Wedding Bells

Chris leaned back against the plain white wall in the hallway just outside of the recording room. He raked a hand across the fresh stubble that speckled his jaw as his knees slowly bent and he began to slide down to the floor. It was only nine a.m. and his energy had already been spent for the day. He could still hear Jonny's footsteps as he took his place in the other room.

“Where's Chris?” he heard Will ask.

“Uh, bathroom,” Jonny answered. “I suspect he won't take long.”

Chris supposed that it was meant to be a message to him more than a reply to Will. He needed to get over it. This was just the way life had to be. But Chris knew that, and he knew about every ounce of pain that Jonny had ever felt before, knew it like he had felt it himself. In a way, he had.

A mere five or ten minutes before, Chris was in the recording room with Will and Guy, messing around and waiting for Jonny to finally show up so they could begin working. They were on a short break from touring, and they had decided to spend this time thinking about what they would do for the next album, and showing each other what they had already come up with.

“Jonny better hurry the fuck up, I'm not gonna sit here all day and wait for him to finally come around,” Guy said. He had gone to bed quite late the night before, and was trying to operate on about three hours of sleep. Guy usually needed at least seven hours in order to not be a complete asshole.

“Chill out, man, he'll be here soon,” Chris said, still laughing from whatever silly joke he had made minutes earlier. His bright smile did nothing to assure Guy.

“How would you know? When you finally rolled out of bed this morning, did he tell you he'd be an hour late?” Guy's implications were nearly lost on Chris, though deep down he realized what Guy was saying, and he felt like a rock had sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

“Guy,” Will interrupted, “give him a break. Jonny's probably with his kid or something.”

“Hey, we all have kids, but everyone else is here,” Guy retorted.

“Yeah, well, your kids aren't sick right now, are they?” All heads in the room shot to the door, where Jonny was standing, bags under his eyes and looking far too exhausted. He sighed, and decided that he was finished acknowledging Guy's bad mood. “Chris, I need to talk to you real quick,” he said, nodding in the direction of the hallway. Chris felt his heartbeat sped up, and he followed Jonny out of the room.

As they stopped walking, Chris still smiling as an attempt to pretend that nothing was wrong, Jonny cleared his throat. Since he didn't say anything afterward, Chris thought it pertinent to ask, “What's up?”

Jonny looked up at him; the combination of Chris's smile and his innocently clasped hands made Jonny wish really hard that his life could have been entirely different. He couldn't remember how many times in five and a half years he had wished that.

“I'm getting married, Chris,” he croaked.

“What else is new?” Chris quietly laughed, though it was obviously from his slight delay that he was just trying to deflect. Jonny tried to keep himself together, a deep frown spread across his tired face.

“We set a date. In November,” Jonny monotonously said. Chris chewed the corner of his lips for a while, thinking.

“Nine months, huh?” he replied with a quick raise of his eyebrows. Jonny was far from amused.

“Really? You know, it's not like you have much room to talk, anyway.” At that precise moment, any tiny particle of happiness that Chris had been so desperately clinging to completely evaporated. His mouth turned down and matched Jonny's grimace, tears threatening to fill his eyes. “And it's not like that. We already have a kid together.”

“I'm sorry, Jonny, I didn't mean-” Chris stopped himself, sighed. “You know me,” he quietly said. “You know me better than anyone else does. Sometimes- OK, most of the time, I say shit without thinking about it. So, you're getting married. I'm happy for you.”

“I'm gonna ask Will to be my best man,” Jonny told him. Chris found himself completely surprised by Jonny's seeming lack of emotion, but what he couldn't see was just how hard Jonny was working to not break down. If only things could have been different.

“I understand.” Chris forced himself to smile, though it came out utterly fake. “Wouldn't want me making a speech or anything anyway. I'd probably burst into tears.” Almost as if to prove it, Chris's lips quivered and he lost his grin, his eyes shining.

Jonny rolled his eyes and his pain had manifested itself into a tiny bit of anger. “Chris, don't be like that. I know this isn't easy for you, but I had to deal with all of this shit before, and so I don't appreciate you acting like you've never hurt me either.”

“I'm sorry,” Chris sincerely replied, a bit of shakiness in his voice, “it's just that I- I guess I just thought that things would work out for us. Now it doesn't seem like it's ever going to happen.”

“I thought that, too,” Jonny said, finally letting his sadness get to him, though only a tiny bit. Despite what his brain was practically shouting at him, he lifted his hand and gently stroked Chris's cheek. “But, hey, you never know what could happen in the future. Right?”

Chris took his own hand and pulled Jonny's from his face, then covered it with his other hand. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Right,” and then a single tear dropped onto their joined hands. They stood still for another minute, then Chris let go and opened his eyes again.

“I'm going back in there,” Jonny said, “but... I'll try to buy you a minute or two. Guy sounded pretty pissed already.”

In spite of everything, Chris smiled. It was a tiny smile, but Jonny hoped that it meant Chris was going to be able to cope. “He is pretty bitchy today,” he said.

Jonny took one last long look at Chris, sighed deeply, and then walked away. For the next few minutes Chris sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his head in his hands. He hated feeling this way, and he was angry with himself for not being able to control those feelings.

When finally he figured that he could no longer hide, and would have to return to the other room, he lifted his head, and the shiny silver band on his finger caught his eye. He pulled it off and held it tightly in his palm. That ring was supposed to represent his devotion and passion. It was supposed to represent his honor and respect. But most importantly, the ring was supposed to represent his love and happiness; in nearly six very long and sometimes painful years, Chris had never truly and entirely felt either, and certainly not both.

While he would never know what his future would hold, the one thing Chris could count on was that the consequential sleepless night he was to endure would certainly result in an array of new music. That was always a bonus.