so they just roll their eyes and spin him as the song slows.

 

He looks out on the crowd, and hates that they make him forget they're even there. They makes him feel like he's the center of the universe, like he's the sun among stars, like he's the only that matters.

 

"What are you thinking about?" Comes a husky voice in his ear, and he hates the way it sends shivers down his spine. He hates the way it takes him over, and makes him turn to mush.

 

"Nothing."

 

"Can't be nothing if it's got you looking like that."

 

"Like what?"

 

"Faraway." They whisper, and their foreheads are pressed together way too close for him to like.

 

He scans them for imperfections, and he hates that he can't find any. It's just them, in the middle of a crowd, against the whole world.

It always has been.

 

"What if it doesn't work?" He blurts out, and they raise their head in speculation, still turning them carefully to the beat, though the floor is mostly empty now.

 

"What if what doesn't work?"

 

"Us."

 

They sigh at that and pull his face into their shoulder, and he hates how familiar their cologne smells. It calms his nerves, almost like mint, and clears his senses.

 

"Why do you keep saying that? You always say that..."

 

"What if it's true?" He sniffles, and he hates that he's even crying here.

 

He hates that they even brought him here.

 

He hates that he's falling in love.

 

"Hey, hey, don't cry..." They sooth his back, swaying softly to calm him down. They place a kiss to his head, and Jack hates how much he misses that.

 

"What if...what if some day you get bored of me?"

 

At that, they laugh, outright laugh.

 

He hates that they laugh.

 

"Bored? Of you? Cameron, if anyone can keep me on my toes, it's you."

 

He pouts at that, again, so they grab his cheeks and glares at him, gorgeous and illuminated by the spotlight that now surrounds them.

 

"You are the most gorgeous, most exciting man I've ever met. Why would I ever get bored of you?"

 

He frowns at that, because he isn't sure.

 

His hair?

 

What about his hair?

 

"Do you like my hair?"

 

They smirk at him and touch it, tan fingers running through short, brown strands. "Perfect."

 

His teeth?

 

What about his teeth?

 

"What about my teeth?"

 

"Your teeth?"

 

"Shut up, forget I said anythin'." He mumbles, trying to turn away but they force him to stand still, and he watches their arm flex.

 

He hates how strong they are.

 

"Your teeth are...straight?"

 

"Are they?"

 

"They are." They say with some finalization, and he scrambles for more mistakes.

 

More flaws.

 

More reasons for them not to be in love.

 

His eyes?

 

Too dull.

 

His voice?

 

Too loud.

 

His body?

 

To feminine. Defined but dainty.

 

His feet are too big.

 

His style is too dark.

 

His personality is too forthcoming.

 

His--

 

"Stop." They command, and he hasn't even noticed he's crying again.

 

Smooth padded thumbs wipe his tears away as he sniffles, and he realizes the song is over.

 

He parts himself away from them and wipes his own face, and he hates that there's nothing to wipe.

 

He shakes his head and looks down in shame, holding up a hand when they step forward. "I can't."

 

"Let me help you," They whisper, and they takes his hand in theirs. He knows what they're going to say before they even say it. "Let me love you."

 

He exhales deeply, and it feels like the whole world around them waits on his decision.

 

It's been years since he's felt like this.

 

Years since he's decided he wanted to be alone.

 

He'd had a good run.

 

He hated it had to end.

 

They wiggle their fingers in between his, a silent plea of forgiveness.

 

His fingers stay still, not intertwining, but he lifts his head up again.

 

He can see their eyes are tired, and he hates it.

 

He caused them to worry.

 

Why was they worried?

 

He knows why they are worried.

 

They love him.

 

Every flaw.

 

Every mistake.

 

He gives them every reason to fall in love.

 

They love the way he lights up a room as soon as he enters, draws attention just by smiling, the way his laugh could brighten a day.

 

They tell him these things every time they meet.

 

No matter what day.

 

What year.

 

What timeline.

 

They always find a way to tell himhow much they love him.

 

And everytime, he gains one more reason to doubt him.

 

Hatred is such a fickle thing.

 

It never seems to go away.

 

Still, he had no choice.

 

He didn't want to fall in love, so why did he have to?

 

Why did they have to come along and ruin it all with their bright smile and charming words?

 

All that he's worked for up to now, keeping his distance, dulling his feelings, negated.

 

All by one man.

 

All by three simple words.

 

I love you.

 

The first time they said it, he met them in a bar, strung out on shots and pain.

That's when he found out they were just alike.

Then, they disappeared.

 

The second time was a war on the fronts of the Americas.

He can't remember why.

 

The next, a chance meeting in Medieval Times.

 

They were seconds away from death, and in he comes to save the day.

 

The underworld.

 

And now, a royal ball that seems to have come right out of a fairytale.

 

All of this, it must mean something.

 

These can't all be mistakes.

 

He realizes they haven't moved an inch, and their hand is still locked with his.

 

They anxiously await him, just like they always do.

 

He's known them by many names.

 

Many faces.

Many stories.

But no matter what, they loved him, all of him.

 

Now, it was time for him to love all of them too.

 

So he locks his hand with them and smiles, giggling softly as they pull him in.

 

And for the first time, he loves the way they can always make him feel like they're the only two people in the room.

Author's Note

Critique everything and anything! Constructive Criticism only, please.