wl_fanfiction | When I said "near future", I MEANT it!!

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Title: Incapable
Pairing: Greg/Chip
Rating: Soft R.
Summary: Greg usually sees only in black and white
Notes: I AM ASHAMED. This fic may look familiar, because I recycled it. Not just that, I tore it apart and put on new faces, personalities, the whole shebang. *facepalm* Just ignore that slightly obvious piece of information and try to enjoy, kay?
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).

Incapable.
Oh you know I’ll forget, So quick. You know I always forget.

Greg usually sees only in black and white. There is, however, something in this specific experience that opens his eyes to metallic pinks, purples, and blues. The glossy hues are slip-sliding over his corneas, threading intricate patterns into the indents of his eyelids. And there’s something white in the corner there, a searing heat that splits the world wide open, leaving the tattered halves spinning in desolate areas of the universe, far away from the open space where telescopes scan.

His heart skips a beat like the records skipping far off in the distant pasts, it dips down, slips down, then repeats and doubles back. Butterfly wings flutter against the lining of his stomach and leave his skin buzzing for more. Still, an alarm sounds somewhere in the lonelier recesses of his ears.

(Because he knows that sometime, it has to stop. He’s done it before—with Jeff, and even before that—with Ryan. When he isn’t desperately grabbing onto someone who will never stay, he often keeps himself awake thinking about how things could have gone differently. Chip would grab onto his hips and pull him foreword in a desperate attempt to get warm; he pushed those thoughts further—never forgot.)

The irrepressible itch of the rough redwood of the walls pushes into the back of Chip’s head, as he struggles to forget that he’s being used yet again. The tickticktick of the clock making itself known on the far right wall echoes against the confines of the office, running into sharp corners and stopping short of congenial gasps. His hands clench around the fabric of Greg’s collar, bunching and wrinkling it. He knows that Greg will yell upon seeing it, but right now he’s just glad to have made a mark somehow.

He’s made plenty of marks before. Some of them invisible to anyone other than the two of them. Whether it was a song that had made it’s way wafting out of the radio speakers as they ravaged each other while in the car on the way to work or a bite mark on Greg’s thigh that could easily be passed off as a scratch from his dog; they were memories nonetheless.

(There were other memories of course. Some he didn’t want to remember at all. The angry yells of desolation Greg never had shown before, for reasons unknown. There was just something that made it easier to do in front of Chip. They were far from being the same person, but something inside Chip could deal with it. Chip could forgive. He could forget.)

A sigh splits the air, the heat rises and settles on taut skin as the both of them lie back and test the strength of the silence. They know too well how easy it is to break, but it never hurts to try. Wait—I take that back, Chip thinks, but doesn’t speak up. He knows that somehow, Greg has been thinking the exact same thing for far longer than he has.

Static buzzes; skips and falls. Before plunging back into a world of grey, Greg takes one more long look into a world full of hues and happiness, before turning away once more.

(Chip hopes, for both their sakes, that Greg, just this once, was capable of forgetting.)

END.

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