(no subject)
I’ll Always See Your Face, The Corner of Your Smile
Chris Faller/Greta Salpeter
Inspired by the Honey/Making of Honey videos, as well as the March 30 prompt at we_are_cities.
I realize some things may be off when it comes to ~*Hushie History, but work with me here! :)
Chris just wants to be in her head. Greta doesn’t talk when she’s like this, when her eyes are melancholy and her lips tight. He doesn’t like the absence of her laugh. He yearns for that smile that was carelessly lost somewhere between the venue and the bus. Sometimes he wakes up in the van with stiff limbs and finds her head on his shoulder, her hand clutching his. He wonders if this was all spontaneous, or if she really needed him.
He tries to play the piano backstage one day, but he’s anything but gifted with this talent. She’s patient, though. She places her hands over his, lets her fingers do the talking. Hunched over his back, smelling of that cusp of time between spring and summer, her body is pressed against his, and her hands are skillful and gentle. They look so endearing against the ivory of the piano keys; he wants to hold them, kiss them. His hands look just plain clumsy and wrong. Her hair hangs over one shoulder and it’s a mess of golden curls and waves. It touches his shoulder when she turns her head. But none of this is enough because he is failing in front of her. Frustrated, he scoffs and resists her fingers on top of his. The keys don’t get pressed and he bites the inside of his lip. He swears he’s making the worst noise ever. Chris grunts, “I can’t do this, Greta. This isn’t me.” But she can only smile and murmur, “You’re doing just fine.”
The phone rings, Greta’s phone. It pierces through the van as she rummages around in her bag, the shadows of the night making it more difficult than it should really be. Chris wants to smash that phone- she was just about to fall asleep. Bob curses from the driver’s seat and it’s something about that “damn phone of Greta’s.” Darren can only chime in and say it never stops ringing. Chris can feel some anger begin to boil within him. That’s not true. He wants to tell them to shut up, but stops himself when she breaks into a full-blown smile. Darren leans over to look in the rearview. “Boyfriend,” he says to Bob with a shrug. Bob only smirks with a shake of the head. “Why do they try to make it work?” His whisper is louder than needed, and although Greta is too wrapped up in her phone call to notice, Chris knows it was uncalled for. When she finally hangs up, she’s not pouting, she’s not getting in that dark place like she sometimes does. She’s smiling with dreamy eyes. Chris hates that they didn’t fight this time.
Back in Chicago, before their show and before moving on to a new city, Greta invites Chris to eat lunch with her family. “What, like my family doesn’t care about me?” Chris asks spitefully. Greta sighs and says that she knows his parents are away on business, and she wishes he would stop being such an ass about everything. But, the thing is, Chris knows she’s being very generous to share her family time with him when he has no family to share time with. It’s not that Chris doesn’t like Mr. and Mrs. Salpeter, it’s just that the boyfriend comes with the family package, and Chris doesn’t want to be the third wheel. No, he doesn’t feel like it today. Besides, when was the last time he wandered around the city?
The night keeps dragging on, and, God, hasn’t it been long enough? The boyfriend came out to the show on the East Coast, and Chris just wants to withdraw himself from the whole night. Greta isn’t the lovey-dovey type or anything, but the minor hand holding and smiles are enough! None of it is his. He can’t call her his own, and that kills him slowly inside. It’s just out of his reach and, fuck, it’s not fair. It’s not fair to tease Chris and he can’t stop. Maybe Darren saw it, because he told him to get the trout mouth the fuck off his face. Quietly, he added that Chris didn’t need to load the van up tonight. Chris ends up sinking down between the seats of the van with a pack of cigarettes and his mind racing. Five cigarettes later, the van door slides open and someone with a light step and easy breath comes in. She coughs, waves her hand in front of her face, and follows the small plume of smoke coming up from between the seats to the blanket and pillow bundle that is Chris. “What do you think you’re doing?” she says with a light smile. “All I smell in this van is you.” And she plucks the cigarette from Chris’ loose fingers and throws it onto the pavement outside. “I just needed a break,” Chris mumbles, already searching for another cigarette, but the pack seems to have found its way to Greta’s hand. She pockets it, and leaves Chris alone.
Somehow it’s just them in a hotel room, Chris and Greta. Chris suspects some secret plans made between Bob and Darren, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Greta hasn’t been herself all night. She hasn’t said a word. She sinks into her bed, doesn’t bother to talk to Chris. He shuts off the lights himself and climbs into his bed, and lies awake. He hears something not too long after. Chris can’t mistake the sound for anything else but her quiet sobbing into the pillow. It’s the same aggravated cry he hasn’t heard since the recording of ‘So Sudden.’ He’s unsure of what to do so he lies still despite his legs wanting to shuffle over to her bed. He waits, he counts the seconds and minutes, but the sobs only continue. “Greta?” he whispers. Greta only cries harder, and Chris is so torn. It’s not his place to crawl into bed with her, but he feels as if he has no choice… She’s so perfect in his arms.
The days are long as they hit the Midwest. It’s always Bob and Darren up front, with Chris and Greta settled somewhere in the back of the van. Chris has found his niche between the seats again, and he’s quiet as he watches Greta write. Greta. Greta. She didn’t stop crying for days. She clung to Chris. She never said anything, never said why she was crying, but Chris is a smart kid. He could guess it was her boyfriend. And Chris, he aches. He aches so badly for her now. Now that her smile has evolved from a fake, tight-lipped thing to the radiance it once was, Chris has been pushed gently aside once again.
“Best friend,” Greta says into his ear right before a show, “why don’t you ever push the limit?” Chris is bewildered. He didn’t even know there was a limit, and he wasn’t sure what was limited. He laughs lightly, to cover his bewilderment, and jokes, “I sometimes go over the speed limit. And sometimes I drink too much. Actually, I always drink too much when I drink.” He shrugs casually. “I push the limit.” She doesn’t smile fully, though. In fact, she looks a bit disappointed. But it’s time to get on stage, and he watches her saunter over to her keyboard. He’s forced to follow close behind, lost somewhere behind Darren and Bob. ‘We Intertwined’ only fills his head half-way, because as he plays the familiar chords, the rest of his mind is trying to figure out what Greta meant..
It’s the night that almost changes everything, the night when things almost get admitted, the night when Greta almost puts two and two together, and the night when Chris feels the most vulnerable. He chain smokes outside while leaning on the van as Bob and Darren buy things at the twenty-four hour grocery store. It’s late, too late to be up, but Bob got pretty desperate for bottled water after all he could find were empty water bottles in the van and was forced to sip at brown tap water. And Darren just likes browsing new stores and finding odds and ends. That is just Darren.
Looking at the empty parking lot and the fluorescent lights shining through the store windows, Chris feels his demeanor slowly dissipate into hardly anything. That night in the hotel was so long ago, but it haunts him. She was right there, but she got snapped back to her boyfriend so quick. He hates her boyfriend because he’s never around like Chris is. Chris is her support, her backbone, twenty-four-seven. He’s tangible and crystal clear all the time, unlike her boyfriend who is merely static coming through a cell phone. Chris is the best damn thing to ever happen to her, so why can’t she see it?
It’s funny how all these odd happenings sort of get rolled into one huge ball of memories. All her smiles, her laughs, her tears, and all those looks she gets when she’s angry, they all flash by fast in Chris’ head. He remembers her shy greeting when they first met; he remembers the tentativeness of ‘So Sudden’ and her being so hesitant about her songs; he remembers ‘Like Vines’ and her doing homework in between recordings, and how she always asked Chris for help with calculus homework (even though the figures never clicked in his head, deeming him worthless to her high school education); he remembers that time it was just them walking around Chicago, New York, Boston, getting on random subway lines and L’s; he remembers Panic at the Disco teasing her relentlessly for being the only girl on tour, and feeling the anger bubble under his skin. His cigarette dwindles between his fingers.
When the door of the van slides open and Greta crawls out, Chris has already smoked another two cigarettes. She leans next to him quietly. He doesn’t say anything because he simply can’t. Instead, he looks the other way at the endless pavement of the parking lot trying not to notice her body barely touching his. She sighs, probably to herself, and Chris flinches.
“What’s going on?” she asks. There’s no sleep in her voice. Chris wonders if she was watching him stress out through the van window.
“Bob wanted water. Darren is tagging along,” he answers simply. His voice is heavy, almost as heavy as the air between him and Greta. She doesn’t say anything. “Sleeping?” He can feel her looking at him.
“Was I sleeping? Yeah, sort of. But I saw you out here, so…” She shrugs her shoulders. Her eyes reflect the lights from the grocery store. “I sort of want some organic granola,” she mumbles, and Chris thinks it’s just as well.
“Go get some then,” he says almost sourly. He is hating her for rejecting him.
Greta looks at him, her eyes starting to get icy. “Do you need sleep or something? I swear, you’ve been the biggest ass these past few weeks, and that’s not the Chris Faller I know.” She lowers her eyes to the pavement, oily and wet under her flats. “And I’ve noticed that the Mister Hyde version of you only comes out around me. Not Darren, not Bob, not Adam.” Her voice drops to hardly a whisper, and it sounds pained. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Christopher Faller. Sometimes I really do.”
Chris knows it’s serious when his full name gets used, but he can’t bring himself to say anything to her. Conflict with Greta is new. Conflict that is out there between Chris and Greta is such a new concept to Chris, he’s not sure if he knows how to handle it. So he decides he is better off not handling it. He gives up, clenches his fists in immense frustration in himself and in Greta, and goes for a walk.
The adrenaline; he breathes heavily. His hand is resting on her cheek, so delicately. The kiss, the kiss, the director reminds them, needs to only seem perfect. And it’s when she starts laughing that he wants to just scream. The director tells them to take a minute; he needs to tend to something. She shakes her head and laughs to herself. Her eyes wander to the darkness off the set, to Darren and Bob standing around with Adam, and she goes to join them. “I crack!” she laughs. “Every time, I just can’t take it!” He jitters, thumbs the scarf around his neck. It’s not fair.
Chris Faller/Greta Salpeter
Inspired by the Honey/Making of Honey videos, as well as the March 30 prompt at we_are_cities.
I realize some things may be off when it comes to ~*Hushie History, but work with me here! :)
Chris just wants to be in her head. Greta doesn’t talk when she’s like this, when her eyes are melancholy and her lips tight. He doesn’t like the absence of her laugh. He yearns for that smile that was carelessly lost somewhere between the venue and the bus. Sometimes he wakes up in the van with stiff limbs and finds her head on his shoulder, her hand clutching his. He wonders if this was all spontaneous, or if she really needed him.
He tries to play the piano backstage one day, but he’s anything but gifted with this talent. She’s patient, though. She places her hands over his, lets her fingers do the talking. Hunched over his back, smelling of that cusp of time between spring and summer, her body is pressed against his, and her hands are skillful and gentle. They look so endearing against the ivory of the piano keys; he wants to hold them, kiss them. His hands look just plain clumsy and wrong. Her hair hangs over one shoulder and it’s a mess of golden curls and waves. It touches his shoulder when she turns her head. But none of this is enough because he is failing in front of her. Frustrated, he scoffs and resists her fingers on top of his. The keys don’t get pressed and he bites the inside of his lip. He swears he’s making the worst noise ever. Chris grunts, “I can’t do this, Greta. This isn’t me.” But she can only smile and murmur, “You’re doing just fine.”
The phone rings, Greta’s phone. It pierces through the van as she rummages around in her bag, the shadows of the night making it more difficult than it should really be. Chris wants to smash that phone- she was just about to fall asleep. Bob curses from the driver’s seat and it’s something about that “damn phone of Greta’s.” Darren can only chime in and say it never stops ringing. Chris can feel some anger begin to boil within him. That’s not true. He wants to tell them to shut up, but stops himself when she breaks into a full-blown smile. Darren leans over to look in the rearview. “Boyfriend,” he says to Bob with a shrug. Bob only smirks with a shake of the head. “Why do they try to make it work?” His whisper is louder than needed, and although Greta is too wrapped up in her phone call to notice, Chris knows it was uncalled for. When she finally hangs up, she’s not pouting, she’s not getting in that dark place like she sometimes does. She’s smiling with dreamy eyes. Chris hates that they didn’t fight this time.
Back in Chicago, before their show and before moving on to a new city, Greta invites Chris to eat lunch with her family. “What, like my family doesn’t care about me?” Chris asks spitefully. Greta sighs and says that she knows his parents are away on business, and she wishes he would stop being such an ass about everything. But, the thing is, Chris knows she’s being very generous to share her family time with him when he has no family to share time with. It’s not that Chris doesn’t like Mr. and Mrs. Salpeter, it’s just that the boyfriend comes with the family package, and Chris doesn’t want to be the third wheel. No, he doesn’t feel like it today. Besides, when was the last time he wandered around the city?
The night keeps dragging on, and, God, hasn’t it been long enough? The boyfriend came out to the show on the East Coast, and Chris just wants to withdraw himself from the whole night. Greta isn’t the lovey-dovey type or anything, but the minor hand holding and smiles are enough! None of it is his. He can’t call her his own, and that kills him slowly inside. It’s just out of his reach and, fuck, it’s not fair. It’s not fair to tease Chris and he can’t stop. Maybe Darren saw it, because he told him to get the trout mouth the fuck off his face. Quietly, he added that Chris didn’t need to load the van up tonight. Chris ends up sinking down between the seats of the van with a pack of cigarettes and his mind racing. Five cigarettes later, the van door slides open and someone with a light step and easy breath comes in. She coughs, waves her hand in front of her face, and follows the small plume of smoke coming up from between the seats to the blanket and pillow bundle that is Chris. “What do you think you’re doing?” she says with a light smile. “All I smell in this van is you.” And she plucks the cigarette from Chris’ loose fingers and throws it onto the pavement outside. “I just needed a break,” Chris mumbles, already searching for another cigarette, but the pack seems to have found its way to Greta’s hand. She pockets it, and leaves Chris alone.
Somehow it’s just them in a hotel room, Chris and Greta. Chris suspects some secret plans made between Bob and Darren, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Greta hasn’t been herself all night. She hasn’t said a word. She sinks into her bed, doesn’t bother to talk to Chris. He shuts off the lights himself and climbs into his bed, and lies awake. He hears something not too long after. Chris can’t mistake the sound for anything else but her quiet sobbing into the pillow. It’s the same aggravated cry he hasn’t heard since the recording of ‘So Sudden.’ He’s unsure of what to do so he lies still despite his legs wanting to shuffle over to her bed. He waits, he counts the seconds and minutes, but the sobs only continue. “Greta?” he whispers. Greta only cries harder, and Chris is so torn. It’s not his place to crawl into bed with her, but he feels as if he has no choice… She’s so perfect in his arms.
The days are long as they hit the Midwest. It’s always Bob and Darren up front, with Chris and Greta settled somewhere in the back of the van. Chris has found his niche between the seats again, and he’s quiet as he watches Greta write. Greta. Greta. She didn’t stop crying for days. She clung to Chris. She never said anything, never said why she was crying, but Chris is a smart kid. He could guess it was her boyfriend. And Chris, he aches. He aches so badly for her now. Now that her smile has evolved from a fake, tight-lipped thing to the radiance it once was, Chris has been pushed gently aside once again.
“Best friend,” Greta says into his ear right before a show, “why don’t you ever push the limit?” Chris is bewildered. He didn’t even know there was a limit, and he wasn’t sure what was limited. He laughs lightly, to cover his bewilderment, and jokes, “I sometimes go over the speed limit. And sometimes I drink too much. Actually, I always drink too much when I drink.” He shrugs casually. “I push the limit.” She doesn’t smile fully, though. In fact, she looks a bit disappointed. But it’s time to get on stage, and he watches her saunter over to her keyboard. He’s forced to follow close behind, lost somewhere behind Darren and Bob. ‘We Intertwined’ only fills his head half-way, because as he plays the familiar chords, the rest of his mind is trying to figure out what Greta meant..
It’s the night that almost changes everything, the night when things almost get admitted, the night when Greta almost puts two and two together, and the night when Chris feels the most vulnerable. He chain smokes outside while leaning on the van as Bob and Darren buy things at the twenty-four hour grocery store. It’s late, too late to be up, but Bob got pretty desperate for bottled water after all he could find were empty water bottles in the van and was forced to sip at brown tap water. And Darren just likes browsing new stores and finding odds and ends. That is just Darren.
Looking at the empty parking lot and the fluorescent lights shining through the store windows, Chris feels his demeanor slowly dissipate into hardly anything. That night in the hotel was so long ago, but it haunts him. She was right there, but she got snapped back to her boyfriend so quick. He hates her boyfriend because he’s never around like Chris is. Chris is her support, her backbone, twenty-four-seven. He’s tangible and crystal clear all the time, unlike her boyfriend who is merely static coming through a cell phone. Chris is the best damn thing to ever happen to her, so why can’t she see it?
It’s funny how all these odd happenings sort of get rolled into one huge ball of memories. All her smiles, her laughs, her tears, and all those looks she gets when she’s angry, they all flash by fast in Chris’ head. He remembers her shy greeting when they first met; he remembers the tentativeness of ‘So Sudden’ and her being so hesitant about her songs; he remembers ‘Like Vines’ and her doing homework in between recordings, and how she always asked Chris for help with calculus homework (even though the figures never clicked in his head, deeming him worthless to her high school education); he remembers that time it was just them walking around Chicago, New York, Boston, getting on random subway lines and L’s; he remembers Panic at the Disco teasing her relentlessly for being the only girl on tour, and feeling the anger bubble under his skin. His cigarette dwindles between his fingers.
When the door of the van slides open and Greta crawls out, Chris has already smoked another two cigarettes. She leans next to him quietly. He doesn’t say anything because he simply can’t. Instead, he looks the other way at the endless pavement of the parking lot trying not to notice her body barely touching his. She sighs, probably to herself, and Chris flinches.
“What’s going on?” she asks. There’s no sleep in her voice. Chris wonders if she was watching him stress out through the van window.
“Bob wanted water. Darren is tagging along,” he answers simply. His voice is heavy, almost as heavy as the air between him and Greta. She doesn’t say anything. “Sleeping?” He can feel her looking at him.
“Was I sleeping? Yeah, sort of. But I saw you out here, so…” She shrugs her shoulders. Her eyes reflect the lights from the grocery store. “I sort of want some organic granola,” she mumbles, and Chris thinks it’s just as well.
“Go get some then,” he says almost sourly. He is hating her for rejecting him.
Greta looks at him, her eyes starting to get icy. “Do you need sleep or something? I swear, you’ve been the biggest ass these past few weeks, and that’s not the Chris Faller I know.” She lowers her eyes to the pavement, oily and wet under her flats. “And I’ve noticed that the Mister Hyde version of you only comes out around me. Not Darren, not Bob, not Adam.” Her voice drops to hardly a whisper, and it sounds pained. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Christopher Faller. Sometimes I really do.”
Chris knows it’s serious when his full name gets used, but he can’t bring himself to say anything to her. Conflict with Greta is new. Conflict that is out there between Chris and Greta is such a new concept to Chris, he’s not sure if he knows how to handle it. So he decides he is better off not handling it. He gives up, clenches his fists in immense frustration in himself and in Greta, and goes for a walk.
The adrenaline; he breathes heavily. His hand is resting on her cheek, so delicately. The kiss, the kiss, the director reminds them, needs to only seem perfect. And it’s when she starts laughing that he wants to just scream. The director tells them to take a minute; he needs to tend to something. She shakes her head and laughs to herself. Her eyes wander to the darkness off the set, to Darren and Bob standing around with Adam, and she goes to join them. “I crack!” she laughs. “Every time, I just can’t take it!” He jitters, thumbs the scarf around his neck. It’s not fair.