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Parabola	By : Ennead Category: +M through R > Metalocalypse > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1106 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metalocalypse, nor do I make any money off of any of the fan works I create of its characters.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Charles sat in his office, quietly signing and adjusting various forms of paperwork. It was tedious, as it always had been, but he didn't mind. His only problem was that it failed to occupy all of his attention, leaving his mind open to many trains of thought that were coming and going all the while.
It wasn't that he was unsure of how he felt. No, not at all. He had known himself for long enough that his own emotions were easy to recognize and interpret no matter how much he hid them. His emotions were unimportant, however. They always had been.
What mattered, then, was Nathan. Something was going on in the singer's head that Charles did not quite understand the process of. He had thought he'd known more about Nathan, thought that figuring him out in a time like this would be simpler, but... it wasn't. What mattered was that the man seemed to be growing attached to Charles in a very emotional way. He didn't dare to call it attraction, since that would be presumptuous, but let it just be said that something unsual was going on. Charles had never had the time, the luxury, of being able to have a deep emotional connection with someone - let alone to be in a relationship.
That was quite the assumption to make, he knew, but he entertained the thought. If Nathan came to that point, if he wanted that from Charles - laughable as it was - then he'd be unable to provide the frontman with the attention he would need. He'd forgotten how to do any of that. Nevermind what he might want, himself, or what he might require... it was Nathan he had to consider, and all he considered.
Charles couldn't let him get pulled into this.
Pickles had told him not to start something he couldn't finish. That was all well and good, but he could definitely finish this. He had to, for Nathan's sake. He couldn't let himself overstep his boundaries, lest he do something that would damage their pending friendship. Nathan already knew more about him than anyone else in the band - he was undeniably Charles' only friend. A friend he had to stay, to stop himself from hurting Nathan.
Sure, he was lonely. But he'd been lonely for a very long time. It wasn't practical to stop now.
Charles pushed aside the most recently finished document and cleared a space on his desk for his elbows, letting his head rest in his hands. He felt more worn out than he should have, even taking the previous night into consideration. They'd slept well into the afternoon and his workload had been mercifully light. Why was he so tired? Why was he so fucking tired?
He wished he had someone to delegate his responsibilities to, then. Why did he have to be the one to take care of it all? Who was taking care of him? Just as he thought of it, he banished the idea. That was what brought Nathan to his office in the first place. He'd wanted to manage his manager.
It wasn't fair, he thought. Nathan came in with all his questions, and his good intentions, and his nice shoulders, and messed everything up. He had to be interested in me, had to care about me. I don't even care about me, why does he? It just complicated everything, it was all so simple before...
Simple and sad. Simple and lonely, in a worse than ever way. He'd have denied it aloud, but the job had been getting to him. Not just the job, but the life, the exact life he'd revealed to Nathan. The empty, miserable, no-time-for-himself life. Being familiar with his feelings made them easier to suppress and ignore, and that one had been brewing the longest.
They were sacrifices made for success. Sacrifices he'd made to be where he was, to be who he was. Necessary ones.
Shitty ones.
He'd been a person, once. An interesting person. Someone who had friends, and told inside jokes with those friends. Someone who had a personality, and hobbies, and free time they actually spent doing things they enjoyed. What had happened to that person? Where was the Charles that Pickles had spotted at a concert all those years and years before, laughing and living it up and kissing boys and making the best of the time he had?
Charles looked around at his vast and luxurious office. It seemed foreign to him, and he wanted desperately to be anywhere else. He switched off his lamp and left the papers where they were, retreating through the connecting door that led to his rooms. They were his, even reserved as they were, and he needed to feel at home.
Needed to feel like he even had a home.
Draping his jacket over the arm of the couch, Charles removed his tie and held it in his hands, looking at it but not really seeing it. He was nearly baffled by the way he was feeling, the way it had crept up on him through his earlier, unrelated thoughts. Had they really been unrelated, though, he wondered almost bitterly. Letting Nathan in had been a terrible mistake, obviously, since there he was undone and unraveled without the drive to even finish his work. Granted, it could be done later - or even the next day - as it was largely unimportant. The fans could wait, and most of the boring paperwork was generated by them attempting, and thanks to Charles, failing to sue the band. Fuck them, he thought angrily. They can wait. I'm busy being miserable in here.
He felt angry for allowing his social condition, or lack thereof, to complicate things for Nathan. That had never been his intention. The man had wanted to get to know him, fine; there wasn't much to get to know. Not anymore. He hadn't asked for any of Charles' baggage to carry, or to have his emotions adjusted. These things were happening by themselves, though, and Charles felt powerless to stop them. Powerless was not something he was accustomed to being.
Should he just talk to Nathan? No, that wouldn't go well. If Nathan wanted to talk, he'd talk, and pushing him to do so before that point was a bad idea, Charles knew. The look on his face when he'd left his room earlier had been one of absolute humiliation, and Charles had no desire to tamper with the singer until he was done coming to terms with, or more likely suppressing and ignoring, whatever it was that had made him feel that way inside. In a distant manner, Charles ran his own thumb over his bottom lip, recounting the event.
It had been such an odd little moment, tender and familiar, and above all unexpected. He truly had no idea what to make of it. Nathan's reaction had been immediate, giving Charles no time to respond to what had happened. How would he have responded, anyway? He had no idea.
Frustrated, and still as lost and lonely as he had been when he came in, Charles threw himself back on the couch. Why he lay there when he had a perfectly good bed, he didn't really know. Having his knees over the arm of the couch was just comfortable. He couldn't say it helped him think - he could think any damn place, in any position - but it was just more relaxing.
Perhaps relaxing had been a bad idea, in reflection. He was still so tired, from a long night or from stress, he didn't know. But as he laid back on the soft cushions, feeling rather more at ease, he knew he was falling asleep. At that moment he didn't particularly care. He could afford to sleep for a few hours, he thought.
It wasn't as if anybody needed him around, anyway.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Parabola