oneshot : best prize of all
title: Best Prize of All
author: Sharmel
pairing: Billie/Mike
rating: PG-13
summary: "Nearby, a bell rang. Someone won a prize, a grand prize. Too bad they didn’t offer a better life as a consolation prize."
Fluorescent lights: blinking, blinding, and bright, lit the park. The atmosphere was filled with chatter and having a blast. Games, prizes, concession stands were seen everywhere, left and right. Everything and everyone radiated happiness and enjoyment; after all, it was the one time of the year the carnival came into town. But in the middle of it all stood a teenager, quiet, frowning, and was just watching the people blur in and out of the scene. Shy off of five feet seven, he stood beside a light post with a pathetic looking sign that had directions on where to buy tickets and other information no one really cared for.
A frown pursed on his lips, he stood erect, waiting. Hands shoved in his pockets, occasionally lifting his left arm up to glance at his old watch.
He was late. Always late.
It was 7:30pm. He was supposed to be there at 7pm. Bastard.
Almost mechanically, his hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of Marlboro. Skilfully, he tapped a stick out and placed it between his cracked lips. But before he got a chance to take out his lighter, an amber glow flickered right before his eyes and lit the stick up for him.
“You know that stuff will kill you.”
The scrawny man looked up and met with bright oceanic blues. Smoke clouded the tight gap between them. He attempted to flash a smile but failed miserably. Instead, with his emerald greens, he stared blankly at his late newcomer. Bastard.
“You’re late, Mike.”
Nearby, a bell rang. Someone won a prize, a grand prize. Too bad they didn’t offer a better life as a consolation prize.
The taller man shrugged as he carefully watched the shorter man, eye longing and full of regret. His long frail fingers fidgeted with a metal chain that clung around his neck.
“I’m always late, Bill.”
A scowl appeared on Billie’s illuminated face, his jet black hair falling over his tired eyes. His calloused hands zipped his hoodie all the way up to conceal his disgusting purple shirt with atrocious lettering and a stain that never seemed to come off no matter how many times he washed it.
“Well, maybe you should stop being late. It’s not like we have forever.”
Mike just chuckled softly, his fingers brushed against Billie’s as they walked around, seeking permission. Billie’s vivid greens darted away and appeared to be fascinated at something other than his companion as he shyly laced their hands together.
“Then stay with me. Run away with me. You don’t need to be with them anymore.”
Daringly, and with glassy eyes, Billie shot a look toward Mike. The bastard always said this. But those words just floated away with the wind once spoken. Words without action. Actions without question.
“Then meet me tomorrow, right there where you found me.”
Those words were always said but never done. Yet, every year, Billie came, waiting and hopeful. Until the old man came and hauled him away, packing him into the truck off to the next city.
“Alright.”
The rest of the night, they walked and walked. No further words were conversed. All their conversations were done through their eyes, hands, gestures and through gentle kisses behind one of the larger trucks. Midnight came far too soon, just like any other year, and Mike bid a farewell and a I’ll be there. But this time, Mike did something he hadn’t done before.
He started to walk away, but then, he stopped abruptly. His eyes contained a different aspect, a different glint. With a tiny smile on his fine lips, he took something out of his jacket pocket while his other hand ran through his poorly bleached hair. Billie didn’t see what he took out because lips suddenly crashed onto his; a kiss much more passionate than the others. His eyes fluttered to a close. The shorter man felt strong arms around his neck, pulling him closer. But then, a moment later, his lips became cold, bare and longing.
“I’ll be back for it later.”
Emerald greens looked out and saw Mike a foot away from him, the metal necklace that always hugged Mike’s neck was gone. With one last look, he strolled away. And when he was out of sight, Billie felt something around his neck: a necklace with a metal guitar pick. A promise. Something new. An opportunity.
The next morning, Billie stood beside the post, waiting. It was early, the sun barely peaked above the vast horizon. Minutes ticked on by, and Billie didn’t care to glance at his old, worn watch. His legs started to fall asleep, but he ignored the sensation.
Finally, he shoved his hands into his jacket pocked and took out a pack of cigarettes. The last one. Grimly, he placed it between his lips while his other hand fumbler around his pockets for a lighter. Before he found them, an amber glow flickered and lit up his stick.
“You know that stuff will kill you.”
Stunned, he looked up. Green met with blue. And the cigarette that clung to his lips fell onto the ground.
“You’re late.”
Mike shrugged as he curled their hands together, and then leaning closer to his companion. He brushed his fine lips over Billie’s, and his free hand grazed the metal piece that clung over Billie’s chest. A reminder. A prize. A promise kept.
A new life.
“I’m always late.”
They began to walk away, together, out of the garbage cluttered park.
“But I’m here, and that’s what really matters.”
author: Sharmel
pairing: Billie/Mike
rating: PG-13
summary: "Nearby, a bell rang. Someone won a prize, a grand prize. Too bad they didn’t offer a better life as a consolation prize."
Fluorescent lights: blinking, blinding, and bright, lit the park. The atmosphere was filled with chatter and having a blast. Games, prizes, concession stands were seen everywhere, left and right. Everything and everyone radiated happiness and enjoyment; after all, it was the one time of the year the carnival came into town. But in the middle of it all stood a teenager, quiet, frowning, and was just watching the people blur in and out of the scene. Shy off of five feet seven, he stood beside a light post with a pathetic looking sign that had directions on where to buy tickets and other information no one really cared for.
A frown pursed on his lips, he stood erect, waiting. Hands shoved in his pockets, occasionally lifting his left arm up to glance at his old watch.
He was late. Always late.
It was 7:30pm. He was supposed to be there at 7pm. Bastard.
Almost mechanically, his hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of Marlboro. Skilfully, he tapped a stick out and placed it between his cracked lips. But before he got a chance to take out his lighter, an amber glow flickered right before his eyes and lit the stick up for him.
“You know that stuff will kill you.”
The scrawny man looked up and met with bright oceanic blues. Smoke clouded the tight gap between them. He attempted to flash a smile but failed miserably. Instead, with his emerald greens, he stared blankly at his late newcomer. Bastard.
“You’re late, Mike.”
Nearby, a bell rang. Someone won a prize, a grand prize. Too bad they didn’t offer a better life as a consolation prize.
The taller man shrugged as he carefully watched the shorter man, eye longing and full of regret. His long frail fingers fidgeted with a metal chain that clung around his neck.
“I’m always late, Bill.”
A scowl appeared on Billie’s illuminated face, his jet black hair falling over his tired eyes. His calloused hands zipped his hoodie all the way up to conceal his disgusting purple shirt with atrocious lettering and a stain that never seemed to come off no matter how many times he washed it.
“Well, maybe you should stop being late. It’s not like we have forever.”
Mike just chuckled softly, his fingers brushed against Billie’s as they walked around, seeking permission. Billie’s vivid greens darted away and appeared to be fascinated at something other than his companion as he shyly laced their hands together.
“Then stay with me. Run away with me. You don’t need to be with them anymore.”
Daringly, and with glassy eyes, Billie shot a look toward Mike. The bastard always said this. But those words just floated away with the wind once spoken. Words without action. Actions without question.
“Then meet me tomorrow, right there where you found me.”
Those words were always said but never done. Yet, every year, Billie came, waiting and hopeful. Until the old man came and hauled him away, packing him into the truck off to the next city.
“Alright.”
The rest of the night, they walked and walked. No further words were conversed. All their conversations were done through their eyes, hands, gestures and through gentle kisses behind one of the larger trucks. Midnight came far too soon, just like any other year, and Mike bid a farewell and a I’ll be there. But this time, Mike did something he hadn’t done before.
He started to walk away, but then, he stopped abruptly. His eyes contained a different aspect, a different glint. With a tiny smile on his fine lips, he took something out of his jacket pocket while his other hand ran through his poorly bleached hair. Billie didn’t see what he took out because lips suddenly crashed onto his; a kiss much more passionate than the others. His eyes fluttered to a close. The shorter man felt strong arms around his neck, pulling him closer. But then, a moment later, his lips became cold, bare and longing.
“I’ll be back for it later.”
Emerald greens looked out and saw Mike a foot away from him, the metal necklace that always hugged Mike’s neck was gone. With one last look, he strolled away. And when he was out of sight, Billie felt something around his neck: a necklace with a metal guitar pick. A promise. Something new. An opportunity.
The next morning, Billie stood beside the post, waiting. It was early, the sun barely peaked above the vast horizon. Minutes ticked on by, and Billie didn’t care to glance at his old, worn watch. His legs started to fall asleep, but he ignored the sensation.
Finally, he shoved his hands into his jacket pocked and took out a pack of cigarettes. The last one. Grimly, he placed it between his lips while his other hand fumbler around his pockets for a lighter. Before he found them, an amber glow flickered and lit up his stick.
“You know that stuff will kill you.”
Stunned, he looked up. Green met with blue. And the cigarette that clung to his lips fell onto the ground.
“You’re late.”
Mike shrugged as he curled their hands together, and then leaning closer to his companion. He brushed his fine lips over Billie’s, and his free hand grazed the metal piece that clung over Billie’s chest. A reminder. A prize. A promise kept.
A new life.
“I’m always late.”
They began to walk away, together, out of the garbage cluttered park.
“But I’m here, and that’s what really matters.”