(no subject)
Title: Not fair
Author: moi
Word Count: 200
Genre: RP(s)
Characters/Pairing: Julian, Noel, unrequited something.
Rating: PG
Warning: nada
Disclaimer: I do not own these people. This probably isn't how it is.
Author's Comments: Challenge 15: Time and Memory. This is Time, and also a bit sad...
He’s always late. Always. He doesn’t care. Because he’s got his new life, his new set of adoring fans. Fans that love him- who love him because they don’t know any better, not yet.
His pint will go flat, and your mood will sour, and he will wonder why you want to spend time with anyone over him, and you’ll be to blame for this broken relationship. But it’s not you. You’ve never changed. You’ve always been you.
He walks over the threshold of the bar, and gives you an apologetic smile and all you want to do is drink and drink and fuck the film and fuck the fans and fuck everything.
I hate you, you’re ruining it
“Alright, Julian?”
He brings the pint to his lips, without one word of thanks, and gives you this look that you’re sure you’re meant to understand. But you don’t understand and it’s not fair. It’s not fair and all his fault and no one, no one will ever believe you.
And then his hand touches your cheek, and his lips meet the corner of your mouth, and the fight goes out of you.
“Sorry I’m late, Noel.”
“It’s alright.”
It isn’t.
Author: moi
Word Count: 200
Genre: RP(s)
Characters/Pairing: Julian, Noel, unrequited something.
Rating: PG
Warning: nada
Disclaimer: I do not own these people. This probably isn't how it is.
Author's Comments: Challenge 15: Time and Memory. This is Time, and also a bit sad...
He’s always late. Always. He doesn’t care. Because he’s got his new life, his new set of adoring fans. Fans that love him- who love him because they don’t know any better, not yet.
His pint will go flat, and your mood will sour, and he will wonder why you want to spend time with anyone over him, and you’ll be to blame for this broken relationship. But it’s not you. You’ve never changed. You’ve always been you.
He walks over the threshold of the bar, and gives you an apologetic smile and all you want to do is drink and drink and fuck the film and fuck the fans and fuck everything.
I hate you, you’re ruining it
“Alright, Julian?”
He brings the pint to his lips, without one word of thanks, and gives you this look that you’re sure you’re meant to understand. But you don’t understand and it’s not fair. It’s not fair and all his fault and no one, no one will ever believe you.
And then his hand touches your cheek, and his lips meet the corner of your mouth, and the fight goes out of you.
“Sorry I’m late, Noel.”
“It’s alright.”
It isn’t.