For All the Lost Ones: 2/5

[sunshine_173]

Author: sunshine_173
Rating: R 
Pairing: Bellamy/Chris Corner(IAMX)
Summary: College student Matt comes across the hedonistic and enigmatic Chris Corner. I'll be honest I don't know how to summarize this as it's a bit complicated. 
Feedback: I'm a comment whore. Every time I read one, miniature fairies take handfuls of love from my heart and dispense them into yours.
Disclaimer: I think if I owned Muse, you would know about it. They're a bit famous so I doubt it'd be something easily hidden. Same thing goes for IAMX.
Warning: Language
Note: I've been waiting for the inspiration to write this for a long time. And finally, I got it and snapped this chapter out today. I've kinda been on a roll this weekend and it's awesome. Anyway, yeah.



A biting autumn breeze brushed against my face, strands of hair tickling the skin of my forehead. My eyes were unfocused and my vision blurred, contacts drying out despite persistent blinking. Mind fuzzy from the haze of just-waking-up, I shoved my hands further into the pockets of my leather jacket as I walked faster towards the promise of warmth. I groaned when a shooting pain raced up between my shoulder blades and centered at the base of my skull, its heartbeat rhythm slow and nothing short of agonizing. Reluctantly I brought a hand out of its cozy place in my jacket and reached up to massage the back of my neck, once again asking myself why I always slept in an uncomfortable position if ultimately it garnered me chronic back pain.

I yawned, more than likely pulling the most unattractive face. I couldn’t find it in me to give the tiniest shit though, my mind too preoccupied trying to wipe the text burnt into the inside of my eyelids, visions of my notes flashing every time I blinked. I was a junior in college, majoring in English with a minor in French linguistics. My compulsive desire to succeed in practically everything I tried finding me, once again, hunched over an impressively large stack of textbooks till I fell asleep in the small, whole-in-the-wall bookstore. The owner became so accustomed to my appearance the last three years that she gave me my own key with the unspoken reminder that if I steal anything, she’ll have my ass in jail. 

And so goes my life. A full-ride scholarship pulling me through school, a part-time job to keep my stomach happy, and nights consisting of either studying or dragging my straight best friend slash roommate to various gay bars around the greater London area. I don’t know why I make him go with me or why he continues to agree, even after his better judgment tries to remind him that he is, in fact, a lover of the female body. My need for constant human interaction has helped me in the way of reading people, and I figured after the first couple times that Dominic Howard simply likes the idea of both women and men fawning over his perfect body.

I’ll admit that the only reason I ever originally acquainted myself with Dom is because I wanted to fuck him terribly. Blondes usually aren’t my type, but he has a fantastic body and that was enough for me. Besides, I noticed after awhile that his hair turned dark when it was wet so I figured that if I was rough enough I wouldn’t be bothered by that golden halo adorning his head. It didn’t take long for him to notice that my invitations to the quaint pub right off campus weren’t for conversation and were instead for him to become so inebriated that he couldn’t tell if my dick was real or if I was a slightly masculinized bird with a flat chest and a taste for the kink.

What really got our friendship kicking was when he saved me from a few bastards who tried to beat the gay right out of me after running into my groping session with a bartender in the back of a club. Dom and I were out with a few others celebrating the end of freshmen year when it happened. One moment I was face down in a puddle getting my side kicked in and practically listening to my ribs fracture, and the next moment the stench of cigarettes and cheap liquor disappeared only to be replaced by a loud-mouthed bouncer and Dom’s holier-than-thou hair in my face. I was scrawnier then so he could easily pick me up, and the next few weeks were composed of Dom taking care of me and simultaneously talking shit because I tricked him into a friendship for the sake of bending him over the futon and fucking him to the other side of the rainbow.

Ever since then we’ve been inseparable. I still taunt him with flirtatious glances and crude comments of what he’s missing out on, but it’s all said in jest. He’s become an older brother to me despite him being six months my junior, and he’s put up with my sexual promiscuity enough to last a lifetime or maybe a few regenerations.

The wind picked up just then, slamming into my small frame with enough force to cause me to stumble backwards a few steps. The white scarf wrapped around my neck whipped through the air and I pulled my jacket tighter around my body, the temperature much colder than a usual early October morning. A streetlamp flickered nearby, its yellow light and the brightness of the moon the only things lighting the sidewalk. My shadow glided across the wet street, puddles of water lining the curb. I crossed to the other side of the street, my footsteps echoing and alone, the shape of the building where Dom and I share a flat in sight.

The street began to angle upwards and I quickened my pace, my body sore from not being home in nearly 24 hours. All I could think about was how warm my bed would be, the scent of the sheets that Dom hopefully washed when he did laundry this morning, and the fluffiness of my comforter surrounding me as I fall into my subconscious. I would dream of something weird like waking up naked with a dog mask on in the middle of an upside down desert and getting chased by a flock of Canadian geese, then wake up in the morning to tell Dom about it and have a laugh before he tried to act philosophical and tell me that waking up naked and having birds target my member was symbolic of my depraved nature and the dog mask represented how I am a player and am too scared to show the world my true face. Then we’d banter for a few minutes before we both left to go to our respective jobs.

I smiled to myself as my mind continued to wander, the wind dying down some, and continued to trudge up the hill. The air was bitter and cold, the tip of my nose numb and my cheeks probably a permanent shade of pink by now.

At first I thought I was imagining it, the sudden whispered voice floating around me, unintelligibly sung words mixing with the sound of the leaves rustling about on empty lawns. It was eerie, that moment, as I became suddenly alert and softened my steps that I heard other footsteps take place of my own. They were slower, sharper but at the same time muffled and from a short distance away. Their rhythm was inconsistent and if I was to guess correctly, it sounded like a drunk walking. That would explain the quiet singing I could still barely hear over the sound of the wind and leaves, cos Christ knows I sing like a motherfucker when I’m trashed.

Almost immediately after I decided it was some random bloke, a thin, almost wraith-like figure appeared atop the hill in the middle of the street headed in my general direction. I couldn’t make out distinct features as the person was too far away and it was too dark, but I could tell from the shape of the body that it was a man, and he was most definitely intoxicated of some sort.

I continued walking, my desire to be home much greater than any inclination to slow down and observe whoever he was. The man made no sign that he realized he wasn’t the only lonely soul on the empty street. His singing grew louder as we came closer to each other, his voice distant, quiet even in the silence consuming the whole street.

I began to make out details in his clothing and facial features and I found myself slowing down as I neared him. There was something in the air about him, almost like his aura, that suddenly and unexpectedly intrigued me. His gait could only be described as broken, but concurrently graceful, elegant. He would stumble a bit, moving to the side a few inches, his feet almost dragged across the wet asphalt surface of the street. Yet this broken walk was dignified, and I felt for a moment like I was in the middle of witnessing something destructive, like an airplane crash; I just couldn’t look away from him. 

He staggered, almost gently, to the left – towards me – and began to pass under one of the brighter streetlamps. I could see him and I was paralyzed.

Thin, long legs were clad in tight black trousers, a ragged hole forming on his left knee. His dark pointed boots were leather, Italian by the look of them. A vivid crimson sash was tied loosely around narrow hips, nearly falling down around his thighs and only staying in place because it was looped in his belt buckle. The ends of the sash looked as if they were burnt and they swayed with his walk. His torso was covered in a black, high-neck jacket unzipped to his navel, ivory skin flushed pink from the cold or from whatever substances that were in his bloodstream. I could barely see the hint of a dark trail of hair peaking out and I felt my body warming as I stared at his body. A red tie dangled from around his neck and hung down his chest, contrast of the color against his pale skin vivid and appealing. He held a half empty bottle of wine in his hand, the mouth of it chipped, the jagged edges dangerously close to the flesh of his hand. His fingers were long, delicate and thin, so rigid around the neck of the bottle that his knuckles were bone white, while the fingers of his left hand danced patterns in the air.

My eyes continued to travel upwards and I focused on his neck, where what seemed to be neon yellow duct tape was tightly wrapped. He tilted his head backwards to face the sky and his Adam’s apple bobbed up, over the thick band of tape and I too swallowed. I could barely see the detail of red swirlish patterns drawn onto the left side of his neck and jaw and continued up but his head was bent too far back for me to see where the markings ended. They continued on underneath the duct tape and stopped at the juncture of his collarbones. A silver mask with white and black checkers adorning half of it and scarlet swirls on the other side hung from a red ribbon tied around his neck, the mask slightly propped on his right shoulder.

His head lolled to the side as he stumbled a little, merely ten feet from me now, and as we passed under the same streetlamp he brought his face up to look me straight in the eyes. I felt my heart stutter and take up its beat at double time, its quick staccato drumming in my ears as I returned his stare. His eyes were lined in dark kohl, glittery fake eyelashes on his left eye. He had a wide mouth, his bottom lip fuller than the top, both red and slightly parted. Hollow, high cheeks and an angular jaw, the man was all lines and length and precision. His hair was ebony, bangs swept across his forehead.

But his stare. It unnerved me, a coil of doubt and worry settling in the pit of my stomach. His dark eyes were looking directly into mine and yet they didn’t see me. It was as if he simply sensed another’s presence. Wide and large, those eyes continued to gaze into mine and his lips continued to move to the song he sang to himself, his voice too quiet for me to understand anything.

Almost as quickly as this minimal interaction began, it ended. He passed from under the streetlamp and swung his head forward, his broken walk continuing to whatever place he called his own. I stood there, under the light, my teeth chattering and eyes frozen open, staring after his swaying movements. I had never seen him before. I knew almost everyone in this neighborhood, in this neighborhood’s neighbor, but I’ve never seen him, that whimsical and probably borderline crazy man. But goddamn was he beautiful. Fragile, delicate features, much like my own but longer.

The bite of the cold cut into my thoughts and I shook my head, erasing the images I had of him in my head, hoping that my memory of him in general would be forgotten so that I wouldn’t look for him on sidewalks or in the middle of the street at, oh, 3:49 in the morning. My phone’s screen was too bright for my dark-adjusted eyes and I shoved it back into my pocket, my hands once again digging themselves into my jacket.

I started walking again, almost running I was so fucking cold, my flat only ten meters away. The man’s eyes still plagued my mind, those black orbs replacing the visions of my English textbook.

Reaching the building, I ran up the stairs immediately to my right. I searched for my keys, standing outside the door on the second floor, and suddenly I heard muffled shouts coming from within. I could distinguish a woman’s voice and a man’s, and figured the latter was Dom. My eyebrows arched as a tired smile rest on my face and I turned the key and the knob at the same time, pushing the door open to reveal Dom completely naked in front of me with bite marks covering his thighs.

Honestly, I wasn’t surprised that this is what I walked home to. Dom, naked, his face red for shouting, and a short, pretty brunette girl in everything but a shirt standing to my left yelling back at him in some language I couldn’t understand. She jumped at my entrance and turned to look at me, brown eyes wide, before she turned back to look at Dom and opened her tiny mouth to let out a flood of incomprehensible gibberish.

“Just get the fuck out!” Dom nearly screamed, gesturing wildly at the door. He looked at me, exasperated, as I held back a snicker.

The girl huffed – she fucking huffed – and turned around, her tiny breasts bouncing in a white cotton bra, and with deceiving strength quite literally pushed me out of the way and walked out of our flat. I watched her go, holding back a smile, and shut and locked the door. I turned around to look at Dom, winking as I fake-scanned his body, and when his already red face flushed darker, I burst out laughing.

“Will you please tell me, dear, what the hell just happened?”

Dom frowned at me as he covered himself, scuttling sideways to the couch to grab the throw blanket and wrap it around himself. “Picked that crazy bitch up at a bar, right? She tried to bite my fucking dick off. It was cool at first, I was like, okay I can deal with a few bite marks. She kept saying all this shit in whatever the fuck language that was and I was just agreeing to all of it, and the next fucking thing I know she’s got her mouth on my cock and bites down like she’s trying to tear off a piece of steak.”

I doubled over, my stomach cramping, as I laughed. “Ohh my god, you hook up with the weirdest people.”

“Shut up, man, that hurt. I have a bite mark circling my member. I bled. And look at you, laughing. How fucking dare you, asshole.” He turned around, stomping off to his bedroom and I followed, giggling.

“Whatever, Dom, I’m tired. I fell asleep at that bookstore again. I swear the Sandman lives there.” I walked into my room, pulling my jacket off and toeing off my shoes as I propped myself against the wall with my forehead.

“I don’t have sympathy for you.”

“Figured. G’night.” I glanced at my bed, my smile widening as I eyed the comforter.

“Night.” I turned off the lights. “Oh, and Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re invited to a Halloween party next weekend. It’s masquerade themed.”