LOOKS like we're not the only ones writing fanfiction, eh?
It's a slash fic!
---
Parties have never looked so dull in my eyes. Masquerades are meant to be colorful, but everything is so black and white.
Except for you.
But I can't tell you that. Mostly because you're across the room, chatting with some busty blond girl. I guess that's your type.
The other problem is that I don't even know you. I've never seen you before, and I suppose that the costumes prevent me from really seeing you now. But, boy, I'd love to really see you- really see you.
I'd love to look past your flesh, tan and smooth, and into your soul. I bet you have a beautiful soul. Just like your eyes.
You're all the way across the room, but those eyes are shining so bright it's almost blinding, even through the mask. They light up when you laugh, and your smile illuminates the world even on the darkest of evenings, even in the darkest of rooms filled with people dressed as something they're not.
But your beauty exudes from you like you're some sort of Greek god, and I guess my own Achilles' heel right now is not being able to look away.
When the blond leans over and whispers something in your ear, I have half a mind to throw the glass I'm holding across the room, aimed squarely for that precious face of hers. But I've never been that athletic, so it wouldn't have gone but half the room's length, if that. Plus, it seems you've rejected her.
Then you're walking over here, and I have to turn away out of fear. So I watch some couple dancing, moving slowly and without passion, until I think that you've passed. Then I turn to find you again, only to have a paper shoved into my hand. I can only see a faint shadow of you now as you walk away, and I open the paper carefully to read what it says...
Having an awful time?
And that makes me fall for you a little bit harder, I think. I flip it over just in case, but it seems like there's nothing else. Except, written in tiny letters in the corner, it says the balcony.
It's the most daring proposition I've received, even as elusive as it is, but I'm glad to satisfy your request.
The night is warm and pleasant, but a cool breeze floating by ruffles your shirt and tickles the very edge of my fancy for you. I would wonder what spectacle beyond the balcony has captured your focus, but it's easy to see in the sky that the moon is bathing the world in its light.
“Brilliant, isn't it? The moon.”
“It's big, certainly.”
“You have a lovely voice.” Then you turn around, and my heart skips a few beats. The way you lay your arms back on the railing, openly displaying the rest of your body, makes me ill almost. “Did you think I wouldn't notice you staring?” Then that smile, the one that could kill thousands in an instant. “Don't worry, it's only because I was staring at you, too.”
“You were?”
“Oh yes. By the bye, what's your name?”
“Jonny.”
“Wonderful. I'm Chris. Listen, Jonny, this is not something I usually do at parties-”
“Do you chat up blonds often?”
“Ha, well, that would be one of my pastimes, yes. Though I can't say I enjoy it that much.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“What else is there to do?”
“So, you meet strangers on the balcony.”
“No, no. This is where my interest actually plays a role.” A step forward- two steps forward, then three, and as you get closer you seem to be stealing all of the oxygen in the air. “Why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
“The party... You don't seem like the kind of person who would hide their true self.”
“I don't?”
“No.” Then you close the gap between us with your lips, and your touch is like a cloud- soft, fragile, and wet. Then you pull back and take off the mask.
Is this some sort of test? Like I wouldn't feel the same if I knew what you actually looked like. But, really, underneath it all you're so much better than I could have ever imagined. Your eyes are even brighter than before, and even watching you blink is enough to take my breath away.
Your lips, still wet, shine in the moonlight like a-
“Hey, J! Whatcha doing?”
Jonny quickly looked up, alert and with wide-eyes. He thought fast, covered the paper with both hands and said, “My taxes.”
“Your taxes?” Chris curiously repeated. “In June?”
“Well, you know...” Jonny tried to relax his tense back, but as he did so, one of his hands slid from the paper and left it partially exposed. Chris snuck a peak as he sat down, despite Jonny's most valiant attempts at hiding it. “Gotta... keep on top of these things.”
“Jonny, that's obviously not what you're doing.” Chris reached over and tried to pry Jonny's hand from the paper, an action which Jonny both relished and dreaded. After a few quick seconds of defeat, Chris gave up. “Why won't you tell me?” he asked with sad eyes pointed at Jonny.
In the moment of weakness that followed, Jonny stared into Chris's eyes while Chris managed to slip the paper into his own hands. He abruptly stood and took a few steps back, so that he was out of Jonny's immediate reach, and began to scan his eyes across the page.
After having read a few lines, his eyes lit up. “You're writing a story!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “That's so cool.”
“It's not that cool, Chris,” Jonny flatly said. “Can I have it back?”
“No, I wanna read it.” Jonny stood up, walked over to Chris, and flung his hand in front of Chris's view. “Jonny, I want to read it!!” Chris protested, basically slapping Jonny's hand away. Then Chris turned to once again protect the paper from Jonny.
“Chris, please,” Jonny begged. But it was too late, and Chris had read farther than Jonny would have liked.
“J-Jon...” Chris stammered, slowly turning around. “These... these are our names... This is about...” Chris wordlessly gave the paper back to Jonny, and exited the room. Jonny sighed and sat down again, the paper shaking due to his trembling hands and his eyes set upon the door through which Chris so dramatically left.
Crowded pages strewn across the floor surrounded Chris as he sat cross-legged, searching for God knows what. Will watched him through the small glass pane in the door, and pondered what sort of thing Chris could be doing.
He barely heard any noises at all, so when Jonny first spoke behind him it startled him a bit. “Will?”
“Jonny,” Will responded as he pulled his eyes away from Chris. “What's up?”
“Chris is in there?” Jonny asked, pointing to the room Will had been peering into.
“Yeah, why?”
“I need to talk to him... I think,” Jonny quietly said, “but I'm not sure if I should do it just yet.”
“Oh.” Will took another peek into the room, then nodded at Jonny. “Well, yeah, he looks pretty focused in there, whatever the hell he's doing. So maybe you should wait until later. You know how he hates it when people break his concentration.”
“Of course,” Jonny replied. He was greatly relieved by Will's response, both because he wasn't exactly ready to talk to Chris, and because he certainly didn't want to risk doing anything that might upset Chris further. As it was, Jonny was afraid that Chris might never want to talk to him again.
Jonny turned to leave, but before he did, the words decisively escaped from his lips: “Will, do you ever check any of the fansites?”
“Of course not. Mostly because I can't figure out how to get to them, but even if I did...”
“Right.” Another wave of relief splashed over Jonny as he walked through the open doorway.
It wasn't that he really went looking for the place, he just happened to stumble upon it. It was a friendly online community, it seemed, filled with people who appreciated their music. Sure, there were some who didn't, but he expected that and just ignored most of the comments that people left anyway, both positive and negative. At first he was intrigued by the section filled with discussion of music other than theirs, but as he briefly passed through one of the other sections one thread caught his eye- the fan-fiction thread.
He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was a horrible idea to go into there and read the kind of stories people had written, but he just couldn't control himself. He was really surprised, though, to find that the writers were all-around brilliant. And even though it seemed as though almost every story was about he and Chris, for some reason, a reason he had tried so hard to ignore for the past fourteen years, he was actually happy about that. It was those stories that he enjoyed most, especially when he acted them out in his head.
Then one day he found himself writing down words of his own. He wasn't sure exactly how it had happened, but he wrote entire stories, pages upon pages of his most wonderful fantasies. He almost brought up enough courage to post one of them online once, but at the last minute he chickened out. He kept them locked safely in a box under his bed, and sometimes in the dead of night, when he was feeling really lonely and sad, he would reread them just to be able to imagine vividly the sort of life he wish he could live.
He knew it was dangerous writing while he was in the same building as the rest of the guys, since at any moment they could randomly appear and read over his shoulder without his knowledge. It was definitely the worst that Chris had stumbled upon his writing, and now Jonny felt like he should run home and burn every other thing he'd written. But he couldn't do that, because to him that would be the basic equivalent of destroying any and all hope that he had for a shot with Chris. Not that he really thought he came even close to being good enough for Chris.
As ridiculous as he knew it was, Jonny walked back into the room downstairs and continued to write his story. After all, Chris had already read the first part of it, what was the point in leaving it unfinished? But as he first stared at the paper and reread the last bit he put down, he forgot whatever simile he was going to use. So he scratched out the half-written sentence, and started again.
The moonlight lays over your lips, still wet and intensely desirable, and further increases the rapid beating of my heart. I just want to reach out and touch your cheek, gently stroke my thumb along the barely existent stubble lining your jaw.
So I do it, and you just stare at me with a look that says, Yes, Jonny. Go on. I do that too, and before I know it my hand is skimming over your collarbone, which is when I'm interrupted as you decide it a good time to kiss me again. It's so deep and passionate that for a second I forget where we are and my mind tricks me into thinking that I've died.
But I feel your hand cup my jaw and I remember that I am most certainly not dead, a thing to rejoice if there ever was one. Then I also remember that you've yet to ask me to remove my own mask, but suddenly I become aware of the feel of the mask in my hand, the one not resting sweetly on your shoulder. I have no conscious memory of removing it, but I forget about caring when I realize that the pressure against the side of my nose is the cause of your own, and my hand flings the mask away and off the balcony entirely.
And since I've freed up my second hand, I decided it's high time I put it to good use, and placing it on your hip seems like a good place to start.
Jonny sighed and set down the pen he was holding. While before his stories were a great escape into a world where he knew nothing but happiness, reality came storming along and rained all over his words, namely in the form of his tears splashing down and making the ink run.
“Jesus Christ, do you have enough of these?”
Guy was kindly helping Chris search through his mounds of paper, though Will had missed this detail due to Guy's position in a spot where he was completely hidden from anyone outside the room.
“Oh, I could keep writing them until the day I die, it'll never be good enough,” Chris sadly replied.
“Well...” Guy flicked through about ten pages, trying with great difficulty to organize them properly. “You could have at least stored them more neatly.”
“I'm sorry, Guy, but you know I appreciate your help.” Chris looked up from his own work and sent Guy an apologetic, yet thankful look. “I couldn't do this without you.”
“Is it absolutely necessary that you do this?”
“Of course it is. Do you think I would just give him this stuff because I thought it would be interesting to see what happens?
Guy ignored what he figured was a rhetorical question anyway, and continued to look at the things Chris had written. “Holy shit, Chris, some of these are, like, twenty pages long!”
“I feel very strongly about this,” Chris defensively replied, though he wasn't sure what kind of defense it was. “And sometimes I get carried away,” he added in a mumble.
Just then Chris's eyes rolled over the paper in his hand, and he found the perfect page to start with. He jumped up from the floor and ran over to a nearby bookshelf. There were several binders filled with notes on different things, and he recklessly took one out and emptied its contents on the floor. Then he brought the binder back to where he'd been sitting before, and placed perfect beginning inside.
Roughly two hours later, Chris bounced out of the room with wide eyes and a fluttering heart. He was also holding a binder overflowing with papers. The building seemed almost empty, and for a few minutes Chris wondered if it was. But as he went through some of the rooms, he saw little things here and there that hinted at the presence of other people.
Sure enough, he ran- almost literally- into Will after a while, and after he steadied himself, he asked, “Will, have you seen Jon around?”
“Yeah, he went home a few hours ago,” Will casually replied. “Said he wasn't feeling too good or something.”
“He wasn't feeling good?” Chris replied, his voice full of pity. Then he frowned at the binder smothered between his arms at chest. “I wanted to give him this.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it's obviously a binder full of paper, Will,” Chris sarcastically replied, and left it at that. Will was about to roll his eyes, but he just decided to let Chris go on being his crazy self, mostly because by that point Chris was already gone out the door.
The warm, summer air was nice and calming as Chris walked the dusky streets to Jonny's apartment. A pink glow was set on the world, and Chris made sure to hold the binder tightly and protect it with his life. Once he almost tripped and sent the papers flying across the ground, but luckily he regained his balance just in time to spare Jonny's gift.
He didn't expect Jonny to look as gaunt and sad as he did when he answered the door. He didn't expect Jonny to frown even harder at the sight of Chris. And he certainly didn't expect Jonny to slam the door in his face.
“Jonny!” Chris yelled, hurt. He nearly dropped the binder as he raised his arm to pound on the door. “Jonny, I want to talk to you!”
“Go away,” came Jonny's muffle voice through the door.
“But I just came from being away,” Chris pouted. But he didn't want to upset Jonny more than he already seemed, so he decided to leave. Before he did, though, he placed the binder in front of Jonny's door and said, “Jonny, I'm leaving this for you. Please, please, look at it. Please.”
Chris walked away from the door and down the stairs. He heard the door open behind him, heard Jonny curiously pick up the binder, but he didn't bother to look back. Jonny quickly returned inside, and immediately threw the binder onto a useless discard table.
He never opened it, but all night long Jonny stared at the binder, wondering what was inside but not daring enough to actually find out. At least he knew that Chris didn't hate him, since generally people don't give things to other people they don't like. But the outside of the binder didn't reveal much else, and Jonny found himself eventually drifting to sleep thinking about the binder and its mysterious exterior.
When he woke up it was still there, much like he expected, and he found that he still did not have the courage to look at it. But he stared at it for a few seconds, then slapped himself hard and told himself to get a hold of it. It's just a binder. It can't do any harm. Not any more harm than had already been done, anyway.
So, he carefully picked it up and cautiously lifted the front cover. The first page was a note from Chris, written in much neater print than Chris was usually known for. Though he hadn't read it yet, Jonny took this as a good sign- if Chris actually took the time to make it look nice, then it had to be something good.
Jonny-
Sorry for the way I acted. See, I just couldn't tell you right then, but... well, you'll find out.
I hope this makes up for my leaving like that. Sorry! Really, really sorry.
-Chris
P.S. I'm also sorry if my writing is terrible. I'm not the best, I know, but I'm trying to improve!
Jonny took Chris's statement as a comment about the legibility of what was to follow, but was sure that he could decipher whatever Chris threw at him. Feeling that the first bit had gone well, Jonny gladly flipped to the next page, where he discovered that he might have been wrong.
The second page was written just as neatly as the first, if not even more legible. He furrowed his eyebrows trying to think of what Chris meant, then decided it would be a good idea to read what was written down. It seemed to be almost like some sort of diary entry, which was fine, but not very appealing or interesting in any way. Not that Chris didn't lead a spectacular life, just that Jonny knew almost everything Chris did during the day since they were hardly ever apart. But halfway through the first entry, one particular sentence caught Jonny's attention.
Jonny's so cute when he does that, I just want to grab him by the ears and kiss him until I run completely out of air.
He had to stop and reread it about twenty times before it even began to sink in. Then he reread it another twenty times before he finally moved on to the next part.
Oh, but I'd always like to do that. I wonder a lot what it would be like to kiss Jonny. Sometimes I think that's something I shouldn't be wondering about, but other times I don't see why I shouldn't. Jonny's my best friend, it's only natural that I love him. Even more than just in a friendly way. That's what I keep telling myself. I don't know that he would feel the same if he knew.
The rest of the entry went on to talk about whatever other fancy adventures Chris had had that day. The next few entries were mostly the same, all recalling Chris's days, and mentioning Jonny in some way that made Jonny nearly faint every time he saw his name, and even when he merely thought he saw his name.
But then the stories began to shift, and started including bits of total fiction. Chris stopped talking about how he wanted to be with Jonny, and started writing about what it was like to be with Jonny. He had come up with some of the most elaborate stories, too, one of the first and sweetest ones being the one he wrote where he first confessed his feelings to Jonny.
That one was an entire entry by itself, and took up nearly three pages. The beginning did start off with Chris narrating his “boring and disenchanted life,” but it changed quickly and went something like this:
Today was interesting. It was most definitely nothing like the rest of my boring and disenchanted life. No, today was filled with magic and wonder as I revealed to someone my deepest and darkest secret.
Dark is a little dramatic, though, and not very accurate at all. But it was my deepest secret.
Jonny invited me to lunch, and I was in no position to turn down his offer. We ate and laughed and had a blast, then he asked if I wanted to go play some football with him. I warned him that I'm complete rubbish, to which he heartily replied, “I know.”
But he flashed me his lovely smile, and I once again found myself, without thinking, saying yes to the man who kept my heart.
I fell six times in one play. I fell on my back, on my face, on my right, my left, and then in two directions I didn't even know existed. But, oh, they existed.
The last time I fell, I lost the will to get back up again. Jonny rushed over to my side, the kind man, genuinely afraid that I'd been hurt.
“No,” I answered to his obvious question, “but, Jonny, will you sit here with me?”
“Well, Chris, I would, but we're kinda in the middle of a football field.”
“I know.” I grabbed Jonny's hand, which he had held out to help me stand, and pulled myself up off the ground. I didn't want to let go once I was on my feet, and Jonny didn't seem to mind that I was still holding his hand. I pulled on his arm a bit and begged him to follow me.
The bleachers nearby were a perfect resting place, and as I released Jonny's hand I sat down and began to swing my feet pointlessly in the air. Then he sat next to me, and I decided by the closeness of our bodies that it was time to tell him.
And so I said, “Jonny, you're my best friend.”
“Yeah,” he smiled, “you're my best friend, too.”
“Do you know how much that means to me? That you would say that?”
“Um...” He was starting to sound a little confused, but he answered anyway. “A... decent amount?”
“Jonny, it means more than anything else to me. All I want is for you to love me, even if it's just... platonic.”
“What are you trying to say?” Something in his eyes told me he knew what I was trying to say, but he wanted or needed to hear me actually say it. Luckily, I wanted to say it.
“I'm trying to say that I've been keeping something from you for a long time. Something that maybe I shouldn't have been keeping from you, since we are best friends, but that's also part of the reason I kept it from you. I didn't want you to run away or whatever, but I don't think you will anymore and I need to get this off my chest.” I took a deep breath as Jonny patiently waited for me to finish. “Jonathan Mark Buckland, for the past fourteen years you have been my best friend, and I feel like I can always count on you to be there for me whenever I need you. But I've also realized over those fourteen years that I need you in ways I never thought I would need someone like you before. Jonny, I need you to breathe, even though when we're sitting and chatting like this I find it hard to get the oxygen into my system. I also need you to laugh and to smile, because everything else is dull when you're not around, and I never want to do either of those things without you. But most importantly, I need you to give me something to live for. Because all the other things in the world are fine, but they don't make me want to experience life like you do. So, really, all of this is just a rather complicated way of telling you that I love you, more than I ever thought I could, and certainly not any less than I am glad for. I'll always be glad that I love you, Jonny, because I think you're the best person there is to love.”
Jonny had to stop reading, because he was only halfway through the stories, but he couldn't take anymore. He closed the binder and headed for the door. He wasn't sure exactly where Chris would be at this sort of hour, but luckily he didn't have to speculate for long.
“Well, that's convenient!” Chris brightly said as Jonny opened the door. His hand was raised in a fist, seemingly prepared to knock. Since he didn't have to, though, he quickly lowered his arm, then decided to run a hand through his hair. While doing so, his wandering eyes happened upon the binder in Jonny's hand. “So, you read it?”
“I read some of it, yeah,” Jonny answered. He looked down at his hands for a moment, then stood aside and told Chris to come in.
As Jonny shut the door, Chris spun around and clasped his hands behind his back. He looked quite cheery, but after a few seconds his expression turned sadder. “Did you hate it?”
“No, actually, very much the opposite.”
“Oh,” Chris said, breathing a sigh of relief. He took a small step forward, and Jonny thought he might take another one, but instead he just nervously looked around for a bit. Then he stared at Jonny with a spark in his eyes. “Jonny, I have an idea.”
“Which is?”
“Follow me,” he said, grabbing Jonny's hand and leading him out the door. Jonny did as Chris told him, and as they walked down to the outdoors, Jonny was reminded of the story Chris wrote, which made him smile the giddiest and most ridiculous smile ever.
“What are they doing in there?” Will asked as he once again peeked into the room. This time, though, he was talking to Guy, who stood beside him and watched along.
“I have no idea,” Guy answered. “But they've been in there for quite a while, haven't they?”
“They were already in there when I got here, which was, like, two hours ago.”
“Well, whatever they're doing, they seem to be enjoying themselves.”
Chris and Jonny were in the room, sitting up against the wall. Jonny was writing in a notebook that rested on his lap, and Chris was leaning over and reading every word with immense focus and a wide grin plastered on his face. He giggled as Jonny handed him the binder, and he grabbed the pen and began to write. When he was done, he handed it to Jonny again.
By the time they finished, it had been another hour that Will and Guy had been spying on them. Chris walked out of the room first, with a paper in his hand, and Jonny followed him behind closely, with the binder gripped tightly in his hands.
“Oh, hey, guys,” Chris casually said as he and Jonny stopped in front of the other two. “What's up?”
“What were you guys doing in there?” Guy bluntly asked. “For hours?”
“Writing,” Chris cheerily replied. “We'd let you see, but... well, most of it is pretty... ahem, personal.” He slyly glanced at Jonny, who silently nodded in turn. “But you guys can read this!” Chris continued, ripping off the bottom half of the paper he was holding. “I think you'll find all your answers there.”
He handed the paper to Will, who briefly looked at it, then back at Chris. “Well, gee, thanks.”
“Uh huh,” Chris obliviously said. Then he turned to Jonny and locked their arms together. “Come on, Jonny, we need to have a deep discussion about that one page...”
“You mean page... eight?” Jonny deviously asked as they began to leave.
Chris raised his eyebrows and answered, “Oh yeah.”
Within seconds they were gone, and Will and Guy were left to read the tiny portion that Chris had so generously given them. Will held it out so they both could read it, and so they did.
Once there was a boy called Jonny.
Then there was a boy called Chris.
Jonny and Chris were best friends.
They knew each other for a very long time.
Whenever Chris was around, Jonny's heart would beat faster and he could feel his cheeks turn bright red.
Whenever Jonny was around, Chris couldn't stop smiling, even if he was really sad.
But Jonny was too shy to say anything to Chris.
Chris didn't think that Jonny would ever like him as more than a friend.
One day Chris and Jonny were on the computer.
Jonny got up to get them some drinks, and while he was gone, Chris decided it was time.
He typed up a letter to Jonny, then quickly ran before Jonny came back.
Jonny read the letter, but there was one problem.
He was still too shy to say anything, even though he now knew that Chris felt the same.
Chris watched him from around the corner, and his heart saddened to see Jonny looking so conflicted.
Jonny really wanted to tell Chris that he loved him, too.
Chris walked back into the room and sat down next to Jonny.
“Jonny, do you love me?”
Jonny looked up at Chris.
Chris could see in Jonny's eyes that he did.
Chris knew that Jonny couldn't answer, so he took the liberty of wrapping his arms around Jonny.
Jonny hugged Chris back, and that's when it happened.
It was then that their hearts connected and beat as one.
It was then that they knew the rest of their lives would be spent together.
No comments:
Post a Comment