Rating: Blue Cortina for character death and angst.
Summary: Beauty blinds us sometimes...
A/N: Written hurriedly for the Beauty Challenge, posted in the nick of time! Thanks muchly to saintvic, who beated this whilst on vacation. Muchas gracias :)
He felt like a bomb.
Like something set to explode, flesh and blood and bone splattering the walls and people nearest him.
Considering that he didn't blow them up along with him of course.
All along he'd been telling himself "This is what you want, this is for the best." He lied to himself so much, he started to live it, started to love it, to believe it. Like a boy on Christmas, so much to long for.
And then when Morgan (that bastard!) took him to the graveyard, all those careful lies fell apart, like petals off a daisy.
Gene was real.
Gene had a life.
One that he was about to ruin.
Oh God, oh God no, no. This isn't really happening is it?
(Is it really happening?)
Had to tell him, had to.
But...the thought of the look in his eyes... that trust and faith in him turned to ashes. How could he face that?
In the end, the decision was made for him.
Ray, Chris, and Annie, had all turned away from him, the hurt, the disappointment in their eyes more painful then any car crash.
He had to get out of there...
The cool, damp Manchester air slapped his face, refreshingly chill. Breathing in, he fancied he could even smell the salt of sea air, though the nearest body of water was the canal, and surely it didn't smell like salt.
He knew what it did smell like. Home.
This was his home. It was like Gene had said, he just hadn't wanted to admit it, at least not consciously. But he loved it here, the daft haircuts, the music (especially the music).
Even the fashion (which was admittedly, insane. The teenagers dressed like rejects from The Doctor's wardrobe, and their elders in various shades of brown).
To him, it was all beautiful. His city, his new life. 1973 was so bright, so alluring, fascinating.
Standing there, he made his decision. He wouldn't betray them. Morgan could take off in a balloon for all he cared.
All he wanted to do was to stay here, in this place. His home.
Caught up in his reverie, he didn't hear the swift tread of white loafers behind him, or smell the combination of Marlboro's and whisky until it was too late.
In the end, Sam Tyler didn't jump off.
He was pushed.