Fuck you>

Cale stared down at the page, tapping his pen thoughtfully as he glared at the words.

After settling matters with his family to the best of his ability and acknowledging that he might need to reconsider how he was living his life up until now, Cale had decided to write a letter to his other self.

If he was able to return home at all, that meant that the Cale that belonged here was liable to return and they were unlikely to ever meet.

So Cale wanted a chance to list out his grievances with the damn bastard.

The trouble was that now that he actually sat down and put pen to paper, everything he'd wanted to say until now flowed away from him and he was left with only insults and angry rants. It wasn't that he didn't want the opportunity to cuss out his other self, it was just that he actually had a lot of other shit he wanted to say.

Besides, insults tended to lose their bite once removed from oral expressions of emotion and blandly written down, dead and lacking in any tone or nuance.

Cale was struggling to find the words.

He could hear Alberu in the kitchen making yet another probably amazing meal for them to share and the thought filled him with an emptiness.

Suddenly he knew where to start.

He never crossed the boundary with me either. It's actually obnoxious what a gentleman he is. I could strangle him.

I think I hate him most days. I definitely hate you. I hate the perfect life you've created and I hate filling in for you.

I don't even want to know what fuckery you've done with my life but you'll be relieved to know that your stupid fiance kept me from destroying fucking it up too badly. You might have lost your job though. I sure as fuck wasn't going to go deal with that shit.

I don't understand you. I don't know what's so different about us. I don't want to live your fucking life anymore.

But I don't want to live mine either.

I think that's why you changed. We both hated it but you chose to change because you hated it and I chose to stagnate.

I hate that. I hate you.

If I'm honest, I probably fell in love with him. What a fucking joke that is. He loves you. The person you were. The person you are. All that sappy ass bullshit. And now I get to be the one who's fucking jealous because no matter what he says, he sees you in me and that's the only fucking reason he gives even the slightest shit about me.

I'm sorry.

I don't fucking apologize to people much so you better appreciate this, asshole.

I'm sorry you had to live my life. For every bitter complaint I have about having to walk in your shoes, I know that my shoes are worse. I'm sorry I didn't fix shit like you did.

It sounds sarcastic when I read it and that's why I hate the written word. I do mean it. I know how hard it must have been. I don't even know if I could even manage as good as you did even if I tried. Living my garbage life when you could be here must have been torture. You earned better than that shit.

I know it's not a consolation that I'm not enjoying your charmed life when you're suffering through mine but I'm not so we're both fucking miserable right now.

I can't think of everything I wanted to say. Everyone's waiting for you here. Everyone misses you. They can't find you inside of me and it hurts them so that fucking sucks.

I'll tell you because you probably already figured it out and also I'll never see your stupid mug so it doesn't matter.

I wanted to die.

I knew my family was being targeted. I knew the danger in going out drinking and getting into another stupid fight.

I couldn't do it anymore. It hurt too much to be alive and I couldn't see any other way out. I didn't want to kill myself but I wanted to die.

I'm pretty sure you lived. I can't tell him how dangerous a situation you were in because I think it would break him. He's already worrying himself sick over you. It's pretty fucking annoying.

But I think you lived because I don't think you wanted to die. Not like I did.

Maybe that's blind optimism, I don't give a fuck. I'm sorry for leaving you in that sorry state though.

Sometimes when I think about going home I still want to die. I know it's not as hopeless as I thought it was but I'm more of a coward than I thought. Rather than putting in all that work, I just want a quick and easy escape.

It's upsetting that even if I do my fucking best to improve shit, there's some shit I'll never be able to achieve. People I'll probably never see again.

Feelings I'll need to let go of.

So I hate you. I hate that when we return to our rightful places you'll have more than I could ever hope for. I think you're a shit-head and your heartwarming relationships are fucking naeseating. I hate you just as much as you probably hate me.

Don't fuck it up.

Don't revert back to the stupid jackass that I am. Don't let go or give up and don't fuck it up.

Asshole. Fuck you.>

The letter had hardly any eloquence at all. Cale could have written something better or at least less incoherently inadequate.

He didn't want to re-read it though and he definitely didn't want to rewrite it. So instead he sealed it in an envelope and placed it in the drawer Alberu told him belonged to Cale.

The asshole could find it or not, that wasn't any of Cale's business. He just wanted to say it. Just once. Because if what Alberu said was true and his Cale really was just as fucked up as Cale was then there was always the risk that the idiot would self-sabotage his stupidly perfect life.

Cale didn't think he could tolerate that. He didn't want to live his other self's life but the idea that he would destroy it was unthinkably disgusting. He knew he might do it too, because Cale had single-handedly destroyed his own life and never once taken the opportunity to fix it.

It was probably hypocritical of him, the bigger failure of the two, to warn his other self not to fuck shit up but as the biggest piece of garbage in the room, he felt that it was well within his character to be a hypocrite.

"Dinners ready." Alberu's voice called out and Cale closed his eyes, hating the way his heart had begun to be swayed by gentle words and shallow affection.

Cale knew why his other self liked Alberu. It wasn't merely the egotistical joy of having the love of another person. If anything, Alberu's affection was Cale's least favorite part of him.

Probably because that affection ultimately wasn't really his own to enjoy.

Alberu was funny, considerate, gentle but firm, good conversation, and cute in a squirrelly sort of way. He was easy to get along with. He was just... Alberu.

Just about everything about him was becoming rather likable to Cale. Even innocuous things like the way he'd chew his damn salad.

Cale entered the dining room and took his seat, hating how appetizing the food looked and how Alberu smiled at him in greeting. "What have you been up to?" He asked and Cale had to bite down on the impulse to say something rather crude in response.

"Thinking about shit." Cale said gruffly, taking a bite of his of course delicious dinner. It was perfectly catered to suit his taste which was also annoying in a heart throbbing sort of way. "Trying to figure out how to get the fuck out of here."

Alberu nodded, looking interested but restraining himself from showing too much interest. Cale found that annoying too. He was trying to be sensitive to Cale's feelings. How fucking annoying. How stupidly endearing. "Any ideas?" He asked.

Cale poked his food and scowled down at it.

He had one idea but he didn't have the words to describe it. It was more like a vague feeling that had built up in the back of his mind. Instead of expressing this, he shook his head morosely.

The two fell into a silence but it wasn't uncomfortable. Alberu knew him well enough to know that words of comfort wouldn't go over so well right now.

That was just it.

Alberu sitting there properly, calmly eating the meal that he'd prepared for them, gently considering Cale's thoughts and feelings like he mattered, and smiling softly at Cale when their eyes met.

Cale couldn't help it.

He was lovable.

And he was in love with someone else.

No matter how Alberu persisted that Cale was Cale and that was the end to it, Cale knew better. There was a history there and a mutual romance that Cale couldn't fill the role of. Perhaps if he'd met the man first–but that path was where madness layed.

There were moments, snippets of time, where he felt like Alberu was really seeing him and to his shock, liked what he saw. But the majority of the time, Alberu was chasing the man he actually loved with his eyes.

How vexing.

The mad part of Cale, the part that wanted to say screw it to the consequences and indulge a little, wanted to pin Alberu down and force him to see him.

To kiss him and love him and steal the happiness that belonged to his other self.

He wouldn't be satisfied with that though. And he didn't think Alberu would be either. His other self might hunt him down despite the dimensional rift. Cale knew that if he was the one in possession of Alberu, he'd commit quite a bit of violence against anyone who tried to steal him away.

So instead he ate the lovingly prepared meal and pretended that he wasn't in love.

It was a lot easier to hate Alberu than to love him.