When Blue Sees Black

Creak. Step. Clunk. Click.

Mike turned his face upwards, his blue eyes staring through the darkness to the sounds. He thought he knew who was coming. He could swear he recognized the footsteps, but he said nothing. He only followed the sounds with his useless eyes as they came slowly closer to him.

A weight lowered itself down, still slowly, like the person was cautious of coming near the man on the couch. But what would Mike do to him? Nothing. He didn't even know if he could anymore. Still, this cautiousness unsettled him. Mike remembered a time not too long ago when the one who now sat next to him, barely touching the end of his fingertips on the old fabric, would more likely have jumped into his arms on this couch, letting Mike wrap them around him tightly as they shared a passionate kiss, both with their eyes shut softly, because love didn't need vision.

What had changed?

"Billie," Mike said to confirm, and there was a familiar calloused hand taking hold of his. Mike responded quickly to the contact, squeezing it softly like a security blanket. He missed that. The contact. But it wasn't enough.

"Hey," came the small voice of his boyfriend from that spot where the sofa had sagged slightly. Why was he being so quiet? Didn't he usually talk to him more? Yes, Mike thought he did. But things had changed.

"You okay?" he asked in genuine concern. It seemed Billie almost sighed.

"I should be asking you that."

"That wasn't an answer." Mike smiled slightly, trying to pull the subject away from him. His free hand moved from his side, going out to where he knew Billie's face was to cup his cheek. He felt Billie lean into it slightly, felt Billie's eyelashes shutting with the tips of his already-sensitive fingers. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, and Mike only continued to gaze ahead.

"I know," he replied simply. He planted a sweet kiss on Billie's lips to show he forgave him, then another. Mike didn't care. He only wanted Billie now. The smaller man's free hand went to Mike's neck, and Mike thought he could feel the gratitude for his gesture in Billie's eager shift closer.

"You're acting like it's nothing, Mikey. It's not. I fucking hurt you." He sighed, and Mike felt the hot breath on his face and then the soft pressure on his chest as the man rested his head there. "Why don't you care?"

Mike melted into Billie's embrace, simply thankful that nothing else was wrong. "There's a difference between caring and being angry," he said simply.

"Then why aren't you angry?" He felt Billie's fingers fiddling with his shirt collar. Mike remembered sometimes hating when his boyfriend did that, but it was different now. Mike could feel more now. He needed to feel more. He had to make up for the loss of what had been so crucial before, the gazes into those deep green eyes, the secret glances when he thought Billie couldn't see, the sight of the morning light illuminating his sleeping frame like some sort of angel. All he had now was Billie's touch, his words, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his hair... it wasn't enough. Mike wondered if it ever could be.

"Sometimes I am." Billie shifted a little. "When I'm alone and trying to grasp what's happened or anywhere trying to do things normally and I fall over or bump into something or just can't get it right... then I'm angry. But I guess it doesn't matter so much as you'd think, in the end."

"Of course it matters, Mikey." There were tears in his voice. "You're handicapped now." He held Mike tighter, clinging with all he had to the larger man. "And I did it."

"It's not your fault," Mike said in an attempt to comfort him.

"I drove the car."

"I let you."

Billie's head rose a little from his chest. Mike thought he was looking at him. "It doesn't matter. I should've-"

"Please stop."

Silence.

"Don't beat yourself up. You'll never forgive yourself." He took the smaller man's face in both hands now and kissed him again, more desperately this time, like it was a part of his plea, not just an expression of love. Like it used to be. "Billie, it's hard enough already..."

Yes, he'd finally said it. It was hard. He imagined Billie's face was stunned to hear it, this final long-awaited confession. But now he felt like he couldn't stop.

"Every day, I wake up, and I feel the sun on me, and I open my eyes, and it's all blackness. I can hardly walk from one room to another without tripping or bumping into things. I can never go anywhere by myself. I can't read anything. I can't cook anything for myself. I'm dependent, don't you get that?" He let go of the man almost roughly, standing and walking over to the window ledge as he'd done so often, leaning on it as if he could see what was outside, feeling the warm sun on his face. He placed his fingers on the glass, feeling its cold texture. It was like he was imprisoned, like he was trapped in Night while Day waited just beyond the bars of his cell. "I can't even see you anymore," he said weakly.

Creak.

Billie was standing from the couch now. Mike tried to see it, from what he remembered, the chocolate brown old couch, worn and with a few holes. The stain on the second cushion from their last anniversary when he'd spilt the red wine. Billie had laughed then and said it was just a stupid old couch, kissed him anyway, with those full, perfect lips. Mike refused to turn around, dreading the blackness behind that would replace what should be shining jade eyes and a crooked, reassuring smile.

"It doesn't mean I'm not here, Mikey," he said. More steps. Mike could imagine him coming closer. Like in the morning-time when Mike was just thinking about everything, about the two of them at the window, and Billie would come up behind him and hug him and kiss his neck and ask what he was thinking about, and Mike would smile and reply, "You," and he'd turn, and they'd share a kiss.

Mike felt a hand on his shoulder and closed his eyes, thinking tears might come. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid of that."

"I'm more afraid you're staying." His voice was barely audible.

"What do you mean? Mike, please, face me, at least!"

"And why should I!" He turned to see... blackness. It was nothing; Billie wasn't there. He felt water pool up in his pale eyes. He could hear his own breathing loud and clear in this silent, dark room. "Why should I face you if all I see is black? It's like you're not there anymore, Billie, ever since it happened! Why should I try to see you when there's nothing left to see?"

"I still see you, Mike! Maybe I want to be able to look at you! Is that a problem? What, do you want me to be blind too?"

"Look at me, fine, but not from afar like you always do now. I know when you're there, when you think I don't know. I feel you watching me, like you're just thinking, 'What am I going to do about him now?' Look at me if you're going to love me, Billie. But if you're just going to stare like I'm some sort of alien, then yeah, I'd rather you be fucking blind too."

There was silence but for the shallow breathing of the taller man, who could now feel tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He wanted Billie to speak, to say something, but instead, he felt a hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears softly. A little noise escaped Mike, almost a sob, and he extended his hand cautiously to Billie's waist. He supposed Billie finally understood, because within moments, a pair of arms had wrapped around him tightly, a gesture which he quickly returned.
Mike didn't know how long he cried, but it must've been a long time, because Billie's shirt was damp when a final sigh escaped him, leaving the two to stand wrapped together in silence. He shifted a hand to wipe the rest of the tears from his eyes, still hugging the smaller man close. A hand ran up and down his back softly, soothing the tears away.

Finally, Mike took his face from Billie's shoulder, kissing his cheek, and Billie turned his head to kiss his lips tenderly. It was like that one kiss had meant more than any they'd had in those past weeks. That one kiss was so genuine.

"Promise me one thing," Mike said hoarsely, his eyes closed. The black felt natural that way.

"Anything you want." His voice was barely above a whisper as he watched his love's expressive face.

"If you ever stop loving me..."

"Mike-"

"Let me finish." Silence as Billie waited. "If you ever stop loving me, promise you'll leave."

"Why do you want to hear that, Mikey?"

"I never want to be here only because you're guilty. Or because you want to take care of me." His blue eyes opened to the cold black of the room, staring where he thought Billie should be. "Stay with me as long as you still love me, but if you ever stop, promise you'll leave."

One more kiss. "I promise."