50,493
I uh, can't believe it. Finished.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed each part as I posted it, honestly, the comments and feedback were part of what kept me writing at such a quick speed, especially after I slowed down after the first week. I read every single one, even though I didn't reply because of time constraint.
And for those who are wondering, I will continue to post the story here until it's finished. Once it's 100% done, I'll edit it to pieces and post it in queerasfandom. Hopefully, if you're interested, you'll reread it.
Okay. Here's the final part of Nanowrimo 2005.
50,493 / 50,000
(101.0%)
He wipes the back of one wrist over his forehead as he listens to the pair behind him, obviously a coach and trainee. Shaking his head, he licks his lips and throws one fist forward. It impacts the punching back with a solid thump, and it doesn’t echo through the room, but it still makes him shake.
“Fuck.” He whispers, shaking his hand, feeling the skin of his knuckles already raw and probably cracked. Using his teeth, he undoes the glove and then pulls it off under one arm. There’s already blood soaking through the wrap underneath.
Another split knuckle, maybe two.
Brian’s still swearing under his breath when his cellphone goes off, tucked inside the front pocket of his bag that sits on the otherwise empty bench beside him. Throwing the glove to the floor, he moves over and picks the phone up, flipping it open one-handed as he tries to peel the bandages from the other with his front teeth.
“Hello?” He answers, words muffled into the thin fabric wrapped around his hand.
A panicked voice on the other end.
“Brian? Brian!” Veronica shrieks, loud and quite obviously terrified. “Charlie swallowed an entire pack of beads, can you drive us to the hospital?”
Wiping his forehead off, he studies the broken skin of his fingers and frowns.
“Yeah. Are you are Jack’s?”
…
He twists his body around until the fluorescent light above the dirty bathroom mirror makes his skin pale yellow and light green. The pink mark stretches over his abdomen, harder to notice than before, but still quite obviously there.
Justin licks the pad of his finger and then rubs it into the skin, watching his body as the spit makes his skin shine. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, only when he pushes on it. Then again there isn’t much to feel, because the nerve endings on the inside of where his skin peeled back are all dead.
Sometimes he’s kind of glad for that.
Frowning, he lets his t-shirt fall back down over his stomach and leans over the sink to finish washing his hands.
…
The following Monday, Adeline doesn’t speak to Brian unless she’s relaying a message or transferring a call. The entire day Brian sits in his desk, seething quietly, as Justin sits across from him, completely oblivious and working on what the fuck ever. A crossword, for all Brian knows. When Adeline brings his mail in, she sends him a glare and mimes the slitting of her own throat behind Justin’s back.
Brian glares at her and mimics the motion, barely dropping his hand down underneath the desk before Justin glances up from the pile of papers in his lap and notices. He smiles kind of vacantly across the desk, and returns to scribbling on the sheet, black ball point pen scratching over the lined surface.
“What’s for lunch?” Justin asks, after a period of silence that stretches long enough for Brian to finish inputting numbers into a spread sheet.
Not bothering to call Adeline to get her to put in an order at whatever place is takeout of the day, Brian leans across his desk and reaches for the phone.
“Whatever you want.”
Justin smiles.
…
“Janice said some magazine tabloid called the centre yesterday.” Justin says, waiting outside of Brian’s office, watching as he turns all of the lights off inside. “It freaked me out. That place barely has a lock on the door, what if one of them gets inside?”
Brian shakes his head, and picks his briefcase up off of the desk, says, “Vergessen Sie einfach über es.”
Laughing, Justin leans against the doorframe, and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Oh yeah?” He asks. “And what’s that mean?”
Grinning, Brian starts towards the door, legs long and fingers clutching car keys.
“Just forget about it.”
Justin rolls his eyes.
“No, seriously. What does it mean?”
Leaning in, Brian waits until their noses are close to touching before he repeats himself, words perfectly calculated, “Just. Forget. About it.”
“You’re an asshole.” The blond whispers, shaking his head.
Secretly he loves how much Brian has to lean down before they’re eye level.
…
The elevator jumps when they hit the main lobby, and Justin’s stomach turns. He fuckin’ hates elevators.
When the doors slide open Brian steps out first, immediately looking around the large room for the security, who he always bitches about replacing, but never does. He glances back over his shoulder at Justin and then nods to the front doors, where a guard is plainly visible through the glass panels.
Almost immediately bright lights begin to flash, and Justin squints.
“Tell me why I’m not granting interviews again?” Justin asks, carefully inching closer to the side of Brian’s body. He hates the dark, sure, but this isn’t exactly fun either. “Wouldn’t they go away then?”
Brian shakes his head and motions to the security guard. Justin doesn’t get the reference, though, some hand wave and then a finger curl.
“Are you kidding me? It’s like feeding a piece of raw meat to a wolf and then bending over with your pants down.”
Snickering despite himself, Justin elbows Brian a little, forgetting for a moment.
“That didn’t even make sense.”
Brian grins over his shoulder.
They both manage to get through the front doors with relative ease, but as soon as they both step onto the concrete steps outside, the media begins to grow louder, push harder, want more. Brian scowls at them and does everything that he normally would, but it doesn’t shake them.
Eventually it resorts to the two of them hurrying through the crowd, the security guard pushing cameras out of the way as Brian keeps one arm around Justin’s shoulders to pull him through. The blond tries not to start hyperventilating.
Passing out right now wouldn’t exactly be the best move.
“Jesus Christ.” Brian mutters, and Justin hears it and hopes that some microphone from CNN picked it up, because that would be really funny -- the featured sound bite of the night some lawyer growling two words, offensive to half of those in the south.
They get into Brian’s car, and Justin only squawks once when he’s shoved through the driver’s seat to get across to the passenger. He notices a baby soother on the ground when he lands, but doesn’t bother questioning it.
…
Fifteen minutes later they’re driving west of Kreuzberg.
“I was fucking freezing my ass off last night.” Justin explains, letting the dashboard heaters warm the palms of his hands up. “Apparently they don’t have enough money to run the heat all the time or something. I don’t know.”
Brian raises his eyebrows, asks, “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
“What were you gonna do?” The blond snorts, laughing. “Build me a fire?”
Grinning despite himself, Brian switches lanes and answers, “Maybe.”
“Yeah right.” Justin shakes his head, lets his hands drop back into his lap and curl around the other. “Everyone complained all night, but the councilors said there was nothing they could do.”
Moving one hand from the wheel, Brian begins rooting around in the console between the seats, taking his eyes off the road every few moments to glance down. From the other seat, Justin watches, and laughs when Brian pulls his cell phone out and begins to dial, eyes rapidly flickering between the road and the number pad.
“What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows raised and bottom lip dropped.
Brian holds the cell to one ear, and flips his turn signal on.
“Janice.” He says, and Justin figures it’s into a voicemail system or something, because he doesn’t bother with a ‘hello’. Then again. “Janice? Brian Kinney. No, everything’s fine. We’re going to be working late tonight, I just got a minor break in the case and I’ll need Justin’s assistance, so if you could sign him into my care for the night, I won’t have to go to jail in the morning.”
Justin watches, mouth slowly turning up into a smile.
“641049193. K-I-N-N-E-Y. Yeah. I’m not a fuckin’ social worker, it’s my government ID. Yes.” He nods, and slows down as the light changes from green to red in front of them. “Fantastic. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
And he hangs up. Tosses the cell back into the console. Goes when the light turns.
“What did you just do?” Justin finally asks, his voice slightly high as laughter begins to crawl through it.
Desperately fighting a smile, Brian manages a knotted set of eyebrows as he says, voice even, “It was in the best interest of my client.”
“Really.” Justin smirks.
The eyebrows begin to even out as Brian nods, repeats, “Yeah.”
“Well.” The blond laughs, looking out the front window and then back at Brian, still smirking and looking awfully proud of himself. “If it’s in the best interest, then…”
Translations --
vergessen Sie einfach über es - “just forget about it”
Thank you to everyone who reviewed each part as I posted it, honestly, the comments and feedback were part of what kept me writing at such a quick speed, especially after I slowed down after the first week. I read every single one, even though I didn't reply because of time constraint.
And for those who are wondering, I will continue to post the story here until it's finished. Once it's 100% done, I'll edit it to pieces and post it in queerasfandom. Hopefully, if you're interested, you'll reread it.
Okay. Here's the final part of Nanowrimo 2005.
50,493 / 50,000
(101.0%)
He wipes the back of one wrist over his forehead as he listens to the pair behind him, obviously a coach and trainee. Shaking his head, he licks his lips and throws one fist forward. It impacts the punching back with a solid thump, and it doesn’t echo through the room, but it still makes him shake.
“Fuck.” He whispers, shaking his hand, feeling the skin of his knuckles already raw and probably cracked. Using his teeth, he undoes the glove and then pulls it off under one arm. There’s already blood soaking through the wrap underneath.
Another split knuckle, maybe two.
Brian’s still swearing under his breath when his cellphone goes off, tucked inside the front pocket of his bag that sits on the otherwise empty bench beside him. Throwing the glove to the floor, he moves over and picks the phone up, flipping it open one-handed as he tries to peel the bandages from the other with his front teeth.
“Hello?” He answers, words muffled into the thin fabric wrapped around his hand.
A panicked voice on the other end.
“Brian? Brian!” Veronica shrieks, loud and quite obviously terrified. “Charlie swallowed an entire pack of beads, can you drive us to the hospital?”
Wiping his forehead off, he studies the broken skin of his fingers and frowns.
“Yeah. Are you are Jack’s?”
…
He twists his body around until the fluorescent light above the dirty bathroom mirror makes his skin pale yellow and light green. The pink mark stretches over his abdomen, harder to notice than before, but still quite obviously there.
Justin licks the pad of his finger and then rubs it into the skin, watching his body as the spit makes his skin shine. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, only when he pushes on it. Then again there isn’t much to feel, because the nerve endings on the inside of where his skin peeled back are all dead.
Sometimes he’s kind of glad for that.
Frowning, he lets his t-shirt fall back down over his stomach and leans over the sink to finish washing his hands.
…
The following Monday, Adeline doesn’t speak to Brian unless she’s relaying a message or transferring a call. The entire day Brian sits in his desk, seething quietly, as Justin sits across from him, completely oblivious and working on what the fuck ever. A crossword, for all Brian knows. When Adeline brings his mail in, she sends him a glare and mimes the slitting of her own throat behind Justin’s back.
Brian glares at her and mimics the motion, barely dropping his hand down underneath the desk before Justin glances up from the pile of papers in his lap and notices. He smiles kind of vacantly across the desk, and returns to scribbling on the sheet, black ball point pen scratching over the lined surface.
“What’s for lunch?” Justin asks, after a period of silence that stretches long enough for Brian to finish inputting numbers into a spread sheet.
Not bothering to call Adeline to get her to put in an order at whatever place is takeout of the day, Brian leans across his desk and reaches for the phone.
“Whatever you want.”
Justin smiles.
…
“Janice said some magazine tabloid called the centre yesterday.” Justin says, waiting outside of Brian’s office, watching as he turns all of the lights off inside. “It freaked me out. That place barely has a lock on the door, what if one of them gets inside?”
Brian shakes his head, and picks his briefcase up off of the desk, says, “Vergessen Sie einfach über es.”
Laughing, Justin leans against the doorframe, and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Oh yeah?” He asks. “And what’s that mean?”
Grinning, Brian starts towards the door, legs long and fingers clutching car keys.
“Just forget about it.”
Justin rolls his eyes.
“No, seriously. What does it mean?”
Leaning in, Brian waits until their noses are close to touching before he repeats himself, words perfectly calculated, “Just. Forget. About it.”
“You’re an asshole.” The blond whispers, shaking his head.
Secretly he loves how much Brian has to lean down before they’re eye level.
…
The elevator jumps when they hit the main lobby, and Justin’s stomach turns. He fuckin’ hates elevators.
When the doors slide open Brian steps out first, immediately looking around the large room for the security, who he always bitches about replacing, but never does. He glances back over his shoulder at Justin and then nods to the front doors, where a guard is plainly visible through the glass panels.
Almost immediately bright lights begin to flash, and Justin squints.
“Tell me why I’m not granting interviews again?” Justin asks, carefully inching closer to the side of Brian’s body. He hates the dark, sure, but this isn’t exactly fun either. “Wouldn’t they go away then?”
Brian shakes his head and motions to the security guard. Justin doesn’t get the reference, though, some hand wave and then a finger curl.
“Are you kidding me? It’s like feeding a piece of raw meat to a wolf and then bending over with your pants down.”
Snickering despite himself, Justin elbows Brian a little, forgetting for a moment.
“That didn’t even make sense.”
Brian grins over his shoulder.
They both manage to get through the front doors with relative ease, but as soon as they both step onto the concrete steps outside, the media begins to grow louder, push harder, want more. Brian scowls at them and does everything that he normally would, but it doesn’t shake them.
Eventually it resorts to the two of them hurrying through the crowd, the security guard pushing cameras out of the way as Brian keeps one arm around Justin’s shoulders to pull him through. The blond tries not to start hyperventilating.
Passing out right now wouldn’t exactly be the best move.
“Jesus Christ.” Brian mutters, and Justin hears it and hopes that some microphone from CNN picked it up, because that would be really funny -- the featured sound bite of the night some lawyer growling two words, offensive to half of those in the south.
They get into Brian’s car, and Justin only squawks once when he’s shoved through the driver’s seat to get across to the passenger. He notices a baby soother on the ground when he lands, but doesn’t bother questioning it.
…
Fifteen minutes later they’re driving west of Kreuzberg.
“I was fucking freezing my ass off last night.” Justin explains, letting the dashboard heaters warm the palms of his hands up. “Apparently they don’t have enough money to run the heat all the time or something. I don’t know.”
Brian raises his eyebrows, asks, “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”
“What were you gonna do?” The blond snorts, laughing. “Build me a fire?”
Grinning despite himself, Brian switches lanes and answers, “Maybe.”
“Yeah right.” Justin shakes his head, lets his hands drop back into his lap and curl around the other. “Everyone complained all night, but the councilors said there was nothing they could do.”
Moving one hand from the wheel, Brian begins rooting around in the console between the seats, taking his eyes off the road every few moments to glance down. From the other seat, Justin watches, and laughs when Brian pulls his cell phone out and begins to dial, eyes rapidly flickering between the road and the number pad.
“What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows raised and bottom lip dropped.
Brian holds the cell to one ear, and flips his turn signal on.
“Janice.” He says, and Justin figures it’s into a voicemail system or something, because he doesn’t bother with a ‘hello’. Then again. “Janice? Brian Kinney. No, everything’s fine. We’re going to be working late tonight, I just got a minor break in the case and I’ll need Justin’s assistance, so if you could sign him into my care for the night, I won’t have to go to jail in the morning.”
Justin watches, mouth slowly turning up into a smile.
“641049193. K-I-N-N-E-Y. Yeah. I’m not a fuckin’ social worker, it’s my government ID. Yes.” He nods, and slows down as the light changes from green to red in front of them. “Fantastic. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
And he hangs up. Tosses the cell back into the console. Goes when the light turns.
“What did you just do?” Justin finally asks, his voice slightly high as laughter begins to crawl through it.
Desperately fighting a smile, Brian manages a knotted set of eyebrows as he says, voice even, “It was in the best interest of my client.”
“Really.” Justin smirks.
The eyebrows begin to even out as Brian nods, repeats, “Yeah.”
“Well.” The blond laughs, looking out the front window and then back at Brian, still smirking and looking awfully proud of himself. “If it’s in the best interest, then…”
Translations --
vergessen Sie einfach über es - “just forget about it”