Mi Cama Huele A Ti - Dan/Nando, drabble.
So I have no clue what this is all about, but I was sitting on my computer and this song started playing and The Writing Muse attacked my brain with images of Dan mopping around his house, thinking of Fer. You can actually picture this being about anyone, but if you'd like to know, I was thinking of Danny and Nando whilst I wrote it. The title comes from the song I was listening to, it's in spanish but here it is if you're curious.
Title: Mi Cama Huele A Ti
Pairing: Daniel Agger / Fernando Torres
Rating: G
Word Count: 281
Disclaimer: This isn't real, it is a product of my (not very active) imagination.
Notes: This is the first time I write f-slash and that I post here. And I know it is small, but it really took me some time to write it, so if you read i'd appreciate it that you dropped a comment. This has not been beta-ed so, any mistakes are mine [don't be afraid to point them out] I definitely hope this is the first of many, I miss writing.
Note 2: English is not my mother tongue.
Everything in this house smells of you.
The warm dark-brown leather couch in front of the TV still holds your distinct smell. Your wild berries shampoo seems to have penetrated the cushions to their very core, just like me. And I don’t think the washer could get it out, or I just don’t want to find out if it could. There’s also the pillow on the left side of the bed, and that shirt that hangs heavily in my closet, in my empty room, the one that attests to you once being here, preventing me from going insane; also serving as evidence to your absence, pushing me closer and closer to insanity.
I’ll stare at it. At the bottle of shampoo you abandoned in the bathroom, just like you did me. At the coffee stained mug that sits, lonely (like me) on the upper left cupboard. At all the things I haven’t been able to clear out of the house, or just don’t want to. Because they are hurtful reminders of what we have, had. And because in the bottom of my idealistic and hopeful mind I believe you’ll remember about them (about me) and come back. Because sometimes it’s easier to get by with that in mind, it makes it easier to rebuff all those questions about you leaving (me).
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. They had it wrong. Your heart might grow fonder, but it misguides your mind. And every night I come home to that coffee stained mug, to the wild berry cushions, to the red shirt hanging in my closet, I feel my sanity slipping away, just like you slid away a year ago.
Title: Mi Cama Huele A Ti
Pairing: Daniel Agger / Fernando Torres
Rating: G
Word Count: 281
Disclaimer: This isn't real, it is a product of my (not very active) imagination.
Notes: This is the first time I write f-slash and that I post here. And I know it is small, but it really took me some time to write it, so if you read i'd appreciate it that you dropped a comment. This has not been beta-ed so, any mistakes are mine [don't be afraid to point them out] I definitely hope this is the first of many, I miss writing.
Note 2: English is not my mother tongue.
Everything in this house smells of you.
The warm dark-brown leather couch in front of the TV still holds your distinct smell. Your wild berries shampoo seems to have penetrated the cushions to their very core, just like me. And I don’t think the washer could get it out, or I just don’t want to find out if it could. There’s also the pillow on the left side of the bed, and that shirt that hangs heavily in my closet, in my empty room, the one that attests to you once being here, preventing me from going insane; also serving as evidence to your absence, pushing me closer and closer to insanity.
I’ll stare at it. At the bottle of shampoo you abandoned in the bathroom, just like you did me. At the coffee stained mug that sits, lonely (like me) on the upper left cupboard. At all the things I haven’t been able to clear out of the house, or just don’t want to. Because they are hurtful reminders of what we have, had. And because in the bottom of my idealistic and hopeful mind I believe you’ll remember about them (about me) and come back. Because sometimes it’s easier to get by with that in mind, it makes it easier to rebuff all those questions about you leaving (me).
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. They had it wrong. Your heart might grow fonder, but it misguides your mind. And every night I come home to that coffee stained mug, to the wild berry cushions, to the red shirt hanging in my closet, I feel my sanity slipping away, just like you slid away a year ago.