Cookstro fic
Title: Praying for Time
Author: auto_floss
Pairing: Cookstro
Summary: The AI7 tour is drawing to an end soon, and David Cook feels the pressure of his own indecisive attitude towards Jason Castro.
Disclaimer: Pure fiction. I don't own the people mentioned here.
Author's note: Been writing the David character for a while. In the past I've 'killed him off' for missing out on happiness, but being so close to the end of the boys' tour, I just can't bring myself to see him unhappy. I will give David love, because in my world, he seems to need it so.
The tour is winding down. Some days you swear you just don't know how you feel or what you feel, or how you should feel, or what you should do to lengthen Time, turn back the course of events, rewind the happy moments during the past few months when everyday, as you opened your eyes, you saw the same other nine people, expectantly, irrevacably, without a doubt. You know whether or not you are in Kansas, your guitar was your ruby red shoes, which lead you right to one incredibly beautiful boy wizard with ocean blue eyes casting some damned spell over your soul. You scratch our head, miserable, because God knows August is ending fast, and instead of looking forward to a different city, a different performance every few days, you find yourself counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds you have with your make-shift friends, and in particular, your secret crush--one clueless, charming dreadhead.
Back in July, before you seriously considered how your emotions would affect your life as a whole, you sort of flirted A LOT with the idea of confessing to him that you're really head over heels in love; and how you try to spend as much time with him not because you're just a super friendly guy but because you dig every single pore and cell on his body, right down to his perfect eyelashes. I mean for crying out loud you got a tattoo of his eye on your right wrist! How much more do you have to actually spell out? It's not like Kimberly Cardwell has blue eyes, or any of your family members, or your other past friends. Any five year old kid could tell who's rocking your world... But you've stayed in an impasse, silent, not speaking out the words, though in your nightly dreaming you've done much more daring gestures; you've loved more openly, in earnest, enacting out the deepest feelings within your heart in your reveries, pulling him close to you, holding on tight and made him promise never to let you go. Oftentimes now you feel weak whenever you catch him laughing innocently during the days, his lips parted in merriment at the whirlwind of fame and fortune, of popularity, and public adoration. You feel the urge to hang your head down and cry, to dissipate your nameless fear via tears which came easy for you during moments of great pathos. You probably make a fabulous tragedy actor, or a reality television castmember...which you kind of were...
Sighing, your thoughts turn back to you problem: the problem of Time, more precisely the lack of it. What to do? What to do? There is only so much longer to launch your attack on this secret feeling, to pursue a happiness which you thought you had all the time in the world to make a choice on, to chart the course your full-winded sailboat must traverse on this vast ocean of longing. Blinking away sudden urges to weep, you know you've got to make a move soon, one way or another, putting an end to this impasse, either forfeiting the idea of a love unattested for, or go for it and tell everything to the world. To him.
"David," His voice calm and soothing. "I'm putting together a contact list for all of us so we can stay in touch after the tour is over. Here, can you write down your stuff and I'll type it up for all of us... I put you last because...because I didn't know how much space you needed, you being a word nerd and all." His crystalline eyes looked away; for a split second you thought you saw his attempt at a smile which you swore almost crumbled into a frown, but turned quickly back to a smile again as he handed you his notepad, on which you spotted Carly's cool penmanship, Michael Johns' squiggly writings, Archie's orderly, slightly neurotic handprint, Sayesha's carefree signature, along with all the others' well wishes and friendly words. He's always been so much more practical than you; a methodical person, direct and simple when things mattered. Not like you, the occasional emo mess, dwelling in your intellectual gridlock over something so...obvious, like saying to someone, 'hey I really like you, in fact, I think maybe I am in love with you." For sure, you know you suck at these important scenes, because your eyes are misty, making things difficult like always. You turn away, not taking the notepad. You can't. The words and thoughts tripping you up you can't put down on paper for anyone else to read, except maybe him. But even that you're not too sure. You hear him sigh.
"Later then... It's okay if you don't want to keep in touch, I guess...no pressure. Here's my info. You can keep it just in case you change your mind."
Tearing out a page, he lay it neatly folded in half next to where you sit and walked away, leaving you to your own morbid brooding. You hate yourself for being unable to utter anything contrary to what he's just said. You want to keep in touch; Lord knows that's all you ever wanted. With blurred vision, for your tears never failed a prompt entrance, you picked up the note paper.
"Dearest David," it began.
"I guess it's a little awkward to call you that, you and me both being guys and all...but anyways, that's how I feel so...dearest David, it's been a lot of fun meeting you along with the rest of the people at the idol show and touring with all of you which I found to be the most memorable experience I’ve ever had. I am usually a little shy on stage because people--a lot of them-- still scare me some nights ;p but watching you perform has helped me learn a lot about my own fears, and what I want to do musically in the future. I was really happy for you when they announced you as this year's idol winner. all of us knew that you really had the talent and drive--not that I don't think Archie’s voice is amazing, but you were kind of a born rock star...and sometimes I feel a little intimidated when I see you on stage. like you're not real...like you're just something bigger than this tour, or even our friendship. I know the tour is ending. It makes me sad to think about it. I can’t imagine waking up in the morning to get breakfast, and not see you doing your puzzle, or scratching your head mumbling something to yourself at the table. You’re such a ... (scratched out words) sorry...don't know if I wanted to say that to you... maybe I don't have the right because technically, I haven’t said anything else to lead to that... ;0 well, guess my writing must sound as random and clueless as I look huh? Well... the truth is... the truth is.... I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time now... I am a little nervous, can’t you tell? If it's true what the others have been saying since you got your tattoo... Hmmm, that maybe you like me... like that? Because it's a funny...umm, what you call it...a coincidence? Because I really like you too... In fact, I think maybe I am in love with you..."
"Castro!"
In the sunlight, you see him turn amongst the crowds, his dreads blowing in the breeze, his eyes bright like sparkling seawater, his perfect lips parted like during a prayer. Your legs couldn't carry you fast enough as you ran towards him, your heart bursting with feelings you have no words for. You don't care about the whooping, the gawking, the derisive laughter from bystanders. Those are not important. You'll deal with all that later. For now, for this moment, you hold on tight to the only meaningful thing in your life: the boy you've come to love--the boy who loves you.