The Suffering Of Fools (IJ Fanfic, Sal Vulcano X Brian Quinn)

Part 18

Rushing home, the feelings of sickness returned: not like gentle butterflies in his stomach, but ones of lead with iron fists that pounded against his ribs with molten fear bubbling in their core. Almost a butterfly crime scene, he thought to himself with a meak and premature smile, pulling onto his driveway.

~~~~~

He heard the grinding of the asphalt drive as he looked out of the window to see a red Jeep Rangler sitting expectantly before his home.

Treading carefully down the stairs towards his porch he heard the car door close and his friends footfall coming ever closer. His head pounded as he thought on what to say. Seeing the shadow fall across the door panes, and hearing the harsh knock of knuckle on wood, he slowly swung open the door.

There Q stood, much unchanged, and handsome as ever.

Sal nervously ran a pale and clammy hand through his messy, today unkempt hair that seemed darker than usual in comparison to his whitened and fearful face.

Neither man said a word.

Opening the door wider, Sal motioned for Brian to come in. Stepping through the doorframe, he slid off his boots, and began to climb the stairs - followed by Sal who clicked the door shut as quietly as he could manage in his fumbling, weary state.

Once in the apartment, they sat opposite eachother - Brian on the couch, and Sal on an armchair. Both were silent for some time.

"So... How're things?" Q asked, unsure of how to say what he needed to.
Sal rubbed his stubbled chin.
"Yeah." he croaked.
"How's Clarabelle?" Brian enquired in a slightly lighter way.
"we haven't spoken." was the reply. "Not for some time."

The room fell quiet once again. Q nodded slowly.

"Look, Sal, the other night..." he began
"Was a mistake." finished Sal, unable to look his friend in the eye.
"Was it?" Q asked in a hollow voice. "Because it didn't feel like it."

Sal studied the other man's face, searching for his meaning. He found nothing. "As in, what exactly?" did he mean that it felt deliberate on his part, or that it was meant to be? Did those beautiful eyes hold hate? He could never bear the thought of him looking at him with malice or fear through those gorgeous eyes of deep and swirling brown.

Q wondered what was meant by this, and so bluntly replied: "Do you love me, Sal?"

Taken somewhat aback by this, Sal stammered back "do you love me?"

Q's anger flashed for a moment, as he hissed back "This isn't a fucking game, Sal. Just answer the goddamn question. Do you love me?"
Sal was quite for a moment, and the rush of anger left his friend. He said quietly, eyes cast to the floor

"I think so."