Intense and dark eyes, soft chestnut hair and untouchable lips are rigid and faded behind the cracked glass of a photo-frame. Twenty faces, a single one visible to his lens-modified gaze. So beautiful.

If only he was his. If only those eyes had a liking to the sight of his face. Would they ever? Probably never. It made him hate that beautiful boy he stared at so endlessly. Love me, he begs the photograph. Love me.

He threw the object across the room. The explosion of shatters echoed everywhere, but only he heard them. The glass broke like his heart and decorated his floor with deadly shards, like stars – but dangerous stars. "I hate you!" he cried to the wall and his face contorted, leaking like the broken tap in his dirty kitchen. He was tearing open and he could feel the life seeping out from between the tears, paling his very soul.

Kill me. He screamed at it. He didn't know what it was. Everything – he blamed it on everything around him. He cursed the wall and the one-legged chair that lay on the floor like it had once been alive to end up dead on the ground. He despised the photograph for being so fragile and his love for being so meaningless.

He growled.

His eyes drowned in their own liquids.

His lungs tightened.

He lunged...

And broke his way through the broken front-door of his lifeless apartment.

The doors doubled around him and the hallway turned into hallways, but the door to the love of his life could never blur no matter how blind he became. It was so horribly perfect, every edge threatening to enclose him in a box of perfectly straight edges. He was so painfully perfect – nothing could have straighter edges or smoother curves. Unfortunately for him, the boy didn't have any bent lines in his person.

I hate you, but I love you. I'm sorry.

There was no warning. He was no longer Tom Siven, but a beast raged by the mercilessness of endless, hopeless love. The kind of love that rips you of your every sense and thought, until you were nothing but bubbling, destructive, hot and horrifying love.

He wanted to kill this love. He wanted to kill it all away.

Boundaries were crossed with ease. Bars broken like twigs. Defences destroyed like ants. He was craving the one thing he was starved of his whole life.

Intense and dark eyes, soft chestnut hair and untouchable lips are rigid and faded behind the cracked lens of his glasses. The red stained his blue dress-shirt and Tom stared, paralysed in a moment of finalising fury.

"What's wrong, Tom? Did you forget your meds again?"

Tom staggered up to him, his hands grabbing the boy's face and feeling the heat of his skin. It put out the embers of his anger like magic.

"Here, paint with me. It'll help you," he said, smiling so softly that Tom felt the blood flooding through his veins once again. He was alive. He was in love.

Their hands moved together like clockwork. No, wait... like calm waves. So naturally that Tom felt as if they'd never been a time when their hands weren't touching.

"It's alright, Tom. We're both mad here. That's why I love you."

And he kissed Tom's shattered pieces back together, the love chasing away the madness in his head for just a little while longer.

A/N: Literally, it's about a mad, gay couple who are absolutely and madly in love. Literally mad love.