Not Thinking About You [1/1]
Title: Not Thinking About You
Author: alovelyvampire
Pairing: PierrexDavid
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third
Summary: It's Christmastime, and Pierre and David are both lonely. But they refuse to think about each other.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of transformative fiction, such being defined as a work which incorporates characters and situations which have been created by other authors/artists. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from the creation or dissemination of this work. The members of Simple Plan own themselves. This was made for entertainment purposes only.
Author Notes: AUGH!! I've had this thing floating around since freakin CHRISTMAS. But at least it's up now? I promise to write more!! But I've got to write a few things for my other fandom, first =) {{Mina, that means I've got a few things headed your way, hopefully!!! =)}}
Beta: Unbeta'd, anything overly glaring would be fantastic =)
Warnings: Drug refrences. Maybe mild language. But I don't remember things like that xD
Pierre was down on his luck.
If you told him this, he might scoff at you, or roll his eyes, or a combination of the two. If you were lucky enough for him to speak, he would say something like, “That’s the understatement of the year.” Then he’d scoff or roll his eyes, and he’d most definitely walk away.
Pierre was quite skilled at walking away from any situation. He had walked away from his family, his friends, and the one person who he thought he was going to stay with for the rest of his life.
He blamed it on the drug. But now the drug was gone-and the only person left to blame was himself.
He was regretting it, you know. He wanted to go back to the people he loved most. He wanted to return to the days of working at the mall at the little record store, spending time with his friends at the skate park, making music with his band, and coming home every day to the arms of his wonderful boyfriend. His wonderful, lovely David…
Pierre shrugged the thought of David away from him. He hadn’t thought about his ex-boyfriend in just about two years, and he wasn’t about to start again.
He supposed it was the holiday season, watching the couples stroll down the streets of New York, arm in arm, close together, laughing and just generally being happy. Fortunately for him and the other homeless people, it hadn’t started to snow yet…
Pierre felt a tinge in his stomach as he looked up at the sky, praying that there wouldn’t be any clouds or anything to suggest snow might be coming. As his eyes traveled upward, one was hit with a snowflake. Of all the rotten luck, Pierre seemed to have the most of it.
He nearly considered-as he did every year-going back to his parent’s house and trying to start his life over again. He was clean-he hadn’t had money for junk in months (and he could safely say he would never use it again, that stuff was hell on earth)-but he didn’t think he could face his family after he walked out on them like that. He had said quite a few awful things-but it wasn’t really his fault. They were trying to protect him from something he wanted, even if that thing was killing him.
Yep, Pierre had nobody left to blame but himself.
Pierre sat down on the curb, pulling his so-not-stolen coat closer around him. He was lucky to have found it-someone had stupidly left it lying on the side of the road. There were quite a few stupid people in New York-almost once a week, Pierre found something lying somewhere. He often found food-like granola bars when it was cold and things like bottled water and fruit when it was warm-and chalked it all up to stupid people dropping stuff all over the place.
Every once in a while, he allowed himself to think that someone from his old life might have been looking out for him-but nobody cared that much. Nobody except David…but Pierre wasn’t about to let himself think about David.
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David groaned as he lifted the oh-so-heavy snow globe on top of the Bouvier’s mantle. He always decorated with this family during Christmastime, after the year Pierre invited him to…but David wasn’t going to let himself think about Pierre now and spoil his mood. Besides, Mrs. Bouvier was probably going to have him do more heavy lifting, especially since her husband’s back was out. Not that he minded-decorating a little one-room apartment wasn’t much fun to do on your own, and he had no other family to speak of.
Sure enough, coming down the stairs, Mrs. Bouvier called to him, carrying a rather large box of fake garland. “Oh, David, honey, would you come help me put the banister in shape? I need you to wind this while I go grab the box of bows and poinsettias.”
“Of course,” David smiled at her. She was like a mother to him, he loved her so much. And to think, she may have become his mother-in-law, if things had gone differently.
But David wasn’t about to let himself think about what might have been. Instead, he focused on winding the garland around the banister, because that took a lot more concentration than one might think.
Looking at David, you might suppose that he had a pretty decent life. He had a good paying job as a bookkeeper for the little bookshop down the street, lived in a pretty nice apartment, and was generally a happy person. If you asked him if he had any serious issues in his life, he might smile and say, “If there are, they aren’t affecting me right now.” And he would smile and walk away.
David wasn’t so good at walking away from situations-but he always avoided talking about Pierre. He missed him too much. David felt as though that boy had his heart in his more-than-capable hands, and had cared for it so well-then felt as though it had served its purpose, and thrown it away. Or, rather, lit it on fire to help create a flame for his spoon and oh-so-precious smack. David felt cheated more than anything. He didn’t like to think of his Pierre, homeless on the streets because of something some of his more lame friends thought he should try.
David hated thinking about Pierre like that. So, more often than not, he didn’t.
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Pierre slumped against a brick wall in a little back alley to take some refuge from the snow. There was a small overhand here, and just enough room for a deathly-skinny person to stand without more than the edges of his shoes getting crystals on it. Looking up at the street sign, Pierre noticed he wasn’t too far from his parent’s house, not even a full block away. He wondered what would happen if he decided to knock on their door. He wasn’t sure he’d be accepted very well, considering he had walked out on them about two years ago now. He didn’t want to ruin their Christmas. Or David’s, for that matter, if he was still going over to their place to decorate. Pierre had a feeling he would-David always did like his mother. But Pierre didn’t want to think about David-so he stopped, and thought about where he was gonna sleep tonight, since it was so cold. Maybe he’d go find another shelter.
Sighing, he looked to his left, and across the street, he had a perfect view of a bay window, where a little family was setting up a Christmas tree. There was a little blonde girl, who looked maybe seven, and a dark-haired boy, presumably her brother, who wasn’t too much older. Both their parents were there, the father with hair like the daughter’s, and with glasses, and the mother, with hair like the boys, very dark and very curly. They had strung lights and tinsel, and were putting the ornaments on. Both children were skipping and laughing as their parents panicked over the glass orbs, but it was all in good-natured fun. Pierre felt homesickness stab him again. He missed decorating his and David’s apartment. It wasn’t very big, but they had a little tree, and ribbons, and other such nonsense. It was quite cute when all was said and done, though it often took twice as long as it strictly needed to, because the two of them took their time and had fun with it.
Pierre also missed going over to help his mom decorate the house, because his dad was always too lazy to do it. Pierre chuckled as he remembered his dad always complaining about his “bad back” and how he shouldn’t be up lifting boxes, and instead would be a back-seat-decorator and tell his mother how to do it. Pierre was the only one who ever caught on to the sham, and only because he saw his father move quite quickly down the stairs and to the kitchen once Pierre’s mother got a fresh batch of cookies out of the oven. Pierre wondered mildly whether or not his family was going to decorate today, or if it was already done.
Pierre closed his eyes and very nearly groaned. He didn’t want to think about his family right now.
Sliding down the wall, Pierre threw his head back in an attempt to maybe fall asleep, or daydream--anything to get him away from these thoughts of his family. No sooner had he done this, however, did a small group of carolers come down the street, happily singing “Jingle Bells”. Pierre decided to risk a glance at them, and almost immediately regretted it.
It looked like a group of mothers and their kids, and they were all laughing their way through the lyrics, stealing pages of music from their neighbors because they had forgotten the lyrics, and the children were doing comical impressions and interpretations of the song. Pierre found himself stabbed in the heart again as he saw the happy scene, and was hit with a thousand fresh memories of happy times. He found himself pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to block them out, but found it impossible.
It was settled, then. If the universe was going to be like that, he was going to see his parents. And pray to whatever god or gods might be listening that they may forgive him for his horrific crime.
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David and Mrs. Bouvier had just finished decorating the banister when Mr. Bouvier walked into the room. “Quite gorgeous, my love,” he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. “If I was you, though, I’d send my little elf to the kitchen for something to eat and drink. That boy’s been here all day and hasn’t stopped decorating once!”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” David smiled at the two people he considered his family. “I’m alright.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right, honey!” Mrs. Bouvier took David’s face in between her hands. “You’re so thin, it’s not like you have anything to work off of! Go, go, there’s cookies and cocoa on the counter. I’ll straighten bows and add more decorations that I’m sure you’ll be telling me to do.” Mrs. Bouvier poked her husband’s nose on you’ll, and both of them chuckled deeply. That was David’s favorite thing about the pair of them-they were such happy people.
David walked away smiling as they gently argued back and forth, and was startled when he heard a knock at the door. He called over his shoulder, “I’ve got it!” and mildly wondered who might be there.
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Pierre shivered atop his parent’s doorstep-more from nerves than anything. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to be rejected, but he was sick of the streets. They were cold and unforgiving-and he just wanted to be home again. He wasn’t sure if he could face them, wasn’t sure if he could come up with the right words. But he was pretty sure he could say the right things to his parents-well, as sure as he could be in his situation. He just prayed they hadn’t decorated today and David wasn’t here. Pierre knew he couldn’t face David today. Not yet.
He took three deep breaths, then a fourth one for luck, and knocked on the door. He heard a laughed shout, and footsteps. He attempted to straighten himself to a better height, and was suddenly concerned about how dirty and smelly he must be-then decided there was nothing he could do about it now. He watched the door handle turn, and looked up into the face of the person who had turned it.
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Both boys stared each other in the eyes; David’s filled with shock, Pierre’s with fear. Neither could believe the other was standing there. The person they cared about the most, the one they loved more than anything, the one they would jump off a goddamn cliff for, if it meant keeping them safe.
After Pierre had left, David had gone into a state of shock and depression that had him refusing to talk to anybody, and refusing to eat, as well. He had truly loved Pierre, even if he wasn’t the same on smack. David always thought Pierre’s love for him would overcome the stupid drug, and he didn’t believe him when he said millions of nasty things as he left their home. Everyone thought it was a matter of time before he killed himself, and while the Bouvier parents were dead-set on stopping him, there was only so much they could do. The Mrs. was already sleeping in David’s living room, making meals and almost attempting to shove the food down his throat so he could eat, but everyone else thought he should be put out of his misery.
While staring out the window of his apartment, thinking of nothing in particular besides dark thoughts, David saw Pierre on the streets. He looked horrible, covered in dirt, and he had a bit of a scraggly beard. David saw he was stick-thin, no longer being made to choke down food by a caring boyfriend. It made David hurt to see him like that, but not nearly as much as it had hurt him not seeing the boy at all. But he couldn’t just leave him there to die…so David did the one thing he could do in a situation like that. He grabbed an apple and a granola bar from the kitchen and ran outside.
Once there, he knew he couldn’t walk up to Pierre. If he was still the Pierre of two weeks ago, he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with David-even if David had food. So he left it in plain sight, on top of a car hood, and hoped that nobody else would take it. He ran back inside to watch from the window.
His heart was beating a million miles an hour as Pierre got closer to the car-and the window. Even though David was on the second story of this building, Pierre could very well look up and see him watching. But for some reason, he didn’t. He glanced over both shoulders, and seeing no one too suspicious, he grabbed the food and ran. David hoped he wasn’t selling it for dope.
From then on, David made it his mission to leave food for Pierre in various places-he would’ve kept leaving it out front, but he didn’t want Pierre to remember who lived here and suspect that David was stalking him. And, after a while, David convinced himself he wasn’t stalking Pierre-in fact, he made himself forget about the boy every other time of the day-besides when he was getting food to leave about.
About six or seven months into this, David noticed that Pierre’s jacket was getting rather shabby. No, more than shabby-they had huge holes in them. And his shoes were starting to wear down, as well. David didn’t want to think of his Pierre out on the streets like that, so he bought him a coat and a new pair of sturdy boots, and left those instead of the food one night.
And so it went, for two years, David getting Pierre whatever he needed, but never being seen by him, nor giving him money. That was the only thing David refused to give him. He knew that money would go right to the heroin. More than once they had very nearly run out of money for Pierre to keep up his habit. David didn’t want to kill him.
And so it hadn’t entirely shocked David to see Pierre in the state he was in, so much as to see those eyes staring into his. David had forgotten how they sparkled.
Pierre was afraid of David, afraid of the things he might say, the truths he might yell at Pierre, ripping him apart. But he couldn’t help but notice just how thin David had gotten over the past two years. He saw bags under his eyes, and he had a nasty hunch it wasn’t the white sweater that made David seem so pale. He had an urge to take the smaller man into his arms, to hold him, to tell him all was well. But he didn’t know where to begin-and he was still waiting for the yelling to start.
But, instead, David broke the silence first, with quiet words. “Pierre, honey, come in.”
Pierre twitched slightly to hear his name spoken with such tenderness-when was the last time he had heard it said like that?-and carefully stepped his way over the threshold. David gently closed the door behind him, and stared at him for a few more seconds. Pierre couldn’t take it anymore, and spoke. “David…I’m so sorry. For everything.” He paused, to see if David would say something. When he didn’t, Pierre took a nervous breath and went on. “I called you horrible things, and I honestly treated you like shit before…I left.” Pierre looked down at the floor, not being able to stand the tears in David’s eyes as he just watched him apologize. Pierre was hardly paying attention to the words that were slipping out of his mouth, and David was even less aware. Finally, David shut Pierre up by walking close and placing a finger over his lips.
“Love, shush. I forgive you. How could I not? I’ve missed you so much.” David engulfed his filth-covered lover in his arms, burying his face in Pierre’s neck.
“How could you forgive me? There’s not one good reason out there why you should…” Pierre mumbled, weak from sheer relief of being able to return.
“Simple. I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.” David held Pierre at arm’s length. “Now go take a shower. You smell.”
Author: alovelyvampire
Pairing: PierrexDavid
Rating: PG-13
POV: Third
Summary: It's Christmastime, and Pierre and David are both lonely. But they refuse to think about each other.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of transformative fiction, such being defined as a work which incorporates characters and situations which have been created by other authors/artists. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from the creation or dissemination of this work. The members of Simple Plan own themselves. This was made for entertainment purposes only.
Author Notes: AUGH!! I've had this thing floating around since freakin CHRISTMAS. But at least it's up now? I promise to write more!! But I've got to write a few things for my other fandom, first =) {{Mina, that means I've got a few things headed your way, hopefully!!! =)}}
Beta: Unbeta'd, anything overly glaring would be fantastic =)
Warnings: Drug refrences. Maybe mild language. But I don't remember things like that xD
Pierre was down on his luck.
If you told him this, he might scoff at you, or roll his eyes, or a combination of the two. If you were lucky enough for him to speak, he would say something like, “That’s the understatement of the year.” Then he’d scoff or roll his eyes, and he’d most definitely walk away.
Pierre was quite skilled at walking away from any situation. He had walked away from his family, his friends, and the one person who he thought he was going to stay with for the rest of his life.
He blamed it on the drug. But now the drug was gone-and the only person left to blame was himself.
He was regretting it, you know. He wanted to go back to the people he loved most. He wanted to return to the days of working at the mall at the little record store, spending time with his friends at the skate park, making music with his band, and coming home every day to the arms of his wonderful boyfriend. His wonderful, lovely David…
Pierre shrugged the thought of David away from him. He hadn’t thought about his ex-boyfriend in just about two years, and he wasn’t about to start again.
He supposed it was the holiday season, watching the couples stroll down the streets of New York, arm in arm, close together, laughing and just generally being happy. Fortunately for him and the other homeless people, it hadn’t started to snow yet…
Pierre felt a tinge in his stomach as he looked up at the sky, praying that there wouldn’t be any clouds or anything to suggest snow might be coming. As his eyes traveled upward, one was hit with a snowflake. Of all the rotten luck, Pierre seemed to have the most of it.
He nearly considered-as he did every year-going back to his parent’s house and trying to start his life over again. He was clean-he hadn’t had money for junk in months (and he could safely say he would never use it again, that stuff was hell on earth)-but he didn’t think he could face his family after he walked out on them like that. He had said quite a few awful things-but it wasn’t really his fault. They were trying to protect him from something he wanted, even if that thing was killing him.
Yep, Pierre had nobody left to blame but himself.
Pierre sat down on the curb, pulling his so-not-stolen coat closer around him. He was lucky to have found it-someone had stupidly left it lying on the side of the road. There were quite a few stupid people in New York-almost once a week, Pierre found something lying somewhere. He often found food-like granola bars when it was cold and things like bottled water and fruit when it was warm-and chalked it all up to stupid people dropping stuff all over the place.
Every once in a while, he allowed himself to think that someone from his old life might have been looking out for him-but nobody cared that much. Nobody except David…but Pierre wasn’t about to let himself think about David.
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David groaned as he lifted the oh-so-heavy snow globe on top of the Bouvier’s mantle. He always decorated with this family during Christmastime, after the year Pierre invited him to…but David wasn’t going to let himself think about Pierre now and spoil his mood. Besides, Mrs. Bouvier was probably going to have him do more heavy lifting, especially since her husband’s back was out. Not that he minded-decorating a little one-room apartment wasn’t much fun to do on your own, and he had no other family to speak of.
Sure enough, coming down the stairs, Mrs. Bouvier called to him, carrying a rather large box of fake garland. “Oh, David, honey, would you come help me put the banister in shape? I need you to wind this while I go grab the box of bows and poinsettias.”
“Of course,” David smiled at her. She was like a mother to him, he loved her so much. And to think, she may have become his mother-in-law, if things had gone differently.
But David wasn’t about to let himself think about what might have been. Instead, he focused on winding the garland around the banister, because that took a lot more concentration than one might think.
Looking at David, you might suppose that he had a pretty decent life. He had a good paying job as a bookkeeper for the little bookshop down the street, lived in a pretty nice apartment, and was generally a happy person. If you asked him if he had any serious issues in his life, he might smile and say, “If there are, they aren’t affecting me right now.” And he would smile and walk away.
David wasn’t so good at walking away from situations-but he always avoided talking about Pierre. He missed him too much. David felt as though that boy had his heart in his more-than-capable hands, and had cared for it so well-then felt as though it had served its purpose, and thrown it away. Or, rather, lit it on fire to help create a flame for his spoon and oh-so-precious smack. David felt cheated more than anything. He didn’t like to think of his Pierre, homeless on the streets because of something some of his more lame friends thought he should try.
David hated thinking about Pierre like that. So, more often than not, he didn’t.
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Pierre slumped against a brick wall in a little back alley to take some refuge from the snow. There was a small overhand here, and just enough room for a deathly-skinny person to stand without more than the edges of his shoes getting crystals on it. Looking up at the street sign, Pierre noticed he wasn’t too far from his parent’s house, not even a full block away. He wondered what would happen if he decided to knock on their door. He wasn’t sure he’d be accepted very well, considering he had walked out on them about two years ago now. He didn’t want to ruin their Christmas. Or David’s, for that matter, if he was still going over to their place to decorate. Pierre had a feeling he would-David always did like his mother. But Pierre didn’t want to think about David-so he stopped, and thought about where he was gonna sleep tonight, since it was so cold. Maybe he’d go find another shelter.
Sighing, he looked to his left, and across the street, he had a perfect view of a bay window, where a little family was setting up a Christmas tree. There was a little blonde girl, who looked maybe seven, and a dark-haired boy, presumably her brother, who wasn’t too much older. Both their parents were there, the father with hair like the daughter’s, and with glasses, and the mother, with hair like the boys, very dark and very curly. They had strung lights and tinsel, and were putting the ornaments on. Both children were skipping and laughing as their parents panicked over the glass orbs, but it was all in good-natured fun. Pierre felt homesickness stab him again. He missed decorating his and David’s apartment. It wasn’t very big, but they had a little tree, and ribbons, and other such nonsense. It was quite cute when all was said and done, though it often took twice as long as it strictly needed to, because the two of them took their time and had fun with it.
Pierre also missed going over to help his mom decorate the house, because his dad was always too lazy to do it. Pierre chuckled as he remembered his dad always complaining about his “bad back” and how he shouldn’t be up lifting boxes, and instead would be a back-seat-decorator and tell his mother how to do it. Pierre was the only one who ever caught on to the sham, and only because he saw his father move quite quickly down the stairs and to the kitchen once Pierre’s mother got a fresh batch of cookies out of the oven. Pierre wondered mildly whether or not his family was going to decorate today, or if it was already done.
Pierre closed his eyes and very nearly groaned. He didn’t want to think about his family right now.
Sliding down the wall, Pierre threw his head back in an attempt to maybe fall asleep, or daydream--anything to get him away from these thoughts of his family. No sooner had he done this, however, did a small group of carolers come down the street, happily singing “Jingle Bells”. Pierre decided to risk a glance at them, and almost immediately regretted it.
It looked like a group of mothers and their kids, and they were all laughing their way through the lyrics, stealing pages of music from their neighbors because they had forgotten the lyrics, and the children were doing comical impressions and interpretations of the song. Pierre found himself stabbed in the heart again as he saw the happy scene, and was hit with a thousand fresh memories of happy times. He found himself pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to block them out, but found it impossible.
It was settled, then. If the universe was going to be like that, he was going to see his parents. And pray to whatever god or gods might be listening that they may forgive him for his horrific crime.
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David and Mrs. Bouvier had just finished decorating the banister when Mr. Bouvier walked into the room. “Quite gorgeous, my love,” he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. “If I was you, though, I’d send my little elf to the kitchen for something to eat and drink. That boy’s been here all day and hasn’t stopped decorating once!”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” David smiled at the two people he considered his family. “I’m alright.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right, honey!” Mrs. Bouvier took David’s face in between her hands. “You’re so thin, it’s not like you have anything to work off of! Go, go, there’s cookies and cocoa on the counter. I’ll straighten bows and add more decorations that I’m sure you’ll be telling me to do.” Mrs. Bouvier poked her husband’s nose on you’ll, and both of them chuckled deeply. That was David’s favorite thing about the pair of them-they were such happy people.
David walked away smiling as they gently argued back and forth, and was startled when he heard a knock at the door. He called over his shoulder, “I’ve got it!” and mildly wondered who might be there.
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Pierre shivered atop his parent’s doorstep-more from nerves than anything. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to be rejected, but he was sick of the streets. They were cold and unforgiving-and he just wanted to be home again. He wasn’t sure if he could face them, wasn’t sure if he could come up with the right words. But he was pretty sure he could say the right things to his parents-well, as sure as he could be in his situation. He just prayed they hadn’t decorated today and David wasn’t here. Pierre knew he couldn’t face David today. Not yet.
He took three deep breaths, then a fourth one for luck, and knocked on the door. He heard a laughed shout, and footsteps. He attempted to straighten himself to a better height, and was suddenly concerned about how dirty and smelly he must be-then decided there was nothing he could do about it now. He watched the door handle turn, and looked up into the face of the person who had turned it.
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Both boys stared each other in the eyes; David’s filled with shock, Pierre’s with fear. Neither could believe the other was standing there. The person they cared about the most, the one they loved more than anything, the one they would jump off a goddamn cliff for, if it meant keeping them safe.
After Pierre had left, David had gone into a state of shock and depression that had him refusing to talk to anybody, and refusing to eat, as well. He had truly loved Pierre, even if he wasn’t the same on smack. David always thought Pierre’s love for him would overcome the stupid drug, and he didn’t believe him when he said millions of nasty things as he left their home. Everyone thought it was a matter of time before he killed himself, and while the Bouvier parents were dead-set on stopping him, there was only so much they could do. The Mrs. was already sleeping in David’s living room, making meals and almost attempting to shove the food down his throat so he could eat, but everyone else thought he should be put out of his misery.
While staring out the window of his apartment, thinking of nothing in particular besides dark thoughts, David saw Pierre on the streets. He looked horrible, covered in dirt, and he had a bit of a scraggly beard. David saw he was stick-thin, no longer being made to choke down food by a caring boyfriend. It made David hurt to see him like that, but not nearly as much as it had hurt him not seeing the boy at all. But he couldn’t just leave him there to die…so David did the one thing he could do in a situation like that. He grabbed an apple and a granola bar from the kitchen and ran outside.
Once there, he knew he couldn’t walk up to Pierre. If he was still the Pierre of two weeks ago, he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with David-even if David had food. So he left it in plain sight, on top of a car hood, and hoped that nobody else would take it. He ran back inside to watch from the window.
His heart was beating a million miles an hour as Pierre got closer to the car-and the window. Even though David was on the second story of this building, Pierre could very well look up and see him watching. But for some reason, he didn’t. He glanced over both shoulders, and seeing no one too suspicious, he grabbed the food and ran. David hoped he wasn’t selling it for dope.
From then on, David made it his mission to leave food for Pierre in various places-he would’ve kept leaving it out front, but he didn’t want Pierre to remember who lived here and suspect that David was stalking him. And, after a while, David convinced himself he wasn’t stalking Pierre-in fact, he made himself forget about the boy every other time of the day-besides when he was getting food to leave about.
About six or seven months into this, David noticed that Pierre’s jacket was getting rather shabby. No, more than shabby-they had huge holes in them. And his shoes were starting to wear down, as well. David didn’t want to think of his Pierre out on the streets like that, so he bought him a coat and a new pair of sturdy boots, and left those instead of the food one night.
And so it went, for two years, David getting Pierre whatever he needed, but never being seen by him, nor giving him money. That was the only thing David refused to give him. He knew that money would go right to the heroin. More than once they had very nearly run out of money for Pierre to keep up his habit. David didn’t want to kill him.
And so it hadn’t entirely shocked David to see Pierre in the state he was in, so much as to see those eyes staring into his. David had forgotten how they sparkled.
Pierre was afraid of David, afraid of the things he might say, the truths he might yell at Pierre, ripping him apart. But he couldn’t help but notice just how thin David had gotten over the past two years. He saw bags under his eyes, and he had a nasty hunch it wasn’t the white sweater that made David seem so pale. He had an urge to take the smaller man into his arms, to hold him, to tell him all was well. But he didn’t know where to begin-and he was still waiting for the yelling to start.
But, instead, David broke the silence first, with quiet words. “Pierre, honey, come in.”
Pierre twitched slightly to hear his name spoken with such tenderness-when was the last time he had heard it said like that?-and carefully stepped his way over the threshold. David gently closed the door behind him, and stared at him for a few more seconds. Pierre couldn’t take it anymore, and spoke. “David…I’m so sorry. For everything.” He paused, to see if David would say something. When he didn’t, Pierre took a nervous breath and went on. “I called you horrible things, and I honestly treated you like shit before…I left.” Pierre looked down at the floor, not being able to stand the tears in David’s eyes as he just watched him apologize. Pierre was hardly paying attention to the words that were slipping out of his mouth, and David was even less aware. Finally, David shut Pierre up by walking close and placing a finger over his lips.
“Love, shush. I forgive you. How could I not? I’ve missed you so much.” David engulfed his filth-covered lover in his arms, burying his face in Pierre’s neck.
“How could you forgive me? There’s not one good reason out there why you should…” Pierre mumbled, weak from sheer relief of being able to return.
“Simple. I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.” David held Pierre at arm’s length. “Now go take a shower. You smell.”