Seven

 

 

Women hardly ever come to see me, and when they do, I do not recognize them. Of course, there are always exceptions. This exception was the woman with the grey streak who had so generously delivered the letter a few days earlier. I immediately recognized her, but did not think it worthy to give her any further acknowledgment. She thought it worthy to help herself to a seat beside me once everyone else had gone.

 

“You really are marvelous,” she delicately stated. I detected an amorous quality in her gaze, which laid upon me in a rather uncomfortable way. “I'll bet you have girls all over you everywhere you go.”

 

I do not know what point she was getting at; did she mean to only tell me I was great? I did not believe that anyway, so her words were useless. But she spoke with such a grace that I decided to give her a shot.

 

“But you don't bat a lash at them. Why is that?” I looked at her tiredly and blinked a few times. Perhaps she took that as a sign that I was paying attention to her. I suppose I was. “Oh, you're so mysterious!”

 

She smiled brightly, though its shine had no effect on me. Actually, she looked a lot more lively all around this time, with more color in her eyes and cheeks. Even her dress looked more lively. I found none of this impressing, but it did remind me of something- something she had said to me the last time I had seen her.

 

“Is your cousin the gardener?” I asked. Rather than appearing surprised, as I was convinced she would, she looked pleased.

 

“So, you do talk!” she laughed, then took the liberty of moving her seat closer to mine. “I believe he's something like that, yes. Sent that letter to you, didn't he? I swear, he has to have the worst handwriting on the planet. It's simply atrocious!”

 

“It is rather difficult to understand,” I agreed, which seemed to please her even more. Before long, I found myself sharing the piano bench with her slim, pale figure. “Though I don't know about calling it atrocious.” As much as I knew about him, I would not have said any bit of him was atrocious. But she did not need to know that.

 

“Well,” she tentatively began, a little upset that I seemed to have been disappointed by what she said, “it is awful, at least. I don't know how he can even read it.” She sprung her eyes up, and shook off her brief sadness. “Enough about that. Can I know more about you?”

 

I narrowed my eyes in slight disgust, hoping that she would get the hint and decide to leave on her own. But she did not, and over time I developed an indifference to her presence. “I suppose... if you want. What would you like to know?”

 

She took a minute to think, carefully picking her first question in the event that it would also happen to be her last. She tilted her head at me having finally chosen. “What do you like to do, besides playing the piano?”

 

“Ah, that's a short answer. Nothing.” She frowned at the quickness and readiness with which the words flowed from me, and seemed to think that maybe I was lying. She looked momentarily down at the piano with indecisive eyes.

 

“So, you just sit at the piano all day?” she asked in an incredulous tone. Her dark hair flowed around her shoulders as she shook her head at me. “I know there is so much more to you than that.”

 

“I'm sorry to disappoint you,” I replied, falsely for the most part. There was just nothing else for me to respond with. She bought it, half-smiling her acceptance of my faux apology.

 

“You don't disappoint me, don't worry,” as if I was agonizingly worried, “and what's not to love about a mysterious man?” She leaned closer in a slightly non-threatening way, though her proceeding grin and sigh were both of a definite worrisome nature. She ran her eyes down my body, leaving me feeling much more uncomfortable than I have ever felt.

 

“I-” She cut me off before I could even start my sentence, standing up and gently placing her hand on my shoulder. The touch was even more discomforting than everything else she had done. She was trying to setup a nice foundation, but she dug a hole without even realizing it, and every move she made unintentionally deepened and widened it still without her knowledge. She honestly believed one day a nice house would sprout from her hard work, but it was all just going to crumble in the end.

 

“It's all right. I must be going now. But,” she lowered her face to the level of mine, swinging her hair over one shoulder, “I'll be back tomorrow, and we can chat more.” She smiled and walked away, taking with her an air that made it seem like she felt important. Like she was to be the one who would finally uncover the great non-mystery that is my life.

 

My indifference towards her waned back to a general dislike, but I wanted to talk to her more, simply to discover what made people like her tick. With the connections most of these people have, they have the entire world at their fingers, yet they are entertained by such a trivial thing as one man's personal life, and they choose to be entertained by little else. I wondered how long I would have to suffer in their company if I wanted a true answer. Surely, as this woman had believed that I could not simply be torn apart in one short conversation, it would take many long observations to understand these people. I simply hoped it would be worth it.

 

 

 

Eight

 

 

She insisted that we not stay inside the entire time, so not long after she arrived, we found ourselves seated beside the large tree in front. The leaves, now a much redder color than before, fell down between us and rested in the space between our legs.

 

“My, it's an absolutely marvelous day, isn't it?” she chirped, looking up at the sky, then expectantly at myself. I nodded a satisfactory answer, and she blinked her eyes back up to the sky. “I wish every day was this beautiful. And to be able to sit here with you,” she sighed, “is wonderful.”

 

I watched as she bathed in the sunlight, wondering the entire time what it was that gave her that grey streak. She did not look that old, in fact, I was under the impression that she was younger than I. Regardless, something must have set it off. I thought about asking her, then remembered that I hate to speak.

 

“It's been a few days since we last saw each other. Has anything new happened?” she asked, as though she really thought that something new would have happened. Nothing new happened, of course, and I therefore felt it adequate to shake my head. “Well, something new happened to me!”

 

I waited for her to go on, but it began apparent quite shortly that she wished for me to ask her what before she would say. Reluctantly, I asked her, and she beamed at me brightly.

 

“I met this man who lives just down the road from my family. He's my age, too! It's great, I think... though, we're not sure just yet if he's married or not. I suppose if he is married, then it's not so great, huh?” She frowned, though her eyes were still hopeful.

 

“If you're only looking to marry him, then I would say that's not so great,” I replied. A single leaf dropped down before either of us spoke again, one of the few leaves left with very little color other than green in it. I grabbed the leaf and twirled it around by its stem, mostly out of boredom. It was actually rather entertaining, I thought; it was certainly more entertaining than she was.

 

“Well, I mean, we could be friends,” she laughed incredulously. “I don't try to marry every man I meet!”

 

“No, of course not,” I said, trying to sound as indifferent as I could. I hoped that maybe if I could sound as though I did not care about her, which was mostly true, then maybe she would just leave. She had already been coming over for a week, and I did not see why she continued to do so, each time expecting everything to have changed. Everything would not change, I believed, at least not in a few days.

 

“And you don't try to marry every girl you meet, either!” she laughed again, this time with hints of bitterness seeping through. Part of me wanted to laugh back at her ridiculousness, but I thought it rude to do so, and therefore I kept my mouth shut. Although, that could also be construed as impolite.

 

In any case, we were both silent for quite some time after that. I was still preoccupied with the leaf, and she was preoccupied with my preoccupation, it seemed. I could feel her eyes piercing through the leaf, or perhaps trying to incinerate it and steal my focus back.

 

“Autumn is such a lovely season, isn't it?” she mused. “What with all of the color... it's beautiful.” She quickly looked up at the tree, then at me. It became one of those uncomfortable and awkward moments where I knew she meant me, but I certainly did not feel that way, even about myself. “The earth shows its beauty one last time before it hides for winter. Or maybe winter is just as lovely, with the nice blankets of snow.”

 

“Winter is cold and dead,” I interrupted, perhaps a bit too snappishly. “Autumn is like watching someone drown, and you can't do anything about it.”

 

She laughed, smiling widely and patting my arm. “You are so funny, you know that? Where do you get such a dashing sense of humor?”

 

“Hmm, was something I was born with, it seems.” I finally set the leaf down on the ground to join its fellow brethren, though I felt a sad pang shortly after.

 

“And you were born playing piano, too, I bet.”

 

“Yes, that's how I came into the world. It was on a piano bench.” I suspect she thought I was being serious; that or she knew I was joking, and for some reason found it not as funny as everything else. She just stared at me, and I stared back. She smiled appreciatively, and decided that moving her hand on top of mine was the right thing to do.

 

“It's getting late,” she said. It was nowhere near 'late'- not that I minded her beginning of what appeared to be a farewell speech. Perhaps the other speeches she had given in days prior had stripped her of new and original words, so she opted instead to cut the actual vocalization, and placed her lips boldly against my cheek. I did not react whatsoever, which seemed to go unnoticed under her absorbed persistence; momentarily she looked as though she was upset about it, but it proved only to be a consequence of her changing facial expression.

 

“I don't think I have time to visit tomorrow. Busy schedule, you know. But I'll certainly come back day after, certainly.” Her redundancy was supposed to be quirky, and affirming that she really did want to see me again. It made her seem a little unintelligent, also.

 

“Great.” She stood up and began to walk away, sneaking a look back before she reached the street, probably to make sure that I was watching her as she left. I wonder how she felt when she saw that I wasn't; by that time, I am sure I had already returned inside, sat down at the piano in hopes of drowning my boredom and pestering loneliness.

 

 

Roll Over Beethoven

Chapter 10

 

 

 

There were a number of notable things at the quaint little pub that was housing the contest. There was a bar, quite obviously, and there were people sitting at it, all in various stages of intoxication. Also included was a collection of a few old chairs and round tables. People sat in them as well. These people were here for the entertainment rather than the drinks, although most of them did have one or two. Among those desiring to be entertained was a young man with light green eyes and an encouraging smile.

 

A few of those sitting actually were the entertainment. They all sat in quiet anticipation of their chance to shine as musical artists. Inside they were all nervous, but none of those emotions were expressed outwardly-with one exception. One of those chairs was occupied by a bundle of nerves. In that chair there was an excessive amount of fidgeting, and a good deal of sweating too. The blue eyed man occupying that particular chair was a nervous wreck.

 

As little amount of square footage as there was, a little area in the back was clear of tables and people. Instead of those things, there was a shiny black piano. It looked funny and out of place sitting on an old wooden floor of an even older pub. It was certainly the most elegant thing in the room. It captured the eyes of the small audience and would surely draw even further attention to itself when it was played. Not long after Jonny entered the place, this proved true.

 

A man with slick black hair and tattoos lining his well muscled arms stood at the space near the piano. He appeared to be the owner. He cleared his throat to signal the beginning of the competition. He spoke for some time about rules and the way the judging would be conducted. The winner would be determined only by the audience’s reaction. The prize, five hundred dollars, would go to the person whose performance produced the loudest cheers. Finally, the man read off from a list the order the musicians would play in. Chris was called last, number nine.

 

The first competitor stood then and walked calmly up to the piano. There was deportment in the way he sat, and he immediately began to play a lively tune on the keys. The audience eagerly showed its approval. Jonny and Chris both shook their heads. Chris was sure that he would not be as good as the rest. Jonny was sure Chris would be better.

 

Every performance strengthened their feelings. Even as Chris’s confidence withered, Jonny’s confidence in him grew. When contestant number eight stepped away from the piano to the sound of hearty applause, Jonny’s eyes lit up. Chris felt like he might pass out. He stood on shaky legs and clumsily made his way to the piano.

 

The room was dead silent. Compared to those who went before him, Chris looked slightly out of place. In his plain blue t-shirt, loose fitting pants, and wild hair that was badly in need of a trim, he hardly looked like a skilled pianist. But the way that he played proved he played proved that looks are certainly an irrelevant factor in judging musical prowess.

 

Jonny instantly recognized the tune. It was the small bit that Chris had played on the first evening Jonny had played with Chris. About a minute into it, there was a sudden silence. Jonny frowned. Chris had stopped playing and was staring blankly at the keys. His fingers were still poised above them. The silence was obtrusive and rude. Everybody in the audience felt it. Chris quickly glanced up and Jonny could see the panic in his eyes. He quickly scanned the crowd. He was looking for someone.

 

After a few moments of torturous silence his roving eyes finally became fixed to one spot. At first Jonny wondered what Chris could be looking at. Then he realized that those deep blue eyes were looking directly at him. His stomach flipped and he gave an encouraging smile without thinking twice about it. It was just like all those evenings in the music room. A spark ignited in Chris’s eyes. He swiftly brought his fingers back down to the keys and continued to play.

 

A soundless sigh spread through the room. Chris became totally immersed in his music. Jonny became totally immersed in watching Chris. He was swimming in a sea of beautiful sounds. As Chris dove deeper into the song, Jonny recognized all of it. He heard the separate tunes that Chris had played for him all together in a perfect, harmonious union.

 

A strange childlike giddiness filled him as he made the connection. All of those tunes had just been a small part of the whole thing. He was experiencing the completed work for the first time. The artist’s finished piece. Jonny had no words to describe it. So when it was finished, he opted to simply give a standing ovation instead.

 

At first he was the only idiot standing among about one hundred people. In a few seconds there were about a hundred others standing with him, clapping and cheering. A few even wiped tears from their eyes. Jonny grinned widely. The black haired man was next to the piano and the stunned Chris in one fluid motion. Patting him on the back, he proclaimed him the clear winner. Chris’s eyes widened to twice their usual size. He uttered a long string of thank yous. But his eyes searched the crowd. He pinpointed Jonny and quickly made his way over to him.

 

Jonny smiled widely at him. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it Chris, I told you that you could.”

 

“Thank you.” Chris tried to smile back. But guilt wouldn’t allow him to truly enjoy his victory. “Jonny……follow me. I have some things I need to say.” He grabbed Jonny by the arm and pulled him to a door that Jonny hadn’t noticed before.

 

 

 

Nine

 

 

“The gardener, really? What did he send it for, then?” Harold sounded surprisingly unaware, as ordinarily he would have known exactly what was going on ages before I would, and would have been glad to rub that information in my face, if not in an entirely intentional way.

 

“He wanted to thank me.” The most wonderful thing about my connection with Harold, in my opinion, is the ability I have to tell him anything and not be afraid of him thinking I am crazy or being disgusted. It was with this in mind that I boldly stated, “I like him.”

 

“You love him,” Harold corrected, and it was at that moment that Harold quickly returning to his normal all-knowing self became apparent. And, after a week and a half spent thinking of little else beside the gardener, I began to think Harold was right.

 

“Oh, I suppose.” To stifle any giddy laughter, I bit down on my lip, perhaps a little too hard. I held the letter up to the light, and tried once more to read it, though not many of the words were much more legible than before. Still, I enjoyed that airy happiness I felt when I read it. “He is rather lovely, don't you think?”

 

“He is nice,” Harold agreed, though I was not sure he even knew much about the gardener. I suppose I did not, either. “He's a good match for you, even if he is... you know, not a woman.”

 

I set the letter down on top of the piano, keeping a firm hand resting on its surface. “You're so understanding, Harold, I love it.”

 

“Oh, please. What's to understand, even? You're in love, it's not as though that's completely unheard of amongst the human race.” I wanted to shake my head and tut at Harold, but I for some reason decided against it. Tiredly swinging my legs around the piano bench, I headed off for bed, abruptly giving Harold a farewell before I left the room entirely.

 

A surprise waited for me in the darkness of my bedroom; it seems that my mother had decided to visit, yet not to make her presence known. I wondered how she could have slipped past my notice, then I thought that maybe she had walked in at one of the times when the gardener's cousin was chatting with me, as she had insisted that we take a quick stroll around the back garden, and it was very likely that anyone could have entered my house without my knowledge at that point. In any event, my mother was sitting on my bed, nearly in the dark, and waiting patiently for my entrance.

 

“Oh!” I said, shocked if that was not apparent, which I immediately realised must have been the first word I had said to her in quite some time. My mother wasted no time getting to her point, though, without even another single word from myself.

 

“What is that letter you're holding, hmm?” she asked with a disregardful nosiness that she always seemed to carry with her. “May I see it?”

 

She walked up to me and took it without my permission, but I said and did nothing, as nothing would have stopped her anyway. It was all right, though, as I had nothing to hide, really. Her eyes scanned the page fervently, and when she found no satisfactory answer she flung the paper back into my hands. Then she looked at me motherly and tilted her head.

 

“I hear you've been talking to that girl in town. How is she?”

 

“Lovely,” I replied, and my mother did not pick up on the sarcasm. She never did, which I always found odd, since mothers are usually very intuitive about this sort of thing.

 

“You know,” she began, lowering her voice and leaning in close, “you really ought to take better care of that bed of yours. It's a wreck, you know that? How can you sleep on something that's that hard as a rock?”

 

“Well, it doesn't bother me.”

 

“Oh, nothing bothers you,” she replied with bitterness that only an ignorant man could miss. She often spoke to me in such a manner, so I was rather expectant of it.

 

“Right. Now, if you'll excuse me,” I said, sliding past her and over to the bed which she so strongly disapproved of. “Goodnight, mother.”

 

“Goodnight, dearest. Next time, I hope we can see more of each other.” She left quickly, and I hoped as I watched her walk away that we would not see more of each other the next time. In fact, I would rather we see less of each other the next time. Of course, I am aware of the unintended consequences and jinxes that saying something like that brings with it, but honestly those are not things that I find all too terrible. Men should love and respect their mothers, but I find that too difficult to achieve fully. It is not as if she ever has anything kind to say to me.

 

As the darkness grew around me and swallowed me in its massiveness, I thought of the short distance in time left until the promised return of the gardener. At least, I hoped that he would show again, if not only for a performance one day. Certainly, if he only showed up to watch me play, I might be able to hold him back longer and maybe then I would not be so jumpy and frantic as I was the last time. Maybe then he would want to stay, and actually sit down.

 

There were still a few days left, though, so I had plenty of time to fantasize about all sorts of various ways for the gardener to reappear. Neither of them really weighed more than the others, since they need not be fancy entrances or sparkling greetings; I would just be glad to see the man with the shimmering green eyes once more.

 

 

 

Ten

 

 

The gardener's cousin made her incomparable stop another time before the two week mark was up. She had maybe started to soften to me, in that I did not find her nearly as annoying as I had the first few times. Maybe she had finally caught on to my dislike, and decided to change her manner a bit so as to not irritate me further. Or maybe I was changing.

 

Or maybe, in my total joy, the idea that the gardener would return to my doorstep shortly had numbed me to any sort of annoyance the world had to offer. In fact, I think I had received a nice paper cut from the letter, which I still kept with me at all times, but I hardly even noticed it, and it was a pretty deep one if it actually existed.

 

Then it happened. I was just sitting at the piano, intermittently tapping the keys, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Something made me believe that I knew exactly who it was, and as I answered the door I found that belief was not at all wrong.

 

“Come in,” I immediately said, making room for him to enter and not even bothering with a “hello”- in retrospect, and I thought about this even two seconds after I had already done it, I really should not have skipped the greeting like that. Nevertheless, what was done was done, and he gladly accepted the invitation anyway.

 

“Um, you said to just drop by whenever, so...” He nervously glanced around the room. “I'm not interrupting anything am I?”

 

“Heavens, no. I was just playing... You're welcome to join me, if you want.” He looked at the piano, which I had been gesturing to, and hesitantly inched toward its direction. I sat down on the bench, whereas he stopped along the side of the piano itself, and I could tell that he was uncomfortable with even being given permission to sit there. As I started to play, though, he began to loosen up.

 

“I just got back about an hour ago,” he quietly mentioned. His thumb brushed against the frame of the piano, then he quickly pulled his hand back like it was a sin. “But there was nothing for me to do at home, and I had promised to see you again.”

 

“Absolutely nothing for you to do? So you don't have any family with you or anything?”

 

“Well, I'm not married,” he shyly said, and I noticed that he moved a little closer to where I was sitting. “The only family I have live around here, but not with me.”

 

“Do you like your family?”

 

“They're all right, I suppose.” He gave a short laugh and moved even closer. “I hear that you and my cousin are getting along rather well.”

 

“Ah, yes. She's come 'round quite a few times.” This time he made the biggest move of all, ending by resting beside me on the piano bench.

 

“Are you going to marry her?” he very bluntly asked. I stopped playing and looked at him, then shrugged shortly.

 

“I might.” Though I had no real intentions on doing so, something told me not to flat out deny the possibility of such a marriage occurring. In his eyes, as I watched, I saw that knowing flash that so often lit upon Harold's eyes.

 

“But you don't love her.” I smiled at his accuracy, perhaps with a mischievous undertone.

 

“No.” He sighed at the response, and narrowed his eyes ponderously.

 

“Why would you marry someone if you didn't love them? Just because?”

 

“I suppose that could be the reason.”

 

“You should marry someone that you love,” he said, with an emphasis on love that made me shiver.

 

“I should. It's not always that simple, is it?” He thought for a moment, twisting his mouth in an adorable shape, then nodded.

 

“I guess you're right.” Involuntarily- because I really did not want to hint at too much too soon- I smiled at him and his loveliness. Perhaps it only appeared that I was smiling at his acceptance of my point, which could have made me seem a bit smug, another thing I also did not really want to do, though I suppose that was the lesser of two evils.

 

“So, your holiday was good, then?” He shook off the slight defeat his face was holding, and smiled with a brightness in his eyes that made me feel a little queasy.

 

“It was great. I went to this place in Italy... amazing. The architecture was just beautiful, and the people were pretty nice, I thought.” He looked down at the piano, a moment which I took to drop my guard and stare at him with as much emotion as I could muster, then he lifted his eyes once more and I collected myself. “When I was there, I went to see some pianist guy play.”

 

“Really?” was all I could offer to say. He seemed to want to make some sort of point, but was struggling to do so.

 

“Yeah. And the people there basically praised him like some sort of god... almost like you, I guess.” That smiled showed itself again, even more hypnotizing than the last time. “But I went to see him, and you're so much better.”

 

“Oh, well, that's very kind of you to say-”

 

“No, it's true.” A fear dashed across his pupils, frightened that his interruption had angered me or something. It stayed, but softened as he went on, “No one could play like you. There's just this... emotion in your playing that no one else could compare with.”

 

“I, well... uh... I guess, thank you.” The room's temperature was increasing at an alarming rate, my heartbeat was loosing its steadiness, and someone had run past and splashed red on my cheeks. I felt terrible and dizzy with happiness at the same time. People would often compliment me on my playing, but no one ever spoke with such passion and persuasion- enough to make me begin to believe it was actually true- as he did.

 

 

 

Eleven

 

 

“Have you ever been in love, Harold?” He thought for a moment, frowned at the piano, then shook his head.

 

“Not even close.” He looked up at me with what seemed to be envious eyes. “You're very lucky, you know that? Love is a wonderful thing.”

 

“And how would you know, if you've never known the feeling?”

 

“All right,” he said in defeat. “It seems like it would be a wonderful thing. You're still very lucky.”

 

“Am I?” I asked. “It would appear that luckier things have happened in the world, the least of which being that I never have to work to survive.”

 

“What you do is work,” Harold affirmed. He reached his hand out to the piano keys, nearly pressed down, then pulled his hand back. “You were lucky, yes, to be born with such a talent, but that doesn't mean you don't work with it. It's not easy, this stuff.”

 

“Anyone can learn to play piano, Harold,” I laughed. Even Harold was too kind to me oftentimes.

 

“Ah,” he said, wagging his finger at me, “but not anyone can learn to play it well.” I shook my head at Harold, then sat silently for a moment.

 

“He told me I played with some sort of unique emotion. When I spoke to him yesterday,” I added. I assumed that, being himself, Harold would understand what and who I was referring to without needing specifications. “He said I was the best. I almost believed him.”

 

“Wow, that's a feat, surely,” he laughed. I laughed along and nodded.

 

“It is, but, Harold, you should have heard him speak. His voice alone is so soft and delicate... his words just melt out and wrap themselves around you.” I could not help smiling at the thought. “If he asked, I would probably be so taken with his manner that I would commit murder for him. If he asked,” I repeated, because I did not want Harold getting the idea that the lovely gardener would ever be so cruel as to ask someone to commit murder for him. I would do it, though.

 

“That's an impressive amount of love you're holding there,” Harold remarked. “I never knew you could love so much, especially someone you hardly know.”

 

“But I feel like I do know him,” I said. “I feel like I've known him forever, and I only just realized that I love him.”

 

“You're quite a character. Maybe he loves you, too.” My eyes dashed open and I swung my head in Harold's direction. I could not believe that he would say such a thing, to give so much hope like that.

But I had little time for gaping, as soon I heard a voice ask, “Who are you talking to?”

 

I spun around to see the gardener waiting at the door. It seemed as though he had only just arrived, and I assumed he had heard muffled voices speaking from inside.

 

“Harold,” I easily responded, gesturing behind me, but as I turned I found that Harold had already left. “He's quick, that man.”

 

“So he is,” he said. “I hope you don't mind me coming over here like this-”

 

“No, of course not,” I beamed. I wanted to smack myself for all the enthusiasm I was exuding, and I tried to calm myself to not seem so jumpy. “Please, have a seat.”

 

He reluctantly accepted, slowly making his way over to the piano. When he finally did sit down, I felt sweat leak its way through my palms. I closed my hands to hide it, but I was soon wrought with the urge to play. The piano would surely hide my nervousness, I thought, so I entertained the urge and began to play. But I faltered a little as my hands began to shake.

 

He was watching me, and the feeling of his eyes upon my being was so intense that it caused me to shake a bit harder. I felt like a complete wreck, and I was beginning to hate myself for it.

 

Everything was only made worse when he stopped me and grabbed my hands. It was hard to believe what was happening, and even now it is hard to believe. He reached over, pulled my hands away from the piano, and just held them in his own. I looked at him, confused and worried, and he stared back with a knowing look in his eyes.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Are you OK?” he asked, calmly and plainly. I nodded, breathlessly, and he narrowed his eyes a little. I was about to repeat my question, but before I had the opportunity, his breath was streaming out in a space just inches away from my ear. Then, in such a way that made me want to scream, he whispered, “If you have feelings for me, don't you think I deserve to know about them?”

 

He pulled away, and all that was left to do was stare into his eyes. The shaking was at its worst, but he expected an answer. I was surprised at how quickly it seemed to pour from me. “I... I find you extraordinarily compelling.”

 

“Compelling,” he repeated, neither questioningly or thoughtfully. He just repeated it. Then he looked down at our combined hands, and stroked his thumb across the back of my hand.

 

“You're not like anyone else,” I added, though perhaps it was unnecessary. “You're kind and sweet and you don't think that you're more important than everyone else. You make me actually want to speak, rather than just keep quiet and play piano. I don't know what it is, but...”

 

I was not exactly cut off, as I had basically run out of words anyway, but I was certainly prevented from speaking further by the presence of his lips on my own. As if I was not already enough of a wreck. Then, when he looked into my eyes, I could have died as he asked, quietly in that soft voice, “Is that what you wanted?”

 

 

 

Twelve

 

 

“You're trying to embarrass me, aren't you?” I asked, pulling my hands away from his and turning to hide. He leaned closer and I shivered a little. I nearly shivered again when I felt his hand clasp my shoulder. His grip was gentle, but firm, the way one would expect a gardener's grip to be.

 

“How would I embarrass you?” he asked, confused.

 

“You'll get me all riled up, then laugh and run away.” It felt like tears were trying to squeeze their way out into the world, but I forced them back, as I did not want to embarrass myself, either. He stared at me, incredulously, and he had every right to.

 

“You really think I would do that?” He was quiet, and sounded hurt, which he definitely should have.

 

“No,” I admitted, turning to look into his beautiful green eyes once more. “But I also didn't think you'd kiss me.”

 

He raised one eyebrow and said, “I'll do it again,” almost threateningly. Then, as if to prove he was not lying, he leaned forward and pressed our lips together once more. I suppose Harold was right about my luck.

 

It turned out that I was more vocal with that last sentence than I had been aware of at first. His immediate response was, “Who's Harold?”

 

“Oh, Harold is my best friend,” I answered. “We've known each other... since we were born, I think.”

 

“That's impressive,” he said in an almost blank sort of way.

 

“Yeah. I would introduce you, but I'm afraid that once he leaves, there's no telling when he'll be back.”

 

“And he's the one you were talking to when I came in?” he asked, receiving an answer in the form of a nod. He grabbed one of my hands again and gave it a small squeeze. “Are you sure you're OK?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It's just that...” He paused, took a breath. It looked like it pained him to continue, but he did so anyway. “Well, when I came in, there wasn't anyone in here besides you.”

 

“Right, because Harold left so quickly,” I said, waving my free hand to show that it was nothing. “He always disappears like that.”

 

“No,” he said, slowly and pointedly. The pained expression intensified as he looked straight at me. “I was standing there for a few minutes- that's how I knew about... you know. But you were talking... to yourself, it seemed.”

 

“Are you trying to say that you think I was hallucinating or something?” I asked in a shrill tone. I could not believe what I was hearing. This man, who I loved and who seemed to feel the same about me, was telling me that I was just imagining my best friend. It was absurd, to say the least.

 

His answer disappointed me. “I'm sorry,” he said, though sincerely, but his apology did nothing.

 

“You should be!” I tore my hand from him and tried to move away. “I knew you didn't really care, that you're just trying to embarrass me.”

 

“That's not-”

 

“Well, now you can just leave.” The words came out before I had a chance to think about them, but once they were out in the open, I did not regret saying them as much as I should have. Deep down, I wanted him to stay, but I just could not handle what he was saying. “Please, just go.”

 

The pain turned to sadness, and he frowned with watery eyes as he quietly said, “I'm sorry.” He obliged my wishes, and soon walked out the doorway. I missed him as soon as he stood up from the piano bench, but I needed him to leave. I was angry, if not only because I knew. I knew that what he was saying was true, but I could not bring myself to believe it.

 

It all made sense. I had no recollection of actually meeting Harold, no recollection of ever meeting his family, every time I saw him he disappeared quickly and without me seeing his departure. It was incredibly difficult, though, to understand that the only person who I ever felt absolutely comfortable around was just an extension of myself.

 

It forced me to reexamine almost everything that I had ever done. My life was completely different now, and it did not seem like my life at all. It was some stranger's life. I did finally, after hours of sitting at the piano, blankly staring across the room, accept the awful truth.

 

But it was too late, and not just in that it was now nighttime. There was no way for me to bring the gardener back, as I had no clue where he lived, and I hated to go around town anyway. Surely, he would not have wanted to come back of his own accord, especially since he probably assumed I was still angry and would be for quite some time.

 

So, I had lost something that I never thought could be real, all because of something that never was real. I would have given anything to get it back, because even though I only experienced it for an extremely short time, I had never known such happiness as when he sat so close, holding my hands in his and just making eye contact. Those eyes, the green lakes I so longed to dive into and search, had looked back at me with massive affection, and that was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Then it was gone, and it was my fault. I still felt terrible, but now I felt it in combination with head-pounding dizziness.

 

The only thing left for me to do, really, was to hope. Sit, hope, and play the piano. Although, there was one thing I was certain I could count on: the gardener's cousin was bound to show up again.

 

 

 

Thirteen

 

 

As predicted, she knocked on my door a few days later, a wide smile stretched across her face, though it looked forced. Her hair was a little different, like perhaps it had been cut or something, and she was wearing a dress that looked much nicer than all of her other ones.

 

“Hey,” she said, squeezing her way inside as if she had been invited in. “I'm terribly sorry that I haven't visited in a few days. Family matters, you know.”

 

“Actually, I wouldn't,” I quietly said, shutting the door and walking over to the piano. Naturally, she sat down beside me, cooing with delight as I began to play. For several minutes she batted her long lashes at me, thinking it something of an impressive standard.

 

“Why don't you write any of your music down?” she inquired. I did not answer right away, mostly because I needed time to think of an answer. I was not entirely sure why, it was just something I had always done. Or never done, actually.

 

“It wouldn't feel right,” I pulled out of the air. It felt half-false, but I knew then there was at least fifty percent truth in it. “I never play the same thing twice, anyway.”

 

“Oh, but you could write it down, and then other people could play it,” she suggested in her squeaky voice. It was then that I noticed how much she had changed in the few weeks I spent associating with her. She was much more glamorous now, it seemed, but I was no more moved than I had been when she first came to my door, clutching in her hand the letter that I kept safely underneath my pillow. “Then again, no one could play like you.”

 

I had been growing even wearier of the kind words the people spoke at me ever since they had ceased coming from a soft voice. Well, some of the voices could have been considered soft, I suppose, but they were not the soft voice, and that was all that mattered.

 

“I don't even know how to write music, anyway.” She straightened up at this, her eyes wide with shock.

 

“Really? So, you can't read music, either?” I shook my head, and in response she squealed. “Oh my, you are even more talented than I thought!” The high pitch her voice was set in scratched at my ear drums and tried to convey the message that she was going to shower me with undying worship now. I tried to ignored it, but that certainly did not make it stop. “I bet you're the only person in the whole world who can play piano without reading music.”

 

“I'll bet I'm not.” It was not so much modesty as it was honesty; I knew for a fact that there were at least two other people in the world who could play without reading music, both of whom were located somewhere in my family tree. I did not tell her that, though; it would not have made much of a difference anyway.

 

She said nothing in return, and sat quietly for a long time. I began to block out her presence as I played, consumed with the sadness that befell me every so often since the gardener had left. I quickly changed the song to let it out, but it was not leaving without dragging tears from my eyes.

 

“Listen,” she eventually said. As I had been ignoring her, so she had somehow been able to not notice that I was crying. In her defense, though I do not know why I would say that, there were only a few tears running down my cheeks. Nonetheless, she carried on in her self-involved way, “Are you gonna ask me to marry you or not?”

 

By this time I had dried my face and attempted to act normally. “No,” I plainly answered.

 

“Why not?” she asked through clenched teeth, the muscles in her neck showing prominently. She honestly seemed angry that I would not marry her, rather than upset, like I thought she might be.

 

“I'm in love with your cousin,” I said, much to my surprise. None of these events were happening the way I expected they would, actually.

 

“My cousin?” She looked around, thinking for a moment. “So what? She's already married.”

 

I lowered my eyelids and questioned her denseness for a moment. “Not that cousin.”

 

“But I don't have any other cous...” she trailed off mid-word, and looked to her side, her mouth open in pensive shock. When she found her answer, she moved her eyes to mine, and shone through them the most terrible look of disgust I had ever seen. She quickly removed herself from the area, nearly running out of the door. I can not say that I was sad to see her go, but I did feel a little bit odd having earned her disapproval. I wondered if I would ever see her again, and then the wonder turned into hope.

 

I was all alone again. It was something I was learning to get used to. I was usually alone before, but there was always this thing in the back of my head that reminded myself that Harold could show up at any moment. Not anymore.

 

So, I laid down to sleep as quickly as I could. I did not intend on actually sleeping, of course, but there was not much else for me to do. I had exhausted my creativity for the day, so playing piano was out, and that was basically the only thing I did around the house. Seconds before I rested my head on the pillow, I pulled out the letter that was stashed underneath it. Many nights deciphering it had taught me that it said:

 

Thank you for helping me out yesterday. I appreciated it greatly...

......................................................

I think I might come to hear you play sometime soon. Keep a look out, I guess.

 

 

 

Thanks again.

 

The middle section was covered in scribbled-out words, and after I had uncovered what the actual note read, I had made it my mission to find out what else he had wanted to say. He was incredibly good at making sure no one would be able to see through the thick black lines, though, so I gave up soon after starting. But I still read the letter over and over every night as I laid otherwise unoccupied and unable to sleep, since it was, at the moment, the only thing I had that made me feel like I was still close to him.

 

 

 

Fourteen

 

 

The shadow just stood there, silently blocking the doorway. At first I was frozen, seemingly glued to the piano bench where I had just been playing, only to be interrupted by the shadow. I was glad to be interrupted, though I was also afraid I was simply imagining it all.

So, I stood up, and made my way over to the shadow to examine its authenticity. As I drew closer, the shadow moved, a face then emerging from the darkness. And I breathed in as much air as I could, which was surprisingly little. It was enough, though, for me to be able to breathe back out, “I didn't think you'd come back.”

 

“I didn't think you wanted me back,” he quietly said. I moved my hand up and brushed his cheek. It felt too good to be real.

 

“I didn't even really want you to leave.”

 

“Really? 'Cause that's what it sounded like when you told me to get out.” There was not much bitterness in his voice, more sadness than anything.

 

“I'm sorry. Please, don't be mad. You have to understand that-”

 

“I'm not mad,” he calmly interrupted. “I do understand. You're not mad, either?”

 

I shook my head. “No, not anymore. I don't have a reason to be mad.”

 

He looked around for a bit, slowly accepting my apology and searching for something to say. “My cousin told me what you said to her... You seriously love me?” A sort of hope rang through his voice, and I confirmed the answer. He smiled with that same brightness he had before and said, “I think I love you, too.”

 

I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, slowly backing up to the piano. We sat down, and I noticed the way he clasped his hands in his lap like he was afraid of being too close to the piano.

 

“Can you play?” I asked. He looked up, and broke apart his hands to scratch the back of his neck.

 

“Uh, no,” he replied. “I'm afraid that piano wasn't something my parents wished for me to learn.”

 

“I could teach you.” He smiled, politely, and the look in his eyes screamed rejection.

 

“No, no, that's all right. You don't have to go through the trouble of-”

 

“No, it won't be any trouble,” I insisted. After pushing him away once, I needed to know that there was something connecting us other than a mere piece of paper. No matter how significant that paper actually was, it just was not good enough. “Plus, I feel like I owe you something.”

 

“You don't owe me anything,” he told me, shaking his head.

 

“For being such a jerk, yes, I do.” He considered this, accepting it reluctantly after a while.

 

“But if you repay me by teaching me to play, then I feel like I'll have to do something for you, too,” he said. I thought about it for a bit.

 

“Well... here's an idea.” I looked into his bright green eyes, which were filled with patience and eagerness, egging me on. “You can always tell me more about yourself. I'd like to know more about you.”

 

He seemed to like that idea; he smiled and nodded, “I suppose that would work... What would you like to know first?”

 

“Well, you could start with your name.”

 

He laughed, and it was purely gorgeous. It was soft, like his voice, but so full of life. And his eyes lit up spectacularly when he laughed. “That is a good place to start. I'm Jonny.” My heart skipped a beat.

 

“Oh, that's even more beautiful than I thought it would be.” He tilted his head to one side and looked at me like I was crazy. I guess I was a bit crazy.

 

“Jonny, really?” he inquired. “That's not a very glamorous name.”

 

“It's better than mine.”

 

He tilted his head back to its regular position and brightly asked, “Which is?”

 

“No, it's too embarrassing.”

 

“Oh, come on.” It was embarrassing, honestly, but it felt wrong not to tell him my name. After all, what sort of lovers do not even know each other's names? Yes, I took the liberty of referring to ourselves as lovers, even then; it is just the way things were.

 

I brought my hand to my nose and tried to mumble, “Christopher.” I was too loud, it seemed, and he heard me quite loud and clear.

 

“See, you have a much nicer name than that I do.” His sincerity did nothing to persuade me, and my feelings towards the name remained very much the same, despite his overly convincing tone.

 

“It's awful,” I said. He shook his head at me and leaned close.

 

“No, it's not, Christopher.” I turned to see his eyes shining a mere inch away from my own. Once again, it felt too good to be real.

 

“Well... it's sounds better when you say it. Say it again.”

 

He smiled, leaned in ever closer, and repeated in a low voice, “Christopher.” I must have gasped audibly, because I remember hearing it and wishing that I had more control over myself.

 

“Jonny...” Then I leaned in, until there was barely and space left between us and our foreheads were touching. “You can call me Chris if you want. But only you, no one else can.”

 

“I feel so privileged,” Jonny smiled with a bit of sarcasm. Without waiting for a response, he held onto the back of my neck and kissed me. The sheer wonderfulness of it is far too vast to articulate, but I can remember thinking that my life was finally complete.

 

Never once did it occur to me that our love was somewhat unconventional. In truth, it never did, and still does not, matter to me one iota. So when we pulled apart, I did not think of anything else except for how nice it was to be with him. How nice it was going to be to be with him for the rest of my life, because that is the length of time I intended us to be together.

 

“OK, now,” I began, grabbing his hands and forcing them on the piano keys, something which I knew he was always frightened to do. But he was just going to have to deal with that. “Let's play.”

 

 

POST 2000 :D

 

 

 

 

The tinkling of ivory and ebony keys were heard from outside of the grand room. The tall, French windows were wide open and the gauzy white curtains blew in the gentle summer breeze.

The room smelled of ocean and sunlight.

 

There was a man hunched over the shiny black grand piano. His long, thin fingers danced across the keys, making it produce a wonderful ethereal noise.

 

There was a knock and he let his last chord fade out into the white room.

“Yes?” He called, not taking his eyes from the piano.

 

Another man entered the room.

“I’m so sorry. Can I come home again?” His voice was soft and filled with desperation and regret.

 

The man at the piano caught his breath. He stayed silent, closed his eyes and began to play again.

The man at the door briskly walked into the room and put his hand on the piano man’s shoulder.

 

“Chris, please. Say something.”

 

Chris kept playing but soon opened his mouth and began to softly sing.

 

“If he loved you

Like I love you

I would walk away in shame

I'd move town

I'd change my name”

 

The man desperately grasped Chris’ hands and looked him deep in the eyes.

 

“Oh, Chris.”

 

Chris wrestled his hands back and continued to play.

 

“If I could break down these walls

And shout my name at heaven's gate

I'd take these hands

And I'd destroy the dark machineries of fate

Cathedrals are broken

Heaven's no longer above

And hellfire's a promise away

I'd still be saying”

He looked up at the man next to him and slowly played out the last chords, never breaking eye contact.

 

“I'm still in love.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me, Jon.”

 

“I did.”

 

“You broke my heart.”

 

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Are you really?”

 

“Of course I am!” Jonny exclaimed and took Chris’ hands again. “I almost had to torture Guy to find out where you disappeared to.”

 

“He said he wouldn’t tell.” Chris sighed.

 

“But he did. And I’m glad he did. I’ve missed you.”

 

Chris shook his head.

 

“I did!” Jonny fiercely declared. “I’ve ached for you!”

 

“You don’t know how it feels to ache.” Chris said and tried to take his hands back from Jonny’s warm ones. Jonny released him and took his face in his hands instead. Chris’ eyes fluttered close as he felt Jonny’s warm breath on his lips.

 

“I know how it feels to ache…” He whispered “Because I’ve been apart from you.”

 

“Oh, Jon…” Chris sighed and pressed his lips against Jonny’s. He immediately pulled back. “No!” He stood up and almost stumbled on his long legs. “No. I can’t do this again.” His bright blue eyes filled up with tears and he clenched his jaw.

 

“Chris…” Jonny began and stood up as well.

 

“No. It’s over and it’s going to remain over.”

 

Chris took one longing look at the man in front of him before turning around to storm out of the room.

 

“Chris!” Jonny yelled and Chris’ head whipped around. “Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me.” Jonny fell down to his knees. “I can’t even breathe properly without you. I can’t…” He suppressed a sob. “I can’t walk without your hand in mine. I feel so empty all the time!”

 

Chris put his hand on the doorknob.

 

“I’m sorry, Jon. I do love you. I always will. You are the love of my life. But I can’t be whole with you here, knowing what you did.”

 

“I didn’t!” He exclaimed as Chris walked out the door.

 

Chris turned around again.

“You didn’t what?”

 

“I… I was scared. You made me feel things I’d never felt before… I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He took a shaky breath. “I loved you too much and I didn’t understand anything. I made it up. So I wouldn’t have to face those feelings. I know it was wrong, but I… I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“You’re lying.” Chris shook his head.

 

“I’m not. I was such a cowardly fool.” Jonny put his head in his hands and sobbed. “I’m sorry, Chris. Please give me another chance!”

 

Chris frowned, his heart breaking as Jonny cried his eyes out. He bit his lip.

 

He rushed forward to Jonny and fell to his knees in front of him. He put his gangly arms around him.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Jonny mumbled as he returned Chris’ embrace.

 

Chris took a deep breath and kissed Jonny’s temple.

“I forgive you.”

 

“Thank heavens.” Jonny breathed and nuzzled Chris’ neck.

 

“Dance with me.” Chris whispered after gently pressing his lips to Jonny’s.

 

“Dance?” Jonny smiled, eyes still wet.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Anything you want.” He stood up and held out his hand to Chris.

 

Jonny sighed contentedly as they embraced each-other tightly. He felt Chris’ heartbeat slam against his chest. Chris closed his eyes not to cry at the familiar warm scent of Jonny’s hair. They swayed gently as Chris quietly sang into Jonny’s ear.

 

“I'm still in love with you

I'm gonna find a place to live

Give you all I've got to give

When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings

When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings.”

 

The sun set on the horizon and the white curtains billowed in the breeze.

 

 

 

 

The song Chris sings is When We Dance by Sting :heart:

 

 

 

 

Have you ever felt completely alone? Surrounded by people, but completely alone. I have. All the time. Well, most of the time. It's not so bad, though, because when I don't feel alone, I want to be alone.

 

And it's not just the fact that women scare me. I've always been uncomfortable around them. Maybe... maybe I'm gay? No, well, I've toyed with that idea plenty of times before, but the truth is men intimidate me no less than women do. Really, I'm just not a social person. People... I don't like them.

 

I like computers. Technology is fascinating. That anyone at anytime can look up any subject they desire, and have the potential to then learn vasts amounts about it simply by pressing a few buttons is astonishing. And even though I don't like people, the ones I talk to online are... different. They're not like the ones who pester me in real life. They're much nicer, and they actual share the same interests as me.

 

You see, I'm part of this photography site. Message boards, forums, whatever you want to call it. We talk about all sorts of photography-related things, some things not related to photography. It's great. There are some amazingly talented people on there.

 

My parents are sometimes concerned that I spend all my time online. What can I say? I feel more comfortable there. I wish they'd understand, but I know they won't. They think technology is overrated, and that the only people who matter are those who you can actually, physically see and talk to. But I hate all those people.

 

Well, not all of them. Jonny is the only person I've ever been able to stand. We've been best friends since... maybe before we were even born? Forever, anyway. He's the only person who really gets me. Sometimes, when I talk to him, I can tell that he sort of resents my passion for the online world and maybe even feels like I neglect him. Honestly, though, without him I wouldn't be able to survive in the real world.

 

I've told him before that he should join the site I'm on, and that maybe I'd talk to him even more then. I don't think he could tell whether or not I was being serious. I'm not even sure whether or not I was being serious.

 

He'd probably love it, though. There's this one guy on there- one of my best online friends actually- Chris, and I think they'd totally hit it off. Oh, the conversations they could have. I'm laughing just thinking about it. Anyway, there's another guy, Will, and some people say he's a total troll, but I think he's rather funny and intelligent. Killer shots of flowers. Seriously, every time he posts a picture, a part of me wants to cry with tears of jealousy, if there's such a thing. I'm sure there has to be.

 

Jonny wouldn't do that, though. He's quite happy with people. Sure, he's shy, like I am, but not as shy as I am. He actually talks to other people, exchanges deep and meaningful words with them. I envy him sometimes.

 

So, that's me in a nutshell. The internet. Two words to describe me. Well, does 'the' even count? In any case... yeah.

 

-

 

“How does that sound?” I ask Jonny. He's sitting on the edge of my bed, my laptop balancing on his left thigh. His eyes are fervently scanning the screen, and his face shows no emotion whatsoever.

 

“Do you really have to put this much detail into your Facebook page?” he replies, scrunching up his eyebrows and lifting the laptop off his leg. “I mean, it's good, but isn't it a little... long?”

 

“Oh, I guess so.” I can't say that I'm not disappointed. I rather thought he'd like it, especially since I praised him. I look up at him, and I can see it in his eyes: Stick to photography, Guy. I will, of course, because I know I'm shit at writing. I just wanted his opinion.

 

“Thank you for saying that stuff about me,” he quietly adds, knowing that it's what I want to hear. Suddenly, a blinking orange alert at the bottom of the screen tells me I've got an IM from someone. It's Chris, who feels the need to inform me that his little brother is annoying the hell out of him. I laugh at what he's saying, and Jonny narrows his eyes questioningly. “Who are you talking to?”

 

“Huh?” I say, sort of a reflex for me. I quickly look up at Jonny, but soon enough I have to refocus my attention back to the computer.

 

Ew, he's sticking his tongue out at me now. What a freak.

 

“Uh, it's Chris,” I quickly answer, speedily typing my reply to Chris.

 

Haha, ewwww! You should tell him to shove off.

 

“Chris.” Jonny mulls it over, thinking his hardest to remember the name. “Is that the one you think I'd get along with?”

 

I already did! … and my mum yelled at me for it. :P

 

“Yeah. Do you want to talk to him?”

 

Dude, my friend Jonny is here, and I'm trying to convince him to get on and talk to you.

 

Do it! I'd love to talk to him. :D

 

Jonny nervously scratches the back of his neck. “Um, I... guess..”

 

Ahhh, he said yes! Hold on...

 

I motion for Jonny to sit next to me, and he reluctantly scoots back to where I'm sitting. I tilt the screen back a little so it's easier for him to see and inch the laptop in his direction.

 

OK, here he is...

 

Jonny blankly stares at the screen as another line pops up.

 

Hi, Jonny! I'm Chris, but I'm sure you already knew that.

 

I watch Jonny as he continues to stare at the screen, totally unsure of what to do. He just keeps blinking. “Jonny,” I nudge him, and he looks at me with alert eyes.

 

“Oh, uh... what should I say?” he asks in a worried tone. It's funny, usually I'm the one like that, and he's the one who's calm and knows what to do.

 

“Just say hi. That's a good place to start.” Jonny twists his mouth to the side and slowly begins to type.

 

Hi.

 

“Is that good, then?” he asks, rather unsure of himself. I laugh at his blatant newbishness, which I think makes him feel a bit insecure.

 

“Write more,” I say to justify my laughter. He sighs and is soon at the keys once more, trying his hardest to think of something to write.

 

So... apparently Guy thinks we'd be great friends.

 

Hm, should we believe him? I don't think I know him as well as you do. :P

 

Well, I don't think anyone really knows him, to be honest. He's keeps to himself a lot.

 

Seriously?? 'Cause on here he's a total post whore!

 

Jonny anxiously looks up at me, and even though I'm cracking a smile, he seems to be really worried.

 

Oh, maybe we should stop talking about him, since he's still right here.

 

Nah, he can deal with it. HEAR THAT, GUY? YOU'RE A WHORRRRE!

 

I burst out laughing, which seems to only slightly comfort Jonny. He's starting to smile himself, though, so I begin to think that maybe my thoughts about him and Chris being friends weren't so far off.

 

Isn't it weird to talk to people you've never met before? I don't know if I could do something like this every day.

 

I don't think it's weird. To me, it's no different from talking online to the people I do know in real life. Plus, I think you'd get used to it after a while.

 

Maybe... I don't know, it's just very odd for me to think that I'm talking to you, and you could know all this stuff about me, but I've never met you, and never even talked to you until just now. You know what I mean?

 

Yeah, I can understand that. But like I said, I think you just get used to it eventually. So, have you never talked to other people online before, then?

 

No... not anyone who I don't personally know.

 

Well, there's a first for everything! :P

 

Yeah, I suppose there is. Listen, I'm gonna give the computer back to Guy now. It was nice talking to you.

 

It was nice talking to you, too! :D You should totally stop worrying about talking to people online and then maybe we could chat more often. ;)

 

Um, I'll think about it.

 

Haha, bye!

 

Jonny hands me back the computer, looking rather dissatisfied. Chris on the other hand, is endlessly thanking me for convincing Jonny to talk to him.

 

I completely agree with you, Guy, he and I could totally be best friends. I mean, we didn't really say much to each other, but I still agree with you. :P

 

“I should probably go home now,” Jonny says, standing up and awkwardly stretching his arms. “I think I'm getting kinda tired.”

 

Next time I'll try to get him on here for longer. He needs to stop being such a newb! :P

 

“Tired? Now?” I look down at the bottom of the screen. It's already 9 PM, but to me it feels like it's much, much earlier. “Oh, I didn't realise it was so late.”

 

“Yeah, and I think my mum wanted me to be back at, like, eight.” Jonny walks over to the door and nearly leaves without saying goodbye. When he does, I look up to bid him farewell, and I can see that look again on his face. I don't know why, I've been paying attention to him. We hung out all afternoon, in fact, but for some reason he still looks rejected. Poor Jonny.

 

-

 

We're not really doing anything in French class, but we're in the computer lab, so I decide to sneak onto the forums while the teacher isn't looking. It's really not hard to do, though, as I'm sitting all the way in the back and the teacher doesn't pay us any attention anyway.

 

When I log on, a pretty notification informs me that I've got a new PM. I'm always excited when people send me things; it makes me feel special. But as I click on the link, I find that the message is not from someone I've talked to before.

 

Subject: Your pictures

 

Hey! I've just been looking around on the site, and I wanted to tell you that I think you are an amazing photographer. :)

 

Oh, and I'm Natalie, by the way.

 

Wow, as if I didn't feel special enough already, that message has sent me over the top. I can't help smiling as I reread it a thousand times. It's always nice to receive a compliment, isn't it? And Natalie... that's a beautiful name.

 

Subject: Re: Your pictures

 

Well, thank you. :) I'm Guy.

 

It's a short reply, but I think it gets the job done. I send it, and then I momentarily switch back to the work I'm supposed to be doing, because the girl sitting next to me is being really nosy and staring at my screen.

 

“Can I help you?” I say, perhaps a little too harshly. She gives me a nasty look, then turns back to her computer. Whatever, at least she's not bothering me now.

 

I only go about four minutes before the urge to click back to the forums takes over my being. Besides, I'm almost finished with my French work, anyway.

 

It seems as though in that brief window of time, I've already got another message. Unsurprisingly, it's from Natalie.

 

Subject: Re: Re: Your pictures

 

Wow, what an original name. Haha, sorry. :P

So, how long have you been doing photography?

 

Ugh, there's always something to remind me of how much I hate my parents for giving me such a plain name. Seriously, how boring to you have to be to name your kid Guy?

 

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your pictures

 

Well, what can I say? My parents are the most creative people alive.

I've been doing photography for about two years now. :) How about you?

 

I probably would have gotten another reply a minute later, but the bell went off before I even had the chance to hit send. Not wanting to be late to my next class, I hit the button as quickly as I can and then bolt out the door. On my way out, my teacher gives me a funny look, and I get the feeling that she knows I'm not doing my work like I should. Oh, well.

 

And for some reason, I can't stop thinking about that message for the rest of the day. Am I really that sad that even tiny compliments from strangers fill me with mass joy? There's no other reason I can think of.

 

-

 

I'm extremely surprised to get an IM from someone who is apparently not on my friend list, and even more surprised when I see that it's from Jonny. When did he get a screenname?

 

Hey, Guy!

 

Whoa, Jonny, glad to see you join the internet world! :P

 

Well, I figured I'd give it a go.

 

Awesome! :D Hey, do you want Chris's screenname?

 

Uh, sure, why not?

I quickly switch to one of the other windows I have open.

Dude, Jonny's online! I'm gonna give him your screenname so you guys can talk.

 

Ooh, I'm excited! :D

I give Jonny the name, and I assume they're talking, as it's a few minutes before I talk to either of them again.

Um, so, how are you?

 

I'm good. You?

 

Same.

 

What made you decide to get a screenname?

 

I'm not sure, really. I just thought it was something I should do.

 

Well, I'm glad you did. :D

 

Yeah, so is Chris. :P

 

Haha, he really likes talking to you, I guess. Does it freak you out? :P

 

Actually, at first it did, when I was talking to him that one day at your house, but it doesn't bother me now. I don't know, it's weird.

 

Aw, you guys are gonna be BFFLs, I can tell. You won't even need to have me as a friend anymore.

 

BFFLs?

I have to laugh at Jonny. I just have to. Since he's around me often enough, you'd think that he'd pick up on some of the internet language. He hasn't, though, so I have to laugh at him. Instead of replying, like I should have, I just switch to my browser. It would appear that I have a new PM.

 

Subject: I got tired of all the RE's, so I changed the title.

 

Well, I'm not actually so crafty when it comes to cameras, but I love to look at other people's work. I suppose I would do well as some sort of art critic or something.

Do you mind if I ask where you live? The landscape in your pictures is just amazing.

 

One thing that parents should always tell their children is not to give away too much personal information to strangers online. It's a dangerous world filled with scary people. Now, in my experience, I've never found anyone to be remotely suspicious, so I wouldn't think twice of telling someone where I live. It's not like I'm giving away my address.

 

Subject: Oh, well, aren't you special?

 

You should try it sometime! After all, it just takes some practice, really. I'm sure you'd take lovely pictures.

I live in Scotland. It's just so pretty around here. It makes me wish I liked interacting with the outside world. :P

 

It would be proper for me to respond to Jonny now, so I click back to our conversation.

 

Best friends for life. Did you really not know that? :P

 

Well, gee, I'm sorry that I don't live in the internet like you.

 

...That was a joke, by the way.

Ah, you've got to love Jonny.

-

 

“Listen, Guy, I don't know what the hell that's even supposed to be.” Jonny's apprehensively staring at the plate in front of me, most likely because I just offered him some of my food, and it honestly looks like vomit. It's not, though.

 

“It's chicken. It's delicious, trust me.” I hold out a forkful of what I'm pretty sure is chicken. I hope so. It tastes like it's covered in some sort of barbecue sauce or something. It is delicious, certainly, despite its ugliness.

 

“No, thank you,” Jonny distastefully replies, almost shoving my hand away. I shrug, because what else am I going to do? I can't force him to eat, even though I hate it when he doesn't buy food, and then I'm sitting there stuffing my face, and he just sits there and looks bored. We're in a food court, why would you just sit there and look bored? Really.

 

“So, how'd talking to Chris go?” Jonny narrows his eyes at me, like, Why would you ask me that at a time like this? and shifts a little in his seat.

 

“It was OK.. I don't know what you're expecting me to say.”

 

I roll my eyes at him and whip out my best sarcastic tone. “Obviously, I want you to say that you've never realized you could find your soul mate even though you live in two neighboring, yet completely different countries, and that one day very soon you're going to run off with him to Norway and get married, because that's what soul mates do.” I pause for dramatic effect and to indicate that I'm going to stop being sarcastic, and then I forcefully stab my fork into my food. That's also for dramatic effect. “Or you could just tell me that I was right, and you guys are getting along fairly well. Or, if that's not true, then tell me that. I'm not expecting you to say anything, really.”

 

Jonny has this air about him like he's a little kid who was just reprimanded. I don't know why. He brushes off what I said and taps his fingers impatiently on the table. “Are you almost done with that? I'd like to get going soon.”

 

I give a dry laugh and grunt, “So would I.” Jonny's eyes soften a little, and he looks almost hurt.

 

“I just meant get going... you know, shopping around. I didn't mean leave altogether.” I raise my eyes and nod.

 

“Yeah.” Sighing, I take one last look at my lunch and decide that I don't want it anymore. I stand up and head towards the garbage bins, and Jonny is following closely behind. After ridding myself of all nutritious substances I'm holding, we start to walk in the direction of some of the stores. There aren't many stores I particularly care for, but Jonny likes some of them, so I don't mind just wandering around with him. Jonny makes it a lot easier to deal with people in the real world.

 

We walk past this music and electronics store, and suddenly Jonny decides that he needs to check out the guitars they've got. While he busies himself looking at the Fenders, I venture over to the cameras. There's a nice Canon I've had my eye on for a while, but I just haven't been able to save enough just yet. Soon, though.

 

Some sales girl walks up to me and asks if I need any help. I tell her to bugger off as politely as I can. I think it came out as, “No, thanks, I'm fine.” What a jerk I am.

 

Jonny and I spend a good ten minutes in there, gawking at everything that intrigues us, and then we decide it's time to leave and maybe go somewhere else, if not home.

 

“So, what's up with you then?” Jonny asks as we walk around, pretty much aimlessly, and I shrug in response.

 

“Nothing, really. Same old same old.”

 

“How did it go with that one girl? Did you ever ask her out?” I can barely even remember what Jonny is talking about; it felt like forever ago since we last talked about it. About her, really.

 

“Oh... no. I didn't. But she would have said no, anyway.” Jonny looks at me like I'm crazy, but his expression also tells me that he's not surprised. He thinks he's so great because he goes through, like, five girlfriends a day, but I'm always single. I just don't like people enough.

 

But, well, I have been thinking of this one girl a lot more as of late.

 

 

 

Coincidentally, Natalie and her father are actually planning a trip to Scotland, and pretty close to where I live. She suggested that we meet up somewhere near by, and I gladly agreed.

 

 

Subject: Meeting

 

OK, so I googled places near where you live :P and would it be all right for us to meet at the mall? It's close enough, right?

Also... are you telling your parents that we're meeting? My dad knows, obviously.

 

 

Subject: Re: Meeting

 

The mall would be perfect! It only takes me, like, five or ten minutes to walk from my house. :D

And no. :\ I don't think my mum would appreciate me telling her that I'm meeting someone I met online. It's OK, though, I'll just tell her I'm going to meet up with Jonny.

Tomorrow, right? And what time, then?

 

 

Subject: Re: Re: Meeting

 

Great! Tomorrow, yes, and how about noon?

And yeah, I was a bit afraid of asking my dad, too. But he's cool with it.

 

 

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Meeting

 

Wonderful! Can't wait! :D

 

 

So, I'm sitting at the computer, staring at the message one last time before I finally leave. As planned, my mum thinks that I'm meeting up with Jonny. I'll probably do that later, so it's not a complete lie, right? Right.

 

My shoes are on, I've got my jacket- even though it's pretty warm out today, I need it as an item of recognition so Natalie will know exactly who I am- and I'm about three-quarters of the way out the door before my mum asks where I'm going.

 

“The mall, remember?” I yell as I make my way down the sidewalk.

 

“Oh. Don't be gone too long!” she shouts, and I think there was more to what she said, but I'm too far away to hear her anymore. At least, too far away to be able to make out what she's saying.

 

I'm a little nervous, and my hands are shaking a little as I walk to the food court, where I told Natalie I would be. I'm not really worried about, like, thinking that she's gonna be this gorgeous girl, when she's actually some really ugly chick, I'm more worried about what she'll think of me. I just want her to like me.

 

“Guy!” someone calls. My heart almost races, until I realize that it's not a girl who's calling me. The only other person I think it would be, then, is Jonny, but it's definitely not his voice.

 

I spin around to see who yelled my name, and I find that coming from that direction is an older-looking man, probably about 40 or so. Then I get this really bad feeling. I want to run back home, but my legs won't move.

 

“Hey!” he said. “I hope you don't mind, Natalie's waiting out in the car. She said she was too nervous to meet you just yet, and she wanted to sit down and calm herself first.”

 

Words refuse to come out of my mouth, because I'm not even sure what to say. Noticing that I look a little intimidated, he continues, “We can just go out there now, she should still be in the car.”

 

“Um...” I finally speak, my throat completely dry and my voice beginning to crack, “Actually... I'm not feeling so well, I think I'm just gonna go hom-”

 

“Nonsense,” he replies, and places one of his hands on my arm. His grip isn't tight, but it's forceful, and I have never felt more scared in my life. “Natalie really wants to meet you.”

 

“I... I...Please let go of me,” I stammer. He doesn't let go, and I scream for him to leave me alone, yelling at the top of my lungs, begging someone to help me, but no one's helping me. I'm screaming, why isn't anyone helping me???

 

Because I'm still frozen, and the screaming's just in my head. But he lets go of me, and I immediately take the opportunity to sprint out the doors nearby. I don't know if he was expecting me to do that, because I take a quick look back to see that he's still just standing there, staring at me as I run.

 

I keep running all the way home, but on the way I pass something really strange- a car, like, a Sedan or something, with an unconscious guy sitting in the front with his head leaning against the window, which has the words “HELP ME” written in some sort of dark substance. It looks almost like lipstick or something, but then I wouldn't really know what lipstick looks like smeared on a window.

 

But I ignore it, as foolish as that seems, and just keep running because I'm too afraid to stop. Several times the thought crossed my mind that he could be following me back to my house, but I can't risk stopping anyway.

 

When I finally get home, I fling the door open and slam it behind me. I feel much safer now, so I rest against the door and try to catch my breath. Once I feel calm, I walk into the living room and receive quite a shock- there's this dark-haired, really pretty girl sitting on the couch, crying. She sees me, slowly looks up, and the instant our eyes connect I know who she is.

 

“Guy...” she says in a near-whisper. She stands up and makes her way over to the doorway, where I'm still standing, stunned. “You're OK?”

 

“I'm... well, I guess I'm fine.” She frowns at me, looking like she's about to burst into tears again.

 

“I'm so sorry.”

 

“What...?” I'm not sure how to finish the question, because there are just so many ways to do so. What the hell is going on? What are you doing here? What did my mum think when she let you in?

 

Obviously my mum must have let her in, and she'd have been wondering what some really pretty girl was coming to see me for. I'd have been wondering that, too.

 

“Come sit down,” she says, as if it's her own house to invite people to sit down in. But I don't mind, because I just want answers, so I follow her over to the couch and we sit down together. “OK, so... Ugh, where do I begin? Well,” she lifts her pretty eyes up to me, “I have been talking to you. And everything I said is true, Guy, I really do love your pictures. It's just that...”

 

“Just what?”

 

“My father,” she quietly starts, “he's not a good person. And you're not the first...” She's quiet for a minute, then she sighs, her voice shaking with tears. “He always uses me as, like, bait. It's-”

 

She's cut off by sobbing, and the hug that I've given her. I shush her and tell her it's OK, and we just sit there like that for another few minutes.

 

“I just couldn't anymore. My uncle came with us... he was in the car, and of course he wouldn't let me leave. But I fought him, and I ran.” While she speaks, the vision of the car flashes in my mind. “I knew you lived here, so I thought it was a safe place to go... Your mum was pretty nice about letting me in.”

 

“Did you tell her who you were?”

 

“Not exactly. I just said I was one of your friends and I came to see you. She said you were out, but that I was welcome to wait here, since you wouldn't be gone long.” She looks at me again, with frightfully sad eyes. “There's something else, though.”

 

“What?”

 

“While you were gone, someone else came for you. Um...” She thinks for a moment, then seems to find her answer in the air. “Jonny, is it? He came 'round, then your mum was really confused. She said that he was supposed to be with you, and he didn't know anything about it. So, I had to tell her...”

 

Just then, I feel like there's this presence behind me, so I look and sure enough, my mum is standing at the doorway with an awful expression on her face.

 

“Mum...”

 

“Listen, Guy,” she says, coldly, but also with a hint of devastation, “I'm just glad you're OK. By the way, Jonny's still in the kitchen. I think maybe you should go talk to him.”

 

“Yeah,” I nod, then take one quick look at Natalie before I leave. She looks like a total mess, and I can't help feeling like all of this is my fault.

 

-

 

“Jonny, can we go back in time?”

 

“To before you decided to meet up with someone you've never met?” he bitterly replies, and adds, “Without even telling me.”

 

“To when we were little kids.” I flick some of the crumbs off the table and look up at him. “Do you remember when we first met?”

 

“Of course,” he quietly says. “You practically saved my life.”

 

“Jonny,” I laugh, because he's being so ridiculous, “you were on the jungle gym. In the little kid's park. You weren't gonna fall and die.”

 

“You don't know that!” Jonny laughs back. “If you hadn't come along and helped me down, I may very well not be here today. Besides, I was a very frightened four-year-old. I was even afraid of being eaten by the sandbox.”

 

Jonny and I laugh for a while, and he finished by shaking his head at the silliness of his youth. “I'm sorry, Jonny,” I sincerely say. I feel like I've lost touch with Jonny, and it makes me really, really sad. Because there's no one else in the world who gets me like he does. “For everything. I really, really don't deserve-”

 

My apology is interrupted by a loud crash from the other room, and as Jonny and I bolt out we see that the ruckus was caused by someone trying to break down the door. My mum and Natalie are there in an instant, and when the door finally does open, it's Natalie's dad who makes his way through.

 

“You,” he sternly bellows, pointing an ugly finger at Natalie. “We're leaving. Come on.”

 

“No,” a voice says, and surprisingly, it's my mum's. She takes a step towards Natalie's dad, and says, “You're not taking her. I've already phoned the police.”

 

“You can't tell me what I can and can not do with my own daughter,” he spits back, which kinda frightens me. He pushes past my mum and grabs Natalie's arm, forcing her out the door. But she resists heavily, and he can barely get her to move even a foot. Jonny and I take one look at each other, then we both run over and try to free Natalie.

 

“Stop it, you bastard!” she yells at her father. “Let go of me! I'm tired of your sick games and I'm gonna tell them everything you guys have done and everything you made me do!”

 

“You say one word and you're finished.”

 

“I'll say more than one word. You can't stop me!”

 

“Oh yeah?” He turns to the open doorway, and nods at the car that's sitting out front. Then he looks back at Natalie, and continues, “We'll see about that.”

 

“I hate you, you dirty old pervert!” Natalie cries, and then she's silent. Completely silent, and her mouth is left open as her eyes roll back and she falls to the ground. Somehow, we all managed to miss hearing the gunshot, but Natalie didn't miss feeling it rip through her. Outside the door, the man who seems to have been her uncle is sitting in the car with a rifle pointed right where she was once standing.

 

Time slows down; I look frantically back and forth between Natalie's unmoving body on the ground, and her father, who's now sprinting to the car. Part of me wants to run after him and smash his head into the ground, but I know that I'm not tough or brave enough to do that. There's also something else holding me back, some silently painful gasp coming from behind me.

 

I turn to see that the gasp had come from Jonny, who had been placed directly behind Natalie. At first I thought he was looking at her, gasping, but I soon realized that his eyes, while being pointed downwards, where actually looking at his hand, which was open and covered in blood. His face drained of color, and it was then that I noticed where the blood had come from- there was a rather large hole, now a terrifically dark red, right in the middle of his chest.

 

Un Cadeau pour Chris car c'est son anniversaire!

avec l'amour de Jonny

 

 

 

I love to say it's true, my love

I'm trapped deep in l'amour

But please don't ask me who, my love

It's you I do adore

 

Six months have passed by now, my love

Since you handed me that note

To your awesome powers I bow, my love

Only on you do I dote

 

This is your birthday present, my love

A heartfelt poem from moi

I love you to no extent, my love

My emotions are deep and raw

 

One day when they allow, my love

Please be my dear mari

I'll write a sincere vow, my love

And no words shall be airy

 

I think I'll get a tattoo, my love

A heart around CM

And I learned French just for you, my love

Et c'est toi, seulement toi que j'aime

 

 

Roll Over Beethoven

Chapter 11

 

 

 

Chris opened the door in a hurry and forcibly pulled Jonny inside. He finally let go of Jonny’s arm to feel around in the dark for a light switch. He finally felt a thin cord and he pulled it. A single light bulb produced a yellowish glow. It was weak, but it was enough to make the room visible. There were some shelves and boxes caked in dust. It was obviously a storage room that hadn’t been occupied by another person in quite some time.

 

It was stuffy and warm in the small space, and Jonny was already feeling heated from both the shock and thrill of Chris’s hand on his arm. He took a deep breath, although it didn’t help much, and leaned against a wall. He considered saying something along the lines of “what’s going on?” to Chris but decided he would allow Chris to speak first. It was his idea to come here after all.

 

Chris inhaled deeply to prepare to speak. But instead of words all that came out of his mouth was a lot of coughing. Clearly he hadn’t expected the room to be so dusty and the air to be so stale. When his fit was over he just looked at Jonny a moment to recollect his thoughts. Jonny looked back at him and they both ended up laughing. This continued until Chris realized that the sound might be audible to the outside world. He quickly pursed his lips and forced a serious expression to extend across his face. Jonny did the same.

 

In a whisper, Chris finally articulated his thoughts. “Jonny, I am sorry. I was wrong.”

 

“Don’t worry Chris, it’s okay. I can understand your reaction. That was a lot for a person to take in so quickly, especially when that person doesn’t return the feelings.”

 

Chris shook his head. “Don’t misunderstand me. I am sorry for the way I reacted, but I did not react that way for the reason you think. I was just taken by surprise. I didn’t know how to handle someone..…loving me. No one has ever loved me that way before, at least not to my knowledge. I didn’t know what to do.” He heaved a frustrated sigh and rubbed his face. “I’m so sorry. I was horrible to you.”

 

“I forgive you,” Jonny responded immediately. He didn’t even give it a second thought. He knew that Chris was not the type of person to do cruel things just for the sake of being cruel. Sure, it had hurt worse than any physical pain he had ever felt to hear Chris say those things, but somehow this was now easy to overlook. He supposed that was what love did to a person. It made them forget the bad completely and focus on the good.

 

“Listen,” Chris said morosely, “you don’t have to forgive me. You shouldn’t, really. I don’t deserve it. You should have better than me.” He quickly averted his eyes from Jonny’s gaze. But not soon enough for Jonny to miss the tears that were beginning to build behind them.

 

“Hey,” Jonny said softly. Chris looked up hesitantly. “Don’t cry Chris, I can’t handle that.” Chris sniffed and his eyes began to dry. “You’ve got to know something. No matter what you say, no matter what you do, I will always forgive you for it. Because I love you.”

 

Chris’s mouth formed a shocked little "o'". “Still?” he whispered, in disbelief.

 

“Of course. How could I ever stop? You’re the only person I ever want to be with.”

 

“Oh,” Chris replied. His voice was shaky and weak. “That…that makes me very glad Jonny.” He shuffled his feet and rubbed his hands together. “I have been doing some thinking. I think I feel the same way.”

 

Now it was Jonny’s turned to look shocked. He felt a warm feeling begin to rise from somewhere deep within him. Pure ecstasy, just from those few words. But he couldn’t help asking the obvious question. “You think?”

 

Chris knit his brows together and thought about it seriously. “Tonight when I got up to play my piece, I was so nervous. More nervous than I’ve ever been in my life. I kept wishing….that you were there. I wanted to kick myself for saying those things to you. As I’m sure you saw, I had to stop only a little ways into the song. I couldn’t do it without you. So I scanned the crowd with futile hope, wishing I would see your green eyes and your encouraging smile. Truthfully, I was ready to stand up and walk out if I didn’t see your face. But then the impossible happened. You were sitting there cheering me on with your eyes, with your smile. I felt a rush of courage and immediately begun to play again, as you saw. And then I knew.”

 

“Knew?”

 

“Yes, when I think it over again I am sure of it now. Jonny, I love you.” As he spoke those last words he moved in closer to Jonny. His hands resting on the wall behind Jonny, he kissed him ardently. Jonny gasped. Chris hesitated for a moment, but Jonny pulled him closer, showing that he welcomed the display of affection. He moaned with pleasure as Chris’s tongue entered his mouth. But then he gently pushed him away.

 

“We should probably leave,” he said with a laugh. “We could go back to my place, if you want. We don’t have to do anything more. We could just talk or something.”

 

Chris nodded his approval. “Okay”.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

The two men were lounged on the couch, surrounded in darkness. The ending credits of the movie they had been watching moved across the flickering television screen. Jonny turned it off. Chris turned to look at Jonny. All he could see of him were his brightly colored eyes and his silhouette.

 

“Tonight was fun,” he said. “I had a great time.” Jonny opened his mouth to speak but sensed that Chris had something else to say, so he waited. Chris cleared his throat. “It was fun….but I think it could be….more fun, if you know what I mean.” His voice was husky and deeper than usual. Jonny could see the desire in his eyes. His own eyes reflected the same desires.

 

“Okay. I can think of some other fun things we could do,” he said slyly.

 

“Oh?” questioned Chris, raising his eyebrows in a seductive manner that he hoped Jonny could see.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Show me.”

 

“Okay,” he said seductively. “Roll over, Beethoven.”

 

 

A Happy Birthday!

 

 

 

“Ehm. Chris?” Jonny peeked into the dressing room.

 

Chris looked up from where he was tying his white Adidas shoes.

“What’s up, Jon?” He smiled brightly.

 

“So… I was just checking if you’re on your way up yet?” Jonny said voice uneven. He laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s your birthday party and all.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a few minutes.” Chris answered. He tilted his head and studied Jonny intently.

“How are you? You seem… I don’t know, out of it.”

 

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Well, I’m going up. Don’t keep us waiting, okay?”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Well, happy birthday and all that.” Jonny said before quickly exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

 

Chris found himself staring at the door and shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t get him…” He said to himself and bent to tie his other shoe. He stood up to grab his phone from a nearby table. His eyes landed on an envelope. It looked battered and old. And it had his name written across it.

 

 

“Huh.” He looked around. “That wasn’t there before.”

 

He picked it up and carefully opened it and began to read.

 

 

He blinked a few times. Then he re-read it. And re-read it again.

 

His breathing quickened and his eyes filled up with tears. He laughed loudly and barged out the door. He quickly ran up the stairs to the dining area and pounced on Jonny, who nervously had seen him run into the room.

 

“I love you.” He whispered into Jonny’s ear and Jonny laughed, embracing Chris tightly.

 

“Really?” He said, closing his eyes.

 

“Really. I adore you.” He discreetly and boldly kissed Jonny’s neck and Jonny sighed. “You do have a way with words, by the way.”

 

Jonny laughed. “I don’t.”

 

“Well, you got the message across.”

 

Jonny smiled. “I think people are beginning to stare, Chris.”

 

“Screw ‘em. Let them stare.” He fiercely declared and embraced Jonny even tighter. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to say something. I mean… I had my suspicions sometimes but… I never dared to ask you.”

 

“Good thing I finally said something then.”

 

“You didn’t. You wrote.”

 

“Fine.” Jonny rolled his eyes but still had a brilliant smile plastered on his face.

 

“You need to tell me.”

 

“Tell you what?”

 

“What you wrote, I need to hear it from your lips.” He whispered.

 

Jonny sighed. “I love you.”

 

Chris ignored the surrounding people and kissed Jonny fully on the lips.

 

There were a few cheers around them, primarily from the rest of the band and Chris smiled defiantly.

 

“Now you’re officially mine.”

 

Jonny smiled dazedly.

“Good.” He looked around the room, embarrassed by Chris’ public displays of affection.

“Oh, screw it!” He exclaimed, put his hand behind Chris’ neck and fiercely kissed him again.

 

Chris sighed against Jonny’s lips as their kiss deepened.

 

They pulled apart, both out of breath.

 

“You know what, Jon?”

Jonny shook his head, unable to speak.

 

“This was the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten.”

 

A frustrated sigh was heard from across the room.

“So now you’re saying you don’t want a Gameboy?!” Guy stormed out of the room muttering under his breath. “Freaking guitarist…”

 

Chris lit up. “Jonny and a Gameboy?” His eyes filled with happy tears. “Now this is really a happy birthday, indeed.”

 

Jonny smiled and squeezed Chris’ hand. How he loved that man.

 

 

A Rachel and Nanda collaborationnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!

 

 

STORY ONE, CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

 

 

You’ll Never Be Lonely

Chapter One

 

Chris’ POV

The sky was a peak blue that spread a light hearted area. To my right and left, near my head and at my feet, were short wheat grasses. Wind blew gently and rustled the wheat, sounding much like a soft, relaxed melody. My hands rested my relaxed head up off of the ground as I stared off into the clouds, pointing at clouds. One looked like a guitar, another, a giant sweater and a single slipper. I took a deep breath of the fresh air as the wind rustled its song. It seemed to be calling my name in an odd way...

 

I felt my surroundings being shaken, and everything began turning quickly into the black. I heard a woman’s scream, which reminded me of my mum’s voice, then a sharper, deeper voice calling. To a jolt, I opened my eyes to see my dad telling me to get up from bed. I shiver, startled and suddenly hit by cold air. My dad tosses me my winter jacket, and I place it on myself. I walk out, down the stairs and stare at the scene outside. My mum looks in pain, my dad placing my brother in the booster seat, in a panic.

 

“Chris!” he screams my way. “Chris, put your shoes on and let’s go! Mum needs to go to the hospital right now!”

 

I nod, also panicked. Slipping on my old sneakers closest to the door, my dad runs past me and locks the house door. I continue to hurry towards the car, seat myself and click the seatbelt. I stare at my yawning brother with my eyes peeled. I grabbed onto the seat, scared of the car’s shaking. My dad had to have been going at least twenty over the city speed limit.

 

I continued to stare ahead, trying to block out my brother’s crying, my mother’s screams and the feeling of stress all around. Adults always talked about ‘stress’ but I didn’t think it was a medical condition that could be passed to eight-year-olds…

 

Suddenly I hear alarms going off, and I swore it was ‘the man’ pulling over my dad for speeding, only there was more than one of them at once. Mum cried out in dismay, as my dad drove into the shoulder lane. Some of those sirens continued to drive forward, except for one. The cop that I immediately named Steve came walking up to my dad’s window and leaned down.

 

“Do you know how fast you were going?” he asked. My mum clutched at her large belly and screamed in pain once again. I covered my ears quickly and Steve immediately knew that mum needed a doctor. He began speaking again “Proceed, but we will follow closely behind to ensure you arrive safely.” He looked back to my brother and me, and went back to his cop car.

 

My dad took off, and I grabbed my seat tightly again. I knew it was going to be a bumpy ride. Since it was still dark, and my dad wasn’t exactly focusing on the road, we rode over a pothole. “Mother fuck!” he yelled as my mom grunted in pain.

 

“Daddy, don’t swear!” I shouted back as I covered Al’s ears. He turned to give me a sour look, “Look at the road, madman!” I shouted as he turned back and dangerously swerved another pothole. Steve honked his cop car’s horn to keep us on track. The car fell silent when I took my hands off of Al’s ears. I saw another cop car, and heard the same sirens as last time, all at once. Since we were driving fast, I couldn’t see what’d happened, just a blur of black, grey with red and blue lights.

 

After a few racing minutes, we managed to get to the hospital. Emergency doctors took my mom away on a wheelchair and rushed her around the corner. My dad hollered at me “Take care of your brother, don’t lose him, and follow me!” I sighed carefully before taking Al’s hand. He stared up at the people who were much taller than he was. I was a good height, I thought. I could see things over the tables that he couldn’t, so I counted myself lucky. He tried to see what was happening, but though I was taller I was just as clueless and uninformed as he was.

 

I followed my dad into a roomful of other people I didn’t know. I looked up at a sign at the door, and my brother followed what I did. On it, in big bold letters were the words “Delivery Waiting Room”. I knew for sure a hospital was no place for a pizza delivery, but I didn’t dare to ask my dad for sure. He paced around the room, looking very worried about mum.

 

Some time later, my brother fell asleep in his chair. My dad still looked worried, and even more so when a nurse came into the waiting room. Other people looked up, trying to see if this lab coat-with-puppies-in-lab coats-wearing woman would talk to them. “Mr. Martin,” she called out in a soft, but clear voice.

 

My dad stood and walked up to the woman. “I’m going to need you to come with me, sir,” she started. “Your wife’s having complications with the delivery, and it could harm the baby.”

 

His face turned into a shocked and scared look. He swallowed a lump in his throat, “Stay here with your brother, Chris,” he told me quickly before leaving with the nurse. Great, I was stuck babysitting the sleeping wonder. I looked at Al and sighed, this is gonna be one long night…

 

 

 

Chris´ Birthday

 

 

 

Happy Birthday Chris! :D :heart::kiss:

 

The Master Plan

Dedicated to the C/J queen, who is always thinking positively about these things.:heart:

 

 

 

"Look at them."

 

"I know, they're so obviously in love."

 

"Well duh."

 

"But they're never going to do anything about it."

 

"Unless..." the first girl said with a devious smile.

 

The second girl finished her sentence for her. "Unless we do it for them!" They turned to each other and grinned.

 

"Chris's birthday is tomorrow," the second girl said.

 

"Again, duh."

 

"Well that's a perfect opportunity to get them together!"

 

"Oooh you're right!"

 

No more words were spoken between them. The two girls could basically read each other's minds. They simply exchanged another grin and hurried off to begin their master plan.

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

The doorbell echoed throughout the flat at eight o'clock in the morning. Someone might have awoken as a result of the sound if the only person living there had not already been awake since the crack of dawn, as he was every morning.

 

Chris hurried to answer the door. He wondered who it could be. He wasn't expecting any visitors, at least not until the evening. He put one blue eye up to the peephole in the door. On the porch stood a delivery man in an ugly brown delivery man's uniform. He was holding an oddly shaped white box and a clipboard. He tapped his foot impatiently even though he hadn't even been waiting thirty seconds.

 

Chris opened the door with an overly excessive amount of gusto. At least, that's what the man must've thought, by the irritated expression on his face.

 

"Oooh, a present, for me? What could it be, I wonder?" Chris's eyes sparkled with excitement. The delivery man, who according to his nametag was called Albert, rolled his eyes.

 

"Just sign here," he stated grouchily, pointing to the clipboard. Chris dug around in his pockets.

 

"Hmm, sorry. I don't have a pen." He smiled sheepishly Albert heaved a great sigh and pulled a pen out of his pocket.

 

"Here," he grouched. "Now sign the damn thing." Chris scribbled his name onto the paper and handed the pen and clipboard back to Albert, who in return handed him the box. "Enjoy," he said sarcastically.

 

Chris paid no attention to Albert's less than kind demeanor. He was overwhelmed with excitement that someone had given him a gift. He shouted out a goodbye to Albert and hurried back inside. He set the box on his kitchen table. For a while he just stared at it with big, bright eyes, letting hsi childlike imagination run wild as to what it might be.

 

Finally he reached out gingerly and opened it. His eyes grew wide as saucers . Inside the box was a cake. And this was no ordinary cake. It was triple chocolate death cake, Chris's favorite. He jumped around the room squealing. "A cake, a cake!" he shouted to nobody. "A cake on my birthday!"

 

He finally stopped bouncing and just stared at it. "A cake...I wonder who it could be from?" He scraped some of the rich chocolate icing off with his finger and stuck it in his mouth. "Mmmm. Well whoever it was, they sure do know what I like!" Suddenly he noticed something taped to the inside cover of the box. He pulled it off. It was a typed note.

 

Chris-

 

Happy Birthday! I ordered this cake especially for you. I hope you'll enjoy it. You deserve it. You are an amazing person and an even better friend. So when I woke up one morning loving you, I wasn't surprised. You are the person who makes me feel complete. You are as rich in good qualities as this cake is in sugar. I just thought you should finally know. Call me later, okay?

 

-Jonny

 

Chris folded up the letter and slipped it in his pocket with a smile. His eyes wet with tears, he called Jonny on the phone. "Come over please. I think we should talk."

Jonny, oblivious to any cake gifts or love notes, agreed. Half an hour later Chris once again ran to answer the door. He didn't even wait for Jonny to come inside before he blurted out what he had been holding in for so long. "Jonny, I love you. But I was too scared to admit it. But now it's all okay right? We can be together."

 

Jonny managed to hide his complete shock and even formed a coherent sentence. "I...love you too."

 

"Well I know that, silly!" he said, pulling him inside. "Now come on, I want you to share the cake with me."

 

"Chris, is your head okay?" Jonny questioned, as he was dragged into the kitchen and forced to sit down.

 

"Of course it is, why wouldn't it be? I just got the best present ever from the best man ever."

 

"Oh," Jonny said. he tried to hide the pain in his voice. "Well, what's his name then? I hope he is good to you."

 

Chris stared at him like he was crazy. Then he burst out laughing. "I'm talking about you Jonny-boy! Who else would I be speaking of?"

 

Jonny wasn't sure. He had no idea what was going on. But he decided to play along. He knew from experience that it was better not to question Chris's odd behavior. It was better to just go with it. "Oh. Well I'm glad you liked....my present," he said slowly.

 

"Of course I did! Now let's eat!" he proclaimed. Jonny shrugged and helped himself to a piece of the cake. He found it so funny that Chris had bought himself a cake for his birthday, even though he was going to get one at his party later.

 

He watched him with adoration as he stuffed bite after bite of cake into his mouth. He laughed out loud when Chris missed his mouth completely and cake ended up all over his face. He didn't have the slightest clue what Chris had been talking about with gifts and all that, but he couldn't have been more glad that Chris had confessed his love. Otherwise he never would have had the guts to admit his own feelings.

 

"Chris."

 

"Yes?" he looked up form his plate. Chocolate was smeared all over his mouth. A dab of chocolate frosting sat on the tip of his nose. There was even a streak of sugary icing across his cheek and forehead.

 

"You've got a little cake on your face," chuckled Jonny.

 

"Oh," he replied, frowning.

 

"Here, let me help you." He leaned in and lightly ran his tongue across Chris's cheek to lick the icing away.

 

Chris gasped, then stuttered. "Jo...Jonny?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"There is chocolate on my lips too."

 

"I was getting to that," he mumbled, and pressed his lips gently onto Chris's. A few seconds passed this way, then Jonny pulled back just enough to whisper in Chris's ear. "Chris, I do believe this is the best birthday you've ever had."

 

Chris smiled. "I believe that too."

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Two girls crouched in the hedges, peering into the kitchen window. The first remembered the receipt she was holding and stuck it into her pocket. "Thirty five dollars for a cake!" she exclaimed. "But it was worth it."

 

"Of course it was," the second girl replied, fingering her dark brown curls. The first swept her thin, brown bangs out of her eyes. They both smiled. "Success," they whispered in unison.

 

 

Okay I'm not sure what my obsession with notes and letters is, but they keep appearing in my stories:uhoh:

 

 

 

I just saw Anna's challenge.

Here is my contribution.:P

 

 

THIRST

 

 

 

If there is one thing that a spacecraft needs it is water.

Water is one of the most vital supplies for the ship.

Water to make electricity.

Electricity to charge the batteries.

The batteries that power every instrument on the machine.

Of course, the human occupants need water as well.

However, they can exist for several days without water.

The space ship dies in a matter of hours without it.

The controllers in the mission control center knew it.

The scientists in the laboratories knew it.

The news men reporting on the story knew it.

And soon the world would know it.

 

Jonny sat with his hands in his lap.

They were good hands.

They were strong hands.

They had helped get Chris out of many situations.

But this time he was powerless to do anything.

"Any news?" Will asked, sitting down beside him on the hard concrete bench.

"Yeah," Jonny said, "And it is all bad."

Will took a deep breath.

"Are they still going to let us talk to him before....you know...before.."

He didn't finish.

"You mean before he dies?" Jonny asked, harshly.

"Yeah," Will said, quietly.

"They say they will," Jonny told him.

"How long do they have?" Will asked.

Jonny shrugged.

"A few hours at most."

Will nodded silently.

Jonny thought back to the previous week.

And how he had tried to talk Chris out of the crazy idea of going on the space shuttle.

That of course, had not worked,

So,then he had tried blackmail and anger.

Neither of those worked either.

He could still see Chris, standing in front of him, hands on hips, with a determined set to his jaw.

His eyes so beautiful that Jonny could hardly remember why he was so angry at him.

"Dammit Jon, give me the suitcase," Chris said, reaching out for the item.

"No," Jonny said, "You aren't going into fucking space," he said.

"It's the chance of a lifetime," Chris tried to explain, "And they offered to let me tag along."

"I don't care," Jonny said, "It's too dangerous."

Chris turned away.

"You can't stop me," Chris said, "I don't have to really pack anyway. It isn't like I need to take alot of stuff on a space ship."

Jonny threw the suitcase down hard onto the floor.

"Do you always have to be looking for the next thrill?" he asked angrily.

Chris turned back to look at him.

"Apparently," he answered, "Otherwise I wouldn't choose to sleep with you every night."

Jonny was brought back to the present by the noise of Guy rushing into the room.

"Am I too late?" he asked, breathlessly.

He sat down on the other side of Jonny and Jonny smelled liquor on his breath.

"You are drinking at a time like this?" Jonny asked angrily.

"What the fuck else should I be doing, Jonny?" Guy snapped at him.

"Chris is dying and we can't do anything. No one can do anything. If this isn't the time to drink then I don't know when is," he yelled.

Jonny's nostrils flared and he almost said something.

Instead, he slowly dropped his head into his hands.

"It's really over," he kept moaning.

Will nodded.

"His thirst for experience and adventure has cost us all."

 

THE END

 

 

 

(I'm so sorry for starting yet ANOTHER story. But it just wanted to get out. I promise I haven't forgotten about the others :heart:)

 

 

1.

 

I unlock the door to my apartment. I take off my cap and my jacket and I look into the living room. My shoulders slump. There is no one there. I go through the same ritual every day. I wake up, have breakfast, get dressed, walk out the door, look for Chris, ignore Guy and Will’s persistent phone calls, look for Chris some more, come home in the hopes that he will be lying asleep on the couch like he did the last night I saw him. And when I don’t find him on the couch I get severely depressed, drink too much beer and fall asleep on said couch. Repeat.

 

135 days. Chris has been gone for 135 days.

 

I feel my chest tighten as I cross out yet another day in the calendar. I open the refrigerator and take out a beer. As I lift the bottle to his lips, I feel my knees buckle and I slide down against the wall, choking back a sob.

 

“Shit.” I swear and pull my knees up to my chest. I put my head down.

 

And then I cry.

 

-*-

“What’s up, J?” Chris said and swung his arm around Jonny’s shoulder as they slowly walked down the beach.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Oh, come on. You’re my best friend; don’t you think that I can tell when you’re upset about something?”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Jonnyyy…” Chris coaxed.

 

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Jonnyyy…” Chris continued in a sing-song voice. He began to splash around in the waves, his jeans shorts getting wet.

 

“Anyoneee whooo tries to denyyy you must be out of their miiind!” He sang in a high pitched voice as he danced around in the water, his golden curls shining in the sunlight.

 

“That’s your song, you know.” Chris stuck his tongue out.

 

“I know.” Jonny smiled.

 

Chris continued to dance around and sing outrageously loud. Jonny pulled his cap further down.

He looked over at Chris. “You know what, Chris?”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m in love with you.”

 

Chris promptly tumbled down into the water and got swallowed by the waves.

 

“Shit.” Jonny mumbled and waded out into the water. “Chris!” He yelled. He felt around beneath the surface and soon caught a thin hand in his own. He pulled Chris up.

 

Chris coughed and spluttered and Jonny led him to the shore.

 

“For crying out loud, Chris!” Jonny slapped him on the back. “What the hell was that all about?”

Chris caught his breath and shook the water from his hair. His voice was raspy.

 

“What do you think?” He stared at Jonny with wide eyes.

 

“Uhm…”

 

“Yeah, that’s what.” He took a step closer. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

 

Jonny frowned, not believing his ears.

“What?”

 

Chris sighed dramatically. “Do I really have to do everything myself?”

 

He put his wet arms around Jonny and pulled him close. Jonny was still in a daze.

He put his hands on Jonny’s blushing cheeks and grinned devilishly.

 

“Get ready for the best kiss of your life.”

 

Jonny swallowed.

 

Chris pressed his lips against Jonny’s. Jonny was surprised at how soft they were. The sea made them taste like tears.

 

Their hearts slammed against each-other as Chris pressed his body against Jonny’s.

 

“I thought you’d never tell me. I almost lost hope, J!” He whispered.

 

Jonny still couldn’t find his voice.

 

“Good thing I talk enough for the both of us.” Chris laughed and kissed Jonny’s ear. “You’re better at listening.”

 

Jonny simply nodded.

Chris laughed again and pulled Jonny down with him on the sand.

 

“I love you too, if you didn’t understand that.” He teased and put his head on Jonny’s chest.

 

Jonny felt as if his veins were filled with a liquid fire.

 

Chris put his ear against Jonny’s heart.

 

He mumbled something almost unintelligible, but Jonny could just make out what he said.

 

“Your heartbeat is the earthquake that rattles the foundation of my soul.”

-*-

 

I wake up with my mouth dry as sandpaper. I suppose that’s something you have to take when you decide to drink yourself to sleep.

 

I can’t sleep without his arms around me. I couldn’t sleep that last night either. That’s why I went out into the living room and watched him for a while. I silently begged him to come back to bed. I couldn’t beg out loud. I was too proud.

 

Today I really wish that I would have begged. Why didn’t I beg for his forgiveness and make him put those thin arms around me? I went back to my bed, our bed, when I suddenly heard the door slam and he was gone.

 

Shit. I’m such a wreck.

 

At least with the alcohol I can sleep. And dream. I always dream of him. Will say that it’s probably only because he’s wedged so deep into my subconscious that he takes over my dreams. I’d like to think that it’s for a different reason. That… I don’t know. That I dream about him because he thinks of me.

 

That’s probably not true, though. I'm just glad for the few glimpses I get of him. Imagined or not.

 

Will and Guy stopped searching for him after a month. Well, they didn’t stop as such, but they don’t… I search for him every single day. I walk around asking people if they’ve seen him, I put up flyers and shout his name. Nobody knows the City of London like I do now.

 

At first I imagined all sorts of gruesome ways that he could have disappeared. Some crazy fans could have captured him, or a rivaling band or something. Guy told me that Chris probably just wanted to get away from everything for a while.

 

I’m not sure if that comforts me or not.

 

 

 

STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWO

 

 

 

 

You’ll Never Be Lonely

Chapter Two

 

Jonny’s POV

 

Today was an important day. It was nearly Christmas and my parents and I had decided to go on a vacation to England. I don’t think I’ve been anywhere before; my family always stayed in Wales. There wasn’t any family to visit us and no family for us to visit.

 

Tim and I liked to play the I Spy game while mummy and dad drove and talked about grown-up things, like work and famous people. Personally, I found that stuff boring but, it was the only time I got to see them, so I didn’t really mind. My parents always worked, and were barely home. When they are home, they try to make good memories, so we go on lots of adventures and vacations just us four. Though our nanny can tell some amazing jokes, it couldn’t really compare to having my parents.

 

England is exciting, though I think it looks no different from Wales. It’s a fresh path, I guess; a new road to drive on. Different than the constant trails we always follow daily back home. All the time I could get with my parents was always the best part of these trips. We are a close family, and are all best friends though we don’t really get the chance to talk to each other.

 

We were driving down this highway through a small town in the middle of the night; I was wearing my favourite sweater that my grandma knitted me before she died last year, along with my fuzzy slippers. I was falling asleep but it was hard to since Tim kept kicking my leg trying to get in a comfy position to sleep on. Mummy was also asleep, so I decided to talk to dad.

 

“Dad, where are we now?” I ask, extremely bored but expectant. Dad and I always talked about geography or math but, I think that’s only because Mummy isn’t too good in those subjects…

 

“We’re in Exeter Jonny; I think your mother got a photo of the sign a while back saying ‘Welcome to Exeter’.” I made a light noise saying okay and our talk ends. The drive continues on for a while and dad suggests we find a hotel.

 

Dad began to start a look-out game between the two of us on who could find a hotel first. We kept our eyes opened and searching around this town. This was quite fun, since this small town was unknown to either of us.

 

“Dad! Look over there, a hotel!” I pointed to a small hotel on the side of the highway but, Dad wasn’t looking at that. He was staring at lights coming towards us really fast. He was in a panic, and tried to move the steering wheel quickly.

 

“Jonny, SIT DOWN!” He screeched at me trying to move out of the lights. Suddenly, I heard a loud crunching noise followed by shaking, violent motions and the car spiraling out of control. Metal flew everywhere, and I desperately covered my head with my hands. I screamed for help from my dad, but I looked up to see one sheet hit dad’s head. I cried out louder helplessly and then saw something horrific; another sheet of metal went straight through mum’s chest. Another loud noise followed by another, and next thing I knew, I had no clue which way was up. Looking to what I thought was up; I saw my slipper fly into a dark grey. Suddenly that changed completely.

 

Out of the madness, I feel a searing pain in my head when it came into forceful contact with my car door. Everything went dark; nobody spoke another word, nobody screamed any longer. I felt nothing, and saw nothing of Tim. All was silent.

 

 

 

So....in english we had to write a short story using 10 vocabulary words from this list of 30. And when I sat at the computer chair, this is what came out.

 

Fear Me, December

 

 

Fear me, December. Your ominous aura is no match for my sunny disposition. You think you can ostracize me, but you are not as powerful as you think you are, and I am stronger than you believe me to be. You think you are in possession of the most powerful forces of them all, but you are sadly mistaken. I have a plethora of traits that are far superior than the measly, morbid things you bring to this figurative table.

 

Here is a little tip. Life is more powerful than death. Even as you try to weigh others down with the cold, the dark, and the bleakness of your being, trying to make us want death, even yearn for it, I am working my magic. Your malevolent ways don't stand a chance against mine. There is a little trick I like to use. It is called positivity. This quality is an interesting thing. It has the unique ability to help people endure all sorts of ordeals. It is one of the central forces driving us all to want, to need, to live.

 

I have been told never since I was young that I have plenty of this positive spirit. I see other people sometimes who are not so lucky. So I share some of my spirit with them. Sometimes they are reluctant to accept it, but in time they will warm up to me. And that is something, December, that you can never provide. You are in no way synonymous with warmth, are you? You try to make up for that by invoking your wrath upon the innocent population. But I will not stand for this any longer.

 

At first things were okay. An occasional cold day, perhaps some chilly winds here or there. Sometimes there would even be snow. All of this I could handle. It only mildly interfered with my daily life. But then you crossed the line. You did the unthinkable. You took away the daylight.

 

Did you think I wouldn't notice? Or did you think I would simply relinquish my position all together? Listen, I may be positive, upbeat, joyful, and sometimes even giddy, but that does not mean I am a pushover. There is a reason I was given hair the color of a golden sunset, or eyes as blue as the sky, or a smile that brightens up the moods of hundreds of people every day. It is so I can improve the life of a poor soul who is feeling badly. And you, December, are trying to destroy all that I have worked so hard to achieve.

 

You want to cover up the sun and replace it with clouds. You want to cover up the green grass with an eternal blanket of white. But this I cannot allow. I will warn you one time only. If you do not cease these wicked deeds you are committing, I will not hold back. I will unleash all the good cheer and happiness that I hold within my lanky frame. So fear me, December. For I, Christopher Martin, have been brought into this world to give joy to others, and I am going to complete my assignment to the fullest.

 

 

 

 

2.

I follow my daily routine and get dressed after downing a glass of orange juice. I swing open my front door and almost bump into Guy. Huh, apparently they’ve stepped up their game.

 

“Hey, man.” He says and smiles brightly. He isn't fooling me. I can see the worry in his eyes. “What’s up?”

 

“I’m going out.”

 

“I can see that.” He fidgets his hands nervously. “Do you want to come and have lunch with me and Will?”

 

“I don’t think I have the time for that.” I try to move out of his way.

 

“Jon, please.” He pleads with me. I sigh deeply. I know it isn’t easy for them either. But there’s something about their unwillingness to look for Chris that really irks me.

 

“I’ll help you look for Chris.” He offers.

 

My mind blanks for a second. I rarely hear his name spoken out loud anymore. It’s like an unspoken rule, we never mention him.

 

“Sorry.” He says sheepishly.

 

“It’s alright.”

 

Chris and I hadn’t told the others about our relationship, but I think they knew. They know now. I wish we had told them so that we hadn’t had to hide. It’s too late for that now.

 

Guy puts his hand on my shoulder and brings me back to reality.

“I hate to say this, mate, but you look awful.” He eyes me suspiciously. “When was the last time you ate something?”

 

I shrug, not really knowing the answer.

 

He pinches my forearm and he gets nothing but skin between his fingers.

“What happened to cuddly-Jonny?” He jokes, trying to make light of the conversation.

 

I shrug again and I see Guy taking a deep breath to control his temper. That almost brings me to tears. Not that a lot of things doesn’t these days, but it sort of feels good that he cares too much to be angry with me.

 

“And…” He continues. “You might want to take a shower. You smell like the drunken bastard that lives down the street.”

 

I realize there’s no use in putting on a fight, so I let Guy lead me back into the apartment. It feels good to have someone tell you what to do. I’ve been so lost these past few months.

Guy steers me into the bathroom and helps me undress. He gasps as he sees the thinness of my frame.

 

“Shit, man…” He says under his breath. He closes his eyes for a brief second but I’m pretty sure I glimpse tears before he does so.

 

“I’m really sorry, Jonny.” He quietly says in a gravelly voice as he pushes me under the warm spray off the shower.

 

“Why?” I ask as he pulls the shower curtain between us. As much as I appreciate his help, I’m grateful for the privacy.

 

“For not being there for you sooner.”

 

“It’s alright.” I say after a few silent seconds.

 

“No, it’s not.” Guy argues. “And I truly am sorry.” I hear him walk out of the bathroom. I stand under the tranquil spray of the shower until the water gets cool and I feel marginally better as I step out and wrap myself in a big fluffy towel.

 

Guy has laid out some new clothes for me on the sink. I put on a pair of jeans that hang low on my now slim hips. I look in the mirror and it feels like if I see myself for the first time in months. I have lost a lot of weight. It barely looks like me. Somehow I find that fitting that I don’t look like me. I don’t really feel like me.

 

I swallow as I see what shirt Guy has chosen. It’s the tan one with a soldier in a moustache on the front. We always used to joke that it looked like Chris.

 

-*-

 

“Haha!” Will laughed loudly as Jonny walked out of the dressing room. “Who made that?”

 

Jonny frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“You have to be kidding me!”

 

“Will, come on, what the hell are you talking about?” Jonny threw out his hands, which sent Will into another laughing fit.

 

Will dried his tears of laughter.

“You can’t seriously say that you’re going to buy a shirt with Chris on it?”

 

Jonny’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’m not.”

 

“Look at the shirt, man.”

 

Jonny looked into the big mirror outside the dressing room and tilted his head to the left.

 

“You know what, it does look like him. If he had a moustache.” Jonny slowly said.

 

“Don’t give him ideas.” Will hissed as Guy and Chris walked up to them. Chris was secretly munching on an ice-cream cone. He mumbled something, mouth full of strawberry ice-cream.

 

“Finding anything you like?” Guy kindly translated.

 

“Not for me.” Will answered.

 

Jonny was still looking at himself in the mirror.

 

Chris frowned and swallowed his ice-cream.

 

“Hey, is that me?” He ran up to Jonny and crouched down in front of him. Jonny tried to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. “It is me!” He tilted his head to the side and hopped back a few steps. “I should totally get a moustache.”

 

-*-

 

I drop the shirt into the laundry bin and take a few seconds to collect myself.

 

I walk out to Guy who apparently has been cleaning my apartment while I was in the shower. He looks up from a rapidly shrinking pile of dishes.

 

“You feel any better man?” He frowns and looks at my apparent state of undress. “Didn’t I put a shirt in there?”

 

“You did.” I answer and try to blink away the tears that form in my eyes.

 

“Is something the matter?” Guy quickly asks and he’s by my side in a heartbeat. He suddenly realizes something and runs into the bathroom.

 

“So sorry, Jon!” He yells after finding the shirt and he runs into my room and gets me another shirt. A plain green one. I feel better about that and I pull it over my head.

 

“Shit.” He says. “I can’t do anything ri-.”

 

“Thank you.” I interrupt him.

 

He nods and he looks so lost and I feel so lost that I can’t think of anything else to do.

 

So I put my arms around him and he immediately draws me close. He’s strong and safe and I almost sob with how good it feels to be held by someone who loves you again.

 

 

Forgiveness

 

 

 

Jonny sat across the table from me, sipping his coffee. He was dissatisfied with it added more sugar. He had been silent since last night. After our fight, our first fight. He put down the coffee cup without saying a word. He lit his cigarette, though he promised he would stop smoking for me. Jonny knew I hated it, but right now it didn’t matter. Things weren’t going to be fixed. He blew smoke rights with his cigarette; I coughed in disgust from all the smoke. Jonny placed the cigarette in the ashtray and put it out. Without looking at me he stood, he was silent. He placed his typical green hat upon his head and wore his raincoat because it was raining. I watched as he left our apartment and walked into the veil of rain. He wasn’t coming back. He hadn’t looked at me. He hadn’t spoken to me, since that night. One more time I glanced up. Then I placed my head in my hands and cried.

 

 

 

 

Just a quick one-off story written in French Class a few weeks ago.

I Hope You Don't Mind That I Put Down in Words

 

 

 

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 starts 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 it. 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.

 

 

I Hope You Don't Mind That I Put Down in Words

 

 

 

“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.

 

The Ex

 

chapter 2

 

 

Isabelle turned her head away and pretended not to notice Guy. Guy looked to his friends with a horrified look on his face.

“Jonny’s right! She’s here. What do I do?” he asked.

“Well, first you need to calm down.” said Will.

“Maybe you should talk to her,” suggested Jonny.

Chris disagreed.

“No! Absolutely not! He should ignore her and let it be.”

Guy thought about what would happen if he went over to talk to her.

In his head, it played out something like this…

 

Isabelle and Olivia were seated in the opposite corner of the room.

“It’s not good if I still get nervous when I see him, right?” Isabelle asked her friend.

“Uh, I think that’s normal.” Olivia replied.

“Should I go talk to him?”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“What?”

“Well, he’s looking over here. Okay now he’s getting up. I think he’s going to walk over here. Yep, here he comes.” Olivia watched Guy’s journey across the room.

“How do I look?” asked Isabelle.

“You look great. Just be cool, or pretend to be cool.”

Guy sat down at an empty seat at their table.

“Hi, Isabelle. Hello, Olivia.” said Guy after a short pause.

“Hey,” Isabelle said quickly.

“So what brings you to this coffee shop?” Olivia asked in a rude manner.

“Er, coffee. And I live a couple of blocks away.” he said, keeping a friendly tone.

“Oh. Right.”

Guy turned to Isabelle.

“Could I talk to you for a second?” he asked her.

“Sure. Of course.” Isabelle still seemed nervous.

“I think I’ll get out of here then.” Olivia said, grabbing her things. “Call me later, Izz.” She walked out, leaving the two alone.

Isabelle started the conversation. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“Us, I guess.” Guy said, unsure. He didn’t really have a plan. He cleared his throat then asked, “So how have you been?”

“I’ve been good,” she said as she smiled. She didn’t want to make things any more awkward. “And yourself?”

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry about Olivia being so rude. I had to drag her here this morning.”

“That’s okay. If I remember correctly, she never liked me very much.”

They both laughed.

“I think we should talk about something other than the weather next,” stated Isabelle.

“I agree. There is something I wanted to ask.” Guy paused. “What happened to us? There had to be something that happened between us to make you want to break up, so what was it? I thought things were going rather well.”

 

Before his mind could go any farther, Guy was snapped back to reality.

 

“Hello? Anyone home?” Chris knocked on Guy’s head.

“What are you going to do?” Will asked.

Guy thought for a moment.

“I don’t think I want to go over there, because I don’t want to know what she says.”

Will was confused. He said, “So you mope around for a month, you see her, and it takes you all of two seconds to let go. Sound about right?”

“Oh, come one, Will. Doesn’t everyone mope around when they break up anyway?” Jonny replied.

“Thank you, Jonny.” said Guy. “And yes, Will, that’s right.”

“To the Beehive then?” Chris asked.

Everyone agreed.

On the way out of the shop, Guy passed Isabelle and smiled at her. She smiled back. Guy was happy leaving it at that.

The End

 

 

HEATHCLIFF

The Final Chapter (Sans Epilogue)

 

Prepare for the sappiness.

 

 

 

 

“Jon?” I forced out. My throat was dry and I felt as if I hadn’t spoken in years.

 

“Yeah,” he muttered. There was a strange expression on his face. “Will told me what happened.”

 

I decided to store that information for later, as I was unable to deal with it now. “What’re you doing here?”

 

“I came to...apologize. Will was here, and he told me. Jesus, Guy, I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “I should’ve walked with you. I shouldn’t have left you alone...” I cut him off with a short, breathy laugh.

 

“Oh God...just save it,” I chuckled. “Save it. You weren’t there, so it doesn’t matter now.” I looked over the top of couch, scanning the hallway for Will. “Where’s Will?”

 

“Not here,” Jonny said, quiet and defeated. “I sent him home.”

 

I was alone with the man?

 

“Well, you can go now.” I wrapped an arm around my body, trying to steady myself as I sat up. The effort left me breathless and dizzy. Jonny followed me with his eyes, and to my horror, he looked close to tears. “Did you hear me?” I wheezed. “You can go.” Jonny shook his head. “I don’t want you here,” I gasped, just as my pain flared up. It spread through my entire body, making my stomach turn. After the feeling had passed, a wave of guilt crashed over me. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean that.”

 

I covered my face with my hands and tried to calm myself down. Every single time I talked to him, I ended up pissing him off. I didn’t even want to...it just ended up happening. “Guy?”

 

“You shouldn’t talk to me, you know...” Damn it! That came out wrong too. “Shit. I didn’t mean it like that,” I said hurriedly.

 

Jonny shrugged uncertainly. “I think I know what you mean. Don’t worry about it.”

 

A few minutes later, I asked him to help me to the kitchen. He slid his arms around me and I shuddered at first. Then I realized something. He still smelled the same. Despite what had happened between us, he still wore the same gentle, citrusy cologne. His hands felt the same, as did his stubble when we accidentally bumped heads. “Sorry,” he said. It was a tone he had used a thousand times before.

 

I’d gotten in two mouthfuls of bread before I begged Jonny to eat with me because it was awkward for him to just stand there.

 

After we’d eaten something, I separated myself from him. I wanted to take another shower, but I was having a hell of a lot of trouble getting out of my shirt. I didn’t want to ask Jonny for help, but just getting one arm out of the shirt was a long and painful process. “What are you doing?” asked Jonny nervously. I opened my eyes and glanced at him. I shook my head and shrugged one shoulder.

 

“I’m just gonna take a shower. No big deal.”

 

“Do you...need help?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“No,” I admitted, bristling. “I need help.” Jonny took a hold of the fabric of the shirt and my shoulder; tugging and pushing. I winced, feeling terribly exposed. I also felt guilty; really, really guilty. Jonny was kind, nice, and good, and kind...He was the best friend I could ever ask for, and he’d always given me love. Even when he was pissed, Jonny never stopped loving. I could say the same of myself, but the differences between us were clear. He had the ability to forgive. He showed kindness even if he would rather not.

 

“Well, there you go,” said Jonny, slowly handing me my shirt. He was staring at my chest, just as Will had done. The corner of his lip twitched, and I thought I saw a momentary flash of anger in his emerald eyes. He nearly turned away to leave, but I grabbed his sleeve to stop him. Surprised, he leaned toward me once more. I tugged him closer; down to my level. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

 

Silently, I pressed the side of my head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

 

I felt Jonny nod, then swallow. He gingerly slid a hand around the nape of my neck. Ignoring a sharp pain in my side, I wrapped my arms around him. He stiffened at first, but soon relaxed. “Okay...” he said slowly. “It’s okay.”

 

Before I knew what was happening, tears of pain and frustration were welling up in my eyes. Jonny pushed me back, gripping me firmly by the shoulders. “Are you crying?” he asked, shocked.

 

I shuddered and pulled in a ragged breath, shaking my head. “God...” he whispered. “Don’t be such a baby...”

 

His gentle reprimand, probably intended to cheer me up, instead caused me to disintegrate into sobs. Jonny looked terrified. “I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I’m sorry. I hurt you; I know. I was being a dick...I can be better...Jon, please forgive me.” The words all fell out of my mouth at once.

 

He sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. “Please stop crying,” he begged.

 

His words fell on deaf ears, however. I continued moaning. “Why did this happen to me, J?”

 

“Karma?” he asked bluntly.

 

I jerked slightly; his words had stung. The sobs died in my throat, and instead I sat in agonized silence. He was probably right.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jonny said suddenly. “You didn’t deserve it. That was a stupid thing to say.”

 

“You never answered,” I reminded him.

 

“What?”

 

“Can you forgive me?”

 

Jonny thought for a moment, staring off toward my bathroom. “Yes,” he said. “I can, and I do.”

 

I honestly hadn’t expected that. “What?”

 

“I said I forgive you,” he repeated.

 

I smiled, with an odd mix of shock and incredulity.

 

 

Heathcliff was a tortured yet unrepentant sinner...driven by despair and the hope of vengeance. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wasn’t much like the man.

 

 

 

Memory Slip

 

 

“Chris, stop jumping.”

 

“I can't, I'm too excited!”

 

“Stop jumping.” The force in Will's voice persuaded Chris to calm down, though he was still brimming with enthusiasm.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Will rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just go get ready.”

 

Chris nodded, then skipped out of the room, humming some tune he just made up along the way.

 

“Where are you guys going, anyway?” Jonny asked as he looked up from the magazine he was reading. Will sat down beside him and rested his hands on his own knees.

 

“We're going to see Shutter Island. You wanna come with?”

 

“Nah. Is Guy going?”

 

“Yeah.” Will looked at Jonny and after a bit of time asked again, “Sure you don't wanna go?”

 

Jonny shook his head and went back to his magazine, “I'm good, thanks. Saw the previews, and... I don't know. Just not appealing to me.”

 

“OK, suit yourself,” Will shrugged. He leaned over a bit to see what magazine Jonny was looking at. “What are you reading?”

 

“Oh,” Jonny began, briefly looking at the cover, “It's just a football thing. I can give it to you when I'm finished.”

 

“OK, sounds good. Anything else you've been reading lately?”

 

“Well, I started to read this book called Everything is Illuminated. It's pretty cool, it's about this guy who's trying to find out about his grandfather, who was alive during World War II and all that.”

 

“Oh, cool.” The men were silent for a while, then Will started, “I actually just read this one book not too long ago... uh, Paper Towns. It was pretty good.”

 

“I read that once. It was good,” Jonny agreed. “I also read Looking for Alaska, which is by the same guy who wrote Paper Towns. Also good.”

 

“Are there any books that aren't good?” Will asked, basically rhetorically. But after only a few moments, both men looked at each other and answered, “Twilight.”

 

“Ugh, that crap?” came a new voice as Guy's well-built body entered the room. “I read the first page and it made me want to vomit. In fact, I might have... but I think I also might have had the flu at that time.”

 

“Well, it made me want to vomit, and I was perfectly healthy,” Will replied. “There are just some things in this world that should not be made.”

 

“Yeah, like pineapple pizza,” Guy remarked.

 

“Hey,” Jonny said, “don't knock it 'til you've tried it.”

 

“And why would I try it? It looks like... grossness on a perfectly delicious pizza!”

 

“Guy does have a point,” Will reasoned, “pineapple pizza does look pretty unappetizing.”

 

“Yeah, says the man who would eat anchovies on pizza,” Jonny retorted.

 

“I would not!” Will exclaimed. “When have I ever done that? Or said that I would?”

 

“I don't know, you just seem like the kind of person who would.”

 

“I seem like the kind of person that would??” Will repeated, completely outraged. “Jonny, how long have we been friends?”

 

“About-”

 

“Yeah, a long time!! You don't already know that I think anchovies are the most disgusting thing on earth?”

 

“Besides pineapple!” Guy chimed in. “And Twilight.”

 

“Yeah, but you can't eat Twilight,” Will replied. “Although I'm sure if you could, it would taste like... well, vomit.”

 

“Ugh, that would be so nasty.”

 

“No, brilliant, it would be delicious,” Will sarcastically said. Guy said nothing at first, and just gave Will an unamused look, folding his arms across his chest and even exhaling loudly through his nose. During that time, Jonny went back to reading, and after about a minute, Guy returned back to his normal stance.

 

“Hey, man, are you ready to go?”

 

Will nodded and stood up, “Yeah, let's go.” They began to leave, and Jonny was only mildly aware of their departure.

 

“Guys!” he called, but by that time they were almost completely gone, and neither of them heard Jonny. “All right, bye.” Jonny brushed it off and returned to his reading.

 

But he quickly grew tired of reading about football, and he decided that he wanted to make a sandwich. So, he got up and walked into the small kitchen, grabbed some bread from the cabinet, and went to open the fridge. There wasn't much in there, but Jonny decided to have himself a nice peanut butter and banana sandwich. Of course, the peanut butter wasn't in the fridge, but Jonny did snatch a banana out of the fruit drawer. Then he opened the cabinet again, where the peanut butter actually was located.

 

The small butter knife plus the fact that the peanut butter jar was almost completely empty made it rather difficult for Jonny to make the peanut butter part of the sandwich. In the end, it worked out well, though the side of his hand was covered in peanut butter. He licked it off, then set off making the rest of the sandwich. Once it was done, it was a pretty delectable-looking piece of nutritious goodness.

 

Jonny sat back down on the couch with the plate in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. The milk was really only to help wash down the peanut butter, since Jonny didn't really care for milk all that much, but knew that nothing else would help him.

 

He ate the sandwich, determining it to be rather delicious overall, and looked around for something else to do. He could play video games, but most of the ones they had were two or more players. At least, they weren't really fun unless you had two or more players.

 

The board games in the corner were the same way. Then there were all the books on the bookshelves. Jonny didn't feel like rereading any of them again, since he had already read every single book at least three or four times. Then he noticed the magazine laying on the couch beside him, and he picked it up again. He forgot where he had left off before, and he figured that he wouldn't have anything to do for a while, so he just read from the beginning again.

 

The room was very peaceful, which Jonny enjoyed greatly when trying to read. He found that his concentration could be broken by even the slightest noise. As long as the noise was in the same room, of course, because he could never really hear anything from other rooms. It was a problem he'd always had, and sometimes it caused quite a bit of damage. Generally, it caused him trouble when he was younger, and his parents would yell to him while he was up in his room. He couldn't hear them, and then after a while they would get very angry at him and ground him. They never believed that he had a hearing problem, and even though in his adult years he got it checked out and proved that he had a problem, they still didn't believe it.

 

So Jonny read, thinking that he would not be disturbed. But he suddenly got this weird feeling, and he thought he heard something.

 

Chris came bouncing into the room, singing about Shutter Island. He skipped right on past Jonny and reached out to open the door. He was stopped as soon as his hand touched the door and Jonny, looking up from the article he was reading, plainly said, “Chris.” Chris slowly turned around.

 

“They left without me, didn't they?” Chris asked with shattered eyes. Jonny sadly nodded in response, then returned to reading. He felt the shift in the couch as Chris sat down beside him. A fair amount of silence passed between them, until there was an abrupt gasp from Chris.

 

Jonny looked up to see what the problem was, only to find Chris drenched in tears. “Jonny, don't look at me,” he commanded, instantly and self-consciously covering his face with his hand. But Jonny couldn't help looking at Chris, especially after Chris's plead.

 

“Aw, Chris, don't cry. It's OK, those other guys aren't worth it anyway. And I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you,” Jonny said. At least, that's what he wanted to say.

 

In reality, Jonny just stared helplessly at his best friend.

 

“Jonny, that's not not looking at me,” Chris mumbled through his hands. He tried to dry his cheeks and looked over to Jonny. “I'm such a girl, aren't I?”

 

“No,” Jonny replied, “of course not.”

 

“Yes, I am. Look at me, I'm crying!” Chris exclaimed. “Manly men don't cry. I mean, it's not like...” Chris paused for a while, then lowered his voice, “I mean, they only forgot about me...”

 

“It's understandable,” Jonny began. Then, upon receiving a slightly confused look from Chris, and feeling bad about having realized that he too forget Chris was there, he went on to clarify, “Not them forgetting you, I mean, it's understandable that you're upset about it. I would be, too.”

 

“Yeah, but, Jonny, no one could ever forget you. You're... unforgettable.” Chris sighed and tried to smile, but instead another tear made its way down his face.

 

Then Jonny did the bravest thing he'd ever done. Without even thinking, he reached forward and gently wiped the tear away from Chris's cheek. “You're pretty unforgettable, too,” he said in an unintentionally husky voice. He was fairly surprised that he was doing or saying any of this; in fact, he was rather convinced that he was either dreaming, or someone else had taken over his body.

 

“Then tell me why Will and Guy left without me.” Chris's eyes were full of disbelief, and the look in them said that he knew Jonny wouldn't be able to come up with an answer.

 

“Wouldn't you much rather be here with me?” Jonny hopefully asked. Much to Jonny's relief, Chris's eyes softened, and he gave a small nod. He stared blankly for a few seconds, then laid his head on Jonny's shoulder. Jonny felt Chris's arm slide against his own and their hands interlocked. Jonny tried not to think too much, for fear that his brain and heart might burst if he did, and simply smiled against Chris's hair as he rested his cheek on Chris's head.

 

“Jonny, I'm actually kinda glad they left without me,” Chris quietly said. He tightened his grip on Jonny's hand a little and smiled. “This was always where we were gonna end up, wasn't it?”

 

“Yeah,” Jonny definitively answered. “I think it was.”

 

“Well, it's about time,” Chris laughed, “I thought about this since... well, since we first met.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Actually, before we even formally met.” Chris slowly raised his head to look up at Jonny. “There were so many times when I would see you in class, or just walking down the hall, and I would think... That's the person I'd like to spend the rest of my life with... And when we became friends, I figured that'd be close enough. I never did specify that we had to be together, just that I wanted to spend my life with you. If I spent my life with you as my best friend, then I guess that's pretty wonderful.”

 

“But we could be together.” Chris nodded, and they both were silent for a while. Then Chris turned his eyes to Jonny and smiled a little.

 

“Jonny, can I kiss you?”

 

“Do you even need to ask?” Jonny replied in a low voice.

 

So Chris leaned in to press his lips against Jonny's. There was a sound at the door, but both men ignored it and continued down the path they were on as the door opened and Will and Guy walked in.

 

“Chris-” Will desperately started before he fully entered the room and saw the other two men. “Oh.”

 

“Oh, what?” Guy asked blindly. Then he too saw Chris and Jonny, sitting on the couch with their mouths pressed together. “Ohhh.”

 

“Think we should just leave them?” Will asked Guy. “I mean, they look pretty busy.”

 

“Yeah, maybe we should just get out of here... before they get any busier,” Guy added as he tried to pull his eyes away from Chris and Jonny. He pointlessly gestured to the door, and both he and Will exited within a minute.

 

“Jonny,” Chris said nearly five seconds later, “did you hear something?”

 

“I think they came back for you,” Jonny replied. Chris looked taken aback for a moment, shocked at the fact that he could miss the sound of people talking to him, then simply shrugged it off.

 

“Oh, well. I think this beats seeing a movie any day,” Chris smiled. Then he reached his hand out to cup Jonny's cheek and pulled him in for another kiss.