||The OFFICIAL Coldplay FanFic Thread 2||CUZ WE IZ COOL

[Batman]

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

(by Sara)

 

CHAPTER 5

 

 

NOTE: Told from Jonny's POV.

 

We were away from the crowds. We were in a relatively nice hotel, where the beds still had cardboard mattresses but they didn’t squeak. We were out of the cold. It was a beautiful, snow-drenched night, and I could tell Chris was thirsting to write a song.

 

He was perched, cross-legged, on the bed and strumming lazily. Nothing flowed from his fingers except for the syrupy sound of his pick against the strings. He sighed in frustration and slapped the headboard with his fist.

 

“Christ, Jonny,” he complained to me. I glanced up at him sympathetically. I had seen him in this sort of rut often enough to know the pain he was in. Something in you that’s trying to get out, something beautiful, but you can’t let it out. Something’s holding it back. But you know, if only you could just stop being so afraid, the beautiful thing would come out and everything would be all right.

 

He cleared his throat daintily and hummed a few notes. He moved his long fingers into an E chord and strummed – deep and coppery – and hummed louder. He picked out a simple rhythm, but as he opened his mouth to sing, the words must have died. His hand fell into his lap and he slumped over his guitar.

 

I kept quiet, not knowing what to say. I just watched him. Slowly he raised his head and eyed me suspiciously.

 

“I can’t sing with you in here,” he said irritably.

 

I blinked at him.

 

“Bugger off.”

 

I only shook my head, confused. Usually it was the other way around – when he wanted to call up a tune or lyrics from the depths of his soul, he’d drag me into a secluded corner and force me to help him. But now I was being sent away? Preposterous.

 

“Why?” I asked childishly.

 

He waved his hands, exasperated. “Oh, I don’t know! I just… I can’t!”

 

“You’ve never had a bloody problem with it before!” I argued. He had sung in front of hundreds of strangers before, but suddenly he couldn’t play in front of his best friend?

 

“I want a new song for our next gig,” he said suddenly. “You know. Something to surprise them with.”

 

“Not material for the new record?”

 

“Maybe. Depends.” He rested his chin on the curve of his guitar’s body. “Probably not. I just want something. I’m tired of…” He stopped. I waited a second, but he didn’t go any further.

 

“Tired of?”

 

“Know what really messes me over, though?” he asked no one in particular, sitting up and tapping his pick against his bottom lip. “I hate it when people keep secrets from me. That’s what it’s about. That’s what I want to write about.”

 

I blinked. “What?”

 

“You know.” Chris gestured with a hand. “Lying. Deception.” He looked at me.

 

I looked back with my best “lost sheep” expression.

 

His eyes turned fierce suddenly, and they locked mine in a straight- on gaze and wouldn’t let go. I could feel him searching for answers – why had I been avoiding him? Why did I suddenly become edgy when we were even in the same room together? Why was I suddenly not Jonny Buckland anymore, but someone completely different?

 

‘Sorry Chris, boyo,’ I thought. I turned my eyes away as casually as I could. ‘Not gonna find your answers here.’

 

“Okay,” he murmured, as if he had seen my last defiant thought reflected in my eyes. “You’re sleeping with Will and Guy tonight. I’ve got a song to create.”

 

I smiled bitterly, grabbed my toothbrush from the nightstand, and left without closing the door.

 

‘I don’t need you. You don’t need me. So I’m not playing games anymore, Chris.’

 

I don’t think I slept that night.

 

- - - -

 

It was something like one, or maybe two a.m., when I heard the sound of a guitar floating from the next room. I strained to listen over the sound of Will’s snoring. Undoubtedly a guitar.

 

I rose quietly and put my ear to the wall, only feeling slightly foolish. Soon I heard the soft croon of Chris’s voice. I couldn’t resist. I crept as quietly as I could out of the hotel room and unlocked Chris’s door with my own card key. I cringed, my heart beating hard in my ears, as the lock clicked and his playing faltered. But then it started again, this time with more vigor, and I stepped into the doorway.

 

I blinked once or twice to get my eyes used to the dim light. Chris was sitting on the floor now, his back against one of the beds, and there were two candles on the nightstand beside him. The tall French windows were closed tightly against the cold, but he had slung open the thick curtains to let in gorgeous, pale moonlight that traveled across the floor in long blocks. My breath stopped.

 

His guitar was resting in his lap and his fingers were sliding along the neck of it with a lover’s touch. His elegant head was bowed, and his smooth pale neck and angled shoulders were alight with the glow of the moon. I could see the muscles in his long arms moving as he strummed. His body was like a reflection, shimmering with the ebb and flow of his guitar and the sound of his voice.

 

“Darling, those tired eyes go with me all the time," he crooned in a voice like velvet. “And in the dead of night... tell me you will be mine."

 

I stepped as quietly as I could into the mouth of the hallway, until I was mere feet away from him. He was obviously in some sort of trance; otherwise he would have gotten suspicious the moment he heard the lock turn. But his voice was strained in emotion and pain, and his face was a mask of frustration.

 

‘I lied,’ I thought desperately. ‘I lied to myself a hundred times over. I need you more than the air I breathe, Chris. You’re the most beautiful thing this world has to offer, the only thing worth living for.’

 

Chris’s long hand hovered over the strings, but he didn’t move. Instead he sighed and, almost with disgust, pushed his guitar away and buried his head in his hands.

 

I didn’t want to see Chris cry. I knew my heart would break and I would slip up and something terrible would happen. That was how it always went. But my escape route was lost. I had gotten myself into this mess, so it was only my job to get myself out.

 

I watched his shoulders tremble slightly, and I wondered if he really was crying for me. But I knew it wasn’t – it couldn’t be. I always tortured myself like this. Chris didn’t care about my well-being any more than he was supposed to.

 

He stood up shakily and sprawled on the bed, his voice slowly rising with each line. I was mesmerized.

 

“Ask me so sweetly, what do I do... Who do I sing for...”

 

He paused, voice full of pain.

 

“Well, honey, I sing about you..."

 

I shook my head vehemently, though it was too dark for even Chris to see me if he was watching. Whoever those lyrics were for… Even if they were for me…

 

Chris... Can’t you understand…? You told me once that you thought you could read people. But are your eyes closed now? I’m wading through all of this bullshit, and I need you to pull me out.

 

I stared at the silhouette of his body in the darkness. His chest rose and fell dramatically in a sigh, and I wanted to so badly to reach out and fondly, familiarly place a soft kiss on his tummy. Something just to show that I loved him. Something to show him that he meant the world to me. Something to show him that I saw his sweet face, and I heard his beautiful voice.

 

[Batman]

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

(by Sara)

 

CHAPTER 6

 

 

NOTE: Told from Chris's POV.

 

The blanket of darkness doesn't dissipate immediately when I open my eyes. There's a faint red glow coming from the nightstand, and I glance over. 3:36 am. I feel completely disoriented. I wriggle a little and hear a moan, and I'm about to move again when I remember Jonny's in the bed with me.

 

But he's not just *in* the bed... He's got his arms wrapped around my waist. I blink and slowly move my hand down under the covers, and am surprised to find he's clutching me like a stuffed animal.

 

"Jon," I whisper, propping myself up on my elbow. "Jonny."

 

He doesn't even stir.

 

"Jonathan!"

 

This time he shifts a little - but closer to me. Now I can't lie back down without lying ON him. I sigh at my misfortune, then gently set to the task of prying his hands off my waist.

 

Well, he's certainly got quite a death grip.

 

After several minutes of poking and prodding, I'm no closer to freedom, and Jonny's still sleeping peacefully with his head on MY pillow. My shoulder is aching from holding me up, and I'm not quite sure what to do. Knock him off the bed? Wake him up? Just... lie on him?

 

I blink, suddenly hearing the shivery echoes of a guitar in my head. A song? At 4 am? Unfortunately, I can't deny it, and I certainly can't get back to sleep.

 

So I begin to hum, softly, careful to keep it low. I try to commit the notes to memory - a dip there... I can imagine the flush of piano right in the second measure, and the guitar fades in and out... My body begins to feel alive, my mind races. I tap a beat on my thigh, still humming. It doesn't quite work, so I cautiously sing a few words. Jonny stirs and I try to stop, but I can't - the words keep coming and music is forming like a painting in my head.

 

I'm a little grateful and a little stumped by this sudden wash of creativity - I had been completely dry of any ideas for a song since we had begun touring two months ago. It didn't take long before I felt nervous and twitchy - the way I do when I haven't had release for a while. You know. I needed to get a song out. I needed to hear my piano; I needed to pick out a new, fabulous tune on my guitar. I needed to let words out. But nothing would come.

 

I close my eyes, still balanced on my elbow over the peacefully sleeping Jonny, and let the last few notes out in a breathy moan. My voice breaks dramatically at the end, and I decide I like it.

 

I hear a tiny chuckle and glance down. Jonny's awake. Oh, mercy.

 

"Um... Hi." I blink.

 

He smiles but doesn't say anything.

 

"Did you hear all of that?" I wonder briefly how he woke so quietly. Why didn't I notice? I wasn't *that* lost in the song. Or maybe I was.

 

Jonny shakes his tousled head a little, frowning. "Unfortunately, no."

 

I shrug with one shoulder. "Can you move a little?"

 

He glances at the other pillow - his pillow - and at the pillow he's lying on - formerly my pillow. Then he glances at me. I look at him expectantly.

 

He shakes his head again. "Don't wanna."

 

"I don't bloody care if you don't want to!" I laugh, hitting his shoulder with a loose fist. "I need some sleep and my back hurts."

 

He arches a fair eyebrow. "Your back hurts?"

 

"Yeah, 'cause I've been sitting like this for the last ten minutes, you pillock."

 

Jonny grins discreetly and I hear the covers rustle, and then - I don't even notice his arm moving - there's a hand kneading at my back. He's reached through the crook between my elbow and my shoulder and he's sliding his hand up and down my lower back, the little sneak. And with him being a guitarist and all, he has marvelously deft and strong hands. I'm nothing but a puddle of moaning, sighing goo in a matter of seconds, my cheek above his heart and my arms curled above my head. I think I felt him kiss my knuckles but I'm not sure, because everything was centered on the lovely sensations his amazingly talented hands were providing. The knots in my shoulders melted away. The tenseness in my back disappeared under his touch. I was floating in a dreamy half-sleep when suddenly I felt his hand slide *under* my shirt.

 

I didn't say anything for a second and neither did he, and his smooth fingertips worked at my back in all the right places. He trailed up and down my spine, making me shiver; over the curve of my ribs, the angle of my shoulder blades, and he softly stroked the nape of my neck with his free hand. I was nearly purring with satisfaction. The sensation of his strong hand on my bare back was disconcerting and a little unwelcome, but quite pleasurable. I didn't object. He didn't look as if to stop.

 

My heart jumped a little when his fingertips - accidentally? - slid beneath the waist of my boxers. Just slightly: a quick brush of skin and then he's back to rubbing my shoulders as if it never happened. My face heats as I sigh softly. It feels dirty, since it's my best friend. It feels a little frightening. But nothing about it feels *wrong.* I've never been attracted to men before in my life, but there's that familiar light-headed, giddy feeling building that I get whenever I fool around with a girl.

 

But essentially, Jonny's no different, right? He's just got some things a girl doesn't. So there can't be anything wrong with being turned on by him - he's doing something a girl would never do for me. It's flirty, and it's a little dangerous, but it's just fun.

 

'Then again,' I say to myself, 'why am I rationalizing it? I shouldn't let him do this if I don't want it.'

 

But how can I be so sure it ISN'T innocent, and I'm just imagining things? I'd feel pretty stupid if I sat up suddenly and told him to bugger off when he's only doing me a bit of a favor.

 

'Favor my arse,' I think suddenly as his hands move up my back, pushing my shirt over my shoulders, then down again where they stop cautiously at my waist. The massage has stopped. This is a gentle lover's caress. Try as I might, though, I can't raise my head and tell him to stop.

 

Most likely because I really don't want him to.

 

He takes the bottom of my shirt and tugs it up over my head. I sit up and pull it off, attempting to convince myself that there's something wrong with the fact that my male best friend is probably itching to shag me. Jonny knows I can tell what he's thinking. We're both ashamed, shy: I can feel it. But I meet his eyes anyway, trying to find something - is this why he's been so shady lately?

 

He nods at me with a tiny wistful smile as if he can see the question in my eyes.

 

My best friend's in love with me.

 

He takes my chin in hand softly, stroking my jaw with his thumb. I can't look away, I can't say anything. His eyes travel to my lips, and I know what he's doing, and I don't want to stop him - now all I can do is wait for him to do it.

 

Jonny leans in slow, awkwardly, and we keep our eyes together until we nearly bump noses. He brushes lips with me quickly, as if to test the grounds, and I let my eyes close. This is more romantic than anything I've ever done with any girl - and yet it's just the two of us in a little bland room with ugly wallpaper and an itchy comforter. No candles. No roses. No soft, romantic music or gourmet expensive dinner or coy seduction.

 

And then our lips meet for real, both of us opening our mouths at the same time and leaning in together. It's a wet, all-over-the-place kiss, and the exact type of kiss that I imagined Jonny would give. The smoothness of the inside of his mouth makes instinct kick in, and I slip my arms around his shoulders - he's sat up now - and he takes my waist and pulls me closer to him.

 

I'm straddling his lap, and he's running his hands over my back like a starved man. He takes my bottom lip in his mouth and sucks lightly, and suddenly I'm trying to recall every tongue trick I ever learned.

 

No chance to use them, though. His lips are gone from mine in an instant, and I take in a deep shaky breath and wonder where he's gone. I'm about to open my eyes when I discover exactly where he's gone.

 

Down.

 

I nearly squeak in surprise when he pushes me backward on the bed. I land on my back and he's over me in an instant, his mouth traveling down my chest and over my sweet spots as if he's done this before a hundred times and memorized them all. His hands are still on me, exploring and curious, touching me everywhere and making me moan helplessly.

 

He lifts my legs and hooks them around his waist, and that's when I realize the romance from this is gone - it's all unstoppable passion and a little bit carnal. Jonny intends to shag me. Here in this bed, right now, with Guy and Will sleeping obliviously next door.

 

I can't help it. I push him away and skitter backward until I'm pushed up against the foot of the bed. And he's looking at me with wounded, confused eyes.

 

"Jonny--"

 

The song is coming back. I can hear it in my head, but I don't want it. I close my eyes, shaking.

 

"Oh, Christ..." That was him, I think. "I'm sorry, Chris, I'm sorry..."

 

I shake my head vehemently, holding up a hand. I stare at him helplessly. "I'm not sorry."

 

He furrows his brow. "Then why...?"

 

"Because... I... I can't..." I struggle to get words out. The feeling I had a second ago, it's still burning in me. The mindless want. I'd do anything for Jonny, I knew as much, but...

 

Jonny makes a disgusted face and rubs his forehead. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry... Really I am. It was wrong and I shouldn't have."

 

I lower my eyes. I don't know what to say.

 

"I should have just kept my hands to myself. I really couldn't help it." His voice turns bitter.

 

I'm still silent. I stagger off the bed and into the bathroom, but when I turn on the light it looks different somehow. I don't know. I splash water on my face and take a few deep breaths. I raise my head and wipe water from my chin. My reflection, pale and distant and muted, stares back with lost eyes. I search for something in my own eyes and find nothing.

 

The reflection blurs. The water slowly dripping from my chin isn't the tap water anymore. I don't want Jonny to see me crying. It's pathetic.

 

But it's too late: he's already behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He's a comforting presence. I laugh shortly, bitterly, and wipe away my tears with a rough hand.

 

Jonny turns my face toward him, looking as if he's on the verge of tears himself. "Don't cry, Chris," he soothes, kissing me gently on the forehead.

 

I turn my face away for an instant, and then I turn back without thinking and kiss him full on the lips. It's his turn to be surprised now, but then he's got me pinned up against the cold tile wall and he's kissing me again and the tears are coming back, but Jonny's not looking. He can't hear me crying over my moans.

 

Then we're back on the bed again - how did we get here? I wonder - and nothing seems quite right. It's moving around me like a jerky silent movie, only I'm in the audience instead of on the screen. I look at Jonny's face and that doesn't seem quite right either.

 

Suddenly something's shaking me, hard, and light washes away the movie and I open my eyes.

 

"Wake up," Jonny chuckles, kneeling on the bed beside me. "We're gonna get lunch, and then we've got to get to a sound check a few hours away."

 

I stare at him bleakly, the dream still floating behind my eyes.

 

Holy Christ... It was a dream. A *dream.*

 

"Chris?" He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"

 

People seem to be asking me that question a lot lately. I nod my head mutely. "Weird dream," I murmur, letting my head fall back on the pillow.

 

"Yeah, you were kicking a lot last night and you were kinda making sounds. A nightmare?"

 

I sat back up quickly. "What? Sounds?"

 

"Yeah." Jonny looked embarrassed.

 

Oh good lord, I thought. Please don't let this be what I think it is. "What... kind of sounds?" I ask timidly.

 

"Er..." Jonny scratched the back of his neck. "Well, um..."

 

Guy saved him at that moment by bursting in through the door. He grinned and waved at me. "Phil just rang. Said he talked to some American show that wants us to play for them."

 

"A television gig?" Jonny asked.

 

"Yeah, but live, not taped." Guy leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

 

Jonny shrugged and glanced at me.

 

I threw up my hands. "I don't bloody know! I just woke up!"

 

Guy laughed and turned away, closing the door behind him. Jonny swung his legs off the bed and tugged on the comforter. "C'mon, Chris, get up."

 

Then he left too, and I was alone. I trudged into the bathroom, turned on the light and inspected the place. It looked right. I was relieved for a second, and then I laughed at myself for being so paranoid. It was just a dream. Jonny was straight - straighter than I was too, I guess, considering the dream I had.

 

I brushed my teeth and washed my face while carefully keeping my mind blank of all thoughts of my towheaded best friend. That worked quite well, until he suddenly reappeared and poked his head into the bathroom. I glared at his reflection in the mirror, and he glared back playfully.

 

"Come on, you diva," he teased, coming up behind me and poking me in the side. "Everyone else is ready to go. You're holding up the circus."

 

"Bugger off," I mumbled, washing my toothbrush and sticking it back in my little bag of stuff.

 

He giggled in a rather un-Jonny-like way, then surprised me by leaning forward and planting a peck on my cheek. Then he turned and scampered out, and I stood and stared into the mirror in shock.

 

It was a bloody dream. I swear.

 

A dream.

 

I repeated that to myself like a mantra as I pulled on my jeans, buttoned my shirt, stuffed everything into my duffel, jogged outside as Guy honked the horn and squeezed into the van next to Will and sat down sullenly.

 

Dream or no, I couldn't resist glancing up into the rearview mirror at Jonny. He was reading a book peacefully. But his sixth sense must have kicked in, because his eyes flickered up to the mirror as well. There was something in his eyes... A knowing smirk...

 

I looked away. He went back to his book.

 

We didn't talk for the rest of the day.

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

 

NOTE: Told from Jonny's POV.

 

It was the seventh week of our European tour. We were wiped, and we finally had two nights to ourselves, to do nothing with our time. It was great.

 

At first, we didn't know where to go. We were in some city in north England - I don't remember the name - and Guy had brilliantly suggested we find a bar and get piss drunk to celebrate the finished first half of our tour. Foolishly, Will and I agreed. Chris never quite agreed, but went along with it. It was his nature.

 

I wish we had stayed home.

 

The bar was bland, nondescript, and mostly empty. A few grungy-looking regulars were playing a noisy game of billiards in the far end of the room, nearer to the bar. The four of us sat in a darkened corner, away from the sullen men and cheaply dressed women. The few patrons sober enough to see clearly gave us odd looks from time to time - well-dressed, clean cut, rather handsome young men in a place like this? Must have been unusual. We certainly felt out of place. Chris fidgeted nonstop. Guy and Will cast wary glances around every so often. I just inched my creaky chair closer to Chris and ignored our surroundings. Well, at least the beer was cheaper than usual.

 

We toasted ourselves, then took part in an old tradition that we had practiced since... well, nearly since the day we met. Chris popped open a cold bottle and took a long drink, then handed it to me. I took a swig from it, then passed it to Guy, who followed my suit, and Will was last. He finally gave the bottle back to Chris, who finished what was left. When he slapped the empty beer bottle back on the table, some of the tension in the air disappeared, and we laughed and talked together easily. Everyone else ignored us, which was perfectly fine.

 

We had been there not twenty minutes maybe when a few of the burly guys playing billiards put down their cues and swaggered over to our table, making intimidating, macho faces at us. I jabbed Chris in the side, and he glanced up at them. He didn't look put off in the least. Instead, he smiled cheerily. I nearly slapped my forehead. I mean, really; could you get any more naïve?

 

One of them spoke up. He seemed to be the de facto leader of this motley crew. He had a rough, gravelly voice and a brutish accent. "I've never seen you ******s before."

 

"We're just passing through," I said quickly. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Guy was bristling, ready for a fight. Will looked wary and a little scared. And though Chris was still smiling like a bloody idiot, I could see his hands had tightened around his beer bottle. He was ready too.

 

"Just passing through?" The leader glanced at his comrades with a disbelieving smirk. I inwardly cringed.

 

"Yeah, we came here for a drink, and then we're leaving." I smiled passively. They didn't buy it, I could tell. Just our bloody luck.

 

"I'd have to say you're not welcome here, cocksuckers," one of them barked, stepping up behind the leader and tipping his head so he looked intimidating.

 

"Think you can scare us out?" Chris asked acidly.

 

"Oh, no..." the leader smirked. "I plan to make this a hands-on thing."

 

Before Chris could react, two meaty hands had grabbed his collar and hauled him out of his seat so fast his chair toppled backwards. Guy and Will were on their feet in a second, and I jumped up too but accidentally spilled beer all over my lap. Cussing while a few of the brutes laughed, I winced as the cold liquid seeped through my jeans. When I heard the sound of a fist resounding solidly with Chris's face, though, I panicked. I did the first thing that came to mind. I hurled the now-empty beer bottle at the little huddle of thugs.

 

It broke against the leader's head and immediately he dropped Chris. The lanky boy slumped to the floor, groaning and cupping his reddened cheek. Guy jumped for me to get me out of the way, but the others were already coming at me, and I felt a boot connect with my ribs and I toppled backwards into the stool I had been sitting on. The pain took my breath away and blurred my vision.

 

Guy was screaming curses and had lunged blindly at one of them - the one with an ugly leather jacket and neatly combed mullet. Surprisingly, Guy took him down, but others were upon him in an instant. I counted dizzily as I sat up - seven of them, four of us. Guy was the fiercest, Will the strongest, and Chris the bravest. Me? I was nothing. I huddled fearfully next to the splintered stool, wishing I were anywhere else but this place.

 

I saw Chris rise unsteadily and tried to cry out to him, but the tallest lug pinned him against the wall roughly and drove a fist into his stomach. Chris' face tightened in pain and he doubled over.

 

I could see what was going on. The thugs had a formation. They had a routine. They were going after Chris, forming a semicircle around him. One of them had the shattered bottleneck in his hand, the other had a pool cue, and even though my eyes were bleary, I could see another had a switchblade.

 

Will hauled Guy up and brushed him off. I knew I was the only one who could do anything. I clambered to my feet quickly and grabbed one of the broken legs of the chair and held it tightly in my fist. I could taste my fear in the back of my throat, but I would rather die myself than watch Chris get beaten. Or killed. I swallowed my apprehension and went for the man with the switchblade, swinging the leg like a bat and nicking him in the back of the head. He staggered and turned to glare at me, and Chris called my name in a passionate, painful voice. My fear disappeared, and I swung as hard as I could at the man's face. This time he did go down, but so did I - with the weight of four other neanderthals. Chris screamed my name again and I struggled to escape, but they wouldn't move. They weren't beating me, they were pinning me. They were holding me down.

 

They were making me watch.

 

The leader, bruised and bloody and flaring with rage, had the broken bottle in his fist. Chris' arms were trapped behind him by another faceless, greasy thug, and he was struggling fearfully. His blue eyes were wide and trained on the jagged edge of the bottle.

 

He grabbed Chris by the neck and lifted him slightly off the ground, then he growled something that I couldn't hear. Chris went pale.

 

Then he screamed as the leader slashed the bottle across his chest, ripping his shirt and spilling blood. I struggled, crying Chris's name helplessly until I couldn't even breathe, kicking for all I was worth. My mind was a blank and my vision was red.

 

Another brute drove the pool cue so hard into Chris's ribs that it snapped in half. I had no doubt that a few of his ribs were in the same state as the cue. All the color had gone from his face and his eyes were glittering with tears in the dim, honeyed light of the bare lamps.

 

I don't know what happened after that. I must have passed out. When I came to, I was lying on a stretcher in the bleak, white hallway of a hospital. Guy and Will were standing beside me, bandages on their arms and gauze over their wounds. Guy's fingers were taped. Will had a makeshift cast on one arm. They both looked miserable.

 

I cast a glance around for Chris. I couldn't see him. Cops were everywhere around us. Nurses in scrubs were rushing back and forth. A few stopped to ask how I was, but I just shook my head and asked for Chris, and they hurried on.

 

"Chris is in the ICU, mate," Guy said quietly. His voice was hoarse. His eyes were red.

 

"ICU?" My heart dropped.

 

Will started to say something, but he had to stop and take a breath before he could continue. He was choking on his words. "They dunno if he's gonna live," he murmured haltingly.

 

 

They didn't know if he was going to live.

 

I repeated this in my mind a few times, but I couldn't feel anything. It was like I had been stripped bare. All my grief had been spent. I had been spent. I was empty.

 

They didn't know if he was going to live.

 

[Batman]

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

(by Sara)

 

CHAPTER 8

 

 

NOTE: Told from Jonny's POV.

I took a deep breath, standing outside the tall brick hospital. I gripped the bag in my hand tighter, slightly nervous. Then I stepped through the revolving door and past the weary looking nurse at the front desk, walking as briskly as I could. My eyes darted around, the bag's contents weighing heavier in my hand. I feared the guilt I felt was scrawled across my face. Fortunately, no one stopped me, and I kept walking, head down, to Chris's room.

 

When I peered around the door cautiously, I saw he was sitting up, scrawling in a notebook. The cast from his right arm and the bandages on his legs were gone. He was back in his jeans, though I doubted the doctors condoned this, and the bruises on his body had faded to nothing but pale blemishes, reminders of that bloody, horrible night nearly two weeks ago. His ribs were still healing, though, as were the wounds on his chest and his fractured cheekbone.

 

I stepped in, but he didn't look up. I watched him for a serene moment, studying the easy way his body moved now - such a change from a week ago, when it pained him to even raise his head. The doctors had remarked nearly daily about how impressed they were with his recovery time. He was one of the most determined patients they had seen in a while, I heard them say. The walls of his room were plastered with get-well cards from fans, friends, family, and even some of the nurses who had taken a fancy to Chris. I smiled as I saw the huge bunches of flowers sitting on his nightstand. No wonder he was recovering so quickly. He had an army of fans to get well for.

 

"Chris, mate," I said gently. He glanced up from his notebook quickly, his eyes resting on me. I remembered how dull and pained they had been a week ago. Now they were bright and lively again, dancing with laughter and cheer.

 

"Hey, Jon!" He smiled wide. His split lip had healed as well. I remembered a month ago: I had taken all of his beauty for granted. I had watched his chest rise and fall with even breath on misty mornings and was not amazed by just the fact that his heart was beating. His existence hadn't seemed a miracle to me. But that was then. Now, just seeing his eyebrows waggle at me mockingly, or to watch him yawn or laugh or clap his hands or even flash his middle finger at me... It gave me an intense feeling of gratefulness to whatever God was up there in heaven. Every minute in Chris' company was more than I could have ever hoped for.

 

I smiled and pulled up a chair beside his bed, inching forward until my knees were pressed against the metal frame. Chris reached over and ruffled my hair, and for an instant I was afraid my heart would burst with love. It swelled in my chest and my smile widened and my eyes stung with tears, and before I could stop myself I trapped Chris's hand with my own and pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin of his palm. He grinned knowingly at me and stroked my jaw line with his thumb, and I nearly shivered.

 

"How are you feeling?" I asked softly.

 

He mulled this over a minute, chewing his lip. "I'd have to say I'm better than I was last week."

 

"That doesn't really answer my question."

 

"Oh, doesn't it?"

 

"How were you last week?"

 

Chris gave me a sarcastic look. "How do you *think* I was last week?"

 

I glanced at the floor. He had a point.

 

"Either way..." He smiled at me. "I'm pretty damn good."

 

"Glad to hear it."

 

Chris shrugged, still smiling softly.

 

"So we canceled the rest of the tour," I said, watching his face for the reaction.

 

The smiled dropped quickly and his brows furrowed. "Oh, the bloody tour! I forgot!"

 

I shook my head, laughing. "Don't worry; I don't blame you. Guy and Will were relieved."

 

He propped his chin in his hand, brows still drawn together. "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah." I nodded. "They were worried. You should have seen Guy. He was pacing a hole in the floor. I thought the nurse was gonna hit him."

 

Chris laughed a little, playing with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. "That's so like him."

 

I nodded again. There was an awkward lull. "I was worried too," I said quickly. I nearly kicked myself in the head. Stupid! I was so insensitive.

 

Chris glanced at me, smirking. "I know."

 

I remembered suddenly what was in the bag. "I got a present for you," I laughed. Chris blinked. I reached into the bag and pulled out a pint of chocolate ice cream. It had melted slightly, but it was still good. Chris's face lit with a devious grin. "You know you're not allowed to bring food!"

 

"Oh, I know," I said casually, fishing out a plastic spoon from the bottom of the bag. I handed both to Chris, who was giggling helplessly. He took the carton of ice cream with both hands like a child and tugged the lid off, then took a small spoonful, savoring it. "Mmm," he murmured, eyes slipping shut in ecstasy. "It's been so long since I last tasted real food...!"

 

I couldn't help but laugh at his blissful expression. The white walls of the hospital disappeared and I remembered once, nearly four years ago when we had first met, we were sitting on the damp sand of the beach on a windy, wet day. Chris's jeans were rolled up to the knees and his shirt was half-buried in the sand. He was lying on his back, his rich curls spilling over his rosy face.

 

"Don't you wish that it could last forever?" he asked me, softly.

 

I glanced at him, and his vulnerable, innocent smile tugged my heartstrings. I lay down beside him in the cool sand, the wet wind brushing over us like an invisible blanket. "Of course I do," I breathed. "All the time."

 

All the time... when I'm with you. Everything is all right again. Everything is relative. Everything revolves around you.

 

I blinked and it disappeared as Chris called my name. "Jon!" He was holding out a spoonful of ice cream to me, grinning cheekily. "Hurry up, it's gonna fall off into your lap."

 

I blinked in surprise.

 

"You gonna stare at it all day or what?" he laughed.

 

I made a face at him, then leaned forward to take the spoon in my mouth, feeling like a blushing schoolgirl. I swallowed the ice cream quickly and it chilled the back of my throat. When I glanced up at Chris, he was watching me with something in his eyes that made me shiver giddily. My face was hot.

 

He attacked the ice cream again with gusto, and a few drops fell from the spoon onto the back of his hand. He made a tiny distressed sound, then licked them off reverently. I watched him with raised eyebrows, shifting in my seat.

 

Chris stuck the spoon back in the half-melted ice cream and looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. "Come sit with me. I'm lonely."

 

I couldn't refuse. Though I did feel a bit foolish, hopping up on the bed and squirming around until we both could fit onto the narrow little bed. When we had settled in, he laid his head on my shoulder like a tired child. They shaved the back of his head to give him sutures, I realized as I saw the mismatched fuzz on his scalp. My heart twisted again, and an image of him, broken and bloodied and crying out for me, flashed through my mind. I draped an arm over his skinny shoulders and hugged him close.

 

 

"The doctor's saying you'll be out soon." I knew he knew this. I was saying it to reassure myself, mostly.

 

Chris nodded, his head still pillowed on my chest. "Thanks for the ice cream, mate. You don't know how much it means to me."

 

I smiled down at him and he took another mouthful of the melting chocolate. His tongue wasn't quite quick enough though, and a few stray drops dropped from the spoon onto his chin. He laughed and wiped them away.

 

I watched his tongue dart out to clean his lower lip, and suddenly I realized getting up on this bed with a half-dressed and rather cuddly Chris was quite a bad idea. Especially when he had a pint of ice cream balanced between his thighs and he was getting it everywhere.

 

I imagined taking a spoonful of it into my mouth, then leaning over and kissing him deep, the chocolate and the taste of our tongues mixing. I imagined dripping it onto his chest and lapping it up softly, lovingly. I imagined trailing my cold tongue down his pale stomach, nuzzling the baby-soft skin beneath his navel.

 

My mind stopped working and I sighed and turned my eyes heavenward. Why me? Why did I have to fall in love with my best friend? I mean, it made perfect sense in a rather odd way. He was perfect. He was beautiful and intelligent and interesting and loyal and adorable. But he was also quite male, and I was also quite straight. So why, then? Was it just my mind playing tricks on me?

 

I glanced at him discreetly. He was licking the spoon clean, his face still utterly blissful.

 

No... There was no way it could have been a trick. It was real. I could feel it. I felt for him more than I had ever felt for anyone in my life.

 

So now I had two immediate options. I could sit still and try really hard not to embarrass myself in front of Chris with an undue show of affection, or I could leave now, save myself embarrassment, but feel lonely and empty all day without Chris's bright smile.

 

Chris leaned back a little to offer me a spoon heaped high with ice cream. I grinned slightly, wrapped my hand around his, and took his offer.

 

I would be staying here for a while.

 

 

CHAPTER 9

 

 

NOTE: A continuation of the snippet of flashback from the previous chapter. Told from Jonny's POV.

 

The sky is a gray dome stretched tight across the horizons, and the wind is tinged with bitter cold. It's nearly November, but we hadn't had a cold day until today. The seaside streets are empty; the air is thick with the smell of salt and sand.

 

Chris was like a vision, running barefoot down the deserted streets, his curls bouncing around his head and his laughter trailing behind him. I'm running after him, though it seems as if the harder I run the farther away I get. The story of my life. I'm laughing too, but only because he is.

 

If only I could get close to him, all of this running might have a purpose. My hard work would have a reward. But he keeps getting farther and farther away.

 

We skid to a stop in the sand of the long scar of beach, our chests heaving and our pulses beating in our ears. Chris does a cartwheel but tumbles to the ground before he's made a full circle, laughing breathlessly. "Jonny..." he gasps. "My ribs hurt!"

 

I fall to my knees next to him, but he's up again in a flash, kicking up sand and wriggling out of his clothes. His shirt catches the wind and flies a few feet, then flutters to the ground near me. I cup a handful of sand and let it run through my fingers, watching Chris's half-naked form race down the sand and splash into the water. He's an unstoppable bundle of energy: always moving, always speaking, and always thinking. His eyes dance with laughter every time I look into them, bright and alert and a thousand different tumultuous colors.

 

Chris shouts my name, and it carries on the damp wind back to me. I brush sand from my palms and stand, smiling despite the fact that Chris is too far away to see me.

 

He cries my name again, splashing eddies up around himself with gleeful laughter. "The water's great!" The clouds peel back and the sun shines white for a moment and glitters on the water. Chris looks like an angel, shrouded in white purity.

 

I kick off my shoes and stuff my socks into them, shedding my sweatshirt and jogging down the fine sand until I reach the edge of the water. It surges forward with an airy sound, bubbling up over my toes in a cold rush, then retreats back. I glance up at Chris. The water is a thick green blue, dark in some spots like the world stretches on forever underneath the murk. He had waded out farther, and the water is licking at the tanned curves of his hips. I watch him, breathing in deep through my mouth.

 

"Come on already," he calls tauntingly. "You gonna stand there all day like a bloody idiot or what?"

 

And then I dive in, the water enveloping me, chilling my whole body. I kick for the surface and take a deep breath.

 

"It's freezing!" I shriek indignantly. Chris laughs and glides through the choppy water towards me. Water runs in droplets down his face, drip off the tip of his nose, trickle through the creases of his lips, and plaster the mop of curls to his head. I splash water at him, shivering. He rises like a vision from the water, the freckles on his chest and shoulders standing out against his skin paled by the cold.

 

He points to a blurry spot on the far end of the horizon. "Look," he breathes. I squint.

 

"What's that?"

 

"Lighthouse."

 

"What's so great about a lighthouse?"

 

Chris looks at me, his lips molded into a childish frown. "I dunno."

 

I roll my eyes and splash him again. He laughs and staggers backwards.

 

"Oh, Chris, come here," I say. He comes closer and I hold my arms open. He leans into me and I wrap them around his waist and lift him like a baby nearly out of the water. He yelps in surprise and then laughs. His body is hot and wet. He throws back his head and goes limp in my arms. He is as light as a child.

 

I laugh and drop him back into the water. He comes up spluttering, yelling curses. I duck out of the way in case he tries to smack me, but instead he turns in one fluid motion and kicks through the water back to shore. I follow him at a much slower pace, my eyes on him as he rises out of the water, shakes off like a dog, and tumbles onto the sand. His chest rises and falls with chilled breaths, his arms splayed out on either side of his body.

 

The air is a shock as I collapse onto the sand next to Chris, our bodies pressed as close as we dare. It's silent for a few moments as we catch our breath, and Chris draws shapes in the sand. It's so soft I barely notice it, but he's humming "Hallelujah." Like a tribute to the beauty of the moment.

 

I smile into the air. Chris rolls over onto his back in the soft sand.

 

"Don't you wish this could last forever?" he asks me quietly. It wasn't a surprising thing for speak in profound snatches, but it was unusual for me to have an answer.

 

"Of course I do," I whisper. "All the time."

 

He smiles and trails sand through his fingers. It drops in a waterfall of grains onto the back of my hand. I watch them fall. I am at peace. And yet as I stare into the tumultuous depths of his eyes, framed by thick lashes, my mind is racing.

 

~

 

Back in present time, sitting beside Chris's bed as he slept, I wondered how long I had lied to myself. I wondered how long I had denied myself.

 

In the light of the setting sun on the clear April day, I told Chris I loved him.

 

[Batman]

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

(by Sara)

 

CHAPTER 10

 

 

NOTE: Told from Chris's POV.

Jonny came back every few days; not usually with ice cream or the like, but always with a dirty joke and a smile. Guy and Will visited with him most of the time, but I think everything about the hospital scared them. Jonny was used to it. Sometimes I would wake up in the morning or in the middle of the night and he'd be sleeping peacefully in a little chair beside my bed. I can't imagine how stiff his back must have been.

 

After something close to three weeks in the hospital, I was anxious like hell to get out. I knew I wasn't completely healed yet. My ribs sometimes began to hurt so badly I'd be crying before I could stop. Or I'd think back on that night when they attacked us and then my fear would come back like a hand around my throat. But that didn't matter; I wanted to be home. I wanted to get out so I could romp the streets with Jonny again and sit around lazily on a Monday morning, picking out melodies on my guitar.

 

My dream still haunted me - the odd one I had about Jonny a while before everything started to go wrong. I had wondered before at its meaning, but it was unmistakable to me now.

 

I guess in the hospital, I have a lot of time to think. People send me lots of cards and my family has visited once or twice, but three weeks is a hell of a long time. Jonny's visits didn't use up more than an hour or two either, so that left me with something like eight hours left to entertain myself in. I had tried to write songs, but if I sat up too long my ribs started to hurt. Everything that came out was too depressing anyway. I couldn't find tunes for the words.

 

Every once in a while, I'd walk about, sometimes with a kindly nurse by my side. I was careful to keep my back straight and steps even so as not to jostle any healing injuries. Sometimes Jonny, Will or Guy would help me walk too, but it was embarrassing. Like I was some child who needed to be taught the basics of life. I didn't particularly want their help (even if, at times, I needed it) - I wanted to show them I could get well and be the old Chris again. In time, we'd all forget that the whole ordeal even happened. We could just go back to being Coldplay again.

 

The only problem was that Jonny kept getting in the way. I mean, sure, we could be Coldplay again. We could be perfectly normal guys playing good music. That was what we had started out to be.

 

Except these last few weeks, something inside me had been slowly changing. When Jonny came to visit me, our words were casual but the way we looked at each other said so much more. I couldn't lie to myself anymore. But now all I had to do was tell him.

 

But could I? Could I risk it? I mean, what if all that "something in the way he looks at me" was just bollocks and Jonny didn't feel anything at all? Wouldn't I be a right fool then.

 

I sighed and blinked. The clock said 5:43. Jonny and the other two stooges usually came to visit at around six or so. 17 minutes to kill.

 

I idly wondered what exactly had happened to my attackers. No one had ever told me what went on after I blacked out. They never told me the extent of my injuries either: the doctors said I was in a coma for two days in the ICU and that Jonny had sat by my side - in a fair amount of pain himself - for the whole forty-odd hours. For that I was grateful. My curly-haired guardian angel. I never told him that I knew, though. He'd die of embarrassment.

 

So for now I kept quiet, only smiling mysteriously when it was mentioned. Jonny certainly never brought it up. I think Will knew. Either way, it made me all the more grateful for our friendship.

 

Jonny came late, and without Guy or will. It was nearly dark when he showed up. I was fidgeting when he poked his head in.

 

"Mr. Martin?" he said in a deep voice. Then he swept into the room, smiling. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand. "I've got a gift for you, from your biggest fan."

 

I laughed and relieved him of the bouquet, breathing their scent in deeply. "Who would that be?"

 

He leaned forward and smiled wider. His eyes were dancing with laughter. "Me, of course."

 

I tackled him in a hug, careful not to crush the flowers. "So does that make you my groupie?"

 

"I'm like the best groupie around... I'm IN the band," he pointed out with a cheeky grin.

 

I laughed, then gestured to a vase over on the nightstand. "Fetch that and clean it out," I ordered. He took out the old, wilted flowers and dumped them in the trash and refilled it with clean water. He leaned over and held it out for me to put the new flowers in. I did so gently, straightening them out. "That's so cheesy," I said fondly, referring to the brightly-colored blossoms, as Jonny placed the vase back on the table. "Thank you."

 

Jonny snickered and saluted me, then took a seat at the edge of my bed. I kicked him softly and he grabbed my foot. "Temper, temper," he clucked his tongue and I tried to kick him with my other foot, laughing.

 

"Hey, I talked to the doctors again. They told me the names of some painkillers and whatnot, and they said they'll be kicking you out sometime in the near future."

 

I cheered, wiggling my feet. "Brilliant!"

 

"I know," he said, grinning. He flicked my toe and then pushed my feet away. "So how are you feeling?"

 

I shrugged and leaned back, crossing my legs. "I dunno. I'm okay. You know, earlier, I was wondering what

happened to those guys."

 

 

Jonny made a disgusted face. "The bastards who hurt you?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"They got off easy," he spat. "I wanted to kill them."

 

I waited patiently for him to elaborate.

 

Jonny averted his eyes. "Well, they had witnesses there, but not the primary witness - you - and though it was our word against theirs..." He sighed, resting a hand on my knee. "The judge probably just thought we were trying to cause trouble. It didn't help that reporters followed us around everywhere, and Will nearly punched one out. So in the end, they got something like 200 hours of community service and probation."

 

I shook my head. "200 hours?"

 

"Well, you had been in a coma for two days. It was serious."

 

"No one ever told me that either," I said thoughtfully.

 

Jonny blinked. "Told you what?"

 

"You know... What exactly happened that night." I wasn't sure if I wanted to know, but I had to.

 

"Well... I mean..." Jonny swallowed visibly. "What do you want to know?"

 

"When did the cops get there?"

 

He made another face. "Not bloody soon enough. The ******s who messed with us were just about to run when the fuzz showed up."

 

I asked the one I had been wondering for a while now. "How bad was I hurt?"

 

Jonny took a deep, shaky breath, and then began to count off on his fingers. "Mild concussion, four broken ribs, minor internal hemorrhaging, fractured left cheekbone, arrhythmic breathing, several cuts and bruises including a seven inches long, nearly one inch deep gash across your chest. Oh, and a sprained wrist."

 

I couldn't say anything. No words could come.

 

"Guy's arm was broken, and Will's nose was too. His whole face was taped up." Jonny grinned, though a little sadly.

 

"What about you?" I choked.

 

He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. "My head was a little banged up and my shoulder was dislocated. I couldn't stop vomiting. That was it."

 

"Vomiting?" I blinked. "Why?"

 

"Hell if I know," he muttered. "Can we... you know... not talk about this?"

 

"Aw.... Bless your little heart, Jonny Buckland," I cooed.

 

"Piss off!" he laughed, slapping my leg. I toppled backwards on the bed and threw my arms out dramatically.

 

"I'm glad I'm getting out soon. I can't wait to get better. I challenge you to a match of football once I get well enough to kick your arse," I told him.

 

"Sounds good to me."

 

I held out my hand. "I bet you five quid I'll beat you in the first ten minutes."

 

"It's a deal." He nodded, shaking my hand. "I'm gonna take you down, Martin."

 

I rolled my eyes. "How come you visit me every day, huh?"

 

"Why do you change the subject so fast?"

 

I threw up my hands. "Because I want to! Who cares? Why do you ask so many stupid questions?"

 

"Because I want to," he told me, smirking. I kicked him.

 

- - -

 

It wasn't long - though it felt like an eternity - before I had taken down the cards from the walls of my room and thrown away the flowers and I was going back to Jonny's flat for an extra two-week recovery period. I went in his car with him, and he kept fussing over me like a mother hen.

 

"Are you cold? I can lend you my jacket. I think there's a blanket in the back seat."

 

"Nah, mate," I said, lowering myself carefully into the seat. Though I was glad to be with Jonny, my ribs ached terribly and I wasn't feeling very polite. I managed a "thank you," but was mostly silent after that.

 

We had been driving a while. I was watching the white dashes fly by, bored as hell. Jonny reached behind him and pulled a random CD from the pile in the backseat and slipped it into the player. The first few quiet licks of Nick Drake's "Pink Moon" soothed me, and I nestled lower in the seat.

 

"Are you hungry?" Jonny asked.

 

"Are you?"

 

He glanced over at me. "If I say yes, you will too, right?"

 

I snickered. "I'm not that hungry, but I could eat something. I mean, hell, I could ALWAYS eat something."

 

"Christopher Martin, gastrointestinal nightmare," he joked.

 

"Very funny, Buckland." I smiled out the window.

 

"Wanna stop?"

 

"All right." I propped my feet on the dashboard. "Where?"

 

"Get your bloody feet off the dash first," he barked, but I stuck my tongue out.

 

"Make me!"

 

He looked at me, mock angry, but suddenly something changed in his gaze. His smile turned serious. He slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder. I shifted uncomfortably.

 

"Look, I took my feet off, mate," I said, laughing nervously. He seemed to not hear me, sitting still for a moment. "Pink Moon" was still playing softly like the soundtrack to a dramatic moment of a movie.

 

Then he turned to face me, his expression frightened and conflict in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, took a deep breath, and said slowly and clearly:

 

"Chris... I love you."

 

 

CHAPTER 11

 

 

NOTE: Told from Jonny's POV.

 

I turned to face him, feeling scared and fighting with myself. I shut my eyes tight, not wanting to see Chris’s face when he heard the words I now spoke as bravely as I could.

 

“Chris… I love you.”

 

“W…What?” There was evident shock in his voice.

 

“I love you,” I repeated, more timid this time. Here came the big ending. I could feel it. Chris would laugh or be disgusted, or… well, he was certainly in no shape to bolt out of the car and slam the door, but that could be a good or bad thing depending on how you looked at it. I slowly opened one eye as my confession was greeted with stunned silence.

 

Chris’ sculpted lips were parted in surprise and he looked slightly bemused, but he was smiling. I tried to read the expression in his eyes, but all I could see was the bright blue of his iris. “I know that, Buckland,” he said.

 

I blinked. Wait… he knew? “You…?”

 

Chris smiled that mysterious, fond smile of his. “Of course I knew, mate…” Then he paused, his eyes warming. The sun slatted across his pale, bruised arms and glittered in his eyes. “It’s ‘cause I love you too.”

 

Oh.

 

“You do?” I asked incredulously. He better not have been kidding.

 

“Of course I do… How could I not?” Suddenly, he seemed to reconsider his words. “But, I mean, y’know, it’s not like I got it in for my friends all the time or anything. Especially not guys. But you’re Jonny, and I can’t help it.”

 

I laughed, and my whole body relaxed. My heart stopped hammering. I had told him my secret, and I had been accepted. My relief was so great that I didn’t really have control over what came out of my mouth after that.

 

“How about a kiss then?”

 

Chris looked at me, his blue eyes wide in giddy shock. Then he grinned cheekily and took my chin between his fingers. “No tongue,” he admonished. Then slowly, slowly, we leaned towards each other. The song that had been playing ended, and there was a second or two where all we heard was the sound of our breath. Then as the next song began, our lips brushed.

 

It was like someone struck a match. My body went warm all over, and my lips tingled as they touched his. He tasted so clean – the result of his straight edge tendencies. There was no bitter taste of cigarette smoke on his tongue or the stink of alcohol on his breath. He tasted as innocent as he looked.

 

My hand (of its own accord, mind you) wandered up and softly stroked Chris’s cheek. It was rough with the beginnings of a beard, but the skin underneath was silky. As my hand began to wander downwards, though, skirting gently over his neck and down the curve of his shoulder, he pulled away. Our faces were inches apart, and I wanted so badly to just kiss him again… memorize the taste of him. I gave him a quick, soft peck, gentle and fond. Chris eyed me like a nervous child.

 

“I’ve… ah… never kissed a guy before,” he murmured.

 

“Me neither,” I said. Which was a bit of a lie – once, at a party, I had kissed a boy named Brian. We were both pretty knackered. But Chris didn’t need to know that.

 

He smiled briefly, his eyes searching mine. He looked confused and a little scared.

 

“What’s wrong?” I asked gently.

 

Chris furrowed his fair brows, his gaze dropping into his lap where his hands were clasped. “I… just… Um…” He took a breath. “Are we… you know… an item?”

 

I laughed and leaned forward for another soft, careful kiss. As we parted, I could’ve sworn I felt Chris nip at my bottom lip like a kitten. I snickered to myself. “I’d like to be…” I began.

 

“But we’d have to keep it under wraps,” he interrupted, his face flushed but serious.

 

“Why?” I shook my head, raising my eyebrows.

 

“The media would have a bloody field day!”

 

“So what?” I asked impudently.

 

“So *what*?!” Chris said shrilly. “So what – we’ll be all over the tabloids and we’ll be under fire every sodding second!”

 

“I thought you didn’t care about that kind of thing,” I said, feeling bitter. I knew it was too good to be true. I finally had Chris… but he was ashamed of us.

 

“I don’t!” he reassured me. “It’s all bollocks, I don’t care for it. But I wanna be happy with you, Jon, not stalked down by reporters! I don’t wanna be known as that poofter **** boy band from the UK…” He made a pained face. “I don’t wanna be labeled something I’m not.”

 

“Something you’re not?”

 

“I’m not gay, Jonny!” he said heatedly. “I mean, I don’t even think I’m… you know… both ways. I think I’m just… just in love with you.”

 

I reached out and stroked his bottom lip with my thumb. He was warm and shaking a little, and he leaned his face into my touch. “Look, Chris, I understand what you’re saying… but sooner or later, if we kept it quiet, it would get out anyway. It would eat at us.”

 

Chris shook his head, his eyes slipping closed. He suddenly looked very world-weary. “Oh, Jonny… I don’t even want to think about it. We have two weeks of nothingness to ourselves up ahead. I’ve only just kissed you for the first time. Why are we talking about the future now?” He opened his eyes and looked at me pleadingly.

 

I sighed and nodded. “You’re right… but we can’t put it off forever.”

 

“We can try,” he said cheekily.

 

I kissed the side of his mouth quickly, then shifted and turned the key in the ignition. “Come on, Martin… Let’s get something to eat.”

 

- - -

 

Being with Chris was like a slice of heaven. We had been out to lunch or dinner before, but there was always the pretense of friendship hanging between us. But now he caught my eye every so often and he’d smile bashfully, and he even let me feed him food off my fork once or twice. Chris had the most beautiful mouth. His smile made me melt, as cliché as that may sound.

 

We slid into vinyl-covered seats in a small, quiet diner sort of place. The walls were covered in photographs and slips of paper across which scrawled tall, slanting signatures. Chris’ bright eyes roved the walls, squinting at each face on the photos, wondering at their meaning. One was of a high school rugby team. Another was probably the owner of the diner. He lost interest in the rest.

 

I can’t remember what we ordered; honestly, that was not the foremost thing on my mind at the moment. I was filled with a golden sensation, a sated pleasure that expressed itself in a giddy grin on my face. Chris gazed at me in unmasked wonderment for a moment, stirring his Coke with his straw, as I gazed back and smiled. I couldn’t think of anything to say, but I had a feeling I didn’t need to. This felt like… It felt like a dream, almost. A very pleasant dream.

 

I remember we laughed and talked as if nothing had changed, I remember covering his hand with my own and brushing my thumb over his knuckles – I remembered having done that to a girl before, once, a girl I had a crush on when I was something like seventeen. In the end, she had left. But I knew Chris would stay. I remember seeing it in his eyes.

 

I remember cracking a joke as Chris was taking a sip of his Coke and he leaned back in his seat, hand over his mouth and his eyes closed as his shoulders shook with mirth. I remember thinking: had I been a girl, Chris was just the type of boy my mum would want me to bring home.

 

I remember getting up and leaving, paying, Chris shrugging on his coat.

 

I remember helping him back into the car, his lip caught between his teeth, brow furrowed in pain, his hand gripping mine so hard that it still ached even after we pulled up in front of my apartment building.

 

I remember helping him back out. He slung his long arm over my shoulders and we made our painstaking way up the stairs, stopping in front of my door as I fumbled for keys. Nervously I jabbed the key in the lock and kicked the door open, and together we walked to the bedroom and he sat down, lip trembling and eyes closed as he took deep, measured breaths.

 

I remember I kneeled before him, resting a hand on his thigh – thrilled at my own bold move – and looked up into his face. He opened one eye and gazed at me. His breathing slowed. His face relaxed.

 

If perhaps beauty had a tangible definition, it would be that of the feeling of Chris’s long, slender body in my arms that night. Not the first time I had lain with him, my chin resting on his shoulder and our bodies spooned together – a fit so right and perfect it must have been fate – but the first time I had done so with his permission. The first time I had done so in the start of our time as true lovers.

 

[Batman]

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

(by Sara)

 

CHAPTER 12

 

 

It was raining again, like it had been for the last six days. Chris was perched upon the windowsill watching the world outside, eyes alert, body slender and easily poised like a cat. The sky was blurry and pale, ugly like a bruise, and the tense air inside the flat was not much better.

 

Only twelve days ago, Chris and Jonny had admitted their feelings for each other inside the cramped cab of Jonny’s car. They had kissed and it had been heaven. Chris was anxious every minute now, stealing a kiss and a caress whenever he could – but their two weeks together, alone in the solitude of Jonny’s apartment, was nearly up. Two days, and everything would come crashing down around them as they began touring again, began interviewing, promoting their second album – whoring themselves out to the media and fans. Not that this particular act of prostitution was terrible: Chris loved performing live, though it made him nervous, and interviews were bearable as long as he had the other three with him.

 

But… something was different somehow. Chris dreaded returning to his old ways. The thought of getting up onstage or facing the reporters armed with questions about his injuries, that dark and bloody night, made him physically sick. To Chris, it seemed unlikely he would live through a day of it.

 

And now he had the burden of Jonny with him. Well, it wasn’t Jonny who was the burden; it was himself. Now that the two of them were admittedly in love – “an item” – there wasn’t a minute of the day when Chris wasn’t thinking about being with him. Even if they were in separate rooms, Chris yearned to tangle his fingers with Jonny’s, to pillow his head on Jonny’s broad shoulder, to press a light kiss to those rosy, pliable lips. Something about Jonny was addictive – once you started, there was a point of no return. That point usually came quickly.

 

Chris’s favorite time of the day had to be mid-morning, when the flat was still quiet and the light was turning from honey into gold and the air was calm and warm. He would pad silently around the kitchen, wearing nothing but his dark linen pants that served as pyjamas, and brew coffee. Sometimes if he woke up earlier than normal – Jonny didn’t usually rise until about nine-thirty or ten, and Chris’s habitual time was eight – he’d eat dry cereal and draw moustaches on the people in the newspaper as he read it. Though Chris had a flat as well, full of his own junk and distinctively his own place, somehow Jonny’s flat felt more like home than anyplace Chris had ever been. Jonny held firmly to the “what’s mine is yours” way of seeing things, and he trusted Chris completely.

 

Thus, as the last few days of the two weeks approached, returning to their old routine was not the only thing on Chris’s mind. He was thinking of asking if he could move in with his blonde bandmate. It was a heavy question, with all sorts of possible consequences. Chris wanted to keep their relationship secret, but their living together might raise questions (mostly because Guy and Will both had separate flats as well – what business did Jonny and Chris have living together then?). Plus he and Jonny had only been ‘together’ for less than fourteen days, hadn’t even had sex (at least not yet), and were both slightly scared by the prospect of the future.

 

They had, however, lay in bed together, their bodies pressed flush and their foreheads touching. Chris knew the exact texture of Jonny’s skin, the curves of his muscles in his arms, the soft wetness inside his mouth. He knew nearly all of Jonny’s extra-sensitive spots. He knew where Jonny was just slightly ticklish. He knew the location of the scar that Jonny had suffered when he had fallen off his roof at eleven years old. And he knew that Jonny’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled – but only if it was a sincere smile. Chris knew Jonny’s every emotion, and it was comfortable that way. And he knew Jonny felt the same way.

 

Rain splattered against the window and Chris blinked, clearing his head. He stared down at his hands and the untouched guitar at his feet, berating himself silently – his plan had been to write at least one song before they resumed touring. Something to appease the fans. But nothing would come out. He struggled with the words – sentences, melodies were running through his head but they always slipped through his fingers no matter how he tried. It was frustrating. It made him feel sick and restless. He had to get something out. He had to do something… anything. He needed to move.

 

The sound of Jonny’s footsteps from a far room made him itch to run to the blonde guitarist, but instead he waited, sprawled out like an expectant queen upon her bed. When he heard the footsteps stop and start again haltingly, he thought Jonny must have been in the sound room, straightening the instruments. The throaty strum of guitar strings confirmed his suspicion. The footsteps continued, nearer to the sitting room, where Chris waited impatiently.

 

Cold breeze emanated from the windowpane. Chris flattened his palm against the frigid glass, heaving a sigh and watching the outside world move silently, sluggishly. The tiny cars below, and the even tinier people – a colony of ants and their expensive ant-cars, that was how it looked from Chris’ eighth-floor view – moved of their own accord. Chris glanced away, and saw Jonny standing quietly at the other side of the room, watching him.

 

“What do you want, Buckland?” Chris asked in a mock-irritated voice.

 

Jonny’s mouth curved upwards in a lascivious grin. “Take a wild guess,” he quipped, stalking on deliberate feet towards the prone figure of Chris.

 

The tall fair-haired singer tugged him down and they met in the middle, mouths locking and bodies cupping one another. Jonny’s deft hands skirted over Chris’ long torso, feeling the calm warmth of his skin through the soft fabric of his sweater. They drew back from each other, nuzzling gently like scared young lovers, then plunged in again, tongues brushing tentatively and the wetness of their mouths a thrill.

 

Chris cupped the back of Jonny’s head, pulling him closer. There wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies, and soon their passion sparked faster and brighter until the fire was unstoppable.

 

Chris’ shirt was up, over his head, and tossed into a far corner in seconds. Jonny’s fingers worked blindly at the buttons of Chris’ jeans as he straddled his hips, the nearly ticklish feel of his bare skin on the fabric of Jonny’s shirt making him squirm and grin as he drank hungrily from his mouth. Jonny finished with the tedious buttons and the waist of Chris’ jeans drooped around his slim hips, and the elastic of his boxers was revealed.

 

Chris tugged impatiently at the other man’s shirt, mewing in impatience and taking small, gentle nips at the skin of Jonny’s neck. The guitarist tipped forward slightly as he shed the shirt, lying Chris on his back, willing and waiting before him. He attacked the pale, supple skin with eager teeth and curious tongue, running his hands up and down the curves he had already memorized a thousand times before. Chris arched up gracefully, his head thrown back and his breath gasping in and out of his chest, a rhythm slightly mismatched to that of the gentle gyrations of his hips.

 

Jonny chuckled, his warm breath making Chris squirm and inhale sharply. He grinned deviously, taking a nipple in his mouth and laving it laboriously while gently circling the other with the pad of his thumb, the way he knew would make Chris moan and beg for more. Indeed he did do that, his long arms snaking up and down Jonny’s back, breathy pleas falling enticingly from his lips.

 

Jonny silenced him with a severe kiss, their hands traveling all over each other’s bodies questioningly. They pressed harder into one another; all thoughts of tomorrow and the future were forgotten as passion melded their bodies and trashed their reservations. Chris’ lips were wet and soft, warm and inviting, and Jonny couldn’t get enough. Cheekily, Chris spread his thighs slightly, moaning as Jonny’s hand slid between the apex and caressed his erection through the thick fabric of his jeans.

 

Suddenly, Chris jerked up into a sitting position and held up a hand. Despite his heaving chest and flushed cheeks, his face was quite serious. Jonny thought the sight would’ve been comical, if not for the fact that his jeans were extremely tight around the crotch right now, and getting uncomfortably tighter as he watched Chris’ slender chest rise and fall seductively.

 

“Er… Martin?”

 

Chris puckered his lips a moment in a thoughtful look, then sat up and cleared his throat. “I can’t go on until… well… until this is cleared up.”

 

Jonny blinked slowly, as if once his vision cleared Chris would be sprawled out before him, moaning wantonly once again. “Until… what is cleared up?”

 

“Well, I mean… I… I didn’t want to interrupt… er… that…” Chris made a perplexed face, rubbing his temples frustratedly. “It was very nice and all, but I really need to just… well… I just can’t… I mean, tomorrow, it’s all over and everything goes back to normal – but I don’t want normal! I don’t want it to be the way it was! I want it to be…” He paused, taking a shaky breath, and gestured around him at Jonny’s messy flat. “I want it to be this.”

 

Jonny’s eyebrows arched in something akin to disbelief. “This?” he asked incredulously, his eyes raking the scattered junk. “You’re kidding me.”

 

It was obvious Jonny didn’t see what Chris saw in all of it. Chris saw home; he saw security and love. He saw a couch he could sit in, nestled in Jonny’s lap, at night after a good gig in a small club. He saw the kitchen table he’d make dinner for, and he wouldn’t even complain about having to cook as long as Jonny put the dishes away. He saw threadbare rugs for making-out sessions, he saw a squeaky bed for sleeping held tightly in Jonny's arms, and he even saw a good space against the wall where his piano could fit.

 

“Jonny…” Chris took another breath, chewing his lip briefly before going on. “I want to live with you.”

 

It took a second to register, but the reaction was so unexpected that the tears Chris had been holding back for so long finally spilled over. Jonny’s face broke into a beaming smile and he tackled his lover to the floor, nuzzling the warm skin of his neck and laughing happily.

 

“You mean it, then?” he asked breathlessly, cradling Chris’s head in his hands. “You really want to stay here?”

 

Chris nodded, sniffling and smiling. He wiped away the tracks the tears left on his cheeks. “Sorry for getting so broken up,” he laughed, “but I’m really chuffed… I mean… I thought you’d say no.”

 

Jonny smiled, gently at first, then wider. “Deny you? Never. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”

 

“That’s good to know,” Chris laughed, kissing the beaming guitarist playfully. “I suppose tomorrow I should get my stuff, yeah? And then… I don’t know. I’ll cook dinner or something, to celebrate.”

 

Jonny’s smile turned devious as his blue eyes traveled to the doorway of the bedroom. “Hm… What do you say we start the celebration early?”

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

NOTE: Told from Guy's POV.

 

We were getting ready to go back on the road, after a two-week delay. Our label was furious with our antics and Phil wasn’t exactly thrilled either, but the tabloids were like pigs in mud. I don’t even remember some of the headlines they churned out - “Alcoholic Frontman of Coldplay Takes Out Aggression On Nearby Civilian!” “Siamese Prostitutes Involved with UK’s Favorite Stars Speak Out!” “Guitarist of Coldplay Unable to Hide His True Violent Self!” - but I did get a good laugh from the ones I saw. Our “perpetually nice” image had been shattered, and I think we were all a little bit relieved.

 

Certainly, mindless reporters would hound us about our “exceedingly violent ways”, but that was better than forever having to watch what we said or did because of certain expectations we’d have to live up to. Chris said it best in an interview a year or two ago: the music industry is completely fucked over. It’s isn’t about music, it’s about marketing, image, sound, demographic - it’s about finding the jackpot, making your way to the top of the charts, and holding on as long as the public will buy your records. You're fine that way, as long as you never tried to veer away from your set niche. Those who did have the guts to change themselves for themselves and not for an extended contract were hailed as gods. Those were the ones who *created* music, not just manufactured it. Those were the ones I envied. The ones we all envied.

 

And these days, Chris was certainly trying to reinvent himself for himself, though I did not envy him for it. He was changing, shedding old skin, because his former self held too much pain. His old self was sensitive, thin-skinned, beautiful on the inside and the out - and old. Much older than his years and made a hundred years older by the grim light of a bare bulb in a nameless pub, as the length of a pool cue cracked his ribs. A thousand years older as he lay, limp and pale and touching death, on a narrow hospital bed while Jonny sat ashen-faced outside his door. The two of them had been through different things that night, but all they could think of was each other. It made me a little jealous of the bonds they shared, but I suppose it was inevitable. I, for one, am grateful just to be able to see the loving smile that breaks like a gentle wave over Chris’ face as he and Jonny laughingly pass crude jokes back and forth. Their friendship, I have a feeling, will last forever.

 

Especially now, it seems. The two weeks Chris spent at Jonny’s flat did them both good - the color quickly returned to Chris’ taut cheeks, and though it was a while before he could laugh without wincing in pain and clutching his ribs, the two obviously had a grand time. I noticed a few of the racier tabloids had a field day with that, too: Jonny and Chris, out to dinner in a fancy restaurant, minus me and Will - it must be scandal! A friend of mine brought me a copy of one where a picture of the two of them, sitting together in a little café, was actually on the cover. I showed it to Chris, expecting him to tease Jonny about it or crack some joke about how the two of them were eloping to Hawaii to form a Perry Como cover band. Instead, he looked slightly unnerved, annoyed, and guilty - like a child who’d been caught torturing the neighbor’s cat.

 

“Throw it out,” he told me, shaking his head in disgust. “Throw it out now.”

 

I tossed it out and didn’t ask him any questions. I wanted to tell Jonny, gauge his reaction, but I knew that would be meddling and would most likely get Chris pissed off with me. So I let it go and didn’t say anything more.

 

But now we were back on the road, ready to perform again - albeit with Chris’ temporary disability in mind - and Chris himself had become anxious and irritable. We were beginning the tour from where we had left off, though Phil had put the lid on about four dates in America. So we had fifteen to go, and then we could take about six months off to write and begin work on the third album. After that, we didn’t know; Chris didn’t seem quite ready to put 2002 behind him and think about 2003, and truthfully I think the rest of us just wanted to get the tour over with so our lives could get on, and we could all begin to forget about that night.

 

I knew the most important thing was that Chris forgot what happened. We tried our hardest to either not get close to the subject, or if we had to, we would never refer to it by any other title than “that night” or “tragic event” or something equally tentative. The rest of us could deal with it - but Chris was the one who had been in a coma for two days. I have to admit watching him get brutalized like that… even thinking about it now, nearly a month after the fact, makes me physically sick to my stomach. We all had to try to forget, for our own good and the good of Coldplay. Otherwise it would chase us down and find us lost, awaiting its arrival, like sheep turned loose from familiar pastures. Directionless, homeless, sick.

 

- - -

 

“What time is it?”

 

Chris yawned widely, his jaw making a funny popping sound. He scrubbed at the back of his head with his palm and glared blearily at the clock. “Nearly nine. What d’you want?”

 

I fidgeted slightly, briefly wondering if my presence here was actually necessary. “Um… Well… I heard that you were packing up your stuff to move in with Jon.”

 

Chris looked guilty for a split second. “Where’d you hear that?”

 

My indignant anger returned and twisted like a disease in my stomach. “A magazine, Chris.” A bloody magazine. So now the press is suddenly on a first-to-know basis, and Will and I aren’t? Something has gone wrong here, and I am determined to right it.

 

Chris shook his head, though not convincingly. “Well… I mean… It’s a long story, Guy.”

 

The anger intensified and I pushed off the doorframe, where I had been leaning, and stopped in front of the bed. He sat up, eyes downcast. “It’s a ‘long story?’” I spat. “That’s some bloody excuse! Some bloody fucking excuse for shoving me out of the loop!" I stopped, my heart nearly breaking as Chris flinched slightly away from me. I softened: “I know you’re having a rough time, mate, but the way you’ve been acting… It’s unlike you. And it hurts.”

 

He swung his long legs off the bed and stood before me, nearly a head taller but his powerful presence diminished. The look in his eyes was ill, tortured, anxious. “Guy… I…” He stopped. “Sit down.”

 

I did so, my anger fading away and being replaced with childish anxiousness. Chris was rarely, if ever, this serious. There was something else in his voice that confused me… Shame? Broken pride?

 

Chris took a seat opposite me, resting his chin in his steepled hands, inhaling and exhaling. His face was weary and tinged with frustration. Then he straightened, shook his head, and looked at me directly. “Jonny and I are moving in together because the two weeks I spent with him… They were… well, I mean…”

 

There was a long silence, in which Chris glared at the floor, chewing his lip. I had no idea what to say. The tabloid covers ran through my head - blurry, bad-quality pictures of the two of them walking together, out-of-focus shots of them in a café, their faces so distant they were nearly illegible. Were the rumors true? For once, were the tabloids actually right?

 

“Guy,” Chris started again, softly. “I mean, as a band, we all know each others’ quirks, right? You know how Will talks in his sleep sometimes, and I won’t eat anything with mushrooms in it, and Jonny’s paranoid about cutting people off when he’s driving and you go mad if someone leaves their dirty socks lying around. I mean… you get the point, right?”

 

I secretly glanced around his room to search for dirty socks left strewn about. Upon finding none, I nodded, wondering where this lecture was leading.

 

“Well… I mean… There are some things about Jonny that I didn’t know. And those two weeks with him showed me that he’s a very different person than I thought he was. It’s making me see things in a different light.”

 

I nodded again. So… the point was…?

 

“And, I mean, I’m not saying that the person he actually turned out to be is anything bad… I just really want to get to know him better, because he and I have become closer over the past month or so… I mean, well - maybe more than a month, right? Like a month and a half. So, what I’m saying is that… I feel as if I need to reassess things with him. Sort of.”

 

I started to nod, but then I noticed Chris was suddenly shaking - his hands trembled in his lap and his voice quaked.

 

“Oh, hell, Guy… Jonny and I… I’m moving in with him because... Well, fuck - it's 'cos I love him.”

 

Admittedly, this took a moment to register. I looked at him blankly. Well, of course he loved Jonny; they were best friends. But the shame, the reluctance, the awkwardness with which he spoke… Two and two came together in my head to make a devastating four.

 

The tabloids *had* been right.

 

I pushed back my chair and it scraped loudly across the floor. Again Chris flinched. I knew he was waiting for the worst.

 

“You mean… you’re… a couple?” I asked, my voice sounding squeaky and choked to my own ears. Face still cast down, Chris nodded. His hands were clasped white-knuckled in his lap. I wanted to take them in my own hands, hold him until he relaxed, until he realized that no matter what I would always be there for him and I would always accept him and all that cheesy cliché rubbish. I tried to imagine Chris and Jonny, trussed up, going out to dinner at an upscale restaurant. Afterwards, they’d take a walk along the beach or something - Jonny was that type of guy - and they’d return to his clean flat and make slow love on a soft, warm bed, and fall asleep in each others’ arms. When they woke up, Chris would make breakfast, Jon would sit on the kitchen table and pick out a mournful tune on his guitar, and they’d murmur their “I love you”s as they kissed.

 

I cleared my throat uneasily, trying to quell the one emotion that flared up in the pit of my stomach. Not anger, not disgust, not disbelief…

 

Jealousy.

 

[Batman]

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

(by Sara)

 

CHAPTER 14

 

 

NOTE: Told from Jonny's POV.

 

Our first night back on the performing scene was nerve-wracking for all of us. It was one of the biggest crowds we'd had yet, and there were still masses outside fighting to get in. We each dealt with it in our own ways: Guy with giddy excitement, Will with dry sarcasm, myself with tense silence, and Chris... well... Chris just wigs out before a show, and this was no exception. Definitely no exception.

 

Half an hour before curtain, I was leaning against a dank-smelling wall, lost in my own thoughts, when Chris skittered up to me. Honestly, that's the only word I can think of for it: skittering. His limbs were taut, whole body quaking from the inside out, eyes brimming with nervous tears, voice hoarse with excitement.

 

"Jon," he moaned, falling into my arms. "I don't know if I can do this."

 

My heart leapt into my throat, and I wrapped my arms around his skinny waist. I tried to put all the love in my being into that simple gesture, but apparently Chris wasn't feeling very receptive, because an instant later he shook off the halo of my arms and paced a tight circle in front of me.

 

"Sure you can do this," I told him, folding my rejected arms in front of my chest. "Sure you can. You did it before. You've done a billion times before. Why should this be any different?"

 

But I was lying, and both of us knew it. This *was* different. Everything was different, always would be from here on - everything had changed. We just had to accept the new way of functioning: Chris a trauma survivor, he and I on considerably more intimate terms than anyone had planned, and a strange cloud of doom that the media seemed to enjoy placing over our heads. They wrenched whatever filthy rumor from us that they could, and it

 

was wearing on Chris' already thin patience. We had to watch our step now. We were treading on precarious ground in the public eye.

 

"I... don't... I..." Chris looked at a total loss for anything to say. "I don't know. Kiss me."

 

I laughed then at the simplicity of his request, the way he said it; and then I obliged. I can say now that there are probably very few things in the world better than kissing Chris Martin. He had the softest, sweetest, sexiest mouth that I had ever encountered.

 

He was pressing up against me in the most provocative way, our mouths locked and engaged in violent war, when I heard something rustle behind him. I paid it no mind - it was noisy in here anyway - and happily explored the territory of his body I already knew so well. I slid my hands up the length of his back, taking the hem of his shirt with me, and he shivered just a bit.

 

But then it rustled again. Something that sounded suspiciously like a footstep, a cautious sneaky footstep, reached my ears. I cracked open one eye, sucking lightly on Chris' bottom lip (he loved that trick, melted in my arms whenever I did it), and from the corner of my eye I spotted a dark pair of trainers standing in the doorway. Their wearer was hidden in shadows, but the shoes themselves looked familiar... So familiar that I almost kicked myself for not placing them right away. Frayed shoelaces, the shoes themselves coming apart at the seams... Shit! Where? Where had I seen those before?

 

Chris' hand traveled into the front of my trousers and my attention was immediately diverted from the footwear of our watcher. Probably just some kinky roadie. I decided it was too late anyway, and in all honesty it didn't bother me that much. But it would bother Chris, so even after our little backstage romp ended and the big moment of our arrival came, I didn't mention it. I had even almost forgotten completely, when I noticed Guy kneeling to tie his shoes.

 

So that's where I'd seen those dark trainers before. I swallowed my shock, but it must have showed in my eyes; when Guy stood up and saw my face, he looked momentarily guilty.

 

"What, Buckland?" he asked me with a curt tip of his chin.

 

I shook my head, saying nothing, turning my face away. In the thick shadows, Chris sought out my hand and gave it a squeeze for reassurance. I squeezed back half-heartedly, feeling sick to my stomach.

 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

 

And then we were on.

 

- - -

 

The venue, though unusually large, emptied out quickly. There were the customary stragglers waiting for autographs and pictures and whatnot, but I think they could see our fatigue and most did not stay to chat. In only a matter of hours, it would be light again anyway. I'm sure they had homes to get back to, jobs to go to early in the morning.

 

Chris and I dragged ourselves back to the tour bus, leaning on each other for support, and I turned this new problem over in my mind like a Rubik's Cube - try though I might, I could not find a solution. None of the colours would match up. The only difference was that, in real life, if you got too fed up, you could just take a hammer to the damn thing. But somehow I doubted that same method would work on Guy.

 

So once we were on the bus - which was empty, and would stay that way for the next half an hour or so while everyone packed up the stuff onstage - I told Chris to sit on his bed. I sat across from him on what was actually Will's bed, and just breathed for a second. I know I said that the notion of people knowing about me and Chris, our "item" status, didn't bother me. But this... Guy finding out... That was something way over my head.

 

"Chris, I have to... tell you something." I took another deep breath.

 

A sudden, devastating look of panic transformed Chris' face. I almost wanted to laugh at how quickly he jumped to conclusions, but then I realized that panic was probably an appropriate response in this case, and I bit back my laughter. "All right, well, y'know... before the show... when you got all nervous and came to me?"

 

Chris nodded gravely, and I could see a hundred different emotions in his eyes. He was debating which one to pick.

 

"Well, we were kissing, and I heard something... like a footstep or... I don't know. Yeah, it was a footstep. And I looked over... and..."

 

Chris had picked his emotion: mortification. Yes, "mortification" would just about cover it.

 

"Ohmygod," he breathed. "Someone? Someone was there!"

 

I nodded.

 

"Who was it?" he demanded, his eyes wide.

 

I took a deep breath, running a hand over my eyes despairingly. "It was... Guy, Chris. It was Guy."

 

And then to my immense bewilderment, he began to giggle. I looked at him, completely sure this last comment had driven him round the bed, but he looked sane to me. Relieved, actually.

 

"What?" I shook his shoulder slightly. "What's funny?"

 

"Oh, Jonny... Jonny... You had me so worried! I thought it was someone from the press or something!" He sprawled back on his starched bed, chest heaving with laughter, cheeks flushed.

 

I still wasn't in on the joke. "Chris! It was Guy, for fuck's sake! How the hell do you think he'll react?"

 

Chris shook his head, propping himself up on an elbow. "I already know how, Jonny. I told him a few days ago. He looked like something had crawled up his arse and died, but he didn't say anything ill of it." He looked mighty pleased with himself; gleeful even.

 

"You told him? But you didn't tell *me* you told him?!" I huffed.

 

"Well... I dunno, he kind of got it out of me. He was royally pissed when he heard that the two of us were moving in together and no one had told him that - he had learned it from a tabloid or some rubbish - and then naturally he wanted to know why. So I just told him." Chris shrugged as if our little scandal were the most normal thing in the world.

 

I can't say his rather flippant attitude angered me, really, but it certainly irked me. "I thought you said you didn't want anyone to know!"

 

Chris sat up all the way now and leaned forward to give me a little kiss. "We'll tell the world when we're ready. If we're ready. If *I'm* ready," he added, looking at me pointedly. "But Guy... well, he deserves to know."

 

"You're right." I ran my thumb along his jawline, and he nearly purred like a cat. I grinned, asking, "Does Will know?"

 

Chris shrugged, eyes half-closed. "Dunno... Maybe. D'you want to tell him?"

 

"Sure. Not today, though. I've got to talk to Guy first." I pressed my lips to his in a quick, chaste kiss, but he captured my face between his hands and turned it into a fiery, open-mouthed ordeal.

 

When we pulled apart we were both breathless, his lips rosy and slick and tempting me to dive in again for another kiss, but the bus door swung open and we pushed away from each other before I could grant myself the pleasure.

 

I saw it was Guy who stepped through the tiny portal and felt a little uneasy, but crushed that quickly and scolded myself for it. Guy was one of my best friends, my bandmate, a man I'd likely be spending most of the rest of my life traveling around the world and making music with. I could not afford to develop a sudden distrust for him at this point. If I did, it would be the death of Coldplay, of that I was certain. And not only that, but the death of a wonderful friendship.

 

'So just shut your flapping yap, Buckland,' I snapped mockingly at myself. 'Be a man.'

 

Guy saw the two of us on either bed, regarded both of us with slightly nervous dark eyes, and cleared his throat.

 

But it was me who spoke first. "I know what you know, Guy," I said. Oh, bloody hell. What a pompous way to say it.

 

The nervousness in his eyes grew, and there was a pain in my chest. He was frightened by us? Disgusted? I can't tell... but the way he looked as if he itched to just be away, anywhere but standing in front of us. It *hurt.*

 

Chris stood and explained himself clearly, in that informal formal way of his. This was Guy, after all. 'Our best friend,' I thought wistfully, remembering the fright in his fawn eyes as he looked from Chris' face to my own.

 

"Look, Guy, it's not like... well, I mean, Jonny's the only guy I've ever felt like this about. Look, he's like a big teddy bear with issues!" Chris laughed, waving a hand at me. I made a face. Teddy bear with issues? Good heavens, I think not.

 

Guy cracked a smile - slightly uneasy, but it was progress.

 

"You aren't freaked out by it or anything, are you?" I asked him. Best to be frank about it.

 

Guy shook his head.

 

'Say something! *Tell* me you aren't scared of us!' I cried silently.

 

And as if he heard my silent plea, Guy cleared his throat again, softer this time. "You don't freak me out... I was just... surprised. And then again, I wasn't. I saw it coming, in some subconscious way, but I wasn't exactly *expecting* it, you know?" His eyes pleaded for us to understand. I didn't, but I could tell by the way Chris nodded that he did.

 

"It's okay, Guy... Just as long as you don't think of us any different." Chris smiled widely, innocently, and reached out to squeeze Guy's shoulder reassuringly.

 

Something flashed across Guy's features that set off just about every single internal alarm I had. Something the complete opposite of disgust. Attraction, lust, love, wanting, longing, yearning. Something carnal. Undeniable. I stood up so fast I nearly knocked my head on the frame of the bunk above me, and Guy's gaze jerked to me with a frightened jump. Guilt was scrawled all over his boyish features. He looked like a murderer caught red-handed - or in this case, a customer eyeing the goods that weren't for sale.

 

In that instant, I felt something primal twisting in my gut. Well, perhaps not primal, but deeply territorial. If Guy dared interfered with anything I had worked so bloody hard to earn with Chris, I knew whatever happened after that I could not be held responsible for. I had to warn him off somehow, without seeming too obvious... When Chris wasn't there with us.

 

While in my own little world, Chris and Guy had been talking, mildly discussing something or other. I gave myself a mental shake and waited for a lull in the conversation to announce that I was tired, heading to bed, goodnight. I gave them both an admittedly cold smile and retreated to the farther section of the bus, where my bunk was. I could hear the soft murmur of their voices for a while longer (no, I didn't go to sleep; I couldn't) and then Will boarded the bus, followed by Phil and two roadies and then everyone either settled in for sleep or hauled out the party stuff.

 

After about what I'd roughly call half an hour, I was just nearly in the clutches of sleep when I felt the thin mattress beneath me shift with familiar weight. An instant later, long, comforting arms were wrapped around me. I nuzzled my face into an oh so familiar neck, pressed my lips to the warm skin. Breathed him in.

 

I was reminded of a quote I had seen once in a book somewhere. The name of the book, the author - even the context of the quote were lost on me. But the words, beautifully imploring, had jumped out at me and stuck ever since.

 

"Oh Lord, my God, let these things never end," I breathed softly, running my fingers over his collarbone. He shivered against me.

 

Please, let this never end, because I've found my happiness.

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

[coldplayer#16]

 

Double Date - Part 10

by ~J-M-P-16

 

 

    

My heart stopped a second and I thought I was in for it, but I shook the woman's hand, but she seemed to understand how timid and scared I was. She talked to me very briefly and told me to go back to the inn, Max wanted to talk to me, why, I'll never know.

 

"Well, that went a lot smoother than I thought . . . with Mrs. Wadsworth, I mean," Jonny said once we were outside.

 

"Yeah," I said, "I really don't want to talk right now, J."

 

Jonny thought a minute then I saw a look on his face that I thought only Mae carried, the smirk of uncontrolled and roaring hormones. He took my hand and bolted down the street, sliding on ice without falling flat on his face or back onto his butt, something that amazed me. He wasn't about to slow down, I knew he was going to have his way, even if it meant having his way with me . . . an idea that teased me and got a devilish smile to come across my face.

 

Jonny rushed into the inn and into the room, shutting it behind us, all locks sealed so that we were not disturbed. I decided to play coy and sat on one of the beds, on leg over the other, that evil little smile I knew Jonny hated but yet found enjoyment in.

 

"What's suddenly popped into that now dirty mind of yours, Jonathan?" I asked.

 

Jonny smirked and an evil giggle escaped his lips, suddenly he had me pinned down to the bed, "You know exactly what I'm thinking of, something I've been beating around for too long now!"

 

"You bad boy."

 

Jonny laughed again, a devilish look in his eye, but I liked it! He started working away at me, my shirt and then me at his, both gone within a matter of minutes. Our hands explored the other person's body, knowing just where the limits were . . . but those limits were soon breached by both of us, our jeans now open and just sagging at the hip.

 

I stopped Jonny with a kiss and quick pull down so that I was now in charge, "I like this new you, J," I told him, "but you know that we have to take turns."

 

Jonny just laughed, kissing me again, having my jeans fall to my knees, our bodies the closest they'd ever been. However, the energy and feelings slowed when we realized what we were doing, in a little inn room too! I know if it were just a normal hotel, it's fine, but, I mean . . . we both stopped and decided to just stay curled together.

 

"We're so stupid," Jonny said.

 

"You are, I'm dumb enough to follow along," I said, kissing him. Jonny just laughed and cuddled me a little tighter, and I smiled, "I don't regret this, you know?"

 

"You don't?"

 

"No, cause the minute we get home, we are so picking this up where we left off here."

 

Jonny laughed again, "Whatever you say Chris, whatever you say."

 

There was a loud, sharp bang at the door, "OPEN UP!!"

 

"Oh, shit, who could that be?!" I moaned, grabbing my shirt and putting it back on. I looked through the peep hole in the door and saw Max, Mr. Wadsworth behind him. My eyes widened and then I turned to Jon, who was getting his shirt back on.

 

"Who is it?" Jonny asked innocently.

 

"Well . . ." I said, before hearing another sharp bang on the door. I undid the locks and opened the door, Max standing with his arms folded and a very upset look on his face, Mr. Wadsworth with his hands at his sides but with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

 

"You're Christopher, right?" Mr. Wadsworth asked.

 

"Yes sir, I am," I said, "something I can do for you sir?"

 

"Come with me, we have to talk."

 

"Can I bring my friend?" I asked, grabbing Jonny by the sleeve.

 

"I'd rather you not," Mr. Wadsworth said, "unless if he's somehow envolved in the fight?"

 

"He's a witness," I said.

 

"Bring him, Max will show you my office, again, we have to talk."

 

Mr. Wadsworth disappeared down the stairs, Max with his arms still folded and staring me down. I met his gaze and saw the hazel eyes he had, ones like his sister had . . . unfortunately, unlike Mae's usual happy, light hearted and also slightly devious look Mae's had, I saw almost nothing in Max except for anger and hate.

 

"C'mon you two," he said, "wouldn't want to keep my old man waiting, now would we?"

 

[*MX*ColdplayObsess3d]

I love this thread :D

[vermeer]

Guy Berryman!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know Chris is the singer and all, but Guy needs some fame tooo!

[coldplayer#16]

Guy Berryman!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know Chris is the singer and all, but Guy needs some fame tooo!

 

Okay :P

 

Blondie

 

 

 

Dark, 6:30 in the morning always is, but it’s perfect time for some jokes. Poor Guy Berryman, passed out on one of the Bakery’s couch, a night of drinking into his system making sure he was in a full out comma of alcohol. Nothing would wake him until his body felt the need, which was perfect for a little . . . “joke”.

 

“Have fun with this, Mr. Berryman,” the crook laughed, pulling the bassist into the bathroom. He put Guy over the tub, vomit following, but the crook rinsed it away, then got to work.

 

“You little drunk fool,” the crook laughed, “hope you like The Offspring!” The crook did their job, however, their title of crook is a poor one, completely misleading. They stole nothing, nothing material, however, they did have to remove Guy’s shirt, which was a bit of a struggle. Anyhow, they finished their job in about 2 hours, undisturbed, and they set the poor bassist back onto the couch, still passed out.

 

“There, all done, you’ve done well, Mr. Berryman,” the crook said, changing the hoop in Guy’s ear to one with spikes, “you’ve done very well.” They placed a bracelet around Guy’s wrist and left the Bakery leaving no trace, not a thing was suspicious . . . except for maybe one thing, one very major thing.

 

“Well, I honestly don’t care where he is!” Chris roared, walking with Jonny and Will to the Bakery, “he hasn’t answered his phone at all and-!”

 

“Chris!” Jonny yelled, “Calm down, I’m sure Guy’s okay, I know it, in fact. He’s probably at the Bakery now.”

 

“Doubt it,” Chris pouted.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Jonny said, kissing Chris on the cheek.

 

“Knock it off you two,” Will broke in, “we’re here.”

 

“Right, lets see if he’s here, hmm?” Jonny said, opening up the door and letting the others in.

 

Jonny, of course, was right, but the hung over bassist was up in the bathroom, taking care of his . . . ‘morning needs’ (which did include vomiting as a start and then the usual routine). He had finished his vomiting fit and had just gotten to the normal part of relieving himself, the others were downstairs and Chris was gloating about how Jonny’d been wrong.

 

“I knew he wouldn’t be here!” Chris snag, “I knew it, I knew it, I. Knew. IT!!”

 

“Alright, we get it, now do us a favor and shut up!” Will spat, opening up a newspaper, “I’m trying to read.”

 

Chris stuck his tongue out at the drummer and Jonny just smiled and sat down, playing his guitar for a bit. Chris sat down next to the guitarist and pouted about how he’d been shot down by the drummer, but Jonny leaned over and kissed his cheek again, “He’s just PMS-ing.”

 

Chris started laughing and Will looked up from his paper with an unamused look, “I can still hear, you know?”

 

“I know, that’s why I said it,” Jonny said, a triumphant smile on his face.

 

Will rolled his eyes and returned to his paper, Jonny picked up on the guitar again and Chris started humming something to go along with the little tune Jonny played.

 

Back upstairs, Guy had washed his hands and such and was dunking his head into a bath of ice water, which worked, he woke up right away, even if he only got his face into the cold water. He dried his face off and stared into the mirror, blankly first, and then he did a double take.

 

“Oh my God . . .” Guy muttered to himself, letting out a loud, abnormally high scream. The scream echoed through the Bakery, the other band members alarmed and terrified. Guy ran down the steps in horror and ran into Chris, who had gotten up out of his seat to see what was going on . . . and he wasn’t alone. Jonny had followed Chris and Will, was right behind Jonny, luckily Chris caught Guy before the domino effect could kick in.

 

“Whoa, whoa!” Chris said, “What’s going on mate?! What’s happe-” Chris stopped short, he’d seen Guy and knew just why he’d screamed.

 

 

Guy’s normally deep brown hair was now bright, bleach blond, spiked and he had the spiky earring to match his hair and the new bracelet.

 

 

Chris burst out laughing and Jonny covered his mouth in disbelief, Will had a blank look on his face.

 

“WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?!” Guy spat, grabbing the singer by the collar, “I LOOK LIKE DEXTER HOLLAND!!”

 

“Who?” Chris questioned.

 

“THE SINGER OF THE OFFSPRING!!!” Guy spat, throwing Chris to the ground and running back to the bathroom to see if he could fix the damage done to his hair.

 

[Viva_La_Coldplay]

-

[vermeer]

Coldplayer#16

 

Okay :P

 

Blondie

 

 

 

Dark, 6:30 in the morning always is, but it’s perfect time for some jokes. Poor Guy Berryman, passed out on one of the Bakery’s couch, a night of drinking into his system making sure he was in a full out comma of alcohol. Nothing would wake him until his body felt the need, which was perfect for a little . . . “joke”.

 

“Have fun with this, Mr. Berryman,” the crook laughed, pulling the bassist into the bathroom. He put Guy over the tub, vomit following, but the crook rinsed it away, then got to work.

 

“You little drunk fool,” the crook laughed, “hope you like The Offspring!” The crook did their job, however, their title of crook is a poor one, completely misleading. They stole nothing, nothing material, however, they did have to remove Guy’s shirt, which was a bit of a struggle. Anyhow, they finished their job in about 2 hours, undisturbed, and they set the poor bassist back onto the couch, still passed out.

 

“There, all done, you’ve done well, Mr. Berryman,” the crook said, changing the hoop in Guy’s ear to one with spikes, “you’ve done very well.” They placed a bracelet around Guy’s wrist and left the Bakery leaving no trace, not a thing was suspicious . . . except for maybe one thing, one very major thing.

 

“Well, I honestly don’t care where he is!” Chris roared, walking with Jonny and Will to the Bakery, “he hasn’t answered his phone at all and-!”

 

“Chris!” Jonny yelled, “Calm down, I’m sure Guy’s okay, I know it, in fact. He’s probably at the Bakery now.”

 

“Doubt it,” Chris pouted.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Jonny said, kissing Chris on the cheek.

 

“Knock it off you two,” Will broke in, “we’re here.”

 

“Right, lets see if he’s here, hmm?” Jonny said, opening up the door and letting the others in.

 

Jonny, of course, was right, but the hung over bassist was up in the bathroom, taking care of his . . . ‘morning needs’ (which did include vomiting as a start and then the usual routine). He had finished his vomiting fit and had just gotten to the normal part of relieving himself, the others were downstairs and Chris was gloating about how Jonny’d been wrong.

 

“I knew he wouldn’t be here!” Chris snag, “I knew it, I knew it, I. Knew. IT!!”

 

“Alright, we get it, now do us a favor and shut up!” Will spat, opening up a newspaper, “I’m trying to read.”

 

Chris stuck his tongue out at the drummer and Jonny just smiled and sat down, playing his guitar for a bit. Chris sat down next to the guitarist and pouted about how he’d been shot down by the drummer, but Jonny leaned over and kissed his cheek again, “He’s just PMS-ing.”

 

Chris started laughing and Will looked up from his paper with an unamused look, “I can still hear, you know?”

 

“I know, that’s why I said it,” Jonny said, a triumphant smile on his face.

 

Will rolled his eyes and returned to his paper, Jonny picked up on the guitar again and Chris started humming something to go along with the little tune Jonny played.

 

Back upstairs, Guy had washed his hands and such and was dunking his head into a bath of ice water, which worked, he woke up right away, even if he only got his face into the cold water. He dried his face off and stared into the mirror, blankly first, and then he did a double take.

 

“Oh my God . . .” Guy muttered to himself, letting out a loud, abnormally high scream. The scream echoed through the Bakery, the other band members alarmed and terrified. Guy ran down the steps in horror and ran into Chris, who had gotten up out of his seat to see what was going on . . . and he wasn’t alone. Jonny had followed Chris and Will, was right behind Jonny, luckily Chris caught Guy before the domino effect could kick in.

 

“Whoa, whoa!” Chris said, “What’s going on mate?! What’s happe-” Chris stopped short, he’d seen Guy and knew just why he’d screamed.

 

 

Guy’s normally deep brown hair was now bright, bleach blond, spiked and he had the spiky earring to match his hair and the new bracelet.

 

 

Chris burst out laughing and Jonny covered his mouth in disbelief, Will had a blank look on his face.

 

“WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?!” Guy spat, grabbing the singer by the collar, “I LOOK LIKE DEXTER HOLLAND!!”

 

“Who?” Chris questioned.

 

“THE SINGER OF THE OFFSPRING!!!” Guy spat, throwing Chris to the ground and running back to the bathroom to see if he could fix the damage done to his hair.

 

I. FREAKING. LOVE. YOU. THANK YOU!!!!!

[coldplayer#16]

I. FREAKING. LOVE. YOU. THANK YOU!!!!!

 

Of course! However, please, leave your comments on the fictions here, okay? (the discussion thread is for . . . well, discussion, this one is for actual fictions.)

 

I know people have said it before, but I'm just saying.

[coldplayisawesome]

PUZZLED

by Dianna Green

CHAPTER 1

 

 

 

The birthday of his best friend was always a cause of consternation for Chris.

He searched for months for the perfect present.

Inevitably, he would take out the present two days before the event.

Stare at it in horror.

Wonder what in the hell he was thinking when he purchased such a lame thing.

And sprint back to the store to return said present.

Not that he had anything else in mind.

He didn't.

He never had anything else in mind.

He knew he didn't have anything else in mind.

He knew he was clueless.

Nothing seemed right.

Nothing seemed to fit.

Nothing seemed ...seemed to be Jonny.

So when the pleasant faced clerk approached.

And asked if he needed help.

Chris stared at her with big, gorgeous blue eyes.

And a wide open mouth.

He wrung his expressive hands.

"Yes," he explained, "I need something special for a birthday. Something...Jonny-ish."

The petite, dark haired clerk seemed stymied.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't know what a "Jonny" is."

Chris stared at her even longer.

"Jonny is the best thing ever. The best friend, the best man. The best everything. If Jonny was ice cream. He would be a chocolate sundae with whipped cream on top. And a Cherry. Don't forget the cherry."

She nodded curiously.

"So Jonny is a person? And you need a present for his birthday?" she asked.

"Exactly!" Chris said.

So at that point, she began to take him on a tour of the establishment.

"No," Chris shook his head at present idea after present idea.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"That's all we have here, sir," she said.

Chris, defeated yet again, nodded sadly.

"Thank you for you trouble," he said sadly.

He walked to the door.

Where his eye caught a brightly colored box stashed underneath the check out desk.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Oh that's just this thing that someone wanted us to see. He invented it and he wanted the store to buy it on consignment."

Chris leaned over and picked up the box.

"Does it really do this?" he asked.

Pointing to the line of advertisement printed on the side.

"I don't know," she shrugged, "The manager hasn't said."

"I'll take it," Chris told her.

"But..but...we don't have a price. We don't have a bar code....It isn't in the system."

She sounded frantic.

Chris took out a one thousand pound note.

"This should cover it," he said.

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

 

A large pile of multi-colored paper lay on the floor.

Most of it crushed and crinkled.

Having been ripped from the outside of gifts.

Four lazy men also lay scattered around the room.

In different shaped piles.

Various paper plates and cup were scattered.

Even some crepe paper streamers.

"I am so stuffed," Guy complained.

"With what?" Will asked, "You only ate one cherry."

Guy patted his flat stomach.

"It feels like I ate at least three," he said.

"You should have had some cake," Will told him, "The frosting this year was aces."

"I am too tired to go home," Jonny announced, "But I guess I should."

He looked around at the sofa.

Where Chris was sleeping.

Still wearing his birthday party hat.

"I said I am going home," Jonny spoke a little louder.

Chris still didn't move.

Will leaned over from his recliner.

Slapping Chris on the head.

"Hey! Stop that!" Chris protested.

"Your boy is leaving now," Will said, "I think he wanted to tell you goodnight."

Chris sprang up.

"I'll help you carry your loot to the car," he offered.

Reaching forward excitedly.

Knocking the stack of gifts askew in his excitement.

"Oh..okay," Jonny said.

A slight tinge of disappointment to his voice.

"I can't help," Guy explained, "I got a paper cut."

He held up his finger to demonstrate.

"How did you get a paper cut?" Will asked, "You weren't opening presents."

"I had to wrap the damn things," Guy snapped.

"You wouldn't have had to wrap if you weren't so particular. You should have let the store do it."

Guy sniffed.

"They don't do it right," he said, "The paper they use is so non-environmentally friendly."

Jonny stood up.

"Thanks alot for all the stuff guys," he said, "It's been a great day."

Chris was already skipping out to Jonny's ride.

"I guess he is ready to get rid of me," Jonny said.

Looking a bit sad.

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

 

 

"Here you go, J." Chris said.

Sliding the armful of gifts into Jonny's back seat.

The muscles of his upper arm flexing and contracting.

Jonny took a deep breath at the sight.

Imagining that strong arm wrapped around him.

The way it was holding those boxes.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Sounding far less appreciative than he felt.

"You got quite a haul this year," Chris said nervously.

Jonny nodded.

"I really like the shirt you picked out. It's nice," he said.

Chris stuck his hands into his pockets.

"I do have something else for you," he said slyly.

The brilliant blue color of his eyes twinkling.

Jonny wasn't sure he heard correctly.

He tilted his head at Chris in a gesture of curiosity.

"Another present. The real one," Chris said.

His voice low to keep anyone else from hearing.

Jonny felt the buzz in his ears.

As his blood rushed through pulsing veins.

What does he mean by that?

Is it a real gift?

Or ...or...something even better.

Maybe he means....

Don't go there dammit.

You promised yourself you wouldn't.

Jonny ran a hand across his face.

Trying to gather his thoughts.

And muster up some kind of self control.Chris frowned at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Reaching out to touch his friend on the arm.

"Just fine," Jonny barked.

Jerking his arm away.

"I am just a little tired," he added.

Chris nodded while biting his lip.

"So does that mean I should wait to give you the present?" he asked.

Jonny looked at him for a moment.

The moon light was shining on Chris' cheek.

Making him appear to glow.

"No," Jonny said, slowly, "I don't want to wait."

Chris suddenly smiled brightly.

"Good," he said, "I shall meet you at your place in an hour."

 

 

CHAPTER 4

 

 

 

Chris appeared at the door of Jonny's apartment.

Dressed in a solid white shirt and dark jeans.

His carefully trimmed scruff of a beard soft and shapely.

His sepia toned curls uncontrollable.

He licked his lips nervously.

Regretting that they felt chapped and dry.

Instead of smooth and supple

And gripped the box tightly.

The fluff of the pink satin bow slippery against his fingers.

He raised a hand to knock.

But stopped in mid-air.

Maybe I shouldn't do this.

What if...

What if he doesn't like it?

Oh my God...

What if he does like it?

What then?

He ran a hand over his chest.

At least I look decent.

Oh man..

This could change everything.

This could mean...

Chris blushed a little at one thought of what it could mean.

The back of his knee itched a little.

As it always did when he thought of being with Jonny.

Things would never be the same.

Either good or bad.

Chris let his hand drop to his side.

I didn't think this through.

I always act on impulse.

What if it doesn't turn out as I hope?

Can we recover from that?

Can we be...

Can we still be Chris and Jonny- best friends?

Chris leaned against the wall.

Crossing one slim denim-clad leg over the other.

This is madness.

He stood up straight.

It's for the best for everyone concerned.

He started to walk away.

Just then the door opened.

"Hey," Jonny said, "I thought I heard something."

"Hey," Chris lied, "I was just about to knock."

Jonny smiled.

"I guess my timing is good then, huh?"

Chris nodded.

"I guess so," he said, doubtfully.

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

 

 

For his part, Jonny was feeling pretty melancholy.

It was another birthday.

Big deal....

He had learned to dread the day.

Equating it with the day he had to get his annual physical exam.

And the day he had to visit the dentist.

He dreaded his birthday just that much.

Every year he dared hope for something amazing to happen.

Something...

Well he wasn't exactly sure what...

Just something amazing.

Like Chris taking him for a hot air balloon ride.

And kissing him at 5, 000 feet over St. Paul's Cathedral.

But Chris sometimes didn't like heights.

Or Chris inviting him to a romantic dinner at that little French restaurant.

And holding his hand for the first time.

But Chris didn't enjoy such fancy food.

Jonny knew it was silly to hope such things.

But when Chris stood at the car.

Telling him he had another gift.

Jonny couldn't stop his mind from wandering.

Even though he knew better.

So this year would be like all the others.

Thank goodness the requisite ceremony of cake and gifts from Will and Guy were over.

Jonny smoothed his hair down as he looked in the mirror.

"Cap or no cap?" he asked his reflection.

The green-eyed man in the mirror looked back at him.

Little lines of sadness around his mouth.

"You are right," he told his reflection.

"It doesn't matter either way. He won't notice."

Jonny slapped his familiar headgear on.

He looked at the clock.

"8 p.m. Four hours to go of this lovely day," he mumbled sarcastically.

Chris should be here soon.

Then he can give me whatever this present is.

And I can shove my ridiculous hopes back down my throat for another year.

He took a deep breath.

Starting to the kitchen to bring out some refreshment.

His ears perked up at the slight sound.

Did he not hear Chris knock?

Jonny felt foolish as he opened the door.

Not really expecting to see anyone.

CHRIS!

His leg started to shake a bit.

Wow he looks so gorgeous.

Keep cool dammit.

He's not here for that.

"Hey," Jonny said, "I thought I heard something."

 

 

CHAPTER 6

 

 

 

"Want something to drink?" Jonny asked.

Chris looked around.

He seemed nervous.

"Sure," he said.

"I have juice and water and beer," Jonny said.

Chris sat down on the sofa.

"Um..juice," he said, "My head needs to be clear."

Why did I say that?

Gee, way to go dumb ass Martin.

He jumped up from the sofa.

And paced around a bit.

Jonny took the juice from the refrigerator.

"I am having a beer," he mumbled to himself, "I don't care if my head is clear."

Wait...did he really say that?

Wonder why it matters to him.

Oh who knows.

You how eccentric he is.

Maybe it's another one of those techniques for better songwriting or some shit like that.

Just take the damn juice and stop analyzing every freaking word.

"J? You alright?" Chris asked.

Why isn't he coming back?

Did he have to pick the damn oranges for the juice?

Chris wrung his hands.

Calm down, you numbskull.

I hope he didn't think I mean anything by what I said.

Well, I mean I did mean something.

But I don't want him to think that I meant something.

Cause that would be....

SHUT UP!!

You aren't even making sense to yourself anymore.

Just give him the damn present.

And get out of there.

"Chris, Here's your drink," Jonny said.

Staring at the lovely blue eyes of the other man.

He looks like he wants to flee.

Who could blame him?

Jonny held out the glass.

Chris reached up and took it.

Their fingertips brushed.

"Thanks," Chris said with a smile.

Suddenly feeling better.

Jonny just nodded.

"Let's open that present," he said quietly.

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

 

 

"It's a puzzle," Jonny said.

A look of confusion on his face.

As he turned the box back and forth.

Chris smiled excitedly.

As he bounced up and down.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

Eyes sparkling and glowing.

"Sure," Jonny said slowly, "But why didn't you give it to me earlier?"

The smile disappeared from Chris.

"Well...it's kind of a special puzzle. Did you read the box?"

Jonny turned it over again.

"It lights up when the last piece is put in," he read.

"Yeah!" Chris said happily.

Jonny stared at it.

"Well that's really cool and all..but..."

"Put it together," Chris said.

Jonny rubbed his eyes.

He felt very tired.

"It's been kind of a long day," he said, "Maybe tomorrow."

Chris stood up quickly.

"NO!" he said, "Put it together now."

Jonny was shocked at the ferocity of his tone.

"Gee, Chris.. okay."

He reached for the box.

"I'll help you," Chris said.

Grabbing the box as well.

Both men yanked on it.

The box ripped and pieces flew everywhere.

"OH no!!" Chris jumped back.

Jonny laughed at the sight.

"We have to find them all," Chris said, sounding panicky.

"We will. Calm down," Jonny advised.

Chris was down on his knees.

"You don't understand.." he was saying, "They all have to be here."

Jonny took a deep breath.

So typical of Chris to freak about this.

It was just a stupid puzzle after all.

Probably a hundred more just like it at any store.

"It won't work unless they are all here..." Chris kept mumbling.

Jonny tossed the box aside.

He sat down and began stringing the pieces together.

"Some exciting birthday," he mumbled.

 

 

CHAPTER 8

 

 

 

"There's one still missing," Jonny said.

Looking at the strange contraption that was his gift.

Chris was crawling all over the floor.

"I've looked everywhere," he said, dejectedly.

Jonny shrugged.

"I'm sure it's here. I'll find it one day."

Chris sat up.

Pulling his long legs underneath him.

His head in his hands.

"You don't understand," he said, "This is a message puzzle."

Jonny frowned at him.

"What?" he asked.

Chris took a deep breath.

"When the last piece is put in it completes a circuit. And a recorded message is delivered."

Jonny suddenly understood.

"Oh, I get it. Like Happy Birthday and all that," he said.

Chris looked at him for a long time.

"That's not what this one said," he told him.

"No?" Jonny asked, "What did this one say?"

Chris crawled over to the sofa where Jonny sat.

"It said something that I have been trying to tell you for years," he said quietly.

Jonny laughed nervously.

"Stop wearing caps?" he asked.

Chris shook his head slowly.

Jonny fidgeted with his empty beer bottle.

The look in Chris' eyes was making him dizzy.

"Video games sap creativity?" Jonny asked again.

Chris shook his head again.

Jonny's stomach felt shaky.

His eyes darted around the room.

"Oh look..the other piece.." he said.

Moving forward to pick it up.

Chris grabbed his arm.

"Wait.." he said.

"But it's the other piece. It will tell me the message," Jonny reasoned.

Chris took a deep breath.

"I will tell you the message," he said, "That's the way it should have been all along. I shouldn't have been so scared to say it. But when you hear it, I don't want it to come from this..machine. I realize that now. I want it to come from me."

Jonny held his breath.

"Chris..."

"I love you," Chris said slowly.

His hand placed over his heart.

"I, Chris...love you..Jonny."

"Holy...." Jonny whispered, "I can't believe it."

Chris picked up the last piece of the puzzle.

He slipped it into place.

He heard his own voice.

Repeating the same words he had just said.

Jonny looked at him.

"I will listen to this forever," he said.

Chris smiled.

"So you like your present?" he asked.

Jonny leaned over and kissed him.

Smack on the lips.

"I love you too," he said, "And this is the best birthday ever."

 

THE END

 

[MXColdplayObsessed]

Lost and Found Part 1

 

 

 

 

(Told from Jonny's POV)

 

 

 

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

 

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

 

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP *BAM*

Confounded alarm. Why are alarms so cruel, to wake me up from my much-needed sleep? I hate alarms. Why was it going off today anyway...

 

Oh hell! We have a rehearsal at the Bakery today! Shit shit shit!

 

I got up out of bed with a lot of effort, mainly due to the fact that my body refused to wake up. I managed to stumble through my usual morning routine and get to my car without tripping over anything or falling down the stairs.

 

A quick glance at my watch told me it was 7 am. Damn Chris and his nutzy insistance that all rehearsals start at 7:30. And damn me for always wanting to get there early (if only to doze off for a few minutes before the other three arrive).

 

I was at the Bakery in 15 minutes, earlier than normal for me, even. And that was when I noticed something rather disturbing.

 

Chris's car was already there.

 

To an outside observer, this might not seem very odd or strange or anything. However, it is acutally pretty bad. When Chris is left alone in the Bakery, anything is bound to happen. Anything.

 

I opened the front door cautiously. "Chris, you here?" I called, not without a slight tremble of worry in my voice. "Where are you hiding, mate?"

 

Walking into the main rehearsal room was probably a bad idea. Alright, a horrible idea. Probably because as soon as I was 2 steps into the room, I realized 1) It was dark in there because I had forgotten to turn the lights on, and 2) I was being attacked with a long tube of... cardboard?

 

"Chris! What the hell are you doing?!" I shouted and flicked the light switch. Now, I've seen Chris do some insane things before, from standing on the roof of the Beehive throwing pebbles at squirrels, to buying 50 chocolate bars at once. But this, this was just lunacy.

 

He stood in front of me with a smallish cardboard box on his head with slits cut into it like eyeholes, holding a cut piece of cardboard cut like a sheild and messily covered in duct tape in one hand, and a long cardboard tube like you'd find in the center of a roll of wrapping paper in the other, holding like a sword.

 

"BEHOLD, LOWLY PEASANT," he said in a deep and what he probably thought was commanding voice, "FOR I AM THE CARDBOARD KNIGHT!!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be continued...

[Viva_La_Coldplay]

-

[coldplayer#16]

Newbie

by ~J-M-P-16

 

 

 

Something about having a new kid around always seemed to bug me, I just never seemed to like all the buzz that came with it. However, when the new kid's got you pinned to the wall and his lips locked up with yours, his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth, you don't tend to mind it as much.

 

I'm getting ahead of myself, allow me to explain how I ended up with the new guy. I live next to him, for a start, he moved in just as the school year ended. He wasn't an only child, he had a couple younger siblings, but that was no surprise. I had my younger brother, but that's a bit beside the point. I seemed to be the same age as he was, 16, and my little brother is 13. The new guys siblings seemed to be more like 7 and 5, but that ended up as a pretty good thing in the end.

 

The new guy's name is Chris, he was tall, thin, and had gorgeous blond curls. I don't know what it is about him, but I felt attracted to him, something that was against my nature. I mean, I'd liked the girls at school before, before I discovered they were all viocious gossip whores, and I'd never had feelings for someone of the same gender.

 

Oh, my name? I'm Jon, but everyone calls me Jonny. We went over to the neighbors once they'd finished moving in by the end of June. It was me, my parents, and of course my brother, Nick. Mum had a pie, how stereotypical, for the new neighbors as a gift.

 

"No trouble you two, understood?" Dad said, addressing me and my brother.

 

"I understand perfectly," I said, "it's him you've got to worry about."

 

"Oh shut up J, you're just as bad as me!" Nick barked.

 

"Hey! That's enough!" Dad snapped, ringing the doorbell. There was a noise and the door opened up a little, then there was a small hand pulling the big door back.

 

"Can I help you?" a little girl asked.

 

"Yes, is your mummy home?" my dad asked.

 

"Hang on," she said, running off into the house. She came back not a minute later with her mother and a smile on her face. We were welcomed into the house and my parents were off to the kitchen. My brother followed them, as did I, but I was stopped by someone tugging on the back of my collar.

 

"Where do you think you're going?" I heard a voice say, unhooking their finger from my collar and turning me around. I saw him for the first time, up close and full details of his face. He had blue eyes that pierced into mine, staring through me like I was a window.

 

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to ignore my raging hormones.

 

"Who are you, neighbor?" he asked, sticking his hand out, "I'm Chris."

 

"Jonny," I said, shacking his hand.

 

"What class are you in, Jonny Boy?" he asked, already giving me a nickname.

 

"I'm going to be a junior and I'm gussing so are you?"

 

"Indeed, I am."

 

"Chris!" a voice came, the little girl reappearing, hugging her brother's legs.

 

"Oh, what's happened now?" Chris asked, lifting his sister into his arms, "What's wrong, hmm?"

 

"Ethan's bein' a jerk!" the little girl cried, throwing herself over her brother's shoulder.

 

"Oh, what's he done now?" Chris asked, rubbing his sister's back.

 

"He's messing with my dolls!"

 

"Look, Claire," Chris said, putting his sister down, "did you ask nicely for him to stop?"

 

"No, but-"

 

"Go ask him nicely to stop, and if that doesn't work, go to mum, okay?"

 

"Okay." The little girl ran off into the other room, leaving me and Chris alone again.

 

"C'mon, I wanna talk, alone." Chris started walking up the steps and I just looked at him, dumbfouned. "Are you coming or not?"

 

I just rolled my eyes and walked up the steps with him. He turned and opened up the door to his room, flingging himself onto the bed and then sitting up, patting a spot next to him for me.

 

[coldplayer#16]

Newbie

-part 2-

by ~J-M-P-16

 

 

 

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked him, sitting down on the bed.

 

“Well, girls for a start,” Chris said, sinking a bit.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What are they like here, crazy, pretty, bitchy, sweet, nice . . . what?”

 

“Um . . . it’s an odd mix, honestly.”

 

“UGH!” Chris moaned, falling back on the bed, “I hate this!! Why can’t I understand women?!”

 

“I don’t understand them either, but as far as they go at school, if they leave me be, I’m happy.”

 

“You don’t understand, every school it’s the same. There’s a select few girls that like me and then it suddenly becomes a big deal, then they all want me to make the others jealous. I don’t even want a girlfriend!!”

 

“I know what you mean.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah,” I said, “why would I want to date a girl and add more to my plate when I’ve got plenty of other stuff going on? I mean, my brother, homework, sports . . . why add more when things are good but hectic already, right?”

 

“Yeah, right . . .” Chris said, voice dropping, “that’s what I meant.”

 

“Something else on your mind?”

 

“No, I just don’t like girls, that’s all.”

 

“Well, neither do I, I mean, they’re all crazy.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Chris hadn’t gotten up from laying down and AI could tell something was wrong, even if I didn’t know him well yet. I let myself fall back and I was laying next to him , “Something wrong?”

 

He turned and faced me, a blank look on his face. His eyes met mine and he seemed to be looking through me. His mouth was open ever so slightly and he seemed to be focused on just me, nothing would make him move off of me.

 

The next thing I knew he had his arms around me, his grip tight at first, but he let up just enough to be a hug . . . a rather odd one though. He had his head burried in my shoulder, curling into me.

 

“Chris, what’s wrong?” I asked, trying to not sound nervous or freaked out.

 

“It’s hard moving again,” he explained, letting me go, “I sometimes snap, sorry.”

 

“S’okay,” I said, “It must be hard though.”

 

“You’re telling me,” he said, “mum said that this was going to where we’d be staying for quite sometime, nice, big house, good price, my dad’s new job . . . it should all work out, right?”

 

“Sure,” I said, smiling, “I’m sure it will.”

 

He smiled back, “Yeah,” he got up, “I know it will!!” He streched his arms up and I got a clear view of his behind and lower back, his jeans revealing the hem of his boxers. I couldn’t help but blush at the site, but I sat up and tried to hide it. He looked back and laughed, “You’re funny Jonny Boy, and I like that . . . I like you.” He held out his hand and helped me up, even if I didn’t need it, “Friends?”

 

“I thought we were already!” I joked, and I got a laugh from him right away.

 

“Friends it is!” He laughed, slinging an arm over my shoulder, “When are you guys gonna get going, hmm? You could hang out for a bit, if you’d like?”

 

“Uh, jeez, I don’t know, um . . . I’d have to ask my mum.”

 

“Oh, well, if you can’t stay . . .”

 

“No, no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, “Let’s talk, hmm?”

 

“Sure,” Chris said with a smile, “talk.”

 

We sat ourselves back onto the bed and began to talk for some time. Time passed by so fast!! It was at least a good hour and a half we’d been talking, my parents had called up, but I’d seen them go back next door. They must have been fine with me staying, which I didn’t mind. I was starting to like Chris, and I realized then it was more than I thought it would be as ‘just friends’.

 

“God, I feel like I’ve known you forever, J!!” Chris said, “You just . . . I don’t know!”

 

I laughed, “I can only say the same.”

 

Chris smiled and then laughed, “Yeah, so, you said something about your brother being insane?”

 

“All siblings are,” I said, “even if I just have Nick, he’s more than just a handful.”

 

“I know how that goes.”

 

I laughed, “I can imagine.”

 

“Yeah . . .” Chris trailed off and then we heard the door downstairs, my mum had come back over to get me, which wasn’t at all fair in my opinion. I could spend all day with Chris, I swear, but I had to go.

 

“That’s my mum,” I said getting up, “I guess I’ll see you later?”

 

“I guess,” Chris said, standing up, “later?”

 

“Yeah.” I smiled at him and he didn’t smile back, he actually looked like a sad puppy. He flung his arms around me again and didn’t seem to want to let go. I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Maybe we could hang out in town or something?”

 

Chris put his hands on my shoulders and held me at an arms length away, “Or something?”

 

I laughed, “Whatever suits your fancy, right?”

 

He smiled, “Yeah, um . . . J? I know we’ve just met and all but I-”

 

“JONNY!!” I heard my mum call, “C’mon! We’ve got to go!!”

 

“COMING MUM!!!” I called, “You were saying?”

 

Chris was blushing and twidling his thumbs, “Promise you won’t think any differently of me?”

 

“For what?” I asked. Chris sighed and hugged me again, not letting go again. I smiled and hugged him back, but the minute I did, I felt him move up and he kissed my cheek. You can only imagine the kind of confusion and rush of hormones I’d felt run through me, I did like Chris a bit, but I didn’t think the feeling would be mutual.

 

“See you tomorrow?” Chris asked nervously, his cheeks bright pink.

 

I smiled, “Of course, also, how’d you know?”

 

“Know what?”

 

I leaned in and off of impulse felt my lips press up to his. I’d only just met him about 2 or so hours ago and yet I was kissing him already . . . it didn’t seem wrong either, far from. I felt Chris starting to kiss back even, taking lead and pushing me back onto the bed. He didn’t seem to want to stop, he’d pinned me down and I was on my back, giving into him. I was happy to cave.

 

“JONATHAN!!” I heard my mother call.

 

I sighed, “We can pick this up tomorrow, okay?” I said, and Chris had a sly look on his face, “What are you thinking?”

 

“One, I knew from the get-go you liked me, it was written all over your face, and two, stay for dinner.”

 

“What?!” I said, blushing deeply.

 

“MUM!!” Chris called, running down the steps, “Jonny wants to stay for dinner!!”

 

“Oh no,” I muttered to myself, not realizing what I’d just gotten myself into.

 

[Viva_La_Coldplay]

-

[coldplayisawesome]

Lists

 

 

 

The one thing Chris has learned about life in his short sixteen years that has not yet proved to be false is that it is completely unfair. All he has to do every day of his life is simply exist and he has crowds of fellow students, both male and female, swarming around him. So, OK, for the most part those crowds aren't even paying attention to him, but there is a good portion of the school population that seems to regard Chris as some sort of star to orbit.

 

Maybe it's because of his detective skills. He's the Holmes of his tiny high school and everyone wants him to solve their cases with his great mind – but that's probably not it, because no one even knows about his detective skills. No, it's more likely to do with the fact that since he turned sixteen eight months ago, he has stopped being such an ugly duckling and has become something of a stud. His dazzling eyes and endearing curls have made him popular among the ladies, which has in turn has made him popular among the chaps.

 

It is completely unfair. And it is completely unfair for several reasons, some of which Chris wrote in his little notebook while he wasn't paying attention in History and is now scanning over again while he's in lunch.

 

 

1. The only peace I can get is behind some bushes in the back of the school, which is a creepy place and makes me feel like a creeper.
   

 

Chris discovered several weeks ago that no matter where he went in the school, one of them managed to find him. He couldn't even go to the bathroom without being bothered, which is one of the things he hates most in life (his sister can confirm – she's been at the wrong end of Chris's aggressive rants too many times to count). He's had to resort to sitting in this desolate area of the school on a bench that looks as though it has been mauled by a dog and has possibly witnessed a murder or two in its time, which is exactly where he is at the moment.

 

 

1. There are plenty of other people who are far more deserving of all this attention.
   

 

He can think of a few examples off the top of his head: The girl in his Art class who could paint a masterpiece with her eyes closed and both hands tied behind her back; the boy in his Math class who memorized the Fibonacci sequence up to the hundred thousands and could repeat it at will. And, of course...

 

 

1. The only person I want to talk to is the only person who leaves me alone.
   

 

Chris looks at this one and thinks that, really, it is the basis for so many other points regarding life's unfairness.

 

Sometimes Chris can't help wondering if his fascination with Jonny only stems from Jonny's disinterest. He reasons that it might, but only because Jonny is the kind of person who doesn't just follow the crowd, and he isn't shallow. Chris sees Jonny and it isn't just a case of he-wants-what-he-can't-have, it's more like he-wants-what-doesn't-bother-him. He-wants-what's-friendly-but-sort-of-shy-and-really-very-cute (maybe he is a bit shallow himself).

 

Either way, his adoration of Jonny is another thing his sixteenth birthday brought with it. His parents had insisted on throwing a party at a local pizza place and inviting all of the people he never cared about (i.e., his parents' friends and their children) – and who should be working there, refilling their drinks and the breadstick basket, but this boy, this friendly, but sort of shy, and really very cute boy.

 

Chris ate all of the breadsticks just to bring Jonny back. He drank five sodas in the span of ten minutes. He thought his stomach would explode, but it would be worth it.

 

Through his detective skills, Chris had discovered that Jonny was:

 

 

1. exactly seven months and nine days younger than [Chris]
   
2. the son of the people who owned the pizza place in which [Chris's] sixteenth birthday party was held and
   
3. not taken.
   

 

He particularly liked the last one, though he is constantly afraid that it has changed. Every day he scans the halls for Jonny, not just to see the boy, but to make sure there isn't another boy attached (or worse, a girl).

 

Chris shoves his History notes back into his bag and retrieves his binoculars. He figures that since he already feels like a creep being back here, he may as well go ahead and actually do some creeping. Besides, it's the perfect time to practice his skills.

 

But when he raises the lenses to his eyes, he's startled to see someone headed in his direction. His heart begins to race. He's supposed to be the only one who knows about this place – have they found it, too? Do they only know it exists, because of him?

 

Before Chris starts to panic too much, he takes a closer look at the approaching figure. The familiarity of the figure shocks him long before he consciously realizes that the figure is Jonny. Jonny is coming over to him, to the secret spot he thought he had all to himself. He wants this, but he's not sure he does.

 

Panic floods his body again, much deeper and more rooted in his blood. He hides the binoculars in his bag and makes sure all of his lists are still in there, where no one can see them. Especially the ones about Jonny.

 

Reasons Why I Like Jonny

 

 

1. He's friendly.
   
2. He's sort of shy.
   
3. He's really very cute.
   
4. He wears nice hats.
   
5. He has a nice laugh.
   
6. He tells good jokes (Assumption – but other people are always laughing around him. If they're laughing at him and not his jokes, then they can burn in Hell.)
   
7. He has a lovely voice.
   

 

Jonny walks toward him with his head down, staring at his own feet as if he's not sure they'll really take him where he wants to go. He watches them like a mother watches a child. Chris watches him like a child watches a giant cake.

 

Then suddenly Jonny seems to realize that he's not alone, because he looks up with a startled expression at Chris, who tries to hide his own shock, panic and desire. Jonny instantly looks apologetic. Chris's heart swells.

 

“I'm sorry,” Jonny says. “I had no idea you were here.”

 

“It's OK,” Chris says, but his voice is soft and broken and he's sure Jonny can't hear him anyway. He clears his throat and speaks up like a man. “It's fine. You can stay if you like.”

 

And he thinks, Please stay.

 

Jonny looks at Chris carefully, though not with caution. He looks at Chris and Chris can tell that Jonny is trying to read his thoughts. It's working. He feels Jonny's stare piercing through his forehead and into his mind. Jonny will stay, because it's what Chris wants.

 

Jonny doesn't say anything. He sits down next to Chris and sets his backpack on the ground by his feet. Chris pushes his own bag to the other side of him, both so that he can hide it and so that he can sit closer to Jonny.

 

Reasons Why Jonny Should Like Me

 

 

1. I try to be friendly.
   
2. I can be loud enough for both of us. He never has to worry about being too shy.
   
3. I'm not too bad looking.
   
4. I can use my detective skills to find the best hats for him.
   
5. When people hear us laugh together, they will hear how awful my laugh is and they will realize just how nice his laugh is.
   
6. I'll listen to all of his jokes and make sure that people laugh at them.
   
7. …
   

 

“How do you know about this place?” Chris asks. He is a bit curious about the answer, but really he just wants to hear Jonny speak. Jonny's good at being shy, but Chris is good at being nosy.

 

“My brother and his friends came here to smoke when they were in school,” Jonny explains in his lovely voice. Chris watches his mouth as he talks, unconsciously licks his lips. “He had to bring me with him wherever he went after school or my mum would freak.”

 

Chris nods. He thinks of things he could say, but comes up with nothing. For not saying anything, he's rewarded with the sound of Jonny's voice.

 

“But I like it here. It's quiet and it's really very beautiful once you get past the crack den look.”

 

Jonny smiles. Chris knows this, recognizes this as one of Jonny's brilliant jokes, but he can't find the strength to laugh. He's too awed. So he just stares, open-mouthed, and he doesn't move even when Jonny looks at him carefully again.

 

“Are you all right?” Jonny asks.

 

Chris shrugs. Before he closes his mouth, he spits out, “I like you.”

 

Jonny doesn't look surprised. If anything, he looks confused. Oddly, Chris feels the panic in his blood settling. He thinks, Please stay.

 

“Why?” Jonny finally asks.

 

Chris finds himself reaching for his bag without thinking. He digs through it and grabs one of the crumpled pieces of paper. He thinks he should be afraid of doing this, but it almost feels like this is what's supposed to happen. The list is fulfilling its purpose.

 

At the sight of the list, Jonny smiles. Chris isn't sure that Jonny even read it all the way through, but he feels better knowing that Jonny isn't running away. There's no malice or mocking in the smile, just beauty and a little awkwardness.

 

“That's handy,” he says. Chris finally laughs. “Is this why you ate all those breadsticks?”

 

At first, Chris doesn't understand. Then he realizes that Jonny remembers his sixteenth birthday party almost as well as he does, which must be a good sign. He nods.

 

Jonny laughs, “Oh. I'd wondered why you did that. It didn't look like you particularly enjoyed them, but you kept eating more and more of them anyway.”

 

“Has that weighed on your thoughts this whole time?” Chris asks, because he wants to hear Jonny confirm that Chris must be someone special in order for him to remember the incident. But Jonny is friendly, and so it might not mean anything after all.

 

For a third time, Jonny looks at him carefully. He never answers Chris's question, but he blinks a few times and says, “I like you, too. I think you're interesting.”

 

Chris's chest feels tighter now, both with joy and fear. Happiness floods through him at the thought of Jonny actually returning his feelings – but then he wonders: What if Jonny is just like everyone else?

 

Well, he's not like everyone else. But what if he only likes Chris for the same reasons that other people like Chris?

 

Reasons Why Other People Like Me

 

 

1. …
   

 

Chris thinks, Jonny just called me interesting. That has to count for something. Because he doesn't think that anyone else likes him, because he's interesting. He doesn't know why they like him, but he has a feeling it has nothing to do with his personality.

 

“I think you're beautiful,” Chris whispers. He thinks that Jonny probably can't hear him again, but this time when Jonny looks at him, there's no carefulness. Jonny looks at him like a giant cake in a giant store of giant cakes might look back at a child: Out of all these, you want me?

 

That night, Chris removes the list Things About Jonny from his bag and he crosses off number 3.

 

 

[MXColdplayObsessed]

I'm switching the story over to Chris's POV. Just to let you know.

And sorry my chapters are so short. I just don't have the attention span to write for a long period of time.

 

 

 

 

I realized with a start that I had never met an American before. But the thought was swept away as I stuck out my hand for him to shake.

"Well I suppose I should give you my full name then, Jonny," I said with a smile. "My name's Chris Martin, an extremely boring and rather common name, but nonetheless, it's mine." The other boy, Jonny, shook my hand and I asked him which Converse I should get. He said the blue slip-ons; and that launched us in to a long, silly debate about the different kinds of Converse, in which I commented on his red hi-tops, and so on and so forth.

 

 

I got to know a little more about Jonny with every passing minute. He was from Philadelphia, in Pennsylvania, which he called "a really boring place", and he positevely adored music. That comment threw us into a fanatical talk about U2 and other assorted rock bands. At some point during this, we paid for our respective purchases of Converse and went outside to the park benches to talk so we wouldn't further disturb the customers in the shoe store.

 

 

And about a half an hour came and went until I randomly blurted out, without even thinking, "So Jonny, do you play any instruments at all?"

He went very red in the face. "Ah, well, you see, I don't, well, er, uh, I don't like to tell people."

I made a puzzled expression before I even had a chance to think about it. "Why? What do you play?"

He stared at a space of air someplace past my right shoulder. "Guitar," he mumbled.

My eyes widened ever so slightly. "No way! Same here. Piano too."

"So you're not going to make fun of me for playing the guitar?" He seemed a little taken back by that. "I was always bullied for it at school, everyone was always too concerned with sports."

I chuckled in sympathy. "Well, looks like your situation here will be a little better. You will be bullied for liking music over sports, but this time you'll have someone to suffer with, and so will I... friend."

"Wow," he whispered, looking a little awed. "I've made a friend already... and I've barely gone to school."

 

 

We continued talking for about 10 minutes when my dad's old, battered, black vehicle pulled up to the sidewalk. My dad rolled the window down and noticed Jonny standing next to me.

"Who's that kid?" he asked as we walked over.

"This," I said, pointing to Jonny, "is my new friend Jonny Buckland. He's the new kid at school."

My father's eyebrows went up a fraction of a centimeter. "Really? Your friend? You've never had a friend before."

"Well, it looks like that's changed. See you at school on Monday, Jonny!" I waved at him from the passenger seat of my dad's car, feeling like I had accomplished something monumental, like climbing Mount Everest. I also had the feeling that this friendship would be important, but I had absolutely no idea why.

 

[The Doctor]

Hot, hotter, hottest

 

 

Chris' POV

 

It was the second week of the summer holiday and I was leaving for camp. I was with my parents at the location where I should get on bus.

The bus arrived 20 minutes too late. Really 20 minutes, how long is that?

So I said goodbye to my parents and got a place. I was happy the it was an almost empty bus since I choose the first stop.

 

 

Jon's POV

 

Where is that bus?! It's already 40 bloody minutes too late!

"Dad, are you sure it was 9.45 AM and not PM?"

"Yes Jonny, I am sure it's AM."

"But that was 40 minutes ago!"

"Well maybe there is a lot of traffic on the road"

"Yeah...

What if they think it was 9.45 PM!!"

"Then the bus will arrive this evening. Jon if you don't like waiting maybe you can see if the others of your group are nice kids."

I turned my face to the 10 others who were talking to each other like they knew each other for ages.

"They look like losers."

"Then you go to a camp full of losers."

"You're very funny dad.

Oh look the bus is there!"

"I see that too my dear."

Everybody tries to get on as quick as possible and I ended up as last one.

"Goodbye dad!"

"Take care of yourself Jon!"

"You know me! I always do!"

Dammit, there isn't a place left or what!

Oh no, there is one, next to that guy.

"Hey, can I sit here?"

"Huh? Oh, sure you can."

"Thanks.

I'm Jonny, what's your name?"

"Cel"

 

sorry for my horrible English

[The Doctor]

Hot, hotter, hottest

 

 

Jon’s POV

 

We talked most of the bus trip and little by little I got to know more about Cel and he did about me.

“(…) But they mostly say that kind of things because of my hear colour.”

“So you got bullied because you’re ginger?”

“Hmmh, I think you can say that.”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry dude.”

“You don’t have to feel bad Jonny, I learned to live with it and I just ignore them.”

“Oh, but don’t you… nah never mind.”

“What? What do you want to say?”

“Nothing. It would sound awkward to ask since we know each other only from the beginning of this trip.”

“I see.”

Then he took a book and started reading. I took my i-Pod and got some music on.

I hope it’s not that far anymore.

 

Kirby’s POV

 

What the heck, that guy I am sitting next is soooo asocial! Only listening to his horrible music and not talking to anyone. But he does look good. That blond curls that go just a bit over his ears and then his eyes… so blue. Maybe I should say something first and then he’ll turns out to a nice guy, who knows.

“Hey, euhm what’s your name?’

He turned his head with a ‘did-you-say-something-because-I-didn’t-hear-with-this-earplugs’ look. I moved my mouth far open to give him an answer, then he pulled his earplugs out.

“I’m sorry, didn’t hear you.”

“I asked what your name was.”

“Oh, I’m Chris. What’s your name?”

“Kirby.”

“Weird name if you ask me.”

That’s it. I don’t like him, not at all. My name isn’t weird, how on earth can he say that?

“In what group are you Chris?”

“The adventure group, you?”

Awesome he’s in the same group as me.

“Me too!”

Finally, we arrive. Get out as soon as possible and look for a good room.

Oh it’s another building as normal, fine for me if you ask always cooler to sleep somewhere else.

“GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS OF MY GUITAR YOU BASTARD!!”

What’s that? Is that Chris trying to get that guitar from that guy there?

“I said you: Give me my guitar back!”

“Why? Is your name on it? I don’t see one anywhere you know.”

“Give it back or do I have to kick you?”

“If you really want to.”

Oh my god will he fight with that guy? Chris would lose, really that other guys looks like he fights 3 times in the week with people. I think he would be a better friend than Chris.

“AOUCH!”

“I warned you, now give me my guitar back.”

“No way”

Yep they are fighting. And yes Brownhair is winning.

“YOU TWO! STOP WITH DOING THAT!”

Dammit, looks like we have an new leader.

“Is that the way of starting a summer camp boys?”

“No, but he was trying to steal my guitar.”

“No way!”

“You were stealing it!”

“Guys quit it! Go to your rooms and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.

No I’ll take that guitar with me since you only fight for it.”

 

[MXColdplayObsessed]

I'm reposting all the chapters of My First Converse here, because it might be a little confusing for any people here that aren't regulars on the fanfic thread to know that I used to be Prophet of Prospekt. Just to let you know :cool:

 

 

Chapter 1: Converse and London

 

Chris had the same general morning routine that every other high-schooler in England did.

 

Get up. get a shower, get dressed, put shoes on, eat breakfast, go to school. But Chris wasn't satisfied with that. There was something missing for him.

 

His problem was his shoes. They were normal, beat-up, plain, average, sneakers. Just like everyone else had.

 

But Chris always liked to be different. It got him beat up occasionally, but he didn't care. Chris was stronger than he looked.

 

He wanted Converse. He knew of nobody else with those amaxing shoes in his 10th grade. If he had Converse, he would be different, he would be unique, he would stand out in the crowd.

 

There was only one problem with him trying to get Converse; the shoe store that sold them was in London, many miles away, and he didn't have his driver's licsence yet.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"So Dad, your conference is on Saturday, right? Tomorrow?" Chris inquired. He already knew, but asked anyway.

 

"Yes, tomorrow."

 

"In London?"

 

"Yes."

 

Chris did a little dance in his head. Now all he had to do was get his dad to take him with him and all would be well.

 

Chris's dad saw the look on Chris's face as he plotted, for it was plain on his face that he was doing so. "Christopher, are you going to ask me if you can come with me? It would be easier if you just asked instead of standing there like a blockhead."

 

Chris grinned. His father knew him so well. "Yes, I was going to ask you such a question. I'd like to buy myself a pair of Converse and see the city." Well, he thought, I probably won't be able to see much of London because I'll be too busy with my first Converse, but oh well.

 

His father sighed. "Okay, you can come with me. I know you've been asking for Converse for a long time. But first, you must agree to a few things. One is that-"

 

"Okay!"

 

"-let me finish, Chris! Don't talk to strangers, don't get in any trouble, and buy your Converse with your own money. I'm not paying for them."

 

Chris ran over and hugged his dad. He had enough money for two pairs of Converse, and two pairs he might just buy. Tomorrow would be a glorious day.

 

 

Chapter 2: Meeting Jonny, buying Converse... the world can't get any better!

 

 

 

Chris woke from his early morning car ride nap to find that he was at the outer limits of the city of London. Not that his sleep-ridden brain fully realized that right away, but when he saw the sign that said something to the effect of "Welcome to London," he was fully awake in seconds. London! he thought. Now this is where I want to live someday.

 

His thoughts wandering, Chris broke his reverie with a start as his father, Anthony Martin, parked the car in front of the store.

 

"Remember, Chris," Anthony said, "you have to meet me here at noon. It's nearly eight now, so you have plenty of time."

 

Chris grinned, a rather common expression for his face, and promised to be waiting at the benches in front of the stores at the exact stroke of noon. He got out of the car, and with a wave, his father drove away.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As he opened the door to the little shoe store, the first thing he noticed was that all along the back wall were Converse. His eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of all that he would have to choose from.

 

He also noticed someone else admiring the wall. They wore their own pair of Converse, and looked vaguely familiar. But he pushed any further thoughts of inquiry from his mind and continued with his mission.

 

*AN HOUR LATER*

 

He had decided that the first pair he would get would be the classic black hi-tops. But being the indecisive person he was, he could not for the life of him decide whether to buy the light green hi-tops or the dark blue slip-ons.

 

He took a look around. The only sales clerk in the room was helping someone else, and he didn't want to be rude and butt in.

 

He noticed someone else a little further down from him trying on something; It was the boy he'd seen earlier that looked kinda familiar. As Chris took a few steps in his direction, Chris realized why.

 

He was the new boy at Whitestone High. Chris had seen him multiple times in the hallway, mostly in the company of a teacher or guidance counselor.

 

He sat down on the bench next to the teen. The first thing Chris noticed about him was that something about him seemed a little out of place; but Chris couldn't quite place what was different.

 

"Hey, aren't you that new kid at Whitestone High School? I go there, my name's Chris, what's yours?"

 

The boy brought his green eyes up from where they had been staring at the floor to meet Chris's blue. "Jonny," he said. "Jonny Buckland."

 

And suddenly Chris realized what was so slightly off about the boy.

 

He wasn't a Brit like Chris. He was American.

 

 

Chapter 3: Small world, musician

 

I realized with a start that I had never met an American before. But the thought was swept away as I stuck out my hand for him to shake.

"Well I suppose I should give you my full name then, Jonny," I said with a smile. "My name's Chris Martin, an extremely boring and rather common name, but nonetheless, it's mine." The other boy, Jonny, shook my hand and I asked him which Converse I should get. He said the blue slip-ons; and that launched us in to a long, silly debate about the different kinds of Converse, in which I commented on his red hi-tops, and so on and so forth.

 

 

I got to know a little more about Jonny with every passing minute. He was from Philadelphia, in Pennsylvania, which he called "a really boring place", and he positevely adored music. That comment threw us into a fanatical talk about U2 and other assorted rock bands. At some point during this, we paid for our respective purchases of Converse and went outside to the park benches to talk so we wouldn't further disturb the customers in the shoe store.

 

 

And about a half an hour came and went until I randomly blurted out, without even thinking, "So Jonny, do you play any instruments at all?"

He went very red in the face. "Ah, well, you see, I don't, well, er, uh, I don't like to tell people."

I made a puzzled expression before I even had a chance to think about it. "Why? What do you play?"

He stared at a space of air someplace past my right shoulder. "Guitar," he mumbled.

My eyes widened ever so slightly. "No way! Same here. Piano too."

"So you're not going to make fun of me for playing the guitar?" He seemed a little taken back by that. "I was always bullied for it at school, everyone was always too concerned with sports."

I chuckled in sympathy. "Well, looks like your situation here will be a little better. You will be bullied for liking music over sports, but this time you'll have someone to suffer with, and so will I... friend."

"Wow," he whispered, looking a little awed. "I've made a friend already... and I've barely gone to school."

 

 

We continued talking for about 10 minutes when my dad's old, battered, black vehicle pulled up to the sidewalk. My dad rolled the window down and noticed Jonny standing next to me.

"Who's that kid?" he asked as we walked over.

"This," I said, pointing to Jonny, "is my new friend Jonny Buckland. He's the new kid at school."

My father's eyebrows went up a fraction of a centimeter. "Really? Your friend? You've never had a friend before."

"Well, it looks like that's changed. See you at school on Monday, Jonny!" I waved at him from the passenger seat of my dad's car, feeling like I had accomplished something monumental, like climbing Mount Everest. I also had the feeling that this friendship would be important, but I had absolutely no idea why.

 

 

Chapter 4: School doesn't suck quite so badly anymore

 

 

Chris's POV

 

All that Sunday I couldn't stop thinking about Jonny. After all these years of having no friends, now all of the sudden I had a friend. A real friend! Someone I could hang out with after school and talk to when I was bored, someone that I could invite to my house on weekends. Jonny was so, so nice too. He listened when you talked, which was good for me because I tended to blather on and on and on about whatever came into my mind. He was a great talker himself as well, and as compared to me, his words were quality, not quantity. And his accent was bloody amazing. It was so odd, so different from anything I'd ever heard before. It was brilliant.

 

So when Monday came about, I actually got up and was ready for school on time. Mum was amazed, even went so far as to ask what I was doing up so early. I just slipped on my Converse and smiled like I always did. Just then my dad honked the car horn, signaling that it was time to go, so I hugged her, grabbed my bookbag and left.

 

The ride to school was as eventful as always, which meant that it was so boring I took a nap on the way there. But when Dad pulled into the drop-off zone, I was as awake as ever, charged and ready to face the day with my new Converse and my ever-positive attitude.

 

First period I saw no sign of Jonny, and I began to worry, like I always do because I am a constant worrier. I was beginning to think that maybe Jonny wasn't in any of my classes, that we had totally separate classes and I wouldn't get to see him during the day. That would really have pissed me off, had it happened, which it didn't. Second period was music class with Mr. Nygrand, who let us sit wherever we wanted every day, so naturally when I spotted Jonny sitting in the back of the room I sat myself next to him.

 

"So how's it going, mate? Like Whitestone High yet as much of the rest us looooove it?" I inquired with a characteristic grin of mine.

 

"Oh, aren't you just a comedian today? No seriously though, I so like this place, it's waaaaay different than my stupid old school. Like, this is really different. Crazy awesome though," he said with genuine sincerity. That's another thing about Jonny, he means everything he says.

 

"Attention, class, attention! In case you hadn't noticed, we have a new student, from the United States, his name is Jonathan, if everyone could say 'Welcome!' that would be most polite of you."

 

The class mumbled some disinterested 'Welcome's and the rest of the period went downhill from there. Now that I had someone to talk to in class, I kept whispering silly things in Jonny's ear, making us both laugh, and making Mr. N give us dirty looks from the chalkboard where he was writing notes on a staff. At some point he had to tell us to be quiet because we were disrupting the class, but in all honesty I think the rest of the class didn't care because they all hated music. Our silence lasted about a minute, until I started making silly faces at Jonny and we both burst into a fresh fit of barely held back laughter. This went on until the bell rang and Mr. N sighed, glad to be rid of us.

 

Third period went much the same way, except for the fact that I got sent out in the hallway because of my being annoying. But when we got tour fourth period, which was gym class, it got even better. We played dodgeball that day, which I normally hated because I always got hit in the head. But now Jonny was there to help me through it, even though he ended up on the other team. He was always trying to hit me, which most of the time he did because, as he told me later, he used to play baseball, y'know that weird American sport. It was really funny because I can't throw for crap so I kept missing him. Of course whenever I got hit I did get out, but I never left the game because nobody cared enough about me to care if I was supposed to be out or not. It was the best game if dodgeball I'd ever played.

 

Jonny wasn't in my fifth period class, but sixth period is lunch so it wasn't a big deal. We talked all through lunch and walked to seventh period together, with only one minor incident where a senior decided to insult me for my music obsession, which I ignored because I was too busy to answer it because I was telling Jonny about how when i was in kindergarten my teacher had yelled at me for saying the alphabet too fast, which he thought was hysterical. He was still laughing when we arrived at History.

 

And overall the day went great, until school ended and the senior who insulted me in the hallway decided to try to beat me up.

 

[The Doctor]

Hot, hotter, hottest

 

 

Jon’s POV

Great I’m in the same room as that blond guy who was fighting outside, hope he doesn’t start fighting with me. But the other guys look cool.

“Hey guys, I’m Jonny. What are your names?”

“Mine’s Chris.” That’s the fighter.

“I’m Cel” There’s a ginger in our room.

“Hey I’m Phil.” He looks like smartass if you ask me, but a nice smartass.

That Chris looks a bit hurt.

“Euh, Chris. Is your eye ok?”

“Yes, it’s fine”

“Ok. So who’s gonna take which bed?”

“I’m going with this!”

“I’ll take this one.”

“Jonny? Do you prefer sleeping in the lower one or above?”

I looked at the bunk bed and then to Chris, who asked me. He doesn’t look like a guy who likes to bully roommates in the middle of the night.

“I don’t mind, say where you want to sleep.”

“That’s why I’m asking you, if you want you can have both and I’ll sleep here in the middle of the room.”

“Would you really do that?”

“Yes, but I’ll tell everyone that you’re an asshole then.”

“Oh, well I’ll take the upper one then.”

“Good for me, I’ll go with the lower then.’

 

 

 

it's a short one I know

but I got reasons for it