I Can't Wait Till I Get Home
Title: I Can't Wait Till I get Home
Characters: Band centric [Simple Plan]
Rating: PG
Category: Angst
Warning: Slash
Pairing: Sebastien/Pierre
Note: I am so mean to females in these P/S fics of mine. Title was from Blink-182's "Adam's Song", I was listening to it like the whole time I wrote it.
DEDICATION: For teengedramaking. Happy birthday and thank you for taking me to Times Square ;* It was fun. SPECIAL THANKS TO: moonfang for being my guinea pig for this fic.
Summary: [Standalone]
What you don't see after you go is something that you probably should have known of; something you probably should have seen long before and may never not now.
Disclaimer: I own the girl. I do not own the boys of Simple Plan.
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I Can't Wait Till I get Home
You drive down the road at a fairly fast speed. You see no reason in slowing down though, it's late and no one is on the road at this hour. The only one in any prospective danger at this point is you.
You grip your hands around the steering wheel, your manicured nails in need of a touch-up digging into your palm just slightly. The eyeliner you'd last administered has faded from your eyes and is almost nonexistent now, and you don't care. You bite your lip as you make another turn toward his house, slightly musing about how you were considering getting it pierced; you already had a nice barbell for your tongue, maybe a nice hoop for the right side of your lip.
You blink, a bit tired as you drive along the road and think of what you plan on doing once you get to his house. At two o'clock in the morning, you can only imagine what he'd say to you showing up on his door after two weeks of not speaking; two weeks of not seeing one another and two weeks of time to think things over. After all your thinking you can only hope and pray that he's thought the same way you have, that he misses you just as much and that he wants to make things work just as much as you do. Your relationship was far from perfect and you knew that; all the same, you refuse to let it go without a fight.
You pull your car into the driveway of his house, the house he's lived in his whole life, and notice that his father's car isn't in the driveway. He's probably taken Sebastien's step-mother out somewhere for the weekend. It's not unlike them. You bite your lip again, seeing that his car is there and another - more than likely his step-mother's - are parked in the drive as well.
You nod and get out of your car and walk up to the door. It's late, after two AM, he's asleep by now. You'll have to wait before he makes it from his room to the front door, you realize this but you're willing to wait as long as it'll take. At least, you think to yourself, he'll probably be too tired to tired to look at who's here and he won't refuse to talk to me. You need this time to speak with him; to tell him you want to make things work; to get him back.
You knock on the door and take a step back, looking at the windows either side of the door. And you wait. You wait for a bit and notice no movement within the house. The windows of his bedroom face the front of his house and you know that if they were to turn on, a faint glow would come over the lawn. He hasn't woken up yet. You knock again, this time a bit harder. As you wait and no answer yet, you hold up your hand and use the metal doorknocker this time; certain to have him hear it. It makes a despicably loud noise from inside the house.
Just as you had known it would, the light from his room makes a faint glow come over the front lawn behind you and you sigh to yourself. Your heart races and you tighten the light weighted coat over your frame. It's not dreadfully cold out but there's enough of a chill to make a shiver go over your spine right about now. You hope to yourself that maybe when he opens the door, he'll be so happy to see you that he'll simply envelope you into his arms and pull you inside; into the warmth; into the warmth; into his heart.
The windows next to the door glow as the foyer light has been turned on, more than likely from the switch at the top of the stairs, this way he won't trip as he descends them and you wait patiently for him to get to the door. He's just woken up, you know, you're patient with him, he can't be expected to hurry. And the door handle jiggles as it's being unlocked. You smile, ready to show him your pearly-whites, your hopeful eyes with the makeup virtually gone and your cute, golden locks surrounding your face; the more pathetic you look the sooner he'll whisk you back in.
The door opens and you stand still, no muscle moving but the hopeful look in your eyes fades. In front of you is maybe one of the things you could have expected least. There, in front of you with his hair tousled, small bags under his eyes and wrinkled sleeping garb on, is not your Sebastien, but his friend. You know this friend, the two of you have been together for quite some time and you only see him and this man on the cover of every pink Teen Magazine every other month. What baffles you most is what he could be doing here at Sebastien's house at two o'clock in the morning and the thought vaguely occurs to you that the man in front of you is probably thinking the same of you.
"Pierre?"
He looks at you blankly, as if your name escapes him. That wouldn't be it, you know, he's known you for quite some time. His eyes are probably clouded over with sleep - or even yet - he's probably half-ready to fall asleep as he stands in front of you, leaning against the door. It is, after all, after two o'clock in the morning. He clears his throat and blinks, smiling and giving a hoarse greeting to you. It's quiet and almost painful. He must have been in a deep sleep; he looks terribly tired.
You shake off the initial shock and definite embarrassment and ask if you might speak to Sebastien. Pierre looks and sounds ashamed as he tells you that Sebastien is asleep. You ask if it isn't possible for him to be disturbed, you still feel that must speak with him now. Pierre bows his head and turns back up for the stairs, leaving the door open but not inviting you to step in. You take a step and stand still on the placemat in front of the door on the foyer floor. After a moment, Sebastien descends the stairs, Pierre no where in sight and you sigh inwardly with relief; an audience as you beg to be taken back is nothing you would want.
Beg? Had you really planned on begging to be taken back? Well, he certainly seemed in no position to do such a thing and you admit to yourself that at this point, it was nothing to be put past you. Sebastien steps to you and as he does, he doesn't look to be slowing down and as he's two steps from you, still not slowing, you take your own steps back until he stands on the floor mat where you'd just been, and you stand back out where you were when Pierre had answered the door; out of the house.
He asks what you've come for and you gulp and begin to tell him. You tell him of the thinking you've been doing, that you've considered everything and that you don't want to leave your relationship; that you want another chance with things, you still need him. He shakes his head and your heart sinks as he tells you that he doesn't want to do it anymore, that he doesn't want to go through every indifference the two of you seem to come by as they come more frequently as time progresses and that he doesn't feel as he did for you before. He tells you that he's sorry and you nod, saying that you are too; that you see what he means, that you understand. And you share a hug before you walk away; back to your car; out of his life.
What you don't see after you go is something that you probably should have known of; something you probably should have seen long before and may never not now. Sebastien closes the door, the few tears he's shed while speaking with you still flowing over his cheeks at an even pace. He turns and goes back up the stairs, turning out the foyer light and hanging his head low, his heart missing you already; what he no longer has after such a long time. He looks over toward his room and sees Pierre leaning against the banister, looking down and he knows right away that Pierre was probably watching the whole time. Pierre turns toward him, and opens his arms, Sebastien stepping into the embrace, burying his face into his chest, feeling terrible about himself. Pierre rubs Sebastien's back, understanding and making small murmurs that everything will be fine; that everything is fine; that he need not worry. And he turns back toward Sebastien's room, his arm around Sebastien's shoulders and after entering the room, Pierre reaches over and turns out the light.
And you sit in your car, watching as the glow of the light from Sebastien's room stops illuminating the lawn, noting that until then it hand been the only light left on in the house.
-
Characters: Band centric [Simple Plan]
Rating: PG
Category: Angst
Warning: Slash
Pairing: Sebastien/Pierre
Note: I am so mean to females in these P/S fics of mine. Title was from Blink-182's "Adam's Song", I was listening to it like the whole time I wrote it.
DEDICATION: For teengedramaking. Happy birthday and thank you for taking me to Times Square ;* It was fun. SPECIAL THANKS TO: moonfang for being my guinea pig for this fic.
Summary: [Standalone]
What you don't see after you go is something that you probably should have known of; something you probably should have seen long before and may never not now.
Disclaimer: I own the girl. I do not own the boys of Simple Plan.
-
I Can't Wait Till I get Home
You drive down the road at a fairly fast speed. You see no reason in slowing down though, it's late and no one is on the road at this hour. The only one in any prospective danger at this point is you.
You grip your hands around the steering wheel, your manicured nails in need of a touch-up digging into your palm just slightly. The eyeliner you'd last administered has faded from your eyes and is almost nonexistent now, and you don't care. You bite your lip as you make another turn toward his house, slightly musing about how you were considering getting it pierced; you already had a nice barbell for your tongue, maybe a nice hoop for the right side of your lip.
You blink, a bit tired as you drive along the road and think of what you plan on doing once you get to his house. At two o'clock in the morning, you can only imagine what he'd say to you showing up on his door after two weeks of not speaking; two weeks of not seeing one another and two weeks of time to think things over. After all your thinking you can only hope and pray that he's thought the same way you have, that he misses you just as much and that he wants to make things work just as much as you do. Your relationship was far from perfect and you knew that; all the same, you refuse to let it go without a fight.
You pull your car into the driveway of his house, the house he's lived in his whole life, and notice that his father's car isn't in the driveway. He's probably taken Sebastien's step-mother out somewhere for the weekend. It's not unlike them. You bite your lip again, seeing that his car is there and another - more than likely his step-mother's - are parked in the drive as well.
You nod and get out of your car and walk up to the door. It's late, after two AM, he's asleep by now. You'll have to wait before he makes it from his room to the front door, you realize this but you're willing to wait as long as it'll take. At least, you think to yourself, he'll probably be too tired to tired to look at who's here and he won't refuse to talk to me. You need this time to speak with him; to tell him you want to make things work; to get him back.
You knock on the door and take a step back, looking at the windows either side of the door. And you wait. You wait for a bit and notice no movement within the house. The windows of his bedroom face the front of his house and you know that if they were to turn on, a faint glow would come over the lawn. He hasn't woken up yet. You knock again, this time a bit harder. As you wait and no answer yet, you hold up your hand and use the metal doorknocker this time; certain to have him hear it. It makes a despicably loud noise from inside the house.
Just as you had known it would, the light from his room makes a faint glow come over the front lawn behind you and you sigh to yourself. Your heart races and you tighten the light weighted coat over your frame. It's not dreadfully cold out but there's enough of a chill to make a shiver go over your spine right about now. You hope to yourself that maybe when he opens the door, he'll be so happy to see you that he'll simply envelope you into his arms and pull you inside; into the warmth; into the warmth; into his heart.
The windows next to the door glow as the foyer light has been turned on, more than likely from the switch at the top of the stairs, this way he won't trip as he descends them and you wait patiently for him to get to the door. He's just woken up, you know, you're patient with him, he can't be expected to hurry. And the door handle jiggles as it's being unlocked. You smile, ready to show him your pearly-whites, your hopeful eyes with the makeup virtually gone and your cute, golden locks surrounding your face; the more pathetic you look the sooner he'll whisk you back in.
The door opens and you stand still, no muscle moving but the hopeful look in your eyes fades. In front of you is maybe one of the things you could have expected least. There, in front of you with his hair tousled, small bags under his eyes and wrinkled sleeping garb on, is not your Sebastien, but his friend. You know this friend, the two of you have been together for quite some time and you only see him and this man on the cover of every pink Teen Magazine every other month. What baffles you most is what he could be doing here at Sebastien's house at two o'clock in the morning and the thought vaguely occurs to you that the man in front of you is probably thinking the same of you.
"Pierre?"
He looks at you blankly, as if your name escapes him. That wouldn't be it, you know, he's known you for quite some time. His eyes are probably clouded over with sleep - or even yet - he's probably half-ready to fall asleep as he stands in front of you, leaning against the door. It is, after all, after two o'clock in the morning. He clears his throat and blinks, smiling and giving a hoarse greeting to you. It's quiet and almost painful. He must have been in a deep sleep; he looks terribly tired.
You shake off the initial shock and definite embarrassment and ask if you might speak to Sebastien. Pierre looks and sounds ashamed as he tells you that Sebastien is asleep. You ask if it isn't possible for him to be disturbed, you still feel that must speak with him now. Pierre bows his head and turns back up for the stairs, leaving the door open but not inviting you to step in. You take a step and stand still on the placemat in front of the door on the foyer floor. After a moment, Sebastien descends the stairs, Pierre no where in sight and you sigh inwardly with relief; an audience as you beg to be taken back is nothing you would want.
Beg? Had you really planned on begging to be taken back? Well, he certainly seemed in no position to do such a thing and you admit to yourself that at this point, it was nothing to be put past you. Sebastien steps to you and as he does, he doesn't look to be slowing down and as he's two steps from you, still not slowing, you take your own steps back until he stands on the floor mat where you'd just been, and you stand back out where you were when Pierre had answered the door; out of the house.
He asks what you've come for and you gulp and begin to tell him. You tell him of the thinking you've been doing, that you've considered everything and that you don't want to leave your relationship; that you want another chance with things, you still need him. He shakes his head and your heart sinks as he tells you that he doesn't want to do it anymore, that he doesn't want to go through every indifference the two of you seem to come by as they come more frequently as time progresses and that he doesn't feel as he did for you before. He tells you that he's sorry and you nod, saying that you are too; that you see what he means, that you understand. And you share a hug before you walk away; back to your car; out of his life.
What you don't see after you go is something that you probably should have known of; something you probably should have seen long before and may never not now. Sebastien closes the door, the few tears he's shed while speaking with you still flowing over his cheeks at an even pace. He turns and goes back up the stairs, turning out the foyer light and hanging his head low, his heart missing you already; what he no longer has after such a long time. He looks over toward his room and sees Pierre leaning against the banister, looking down and he knows right away that Pierre was probably watching the whole time. Pierre turns toward him, and opens his arms, Sebastien stepping into the embrace, burying his face into his chest, feeling terrible about himself. Pierre rubs Sebastien's back, understanding and making small murmurs that everything will be fine; that everything is fine; that he need not worry. And he turns back toward Sebastien's room, his arm around Sebastien's shoulders and after entering the room, Pierre reaches over and turns out the light.
And you sit in your car, watching as the glow of the light from Sebastien's room stops illuminating the lawn, noting that until then it hand been the only light left on in the house.
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