(no subject)
Title: On the Roof
Author: lovesarequiem
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: This could be vam but the storyline is left open to interpretation
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the laptop I'm writing on. The boys own themselves, unfortunately.
Been a while hasn't it? This came to me the other day and wouldn't leave until I'd got it on the page.
Summary: Everyone knows that Ville and Bam, supposedly, met at a HIM concert and who are we to deny that? This is my (rather twisted) take on them meeting before that, in far less of a 'cookie cutter' situation.
2005
If it weren’t for Ville’s presence by his side then Bam would have walked out of this interview ages ago. It wasn’t that the journalist was particularly rude or at all discourteous, in fact she was remarkably polite; no, the crux of the matter was simple: Bam was bored.
His most recent skate tour had finished over two months ago but, jumping at the opportunity to spend more time with Ville, he had joined the Finnish man on his own tour. However, the incessant multitude of interviews, photo shoots and fans was beginning to seriously wear Bam out and he could tell that Ville, after two years since the release of his fourth album, was getting antsy to be back in the studio.
Noting Bam’s fidgeting, the journalist looked up from her notes and smiled kindly at Bam.
“Seeing you look a little bored,” Ville directed a half-hearted glare at Bam, “I’ll only ask you one more question. After that I promise you’ll be free to go.” Bam grinned, looking forward to getting some skating in before tonight’s concert. It was the final performance on the tour, after that he, Ville and the rest of the band would be free to relax.
“Now, please excuse my forwardness but a musician from Finland, and an American skateboarder? You don’t seem to have similar hobbies, or even homes, so just how exactly did you two meet?”
They had a rehearsed answer for this should anyone ask but Bam, giddy from the prospect of escaping the stuffy room, wasn’t paying too much attention. As a result, even as Ville said the words “At one of my concerts,” Bam let slip three words. Three incriminating, completely unscripted words.
“On the roof.”
Ten years previous, the night of All Hallows Eve, known better as Halloween or, for the mathematically inclined, the 31st October 1995
“Lighten up Bam; you’re being a right wet blanket.” Sitting, as he was, on a seat at the edge of a party Bam was understandably startled by the body of his best friend Ryan which landed across his lap. Judging by the stench of beer when Bam inhaled, he was the only person at this party not drinking.
“Piss off; I’m not in the mood.” Bam roughly shoved Ryan to the floor. When his friend didn’t move from that position Bam prodded him with a crutch, turning him over and checking he was still breathing. That found, he promptly wacked him over the head with said crutch.
“Hey! What the Hell is wrong with you at the moment? I get that you’re pissed about your leg but, for fuck’s sake, get over it! Either you’ll skate again or you won’t!” Ryan tried to stand back up using Bam’s crutches but they were pulled away from him.
“I said piss off! I don’t feel like dealing with your constant ‘look on the bright side’ attitude because I’m pretty damn sure I won’t become an amazing sportsman with a mangled leg!” Bam glared down at his friend, on the verge of kicking him, obviously with the leg which wasn’t in plaster.
Ryan crawled out of Bam’s immediate vicinity, and hitting range. Reaching the wall he laboriously hauled himself upright.
“No-one asked you to come y’know, after the past week I’m surprised anyone would want you around at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean then?” Bam’s knuckles turned white from the grip he had on one of his crutches.
“It means, genius, that you’ve been bitching like a girl with PMS for the past week, longer if you count before you got out of hospital. Why don’t you piss off and come back when your head’s on straight?”
“Fine then, I will! Don’t expect to see me again any time soon!” Bam grabbed one of his crutches and stood up, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. Pausing to snatch up a bag of chocolates, it was Halloween after all, Bam hobbled out the door and into the biting cold of the late autumn night. As he made his way down the road the pounding bass from the party prevented him from hearing Ryan’s calls for him to come back.
In all honesty it was fairly stupid to try and walk home with the tendons in his legs torn almost completely. It was also fairly stupid that, in a haze of anger, he’d walked in the wrong direction; so a walk which would have taken him ten minutes, even with his crutches, was turned into a two hour walk through the centre of Philadelphia in the middle of the night, as Bam was far too stubborn to turn back round.
Half way through his journey Bam collapsed in an alleyway between two office blocks, a small sob escaping his lips as tears of frustration and despair ran down his cheeks. As he sat in that small, dingy alleyway thoughts rose unbidden to his mind as he reflected on Ryan’s words.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this! He was going to be the next big thing in skating, not a sniveling little boy who can’t even support his own weight without the use of a stick. He was pathetic, while Ryan… Ryan was supposed to stick by him; he was closer to Ryan than to his own family and, if even his best friend didn’t believe in him anymore…
Bam grit his teeth and stood up. Almost directly opposite from where he’d been sitting was a broken door which opened into one of the office blocks. Pushing the door open, Bam brazenly made his way through corridors and large empty office space. There was something intrinsically wrong with seeing all the vacant cubicles, the only sounds echoing round the open space caused by the rhythmic clanking of Bam’s crutch, joined occasionally by the skittering of some hapless rodent trapped inside the overhead vents.
Eventually Bam found what he’d been looking for, that is, a lift. He’d passed three sets of stairs and, while it is a universal truth that teenagers may be reckless, one of the most prominent truths of American teenagers is that they’re lazy; as such the lift was the only feasible option. Shuffling inside Bam pushed the very top button, blinking at the harsh lights inside the elevator after the darkness of the office. Due to Bam closing his eyes, a small lurch in from the bottom of his stomach was the only indication the lift was moving at all, the floor numbers that were flashing by were, at the moment, akin to the invisible ticking away of life’s precious seconds, imperceptible yet at the same time we are aware of their passing.
Reaching into his pocket Bam pulled a chocolate out of the bag he’d swiped earlier, placing it in his mouth right before the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open with a small whoosh of displaced air.
It was quieter up here, Bam thought as he clambered up a short flight of stairs and pushed open the roof access door, closing it softly behind himself. So high up there no lost creatures or old machines that clanked at the slightest breath of air; even the harsh noise of the non-stop traffic below sounded distant, muffled, as if heard through water.
A wry smile, devoid of humor, settled on his face as the last traces of chocolate melted on his tongue. Almost reverently he placed his right foot upon the ledge which ran around the edge of the barren roof. He was about to place his other foot upon the ledge when a large crash pieced the stillness of the night.
The sudden shock made Bam jump; his body flailing backwards and towards the roof as his sense of self-preservation kicked in, regardless of the circumstances. Having landed flat on his back, Bam took a moment to breathe deeply and slow his heartbeat down. That accomplished, he quickly turned his attention to the roof access door; in the neon-green glow of the fire escape Bam could easily see the outline of another person, the source of the loud crash.
Ville had been planning this for nearly all of October; there was nothing rash about his decision, no sudden urge or bout of self-realization on the utter pointlessness of life. No, Ville had carefully weighed the pros and cons of killing himself and, rather obviously, the gains far outweighed the smidgen of grief he’d be causing to a scant handful of people half the world away.
Half a world away… this in itself was one of the causes for this. Ville had started up a band back in Finland and things looked to be promising; only, things looked promising when he’d been fifteen too, a whole four years ago. The pivotal difference between then and now was that Ville had run out of words, that is, words for his songs not to be mistaken with suddenly becoming mute.
In an attempt to regain his precious ability Ville had been prompted to transfer from his music course in Helsinki to a music course in Philadelphia University, America. His Aunt and Uncle from his mother’s side lived in the outskirts of the city and so, due to his mother adamantly refusing to let him stay somewhere on his own, Ville now had an inexpensive place to stay… theoretically.
Truthfully? His stay in Philadelphia had been one of the most costly experiences of his short life. In your lifetime there are far more things to lose than mere monetary wealth and, since arriving in the ‘Land of Opportunity’, Ville had discovered his will to live slowly, but surely, being worn away.
The cause? It happened to be quite common, really. After all, what is one of the number one causes for which people will commit pre-mediated, first degree murder? (For that’s what he’s been planning, make no mistake about that, committing said action upon himself will never change that fact.)
The answer: his family. The people in your life which you are most statistically likely to love, hate or kill. Ville didn’t hate his Aunt, but nor did he love her; in a reversal of fortune it was she that hated him.
Quite honestly he had no idea what was the cause for her increasingly spiteful, if petty, actions. For example: Switching off the heating and/or electricity at odd times, de-tuning his guitar, ‘accidentally’ spilling any available liquid on his work; oh, and his personal favourite of cooking his, a staunch vegetarian’s food in animal fat. After months of similar actions even the most hardened of criminals would be finding life difficult, so it’s hardly surprising Ville was losing his faith.
Exactly one month ago Ville could still cope with her absurd machinations and unfathomable hate, up until one month ago there was one person making his life bearable. To be specific, up until 11:26pm on the 30th September his Uncle was alive.
Now, he didn’t exactly know the man well, but his occasional conversations with Ville to discus his work, or even the few times he had taken Ville out for a meal when the teen had been strapped for cash, had given Ville a firm love for the man, a paternal love that is, incase there was any confusion or twisted people out there.
After Ville’s sorrow had settled down to reasonable levels he had begun to plan. The small hope that her husband’s death would cow his Aunt into becoming a decent human being was quickly, but firmly squashed; as his life, not exactly a bed of roses before this occasion, became a living Hell. So one month later here he was walking to the building he’d selected to be the last he’d ever stand on, upon the one month anniversary of his Uncle’s death. The poetic beauty of it almost being the transition point between All Hallows’ Eve and All Saints’ Day was not lost upon him.
He pushed open the broken door to the office block, took his sweet time walking up the countless flights of stairs and when he reached the roof, let the access door clang loudly behind him as he was shocked to find someone else about to do the exact thing he’d been planning. How rude.
Now they were lying there, looking remarkably like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. As the light from the fire escape shone over the ground Ville could easily see that the person, now getting to their feet with the use of a crutch, had to be at least three years younger than himself. While his subconscious balked at the prospect of someone so young committing such an action, his conscious couldn’t dredge up the compassion to care. As a result he said, what could possibly be, the crudest thing possible in this situation.
“Would you get on with it?”
“Excuse me?” Yep, by the way this other person was now walking closer with his crutch clenched in his hand, definitely the worst thing he could’ve said; but Ville wasn’t going to stop now.
“Would you, the person who’d been standing on that ledge,” Ville gestured with his arm to the edge of the roof, “go and get on with it already? I don’t have all night.”
Bam could not believe what he was hearing; this absolute dick, who was blatantly here for the same reasons as he, was telling him to hurry up of all things!
“Well excuse me! If you’re in such a hurry then you can go first and I’ll take my own sweet time, like I was doing before you got here.”
Ville stepped forwards, his taller form towering above the younger teen.
“You were here first; I don’t want a noisy brat watching when I go.”
Bam glared up at the older man.
“Noisy? I’m not the one making a racket, besides; if you hadn’t arrived then I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”
Ville raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
“Fine, I apologise. Feel free to carry on.” At Bam’s lack of movement Ville uncrossed his arms and made a chivvying motion with his hands.
“You ruined the moment.” A pout now on his face, Bam turned his back to Ville and crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring the position Ville had been standing in a few moments ago. “So you should go first.”
“I ruined the moment, are you honestly telling me that this was a spontaneous decision?” Against his better judgment, Ville could feel his compassion for other people beginning to wake when presented with the blue-eyed teen; ruthlessly he squashed it back down for the moment.
“…No.” Even in the paltry light Ville could see the way Bam’s cheeks darkened, though he wasn’t certain if it’s cause was anger or embarrassment.
“Regardless, that fails to change the fact that you were here first; so off you go.”
Bam was getting infuriated by this stranger, he acted as though he was standing upon a higher moral ground than Bam, yet here he was stood atop an office block in the middle of a cold October night.
“Tough shit, either you go or I’m not. It’s that simple.” Rather childishly Bam stuck his tongue out for emphasis.
“Then I believe we must agree to disagree.” Bam nodded and what followed was an exceptionally long, awkward silence.
As their eyes connected what could be described as a message, an understanding, passed between them regarding their current predicament:
What the Hell do we do now?!!!
Once a few more uncomfortable minutes had spent their time and departed, for lack of anything to say, Bam pulled the bag of chocolates from his pocket. With the, now small, possibility that he was going to wind up as a street pancake; Bam was of the opinion that there could be no harm in eating little pieces of Heaven before, according to the drunk priest he passed on his journey here, winding up in Hell. About to take one of the sweets Bam remembered his current company; a lifetime of manners drilled into him by his mother did, occasionally, manifest and so Bam first offered the other man the bag.
“Do you want some chocolate?”
Ville tilted his head to the side, looking down at the younger teen in disbelief. But, confronted with an adorable grin and lightly blushing cheeks, he found himself unable to say no. Instead he gave a polite “Thank you,” and took one of the proffered pieces of chocolate.
“Considering you appear fairly stubborn so we may be here for a while; my name’s Ville.”
“Lovely to put a name to a snarky attitude.” Bam grinned and held out a hand which, surprisingly, Ville shook.
Ville couldn’t help smiling in response to the sudden cheerfulness of the other teen, his new mood was annoyingly catchy and Ville felt his self-imposed detachment come crumbling down; so it was with a mental sigh at his own compassionate nature that he asked his next question.
“What’s your name then?”
Once again taken aback that this stranger, whose initial attitude had been so callous; was actually acting human; Bam answered without thought.
“Bam, my name’s Bam.”
“Bit of an odd name, yes?”
“You’re one to talk! ‘Ville’ is a weirder name than Bam.” At this accusation Ville shrugged.
“It’s not weird, it’s foreign.”
The next hour continued in a similar manner, sat on a rooftop eating a bag of chocolates in the freezing cold. Well, there are certainly worse ways to get to know someone.
“So, you’re in a band but you can’t write anymore songs and you have an evil aunt?” At Ville’s nod Bam summarized the situation quite astutely. “That sucks.”
Then Ville did something unexpected, something he hadn’t done since leaving for America: He laughed.
“I sound ridiculous when you put it like that!”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to insult you or anything.” Bam smiled, it was heartening to hear Ville laugh, infectious even. “You should laugh more often.” Bam cleared his throat and looked away from the questioning look sent his way, quickly changing the subject to distract Ville.
“So, you were about to kill yourself without letting me hear you sing? That was awfully rude of you; you have an awesome voice even before you’re singing.”
“Hmm…” Ville smiled, leaning back on his hands. “I suppose it was slightly rude, would you like to hear a song then?”
“You bet!”
Bam sat upright, all of his attention focused upon Ville as the Finn’s hauntingly beautiful voice began to echo round the night.
Once finished Ville looked at Bam, blushing as he locked eyes with Bam’s wide-eyed stare.
“That was amazing. I’m finally glad I came here tonight, if I hadn’t and you’d have jumped… The world definitely would’ve been deprived of something special.” If anything Ville’s blush intensified and, ducking his head, he broke eye contact with Bam.
“Thank you…” Once Ville was sure his face had stopped burning he glared at the shorter American. “Been as you’ve completely destroyed my reasoning, what on earth is up with yours? I get that your leg was torn up in a car crash but why automatically decide to kill yourself? As you’ve said there’s a chance you’ll be able to skate again.”
“Skating is my life! Without it I’m nothing.”
Ville snorted, Americans were so stupid sometimes, stereotyping be damned.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you should be able to do anything, it won’t kill you to not skate.”
“If I didn’t already know, your naivety of America definitely sets you apart as foreign. The only thing that matters in America, at least with sports, is winning. Without that then you’re not worth the air you breathe. I’d rather die than fail and there’s only a 30% chance I’ll ever skate again.”
“You’re just giving up? That doesn’t sound very American to me. Besides I would feel most insulted if I never got to see you skate after I’ve sung for you.”
“I guess…” Completely forgetting their earlier animosity Ville leaned over and prodded Bam in the side, eliciting a shrill squeak and a glare from the young American.
“You guess? Thirty percent is better than nothing, but if you give up then it may as well be naught. Skate for me and I’ll consider it payment for the song.”
“Alright, alright.” Bam shuffled out of the Ville’s arm range, anxious to avoid getting poked in the ribs again. Sticking his hand in the, slowly depleting, bag of chocolates Bam was dismayed to pull it away empty. “Looks like we’ve run out of chocolate, guess we better go now?”
“It appears so, here, I’ll help you get home.” Ville stood up, dusted himself off and offered a hand to the other teen. Pulling Bam to his feet Ville wrapped an arm round his back and helped him inside.
2005
Bam blinked and looked at Ville who appeared to be restraining himself from strangling the skater.
“Um… I mean we met on the rooftop at one of Ville’s concerts.” Bam shrugged and smiled at the journalist. “A roof is definitely one of the best places to get to know someone…”
Sensing his freedom in sight, Bam stood up with Ville rapidly copying him and making for the door. As he was about to walk through the door Bam turned back to the journalist.
“Just make sure to have a bag of chocolates with you.”
END
I hope you enjoyed that. Any criticisms, any at all?
I should get the next chapter of Revelation up in about a week but sorry, no promises, my schedule is currently rather hectic. I've got it about half written though.
Love you guys, hope you had a good halloween?
xx
Author: lovesarequiem
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: This could be vam but the storyline is left open to interpretation
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the laptop I'm writing on. The boys own themselves, unfortunately.
Been a while hasn't it? This came to me the other day and wouldn't leave until I'd got it on the page.
Summary: Everyone knows that Ville and Bam, supposedly, met at a HIM concert and who are we to deny that? This is my (rather twisted) take on them meeting before that, in far less of a 'cookie cutter' situation.
2005
If it weren’t for Ville’s presence by his side then Bam would have walked out of this interview ages ago. It wasn’t that the journalist was particularly rude or at all discourteous, in fact she was remarkably polite; no, the crux of the matter was simple: Bam was bored.
His most recent skate tour had finished over two months ago but, jumping at the opportunity to spend more time with Ville, he had joined the Finnish man on his own tour. However, the incessant multitude of interviews, photo shoots and fans was beginning to seriously wear Bam out and he could tell that Ville, after two years since the release of his fourth album, was getting antsy to be back in the studio.
Noting Bam’s fidgeting, the journalist looked up from her notes and smiled kindly at Bam.
“Seeing you look a little bored,” Ville directed a half-hearted glare at Bam, “I’ll only ask you one more question. After that I promise you’ll be free to go.” Bam grinned, looking forward to getting some skating in before tonight’s concert. It was the final performance on the tour, after that he, Ville and the rest of the band would be free to relax.
“Now, please excuse my forwardness but a musician from Finland, and an American skateboarder? You don’t seem to have similar hobbies, or even homes, so just how exactly did you two meet?”
They had a rehearsed answer for this should anyone ask but Bam, giddy from the prospect of escaping the stuffy room, wasn’t paying too much attention. As a result, even as Ville said the words “At one of my concerts,” Bam let slip three words. Three incriminating, completely unscripted words.
“On the roof.”
Ten years previous, the night of All Hallows Eve, known better as Halloween or, for the mathematically inclined, the 31st October 1995
“Lighten up Bam; you’re being a right wet blanket.” Sitting, as he was, on a seat at the edge of a party Bam was understandably startled by the body of his best friend Ryan which landed across his lap. Judging by the stench of beer when Bam inhaled, he was the only person at this party not drinking.
“Piss off; I’m not in the mood.” Bam roughly shoved Ryan to the floor. When his friend didn’t move from that position Bam prodded him with a crutch, turning him over and checking he was still breathing. That found, he promptly wacked him over the head with said crutch.
“Hey! What the Hell is wrong with you at the moment? I get that you’re pissed about your leg but, for fuck’s sake, get over it! Either you’ll skate again or you won’t!” Ryan tried to stand back up using Bam’s crutches but they were pulled away from him.
“I said piss off! I don’t feel like dealing with your constant ‘look on the bright side’ attitude because I’m pretty damn sure I won’t become an amazing sportsman with a mangled leg!” Bam glared down at his friend, on the verge of kicking him, obviously with the leg which wasn’t in plaster.
Ryan crawled out of Bam’s immediate vicinity, and hitting range. Reaching the wall he laboriously hauled himself upright.
“No-one asked you to come y’know, after the past week I’m surprised anyone would want you around at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean then?” Bam’s knuckles turned white from the grip he had on one of his crutches.
“It means, genius, that you’ve been bitching like a girl with PMS for the past week, longer if you count before you got out of hospital. Why don’t you piss off and come back when your head’s on straight?”
“Fine then, I will! Don’t expect to see me again any time soon!” Bam grabbed one of his crutches and stood up, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. Pausing to snatch up a bag of chocolates, it was Halloween after all, Bam hobbled out the door and into the biting cold of the late autumn night. As he made his way down the road the pounding bass from the party prevented him from hearing Ryan’s calls for him to come back.
In all honesty it was fairly stupid to try and walk home with the tendons in his legs torn almost completely. It was also fairly stupid that, in a haze of anger, he’d walked in the wrong direction; so a walk which would have taken him ten minutes, even with his crutches, was turned into a two hour walk through the centre of Philadelphia in the middle of the night, as Bam was far too stubborn to turn back round.
Half way through his journey Bam collapsed in an alleyway between two office blocks, a small sob escaping his lips as tears of frustration and despair ran down his cheeks. As he sat in that small, dingy alleyway thoughts rose unbidden to his mind as he reflected on Ryan’s words.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this! He was going to be the next big thing in skating, not a sniveling little boy who can’t even support his own weight without the use of a stick. He was pathetic, while Ryan… Ryan was supposed to stick by him; he was closer to Ryan than to his own family and, if even his best friend didn’t believe in him anymore…
Bam grit his teeth and stood up. Almost directly opposite from where he’d been sitting was a broken door which opened into one of the office blocks. Pushing the door open, Bam brazenly made his way through corridors and large empty office space. There was something intrinsically wrong with seeing all the vacant cubicles, the only sounds echoing round the open space caused by the rhythmic clanking of Bam’s crutch, joined occasionally by the skittering of some hapless rodent trapped inside the overhead vents.
Eventually Bam found what he’d been looking for, that is, a lift. He’d passed three sets of stairs and, while it is a universal truth that teenagers may be reckless, one of the most prominent truths of American teenagers is that they’re lazy; as such the lift was the only feasible option. Shuffling inside Bam pushed the very top button, blinking at the harsh lights inside the elevator after the darkness of the office. Due to Bam closing his eyes, a small lurch in from the bottom of his stomach was the only indication the lift was moving at all, the floor numbers that were flashing by were, at the moment, akin to the invisible ticking away of life’s precious seconds, imperceptible yet at the same time we are aware of their passing.
Reaching into his pocket Bam pulled a chocolate out of the bag he’d swiped earlier, placing it in his mouth right before the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open with a small whoosh of displaced air.
It was quieter up here, Bam thought as he clambered up a short flight of stairs and pushed open the roof access door, closing it softly behind himself. So high up there no lost creatures or old machines that clanked at the slightest breath of air; even the harsh noise of the non-stop traffic below sounded distant, muffled, as if heard through water.
A wry smile, devoid of humor, settled on his face as the last traces of chocolate melted on his tongue. Almost reverently he placed his right foot upon the ledge which ran around the edge of the barren roof. He was about to place his other foot upon the ledge when a large crash pieced the stillness of the night.
The sudden shock made Bam jump; his body flailing backwards and towards the roof as his sense of self-preservation kicked in, regardless of the circumstances. Having landed flat on his back, Bam took a moment to breathe deeply and slow his heartbeat down. That accomplished, he quickly turned his attention to the roof access door; in the neon-green glow of the fire escape Bam could easily see the outline of another person, the source of the loud crash.
Ville had been planning this for nearly all of October; there was nothing rash about his decision, no sudden urge or bout of self-realization on the utter pointlessness of life. No, Ville had carefully weighed the pros and cons of killing himself and, rather obviously, the gains far outweighed the smidgen of grief he’d be causing to a scant handful of people half the world away.
Half a world away… this in itself was one of the causes for this. Ville had started up a band back in Finland and things looked to be promising; only, things looked promising when he’d been fifteen too, a whole four years ago. The pivotal difference between then and now was that Ville had run out of words, that is, words for his songs not to be mistaken with suddenly becoming mute.
In an attempt to regain his precious ability Ville had been prompted to transfer from his music course in Helsinki to a music course in Philadelphia University, America. His Aunt and Uncle from his mother’s side lived in the outskirts of the city and so, due to his mother adamantly refusing to let him stay somewhere on his own, Ville now had an inexpensive place to stay… theoretically.
Truthfully? His stay in Philadelphia had been one of the most costly experiences of his short life. In your lifetime there are far more things to lose than mere monetary wealth and, since arriving in the ‘Land of Opportunity’, Ville had discovered his will to live slowly, but surely, being worn away.
The cause? It happened to be quite common, really. After all, what is one of the number one causes for which people will commit pre-mediated, first degree murder? (For that’s what he’s been planning, make no mistake about that, committing said action upon himself will never change that fact.)
The answer: his family. The people in your life which you are most statistically likely to love, hate or kill. Ville didn’t hate his Aunt, but nor did he love her; in a reversal of fortune it was she that hated him.
Quite honestly he had no idea what was the cause for her increasingly spiteful, if petty, actions. For example: Switching off the heating and/or electricity at odd times, de-tuning his guitar, ‘accidentally’ spilling any available liquid on his work; oh, and his personal favourite of cooking his, a staunch vegetarian’s food in animal fat. After months of similar actions even the most hardened of criminals would be finding life difficult, so it’s hardly surprising Ville was losing his faith.
Exactly one month ago Ville could still cope with her absurd machinations and unfathomable hate, up until one month ago there was one person making his life bearable. To be specific, up until 11:26pm on the 30th September his Uncle was alive.
Now, he didn’t exactly know the man well, but his occasional conversations with Ville to discus his work, or even the few times he had taken Ville out for a meal when the teen had been strapped for cash, had given Ville a firm love for the man, a paternal love that is, incase there was any confusion or twisted people out there.
After Ville’s sorrow had settled down to reasonable levels he had begun to plan. The small hope that her husband’s death would cow his Aunt into becoming a decent human being was quickly, but firmly squashed; as his life, not exactly a bed of roses before this occasion, became a living Hell. So one month later here he was walking to the building he’d selected to be the last he’d ever stand on, upon the one month anniversary of his Uncle’s death. The poetic beauty of it almost being the transition point between All Hallows’ Eve and All Saints’ Day was not lost upon him.
He pushed open the broken door to the office block, took his sweet time walking up the countless flights of stairs and when he reached the roof, let the access door clang loudly behind him as he was shocked to find someone else about to do the exact thing he’d been planning. How rude.
Now they were lying there, looking remarkably like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. As the light from the fire escape shone over the ground Ville could easily see that the person, now getting to their feet with the use of a crutch, had to be at least three years younger than himself. While his subconscious balked at the prospect of someone so young committing such an action, his conscious couldn’t dredge up the compassion to care. As a result he said, what could possibly be, the crudest thing possible in this situation.
“Would you get on with it?”
“Excuse me?” Yep, by the way this other person was now walking closer with his crutch clenched in his hand, definitely the worst thing he could’ve said; but Ville wasn’t going to stop now.
“Would you, the person who’d been standing on that ledge,” Ville gestured with his arm to the edge of the roof, “go and get on with it already? I don’t have all night.”
Bam could not believe what he was hearing; this absolute dick, who was blatantly here for the same reasons as he, was telling him to hurry up of all things!
“Well excuse me! If you’re in such a hurry then you can go first and I’ll take my own sweet time, like I was doing before you got here.”
Ville stepped forwards, his taller form towering above the younger teen.
“You were here first; I don’t want a noisy brat watching when I go.”
Bam glared up at the older man.
“Noisy? I’m not the one making a racket, besides; if you hadn’t arrived then I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”
Ville raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
“Fine, I apologise. Feel free to carry on.” At Bam’s lack of movement Ville uncrossed his arms and made a chivvying motion with his hands.
“You ruined the moment.” A pout now on his face, Bam turned his back to Ville and crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring the position Ville had been standing in a few moments ago. “So you should go first.”
“I ruined the moment, are you honestly telling me that this was a spontaneous decision?” Against his better judgment, Ville could feel his compassion for other people beginning to wake when presented with the blue-eyed teen; ruthlessly he squashed it back down for the moment.
“…No.” Even in the paltry light Ville could see the way Bam’s cheeks darkened, though he wasn’t certain if it’s cause was anger or embarrassment.
“Regardless, that fails to change the fact that you were here first; so off you go.”
Bam was getting infuriated by this stranger, he acted as though he was standing upon a higher moral ground than Bam, yet here he was stood atop an office block in the middle of a cold October night.
“Tough shit, either you go or I’m not. It’s that simple.” Rather childishly Bam stuck his tongue out for emphasis.
“Then I believe we must agree to disagree.” Bam nodded and what followed was an exceptionally long, awkward silence.
As their eyes connected what could be described as a message, an understanding, passed between them regarding their current predicament:
What the Hell do we do now?!!!
Once a few more uncomfortable minutes had spent their time and departed, for lack of anything to say, Bam pulled the bag of chocolates from his pocket. With the, now small, possibility that he was going to wind up as a street pancake; Bam was of the opinion that there could be no harm in eating little pieces of Heaven before, according to the drunk priest he passed on his journey here, winding up in Hell. About to take one of the sweets Bam remembered his current company; a lifetime of manners drilled into him by his mother did, occasionally, manifest and so Bam first offered the other man the bag.
“Do you want some chocolate?”
Ville tilted his head to the side, looking down at the younger teen in disbelief. But, confronted with an adorable grin and lightly blushing cheeks, he found himself unable to say no. Instead he gave a polite “Thank you,” and took one of the proffered pieces of chocolate.
“Considering you appear fairly stubborn so we may be here for a while; my name’s Ville.”
“Lovely to put a name to a snarky attitude.” Bam grinned and held out a hand which, surprisingly, Ville shook.
Ville couldn’t help smiling in response to the sudden cheerfulness of the other teen, his new mood was annoyingly catchy and Ville felt his self-imposed detachment come crumbling down; so it was with a mental sigh at his own compassionate nature that he asked his next question.
“What’s your name then?”
Once again taken aback that this stranger, whose initial attitude had been so callous; was actually acting human; Bam answered without thought.
“Bam, my name’s Bam.”
“Bit of an odd name, yes?”
“You’re one to talk! ‘Ville’ is a weirder name than Bam.” At this accusation Ville shrugged.
“It’s not weird, it’s foreign.”
The next hour continued in a similar manner, sat on a rooftop eating a bag of chocolates in the freezing cold. Well, there are certainly worse ways to get to know someone.
“So, you’re in a band but you can’t write anymore songs and you have an evil aunt?” At Ville’s nod Bam summarized the situation quite astutely. “That sucks.”
Then Ville did something unexpected, something he hadn’t done since leaving for America: He laughed.
“I sound ridiculous when you put it like that!”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to insult you or anything.” Bam smiled, it was heartening to hear Ville laugh, infectious even. “You should laugh more often.” Bam cleared his throat and looked away from the questioning look sent his way, quickly changing the subject to distract Ville.
“So, you were about to kill yourself without letting me hear you sing? That was awfully rude of you; you have an awesome voice even before you’re singing.”
“Hmm…” Ville smiled, leaning back on his hands. “I suppose it was slightly rude, would you like to hear a song then?”
“You bet!”
Bam sat upright, all of his attention focused upon Ville as the Finn’s hauntingly beautiful voice began to echo round the night.
Once finished Ville looked at Bam, blushing as he locked eyes with Bam’s wide-eyed stare.
“That was amazing. I’m finally glad I came here tonight, if I hadn’t and you’d have jumped… The world definitely would’ve been deprived of something special.” If anything Ville’s blush intensified and, ducking his head, he broke eye contact with Bam.
“Thank you…” Once Ville was sure his face had stopped burning he glared at the shorter American. “Been as you’ve completely destroyed my reasoning, what on earth is up with yours? I get that your leg was torn up in a car crash but why automatically decide to kill yourself? As you’ve said there’s a chance you’ll be able to skate again.”
“Skating is my life! Without it I’m nothing.”
Ville snorted, Americans were so stupid sometimes, stereotyping be damned.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you should be able to do anything, it won’t kill you to not skate.”
“If I didn’t already know, your naivety of America definitely sets you apart as foreign. The only thing that matters in America, at least with sports, is winning. Without that then you’re not worth the air you breathe. I’d rather die than fail and there’s only a 30% chance I’ll ever skate again.”
“You’re just giving up? That doesn’t sound very American to me. Besides I would feel most insulted if I never got to see you skate after I’ve sung for you.”
“I guess…” Completely forgetting their earlier animosity Ville leaned over and prodded Bam in the side, eliciting a shrill squeak and a glare from the young American.
“You guess? Thirty percent is better than nothing, but if you give up then it may as well be naught. Skate for me and I’ll consider it payment for the song.”
“Alright, alright.” Bam shuffled out of the Ville’s arm range, anxious to avoid getting poked in the ribs again. Sticking his hand in the, slowly depleting, bag of chocolates Bam was dismayed to pull it away empty. “Looks like we’ve run out of chocolate, guess we better go now?”
“It appears so, here, I’ll help you get home.” Ville stood up, dusted himself off and offered a hand to the other teen. Pulling Bam to his feet Ville wrapped an arm round his back and helped him inside.
2005
Bam blinked and looked at Ville who appeared to be restraining himself from strangling the skater.
“Um… I mean we met on the rooftop at one of Ville’s concerts.” Bam shrugged and smiled at the journalist. “A roof is definitely one of the best places to get to know someone…”
Sensing his freedom in sight, Bam stood up with Ville rapidly copying him and making for the door. As he was about to walk through the door Bam turned back to the journalist.
“Just make sure to have a bag of chocolates with you.”
END
I hope you enjoyed that. Any criticisms, any at all?
I should get the next chapter of Revelation up in about a week but sorry, no promises, my schedule is currently rather hectic. I've got it about half written though.
Love you guys, hope you had a good halloween?
xx