Writing

Jonny was excited. Thrilled, even. He stumbled into the room, but not loudly enough for Chris to look up from his piano.

The others had left and gone home now, back to their respective wives and children. Neither Chris or Jonny had either of those, and so they most often stayed behind and continued their work long after the others quit for the day.

Chris was playing, his head tilted low, his nose almost scratching the spruce surface of the piano keys. The music was so quiet that Jonny could hear the odd clicking sound each key made as it was pressed down, but Chris was so emotionally involved that to him it sounded like the crashing of waves against his ears.

Jonny didn't want to disturb him, so he just stood in the doorway for a while and watched. Chris hit a few notes, and one seemed to settle oddly with him. He lifted his head alertly, then hit the key again. It still didn't seem right.

“What is it, Jonny?” he abruptly asked, and Jonny was reminded that he was there. That's right, Jonny had even forgotten his own presence in the room.

“Oh, I just wanted to show you something.”

As Jonny walked into the room, Chris responded, “Is it a riff? Because I wonder if it'll pick up this shit piece I'm playing.”

“It's not a riff, no,” Jonny apologetically said. He didn't correct Chris's self-deprecation, because he knew after years of spending time with the man that it was useless. Plus, he always found that trait of Chris's kinda quirky.

Chris pointed his ocean-like eyes at Jonny. “Will it still pick up this shit piece I'm playing?”

“It could, I guess...” Jonny finally stopped a mere six inches from the piano. He held in his hand a pale green sheet of paper, one much resembling the color of his eyes. He brought it up to his face and intended on reading, but at the last minute he was overcome with a strange sort of stage fright.

Jonny gave the paper to Chris to read instead. He was glad that Chris intently stared at the paper, because he didn't want Chris to notice the spots of red developing on his otherwise quite pale cheeks. They only worsened as he watched Chris's beautiful eyes scan the words, his sleek pink lips moving as he silently mouthed the words to himself.

“Sounds interesting,” he finally voiced. His tone didn't sound fake, exactly, but to Jonny it felt as though Chris was not really enthused. Not as enthused as he was, at least. “You're going to do it, then? You're going to write something for it?”

“Actually,” Jonny nervously replied, his palms slick with the makings of sweat as Chris looked up to him, “I was hoping maybe you'd want to write something with me. You know, we'd be coauthors, and... you know.”

Whatever excitement had been missing from Chris's demeanor before was instantly lit up inside the thirty-three-year-old man. His back arched as he sat up, bright eyes gleaming with prospective creativity.

“Yeah, all right!” he quickly exclaimed, then leaving his piano he set off for another room. Jonny followed him tentatively.

Chris stood in the corner, fussing over a torn apart and worn out cardboard box. From the bottom he dug out a clunky piece of machinery, coated with a thick layer of dust from what might have been decades of neglect. He began to run his fingers over it in an attempt to free it of the dust, but Jonny stopped him before he got too far.

“Chris,” he said. Chris looked up at him with eyes that could have shot and killed innocent pedestrians on the sidewalk, all the while maintaining an innocent, youthful disguise. The perfect crime- no one would have ever noticed the gun his pupils held, not with those vibrant irises in the way. Jonny fumbled for his words. “What are you doing?”

“Um... cleaning this off.” He held up the ancient machine and dusted it off again.

“I was thinking we could probably write it with my laptop,” Jonny said. “It might be easier than a typewriter.”

Chris firmly held the typewriter with both hands, silent for the few moments that proceeded. “Good point,” he replied, and carelessly tossed the typewriter back into the cardboard box. There was a sound like the shattering of glass, but Chris didn't bother to find out what had broken; instead, he widened his already enormous eyes at Jonny and then nearly ran for the door.

In the safety of the room with the piano, Chris collapsed onto the piano bench and waited for Jonny to walk up to him.

“Dear Jonny, I would think that we should get your typewriter-” Chris shook his head, his curls bouncing accordingly, “I mean, laptop, and start to write this thing.”

“That would be a good idea.” Jonny looked up to the ceiling and wondered if his next sentence would have any sort of real impact on his life. “It's at home.”

“Then to home we go!” Chris jumped up and grabbed Jonny's arm at the elbow, pulling him along and not stopping or letting go until they reached the hood of Jonny's car.

Jonny pulled out his keys and unlocked the car, then Chris immediately threw himself inside. About twenty minutes later, Chris was hopping out just as quickly, though this time he stood in front of Jonny's apartment building.

“Which one's yours, Jonny?” Chris asked, reminding Jonny that hardly anyone had ever been to his apartment. As he pointed vaguely to one of the windows on the second floor and said, “That one,” he wondered if he'd even cleaned up enough. If not, he was going to be so embarrassed.

“Oh, cool.” Chris looked up at the sky and waited around for Jonny to lead him into the building. Then he stared up at the cracked and off-white ceiling tiles as they made their way up the stairs, and he nearly tripped as a result.

“Careful,” Jonny said as he felt Chris's shoulder bump into his. Chris was already walking dangerously close to him, and he was afraid that any further touching might lead to something not so good.

The top step creaked as the two men pushed their weight upon it, and Chris waited there, for there wasn't much room on the small landing above for anything else apart from Jonny, who was busy shoving his keys into the lock on his door.

“Isn't it bothersome having an apartment in between two flights of stairs like that?” Chris asked. He shut the door behind him even though Jonny had planned to, but Jonny had entered the apartment first to give Chris room to walk in, so it would have been impractical for him to close it.

“Eh, sometimes.” Jonny walked past the couch in the front room, but as he passed it he pointed and said, “Take a seat, I'll be right out.”

Chris sat down on the tattered brown couch, occupying the cushion right in the middle. He brought his knees together tightly and clasped his hands in his lap, humming to himself. He realized after a while that it was the “shit piece” he'd been playing earlier, and his good mood seemed to drift a little. But then Jonny returned carrying a slim, black laptop, and he felt a bit better.

Even though there was no need for him to, since there was plenty of room on either side of his body for Jonny to sit, Chris moved over as Jonny drew nearer. Chris moved almost right up against the armrest, and Jonny took over Chris's previous seat.

“OK, so...” Jonny opened up a new Word document, and the cursor blinked on the blank page as he looked at Chris.

Chris was staring down at the hem of his shirt, which seemed to have an interesting loose string that Chris was playing with. He seemed so captivated by it that Jonny wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to catch Chris's attention. But after only a few seconds of Jonny staring, Chris looked up at him and innocently said, “Hmm?”

“Where do you think we should start?” Jonny asked, and to save himself he turned to the bright computer screen, shining white with the lack of content.

“Hmm, I don't know,” Chris softly said. He thought for a moment, blue eyes shot up to the ceiling, and then giggled. “The beginning?”

“That would be a good place to start,” Jonny laughed in return, though not daring to glance upon Chris's bright smile. He quickly and perhaps stupidly typed The Beginning, then hit the enter key a few times. “Actually, I think we should come up with characters first.”

“You and me, man! It will be a brilliant story.”

“I suppose.” Jonny tilted his head to the side and stared at the computer. He could barely make out Chris's reflection in the screen, and part of him wanted to look away, while the other wanted to stare for as long as possible.

“Start off like this,” Chris said, holding his hands out in front of him. He waved them a little before he spoke again. “Chris was just an ordinary man- no. Jonny was just an ordinary man, an ordinary guy who liked to... I don't know, do stuff.” Chris dropped his hands and turned his body towards Jonny. “That's all I've got.”

“Maybe...” Jonny trailed off, but his fingers picked up on his thoughts and he typed almost without thinking. Pretty soon he had a few paragraphs written down, the first third of the page filled and the words spilling into the second third. Chris read, leaning into Jonny though it was not at all necessary. He'd have been able to see even if he had remained motionless where he was before.

In the quietness of his apartment, Jonny could only hear the whooshing of the laptop's fan, and the oxygen being brought into Chris's lungs, along with the carbon dioxide being exhaled. He could even feel Chris's chest move with each breath, since Chris had taken it upon himself to press half of his torso against Jonny's side.

“That's so... It's wonderful.” Chris sat back, both to Jonny's delight and dismay, but his words still left a tingle shooting through Jonny's stomach. Compliments always made him a little flustered, and Chris's compliments just made him downright woozy.

“Uh, thanks,” Jonny breathlessly said, then he passed the laptop to Chris. He tried to, anyway, but Chris refused to take it. “Come on, you have to write something now.”

“Jonny, anything I write will look like shit compared to that.” Chris pushed the very bottom of the laptop back onto Jonny's lap, so that when the laptop was in a stable position, Chris's hand was still resting on Jonny's leg. “You should write it, but I'll help. I think I have an idea for it...”

“What's your idea?” Jonny took a risk and met Chris's eyes with his own. He wasn't shocked that Chris's look shook him entirely, but he was shocked by Chris's response.

“It could be a love story!” he said with a brilliant passion that lit his entire face.

“L-Love story?” Jonny stammered. He wasn't sure what to do with this situation, so he waited for Chris to explain before he did anything stupid.

“Well, like... maybe you just broke up with your girlfriend, or your girlfriend dumped you or something, and then you're really sad, but I come along and I cheer you up, and we go out to bars to pick chicks up, but it doesn't go so well because you're still really depressed and I repel chicks like I'm some sort of spray.”

Nowhere in Chris's long-winded description did Jonny hear what he wanted, but he was actually a little glad for it. He shifted a little; the laptop was starting to get a bit heated.

“All right.” Jonathan briefly glanced over what he'd already written, then began to press more keys and create even more genius work. Chris watched him, now sitting just as closely as he had been before, and Jonny almost couldn't concentrate on the story. He pulled through, though, and once the first few pages were written he took a break.

“Jonny, you are so talented,” Chris said in awe.

“Thanks,” Jonny said in disbelief, and he set the laptop on the empty sofa cushion next to him and stretched his legs a little. “Do you want some tea or anything?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Chris smiled, and Jonny had to wait a few seconds for his legs to stabilize before he stood up and went into the kitchen.

At the very same moment that the clock struck twelve, Jonny's eyes flew open. The lights were on all around him, but it was obvious that it was nighttime. His heart raced just a little as he struggled to bring himself into consciousness.

He closed his eyes and he sighed, desperately wishing that he was asleep again. It was at this time that he noticed a sort of pressure around the upper left part of his chest and on his shoulder. He was too tired to check what it was, though, and as he tried to drift back into sleep, he thought he still felt the laptop running and heating his legs...

It was another one of those dreams, the ones where Jonny was happy. Not that he wasn't happy in real life, just that he wasn't as happy as he'd like to be. The dreams taunted him, mostly when he thought back to them during his waking hours, though sometimes he would purposely turn to them as an escape from stress.

There was never really anything distinct he could remember about those dreams apart from the overwhelming sense of peace and serenity he felt. It was nice while it lasted.

This time the feeling lasted long after the dream ended, and he found himself waking up with his nose buried in Chris's hair. He wasn't aware of it at first, and he could only smell the wonderful citrus smell of Chris's shampoo and conditioner. Then suddenly he realized what that pressure long ago had been, and he still felt the heat of the laptop.

He quickly lifted his head and blinked at the screen in front of him. At some point the laptop charger had been plugged in, which explained the lengthy battery duration, but that's not what Jonny focused on. He and Chris had written quite a lot of the story, but there was a new part written that he did not recall being there hours before, when neither of them were asleep.

Either Jonny's quick movements did it, or Chris had already been awake, but Chris moved a little as Jonny was reading the new words. Chris sat up when he realized what was going on, and he even backed into the armrest a bit as if he was afraid of what Jonny would do when he was finished reading.

“You were falling asleep and I'd gotten an idea so I just took over,” Chris quietly explained. “It's awful, I know. You can rewrite it if you want.”

“No, it's good,” Jonny sincerely said, but Chris knew that Jonny hadn't read far enough to really react to it. Then Jonny stopped and turned to Chris. “If I was falling asleep, why didn't you tell me to wake up or anything? And you didn't have to sleep here, or at least I could have let you sleep in my room or something and I'd have taken the couch...”

Chris let Jonny finish speaking, even though Jonny had just kinda trailed off. He watched with observant eyes, thought for a while, then shrugged in reply. Jonny could tell that Chris wanted to say something, but for some reason he was holding back.

Jonny slowly returned his focus to the story. Chris bit his lip in anticipation as Jonny started to read once more, and Jonny was surprised by the uncanny similarities to the current situation.

'Why are you doing all of this?' Jonny asked. 'I mean, being so nice and stuff. You should have your own life, you shouldn't be bothered with mine.'

Chris looked down at his cup and shrugged. Jonny just shook his head and pressed on.

'Come on, there's gotta be some reason. It's not that I don't appreciate your concern, I just want to know why you're putting so much effort into all of this, especially since you've been doing it for the past few weeks now.'

'Because I like you,' Chris said. 'I just want you to be happy and stuff.'

'Don't you want to be happy, too? You don't...' While Jonny struggled to find what to say next, Chris looked up at him.

'No, Jonny, I really like you. I'll be happy when you're happy.' Chris paused for a few moments, then asked, 'Are you happy?'

'You like me?' Jonny asked almost incredulously, completely ignoring Chris's inquiry. Chris felt as though some sort of weight had been dropped on his chest.

'It's just, you know, we've been friends for so long and...' Chris looked away again, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He told himself it was just the alcohol that was making him so emotional, but really he knew it was just fear. 'Sometimes things just happen, right?'

Jonny felt his cheeks grow hot as he read. His pulse quickened a bit, and as he glanced over at Chris he noticed the same expression, the same look of fear as was described in the story.

“I don't think they just happen,” Jonny said in a husky voice. Chris drew a sharp breath, not sure what to make of it. “I think maybe if there are two people... It's just meant to...” Jonny looked fully at Chris, and his voice quavered a little as he finished, “...be.”

Chris made a face like he was trying to convince himself that this was all real, that everything he'd wanted for the last few months was finally being given to him. The only thing he could think to do was to move closer to Jonny and just sort of wait.

Chris's hand rested on the very edge of the cushion on which he was sitting, Jonny's only inches away. Jonny paused briefly, then he moved the laptop onto the seat next to him much like he had done the night before. This time, though, he didn't stand up, he just placed his hand on top of Chris's.

Chris exhaled a shaky breath and said, “Jonny, I was so afraid-”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” Jonny told him. He took his other hand and gently brushed Chris's cheek.

Chris smiled at him, then leaned forward to press their lips together, but he stopped before he did. “I've never been with a guy before.”

“Neither have I,” Jonny softly replied. “But I'm glad the first'll be you.”

It was Jonny who closed the gap between them, and both men closed their eyes as their hands seemed to wander over each other's bodies. Jonny soon found it necessary to relocate the laptop again to the floor as he laid down and pulled Chris on top of him.

“We could write this into the story, you know,” Chris whispered, and laughed a little.

“I don't feel like writing anymore,” Jonny meagerly replied.

“Oh?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “What do you feel like doing, then?”

“This.” Jonny slipped his hand around the back of Chris's neck and pulled him down a little, kissing him as passionately as possible. When they broke apart, Chris found himself utterly speechless, so he merely let his head rest on Jonny's chest.

Jonny bent his head down a bit and kissed the top of Chris's head, the citrus smell wafting over him again. He smiled, and realized that with the rapid beating of his heart and flipping of his stomach came that happiness that he so desired. It was almost too perfect to be true, like maybe this was just another dream or a clip of fictional writing, but Jonny was confident that it was neither, because he felt it so deeply that it could not possibly be anything but real.